by Stacey Longo
“No other zombies?”
“Neeh.” k|1|2
“Not like Little Hop, huh. I miss it.”
“Gaaah.” Me, too.
~~**~~
By Friday, Mom had gotten a response from the shop teacher about Blossom taking woodworking. I understand your concerns, and want to assure you we take the utmost precautions with all of our special needs students when it comes to shop, Mr. Burgess had written. She wears work gloves and safety goggles at all times. Her Individualized Education Program team thinks wood shop is in alignment with Blossom’s student goals. Blossom seems to have a natural affinity for woodworking, and I’d hate to see her pulled out of the class when she’s already doing so well. I think it will build her confidence and self-worth to be allowed to develop this talent.
Mom asked Blossom if she really felt strongly about staying in wood shop. Blossom dropped her chin for a slow nod, which clearly meant she was absolutely desperate to continue taking woodworking. Mom agreed to tour the classroom setup and check out the safety precautions, and ultimately, Blossom was allowed to keep taking the class.
By Friday, I’d had enough of Andy Strand’s seat kicking. I’d missed at least two important algebra formulas while daydreaming about punching him in the face. Plus, his Twilight comments were really cheesing my pancakes. I’d read the books when I was twelve, and hadn’t even liked them much then.
“Make out with any sparkly vampires today, new girl?” Kick.
I whipped around and managed to grab the strings of his ever-present navy blue hoodie, pulling them tight. He started choking. Good.
“Knock it off, poser, or I’ll sic my sister on you. She’s a real-life, certified zombie, and she’s really protective of me. I’m sure you’ve seen her, slurping brains at lunch. There’s no such thing as vampires,” I added. “But there sure are worse things out there that can kill you.” I let the strings of his hoodie go, pleased to see how red his face had gotten.
“So you’re the zombie’s sister?” he asked, brushing off his sweatshirt strings where I’d just gripped them, then pulling left, right, left, right, until they hung evenly again. Did I detect admiration in his tone?
At least the kicking stopped.
Mickey, too, was fascinated by Blossom. I’d tried not to tell too many people we were sisters, but of course everyone saw us getting on the special needs bus together, plus Nanette would tell anyone who asked. She adored her brother Jordan, and couldn’t conceive of the idea that I might be ashamed of my undead sister. I’d given up trying to hide our genetic bond, and told Mickey the truth when he asked at lunch about the rumor he’d heard—that I was the sister of one of the undead.
“But what does she eat?” he asked, polishing a Granny Smith on his shirt before taking a crunchy bite.
“Brains,” I confirmed.
“But how . . . ?” Mickey trailed off. He looked a little green, and put down his apple. I laughed.
“There’s a company online that we order most of her meals from,” I explained. “Frozen brains, brainy treats, cranial sausages . . . all sorts of entrees, perfect for Blossom’s dietary proclivities. You have to understand—where we come from, everyone has a zombie in the family. It’s totally normal. The restaurants in Little Hop have brain dishes on the menu; even the Jamba Juice stands have gray-matter smoothies. Not like here.” I sighed. “Everyone here treats her like a total freak.”
Mickey nodded slowly, gulping hard. “I’m a bit of a horror movie buff,” he admitted. “George Romero predicted this sort of thing at least forty years ago, so I’ve always lived under the assumption that zombies were inevitable. I can’t tell you how friggin’ cool it is I actually know one—well, know the sister of one.” There was a note of excitement in his voice. “I can see how this conservative little town might have trouble adjusting. But really, Jasmine, it’s totally shiznik.”
“Thanks.” I smiled.
Not everyone was so cool about Blossom’s status. That afternoon, as Blossom loaded up her wheelchair into the back of the short bus, Jillian Mott and a couple of her deadhead friends approached, holding picket signs and wearing homemade T-shirts that had “Anti-Zombie League” scrawled on them in Sharpie. They immediately started heckling us.
“No zombies in our school! Protect our rights as living human beings!”
“What’cha doing this weekend, corpse? Eating your neighbors?”
“Screw you,” I shouted, which was stupid. Shouldn’t have encouraged them.
“No, screw you, zombie sister! Why don’t you take your freakazoid pet out back and shoot her in the head? Put her out of her misery!” Jillian called out.
