by David Lubar
“No way,” I said. For a girl genius, she sure carried around a lot of silly stuff.
“Come on. Try it.” She flipped the lid and held the bottle out. “It has emollients. Trust me. I guarantee it will make your skin feel better.”
“Okay, but just a little.” I opened my hand and let her squirt some of the gook into it. Then I rubbed my hands together. “Not bad,” I said. My skin did seem a bit better.
“And you smell nice,” Mookie said.
“What?”
“Peach,” Abigail said.
“Oh, great.” I sniffed my hands. It was like I’d jammed my nose deep into a fruit bowl. “I can’t go through the rest of the day smelling like a peach.”
“I don’t think you have much choice,” Abigail said.
“Not to mention, the rest of my life.”
“You won’t have to,” Abigail said. “There are all sorts of aromas. Strawberry, vanilla, and a variety of flowers. Violets are great. So is lilac. It’s very soothing.”
I let her go on. There didn’t seem to be any way to stop her. When she was finished, I asked her, “Do they make any kind of hand lotion that doesn’t smell?”
“Sure,” Abigail said. “But what fun would that be?”
The bell rang. Ridley was standing right in front of the door. Two of his friends were there with him. They were watching our class as we walked inside.
“Guess they’re looking for a victim,” Mookie said. “They’re going to pick me. I know it.”
“Well, you are kind of easy to notice.” I pointed to his sneakers.
“Oh, no.” Mookie bent over and loosened both bulbs so they stopped flashing.
“This is a good time to be invisible,” Abigail said. “Just keep walking and don’t look at them.”
“Sounds like a smart plan,” I said. It would be easy enough for me. I had all of that spy training. I could slip past people like a shadow.
You don’t see me, I thought as I walked past Ridley. I was a spy. I was a ninja. I was a Jedi. I was invisible.
Ridley put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, kid, you smell like a peach.”
I froze and looked up at him. The best answer seemed to be the simplest one. “Yeah. I do.”
He shoved me. “I don’t like peaches.”
“Sorry to hear that.” I moved back a step.
“In fact, I hate peaches.” Ridley curled his hands into fists. This wasn’t good. I could tell he was just looking for an excuse to hurt me. Actually, he couldn’t hurt me, but he could break me. And that wouldn’t be good.
Next to me, I saw Mookie open his mouth. That wouldn’t be any good, either. Whatever he said would just get Ridley angry with both of us. I’d get broken and Mookie would get hurt.
8
The Lingering Stink
Mookie didn’t say anything. Instead, he bent over and threw up—right between me and Ridley. It was an impressive spray. It hit the ground like it had been flung from a bucket. I jumped backwards, out of the splash zone. I looked away from the puke and looked back up at the other puke—namely, Ridley.
He was staring down, too. His face had gotten pale. He stepped back. Then he turned and walked off.
Wow—Ridley was grossed out by puke. Some people can’t stand stuff like that. Some people faint if they see blood. I looked at the puddle. Ants were racing toward it. A swarm of flies landed and started chowing down.
Mookie might have lost his lunch, but the insect kingdom had found a feast.
“Who knew a big bully like Ridley would be such a wimp?” Abigail said.
“Yeah, especially about something that didn’t bother me at all.” I could take a bath in vomit and not care.
But even if I knew his weakness, that wouldn’t help me the next time we met. I couldn’t count on Mookie to throw up again. And I couldn’t throw up at all. My body just didn’t work that way anymore.
Before I could move, Rodney walked over. He got right in my face and poked my shoulder. “Stop trying to hang out with my brother. You’re not his pal.”
“Rodney, I think you should know—,” I started to say.
“I mean it!” he yelled. “He’s my brother. Mine. You can’t be friends with him.”
Man, he was too stupid. I tried again. “Look, Rodney—”
“Look, nothing.” He poked me again. “I’m warning you.”
“And I’m trying to tell you that you’re standing in puke!” I shouted. I pointed down at his feet. “Look.”
His eyes went wide and he backed up. I didn’t know why Ridley was afraid of puke, but I guess Rodney was especially scared of it after what had happened in the high school gym when he’d tried to snap me in half. The memory of that moment still makes me smile.
He walked off almost as fast as Ridley, making gagging sounds.
“Ready for lunch?” Mookie asked.
“Lunch?” I stared at him. “You just puked.”
“Yeah. So I’ve got lots of room. And it’s taco day. Which means we can get all the salsa we want. How great is that? