by Brian James
“D-
“E-
“A-
“T-
“H-
“DEATH!
“DEATH!
“DEATH!”
The chant shouted at the top of their lungs. Stomping their feet to the cadence. The bleachers trembling from the volume and vibration. Everyone’s face as pale and blank as those on the field. Mouths moving mechanically. Threateningly. The chant raining down onto the field like a violent storm that makes the opposing team cringe.
“Still think I’m crazy?” Lukas whispers.
The people around us wake up from their trance. Blink their eyes and start to strike up conversations. Slowly returning to normal as the cheerleaders break formation.
“Okay, it’s pretty strange,” I admit.
“Pretty strange?” Lukas says in disbelief. “It’s a freak show!”
The girl next to him stares with suspicious eyes when he yells. Whispers something to the girl she’s with. Lukas turns to her with the face of a snarling animal and she slides away a few inches.
“What’s your problem?” I whisper. Grab his sleeve and pull him closer like calling off an attack dog.
“My problem’s that we’re about to watch those kids get torn apart by vicious flesh-eating creatures and this whole town can’t wait to see it,” he says. He’s careful to be quiet enough so no one else hears. Keeps glancing around just to make sure.
“Now the football team is part of it, too?” I tease.
“Of course they’re part of it!” he says. “Haven’t you noticed they’re all just as pale? Their eyes just as blue? Just as dead?”
I guess I hadn’t paid too much attention to them. All jocks look the same to me, anyway. And most of the ones I’ve met are vicious and brutal, so since the ones in Maplecrest are especially violent, it only means they’re good at what they’ve been trained to do. “Seriously, Lukas, you need to cut down on the comic books,” I tell him. At first I thought he was just making it up. Trying to get me to pretend along with him so it would be like me and him against all of them. I thought it was kind of cute. Sort of sweet and everything, but now I’m starting to think he actually believes it.
“Whatever,” he says and stops talking to me. Leans back against the railing behind us. Tilts his head up to the sky as the game begins. Fine with me. This town is bad enough without him trying to convince me that it’s home to an army of beautiful walking-dead elitists.
He keeps sulking behind me. Blowing his breath out and sighing.
I do my best to ignore him. Refuse to look over my shoulder and get his attention or listen to any more of his horror stories.
I watch the teams on the field instead and have no idea what’s going on.
I’ve never understood football. It’s always just seemed like a bunch of guys jumping on one another and grunting. My dad tried to explain it to me once. He said it was simple. Then he went on and on about different rules and exceptions, and after about five minutes it didn’t sound so simple anymore so I told him to stop. If it was that complicated, I didn’t want to waste space in my brain learning about it.
But I don’t have to understand it to know our team is winning.
I can tell by the way our players swarm at whoever has the ball. Twisting his body to the sound of cracking bones. The agony in the screams as the other players lie mangled on the field. The chilling shouts from the crowd as they cheer and I realize the Death chant wasn’t just for show. The players from our side are really trying their best to kill the opposition.
But that’s how the game is played, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean they’re zombies or anything like that. Doesn’t mean they really want to tear off their helmets and rip through their flesh with hungry teeth. Just means they want to win worse than anything else. It just means they’re jocks, that’s all. Still, though, there is something eerie about the whole thing. About the whole town in general. Not just the game or that it’s like the last fifty years have missed this place completely. It’s also the way no one can take their eyes off the cheerleaders whenever they step onto the field. Vacant and hypnotized because the violence around them has a way of making them look even more beautiful. Even more like angels. Like snowflakes falling over a battlefield.
“Seen enough?” Lukas asks when the game reaches halftime.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “Let’s go.”
And as we head down the steps, I find that I can’t take my eyes off them, either. Wondering what it must be like to have people look at you that way. Wondering what it would be like to have that much control over total strangers.
“Wait,” I say softly, holding on to Lukas. Pausing at the bottom of the bleachers as Maggie leads the girls onto the field again. The cold breeze washing over all of us. Stealing the color from their cheeks and bringing it to me. “I just want to see this before we leave.”
FIVE
Whenever my dad and I take one of our long drives to a new life, I like to stare out the window and watch normal people doing normal things in each town we pass. I always see kids doing things that I know are pretty common, but that seem so distant to me. Bake sales and car-wash fund-raisers. Signs in front of schools for class plays. Even large groups of friends just walking together down the sidewalk seems like something I could never be a part of.
I’m always the one left out.
If high school were like little kids on the playground, I’d be the little kid sitting on the swings all by herself. That’s who I am. Always the girl who doesn’t quite fit in. It’s not because I’m weird or because I want to be an outsider. It’s just that being the kid who moves to town, I’ve always missed the start of the game and by the time I get there, they don’t need anyone else to play.
I guess that’s why I haven’t been able to get the cheerleading routine out of my head. Since the football game yesterday, it’s all I can think about. Something about it is so amazing. So perfect. Just like those scenes of normal people that pass by the car window.
And I keep thinking about Meredith asking me if I’ve ever thought about joining. And I think maybe I might. I know it’s sort of dumb. But just once I’d like to see what it would be like to be one of the group instead of being the kid alone on the swings.