I ignored her.
“Hey, zombie! Eat me!”
Blossom fixed a steely gaze on Jillian, whose dark eyes flashed back defiantly. Blossom bared her gums, snarled, and pointed at the girl, then drew a wrinkled, gray thumb across her own throat.
You’re dead, in Blossom sign language.
The girls flashed their rat-like teeth as they shrieked in laughter, shouting names as our bus pulled away.
“You’re making friends fast, I see,” I joked.
“Ruh.” Eat me.
We rode home in silence.
Dad looked pale that night at the dinner table. I decided now was not the time to mention Jillian’s Anti-Zombie League, and tried instead to lighten things up. “Hey, Bloss, did I tell you I was on a seafood diet?” I crammed hunks of pork chop and mashed potatoes in my mouth, partially chewing them. I opened wide. “See! Food!” Blossom huffed in amusement, and then laughed harder when I started choking on my food. Dad thumped me on the back a few times until I coughed out a soggy piece of pork.
“Well, they found that missing girl,” Dad announced, ignoring my red cheeks and watering eyes. No sympathy at this dinner table.
“Is she okay?” I wheezed. I hadn’t mentioned to our parents that we’d actually met Blue Pixie during our shopping trip.
“No. They found her body on the banks by the Connecticut River. It wasn’t a pretty scene—it’s clear she was murdered.”
“More mashed potatoes?” Mom interjected brightly.
Dad shook his head. “It was downright gruesome, in fact. The police aren’t releasing many details yet, but it looks like she died of blunt force trauma to the head. Then her attacker sliced her skull open with a bone saw. Her brains”—he broke off for a moment, looking at Blossom. We try not to mention fresh brains around her because it tends to make her drool, but to be fair, it doesn’t often come up in conversation. Mom dabbed some of the spittle off Blossom’s chin.
“Her brain cavity was cleaned out,” he continued. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Even back in Little Hop, when people first started turning, it wasn’t like this. Those victims would have their skulls crushed in and brains leaking out of every orifice. This was neat and clean, like someone unwrapping a box and pulling out a present. The inside of this girl’s skull was completely empty.”
“Well, the good news is, it couldn’t be a zombie then, right?” Mom said. We turned to look at Blossom, who was licking her plate, trying to get the last scraps of sautéed cow brains. When she put it down, her plate was spotless. Mom glanced at Dad, then let her eyes travel to Blossom’s horsehead bookends, now displayed on a shelf on the dining room wall.
Blossom sure was handy with a saw.
FOUR
It was hard to hear my parents’ whispers that night in their bedroom, so I got a glass and held it between my ear and the wall to see if it would amplify their voices.
“It couldn’t have been Blossom,” Dad said. “She hasn’t wandered out of the backyard since we moved here . . . has she?”
“I don’t think so,” Mom said. “Plus, we would’ve gotten a phone call if she had. It’s not like Glastonbury is overrun with zombies; I think someone would’ve rung up the cops, don’t you?”
“Door bright,” Dad said. I suppose he could’ve been saying you’re right, but it was hard to hear, even with
the water glass.
The next day, Mom announced we were going on a family field trip. She’d been talking about exploring more of New England since we’d moved here, but we kept running into obstacles. Our day trip to Block Island, for example, was cut short when Mom flipped through the tourist guidebook on the ferry ride over and found out the island had an indigenous population of burying beetles that ate decaying flesh. Not wanting Blossom to be swarmed by bugs as soon as we landed, we’d stayed on the ferry and ridden it right back to New London.
Mom had suggested I ask around school about fun family activities. Clearly, she was doing her best to get me labeled a total loser by making me ask such a question, so I tried to be more subtle. “What’s there to do around here?” I’d asked Beki, Nanette, and Mickey. Beki had waxed poetic about keg parties at the reservoir on the east side of town, but I didn’t think Mom needed to know about those. Nanette and Mickey had both mentioned Mystic Aquarium, and Mickey even gave me the website address so we could check it out online. In an effort to play nice with Andy the seat-kicker in algebra, I’d even asked him if he’d been.
“Yeah, sure, when I was, like, ten,” he’d snorted, and kicked my seat again. I was really starting to hate that guy.