“What are you thinking about, Squirt?”
My dad’s voice pulls me out of my daytime-television fog long enough to wrinkle my forehead at him. “Dad, I stopped being Squirt years ago,” I tell him. “Can’t you find a nickname that’s not so dumb?”
He smiles as he sits down next to me on the sofa. Tells me no matter how big I get, I’ll always be his Squirt and I roll my eyes.
“Perfect,” I say. “At least now I know that I’ll be uncool forever.”
He ignores my comeback as usual and takes the remote from my knee. The television doesn’t respond to the buttons his fingers push, though. He adjusts the tape that wraps around the remote to hold in the batteries. Taps it gently against the palm of his hand before aiming again. Still no response and his tapping turns into a more violent banging.
“This thing’s busted,” he mumbles.
“No, it just doesn’t like your shows,” I say. I reach over and take it back from him. Press the same buttons he did and the channel changes as easily as that. “See, it just needs a girl’s touch.”
“Thanks,” he says. Then he puts his arm around me and I know he’s thanking me for more than just fixing the remote. I know he’s thanking me for just being there. For being me.
It’s the little things like this that he was talking about when he called us a team. The same things that can almost make me forget about trying to be popular or fitting in. I can forget that we’re not normal. I can almost convince myself that we’re better than those people who live in big houses and have three cars and buy whatever they want. When we sit on a torn-up sofa that was left in the house and watch bad television, I can almost convince myself that everything is perfect.
Almost.
Because then some
thing always happens that reminds me our life kind of sucks.
“Oh,” my dad says, acting like he just remembered something but doing a bad job of it. “If the phone rings, don’t answer it.”
I sit up straight. Putting my hands on my knees and staring at him.
“Why?” I demand.
My dad shrugs it off. “It’s nothing.” His standard answer.
I shake my head and stand up. He asks me where I’m going. Asks why I’m leaving. “Because,” I tell him and that’s all I tell him. Because he knows why. Because he knows what because means. It means I know why we’re not answering the phone. I know it means someone found us. Someone he owes money to. They always find us because running away never works.
No wonder I’m always the outcast. I live in a house where we can’t even answer the phone!
I don’t listen as he calls for me to come back. I head right to my room and close the door. I’m not in the mood to hear his explanations. I don’t need to listen to his speech about how everything will be just fine one day. I already have it memorized.
Lying on my bed, I stare out the window and try to think of something else. Anything else. And the blue sky brings me back to them. The clear eyes of the girls everybody in Maplecrest loves. And maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all to be like them. Maybe becoming a clone of Maggie Turner wouldn’t be as horrible as it sounded on my first day of school. At least being somebody else for a while would take my mind off of being me. It would get Morgan off my case, too. And to tell the truth, I wouldn’t mind being adored for once in my life.
I know it’s probably crazy, but it’s pretty to think of, in that way.
SIX
“ You’re going to what?” Lukas says over the steady chatter of the lunchroom. Pushing his chair away and letting his fists fall on the table. Two girls at the next table stop eating. They stare at us for a second trying to figure out who’s shouting. Turn around again when they see us because we’re not important enough for them to care.
“You’re making a scene,” I whisper.
“Sorry,” he says sarcastically. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your new friends.” Still speaking loud enough to make the next table glance over. Trying to say it loud enough to get Maggie and her group to look over from their table but it’s too far away for his voice to travel. Too much static between here and there.
“Don’t be a jerk,” I say seriously enough to let him know I’m only half kidding.
“I’m being a jerk?” he asks. An honest show of confusion on his face when he raises his eyebrows and lets his shaggy hair fall in front of his eyes. Then he gathers himself. Takes a deep breath and takes my wrists in his hands. I look down real quick, surprised by how warm his skin feels. Surprised by how familiar it feels. “Hannah, listen to yourself. I’m being a jerk? They wrote SLUTS NOT WELCOME on your locker last Friday, remember?” he says, nodding over to the table of power that rules our little high school society.
I pull my hands away violently.
“I don’t need you to remind me,” I say. “I still see it every time I need a book. Besides, it wasn’t all of them. It was just Morgan.”
“Oh, that makes a difference,” he says.
“It does,” I snap at him.
“I can’t believe you’re talking about trying out for the cheerleading squad. It’s enemy territory,” he says, throwing his arms up in the air as if he’s proven his point.
I don’t say anything.
The truth is, I’m not sure he isn’t right about it. Maybe it is a crazy idea. Maybe he’s right to talk me out of it. I know he’s just trying to look out for me. Doesn’t want to see me get my feelings hurt. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way the girls looked ever since we saw them at the game two days ago. The way the crowd couldn’t take their eyes away for fear they might miss even a second of the routine. And I guess I just want that, too. Want people to look at me that way. Even if it’s only in this lost little town in the middle of nowhere. Even if it’s just once.