Mom was all for the idea of Mystic, so that’s where we were headed. How much trouble could we find at an aquarium, right? We packed up Blossom’s wheelchair and helmet, piled into the minivan, and set off.
Mystic was a good forty-five minute ride from the house, and by the time we arrived, I really had to pee. Mom, Dad, and Blossom waited in line for tickets while I rushed to the ladies’ room. When I came out, there was a commotion near the beluga whale section. Blossom was straddling the wooden fence, smacking her lips and struggling to get to the sleek white beasts. The whales were huddled together on the far side of the tank, as far away as they could possibly get from her. I understood immediately: belugas are all forehead, and Blossom was probably imagining a veritable feast of brains.
Mom got Blossom back over to our side of the fence and calmed her down with some brainy treats, but the aquarium staff made it clear they were not amused.
“I promise, she’s all settled now. It won’t happen again,” Mom apologized.
“She’s special needs,” Dad added, and finally they agreed to let us in. “Sorry, Bloss,” Dad whispered, tucking her back into the wheelchair and rolling her indoors. “I hate to describe your situation like that, but it’s a label they understand. These people don’t quite know what to make of you, do they? Remember,” he cautioned, as Blossom groaned passing the jellyfish tank, “most of the critters in here don’t have any brains at all to speak of.” Blossom crossed her arms, pouting, but we were allowed to poke our way through the aquatic tanks without much fanfare. The sad thing was, the wheelchair really did do the trick. It seemed like nobody wanted to look too hard at a handicapped person. And since Blossom cried and moaned less than maybe others like Jordan would, with all his bona-fide challenges, she was largely ignored when she was riding her wheels.
We sat up front for the sea lion show. It was a little babyish, but I had to admit, the animals were pretty cute. So was the guy sitting almost directly across from us. He had blond, spiked hair and a lip ring. He was wearing a Sex Pistols T-shirt and badly ripped, bleached jeans, and I was pretty sure I was in love. I kept staring at him, trying to catch his eye, until a particularly frisky sea lion slapped his tail on the water in front of us, drenching Blossom and me in fishy, bacterial water. I pushed my soaking bangs out of my face and looked up in time to see Sex Pistol laughing at us. I wiped some of the water off my face with my shirt, and saw a big black smear—my eyeliner was running. I looked like a drowned raccoon.
Mom started freaking out and rushed Blossom out of the theater, toward the ladies’ room. Since she’s necrotic, any weird bacterium that stays on her skin too long can cause cavernous ulcers in just a few days’ time. Plus, when she’s damp, Blossom smells a lot like rotting meat. I knew Mom wanted to get her rinsed off and dried out before the aquarium water could do any lasting damage.
Sex Pistol had turned his attention back to the clapping seals, clearly not intending to come over and profess his love for me, so I got up, following Mom and Blossom into the bathroom. Mom had antibacterial wipes in her purse for just such an occasion, and she made Blossom strip to her bra and underwear so she could wipe her down. I ignored them and washed my face in the sink. I looked in the mirror and grimaced. I had black grooves of smeary liner all around my eyes. I scrubbed it off quickly, only to find the spare eyeliner I kept in my purse had dried out. Great. My eyes would have to go naked for the rest of the day. Luckily, the aquarium was dimly lit to highlight the illuminated fish tanks. Maybe nobody would notice my underdressed lashes.
I glanced at Mom, who was holding Blossom’s arm over the hand dryer, trying to air her out without baking her too badly. I felt a moment of fury. It was always about Blossom. I could’ve been blinded by seawater bacteria, but my mother was more concerned about my sister catching a flesh-eating virus. Did Mom even realize I was in the bathroom, too, trying to dry myself out and repair my terminal makeup damage? She had two daughters, after all!
Blossom looked at me, her hair blowing around her face, and shrugged.
“Yaagh harrr.”We’ve had better days. I grinned in spite of myself. My sister looked miserable. At least I wasn’t alone in that.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’ll be outside.”
I left the bathroom and found Dad leaning against the wall, reading the informational flyer they’d handed us when we first arrived.
“Absolutely fascinating. Did you know Robert Ballard is president of the Ocean Exploration Center here? That’s the guy who found the Titanic!” Dad looked around, scanning the other visitors waiting outside the restrooms. “I wonder if he’s here today?”
“If he is, he probably has his own office with a private bathroom, Dad,” I said. “I’m sure he’s not hanging out down here with the little people. What’s on the agenda next? Are we going to the bird sanctuary?”
“I don’t think so.” Dad sighed. “I’m worried your sister will try to eat the penguins.”
Good point.
We waited a few more minutes until Mom and Blossom emerged from the ladies’ room, freshly dried.
“Crisis averted,” Mom said cheerily.
Blossom scowled. “Garh ahh bargg,” she groaned at me. Mom made me take off my underwear to dry it out. I rolled my eyes in sympathy.
I took over pushing Blossom’s wheelchair, and we moved on to the shark exhibit. There was a couple in front of us, taking pictures of the great white, and it kind of looked like Jillian Mott with a pimply, beefy guy. I squinted to try and see better, but the lighting was too dim to really tell. I didn’t particularly want to deal with her nasty barbs, so I quickly popped Blossom into a wheelie and pointed her toward the exotic fish exhibit. The day was already bad enough. Without a protective shield of eyeliner on, I didn’t want to face anyone I knew, least of all the brand new president of the Anti-Zombie League.
Mom and Blossom wanted to go to the marine theater to watch Spongebob Squarepants in The Great Jelly Rescue. It sounded like a baby movie, so I opted to go with Dad to the Titanic exhibit. Total mistake. The old White Star Line lifejackets and broken plates quickly bored me out of my mind, and I whined to Dad a little bit, but he totally ignored me. Dad was peering over a display case of old perfume bottles that had been recovered from the ocean floor, sniffing as if trying to catch a whiff of the hundred-year-old scents. I was texting Nanette about my makeup crisis and sighing loudly when Mom came rushing up to us. “Have you seen Blossom?”
“No, she’s supposed to be with you,” Dad said, blinking away his perfume haze.
“I know, and thanks for that helpful observation. When the lights came up after the movie, her wheelchair was empty. She must’ve shambled off again!”
Uh-oh. The biggest problem with having a zombie in the family—besides, of course
, random strangers wanting to shoot them in the head all the time—was their tendency to roam, causing mass panic. There was never any way of predicting where Blossom would go: she’d just sort of shuffle off. Dad agreed to search the rest of the Titanic area, I volunteered to do a loop of the shark tanks again, and Mom went to the customer service area to try and discreetly get help.
My sister was nowhere to be found amid the sharks. Ditto the jellyfish exhibit and the exotic fish. I thought I spotted her on the other side of the lionfish tank, but it turned out to be a different blond girl, her face distorted by the water. I met up with my parents at the service desk. Dad was starting to sweat, even though the air conditioning was on full blast. Mom frowned, her teeth clenched. She handed me a map.
“You check the outside exhibits. If she’s trying to eat the whales again, talk her in with some brainy treats.”
“She does seem particularly hungry today,” Dad said. “When’s the last time we fed her?”
“Hmm . . . she didn’t eat much at dinner last night. I got some free pork samples with our latest cow brain shipment, but she really hasn’t taken to them. She only picked at the scrambled cerebellum over toast I made this morning. I bet that’s why she wandered off,” Mom mused.
I headed for the Penguin Encounter first. Birds are easier for Blossom to eat, since they have such thin skulls. She can sometimes crush their heads with her hands and get at their brains that way. Flightless waterfowl would be a huge temptation for her, I was sure, since they couldn’t fly away. I made my way past the long line, and got a few dirty looks from the people waiting. I apologized and announced I was just looking for my sister. Toward the front, a glass wall showcased Emperor penguins diving in the water and waddling on an icy bank. I almost missed the crouched figure at the bottom, licking at the glass like it was an ice cream cone.
“Blossom!” I hissed, and she turned toward my voice. “You’re gonna get us kicked out of here!”
She moaned a quick I’m hungry, piss off at me, and I tugged at her jacket. “C’mon,” I said. “That’s positively disgusting. Do you know how many little kids have probably picked their noses and wiped it on that glass? Mom’s got some chilled brain chunks in the cooler back in the car for you.”