Lukas brushes the hair away from his face. Pulls his chair closer to me. His brown eyes look safe against the red and black walls in the background. “Don’t you see? That’s what they do,” he says in a quieter voice. A friendlier one. “They make it so girls want to become one of them. Then once you do, that’s it. You’re not Hannah anymore. You’re Mara. Or Monica. Or whatever name she gives you.”
“I just want to try out, not become someone else,” I tell him. Sort of telling myself at the same time because I’d be lying if it didn’t cross my mind.
“That’s what Alison said,” he says. His eyes go someplace far away. Looking over the heads of all the seated people in the room. Staring like if he stares long enough, hard enough, he’ll be able to see into the past.
“Who’s Alison?” I ask.
Lukas shakes off the memories that are like movie images playing against the back of his eyelids. “Alison is Morgan,” he says. “She used to be a good friend of mine. Now she doesn’t even remember who I am.”
“Morgan?” I say, surprised that he’d ever be friends with such a superior bitch. “You’re better off.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you, she didn’t used to be like that,” he says. Raising his voice again the way my dad does when he’s lost patience with me. I’m about to tell him he’s leaning toward being a jerk again when he says he’s sorry. Lowers his voice. “It’s just . . . I get upset when I think about it . . . like I should’ve stopped her or something.”
“Look, it’s no big deal. It’s just something to do,” I say. Trying to comfort him. To assure him that the same thing won’t happen with me. I didn’t mean to upset him. I mean, I guess I knew he wouldn’t be happy about it, but I didn’t think he’d get all freaked out about it. “Besides, don’t you watch the news? Self-esteem is very important for a girl my age. It could mean the difference between being president and being a prostitute,” trying to make a joke out of the whole thing so that he sees I’m not too serious about it.
“I knew this would happen,” he says. “I knew it as soon as I saw you the first time. That’s why I came over in the first place. To warn you off.”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” I say. “I mean, they’re cheerleaders, not terrorists.”
“You don’t get it,” he says. “They’re already dead. They only walk and breathe because they feed off the living.”
“Not this again!” It’s my turn to raise my voice. “I’ve had it with all this crap. You need to come back to the real world,” I tell him. Because I’m beginning to think he’s the one who needs to be saved.
“Hannah, why do you think there’re so many empty houses in this town? Why do you think the whole school is terrified of them? It’s not just because they’re popular and mean. It’s because they kill people. Kill them and use their blood to keep their corpses from rotting!” He’s talking so fast and so whispered that his face gets flushed.
“Yeah? Then how come they don’t kill you? If you know so much, wouldn’t they want to?” I ask.
“Everybody knows! Don’t you get it?” he growls, trying to keep his voice from being heard but also trying to sound fierce. “Only nobody talks about it. Not even me . . . not to anybody but you.”
“Oh, lucky me,” I say sarcastically and shuffle my books and chair to inch away from him.
Lukas moves his chair, too. Moves closer. Cupping his hand around my ear and whispering so that his words are warm and wet. “They’re going to make you like that,” he says. “They’re going to make it so you have to kill, too.”
I push him away and put my hands up to my ears to let him know how ridiculous he sounds. His eyes are crazy. Eyes like angry dogs barking behind fences to keep people out. Eyes like the kind of people he’s trying to warn me against.
He reaches over and pulls my hand away.
I’m no longer playing when I struggle free. “Get off of me!” I tell him.
“You’re crazy,” I tell him once I finally peel his hands off my arm. Little white marks still there to outline where he held on. “Nobody’s killing anybody! This town’s empty because it sucks. There’s nothing to do and no place to work. That’s why people move, not because they’re being stalked by imaginary creatures. And that’s why I’m going to try out . . . because I’m bored!”
All the faces at the tables on both sides are turned to face us when I’m done shouting. The teacher’s aide assigned to the lunchroom is staring at us from across the room. Watching as I rub my arm and wondering if she needs to get involved. I hear the girls next to me whispering. “Jesus! He’s such a freak,” they say. Lukas hears them, too, but doesn’t let it break his concentration. Doesn’t take his eyes from mine. Stares so intensely that it scares me.
I’m not sure what to do as I see the corners of his eyes get bloodshot. See them blur up and I know I’ve hurt him pretty bad. I didn’t mean to. Not after he’s been the only person nice enough to get to know me. But there’s a reason no one talks to him. Maybe he really is a freak. I didn’t think so, but I’m starting to wonder because I know now that he honestly believes what he’s telling me.
“Forget it,” he says. “All of it, it doesn’t matter. Try out and have fun. I hope you make it. At least then I’ll never have to see you again.”
He grabs his backpack off the floor and stands up.
“Lukas! Wait!” I plead.
But he doesn’t stop and I watch him fade into the crowd. Watch my only friend in Maplecrest disappear from my life. I fold my arms on the table and hide my head in the crease of my elbow, wondering why every boy I ever meet turns out to be a creep.
I won’t let him change my mind, though. I’m going to see the cheerleading coach as soon as lunch is over. It’s the only way I’ll ever be able to make any sane friends here.
I’ll show him, too. I won’t change even if I do make the squad. Maybe then he’ll realize how insane he’s being.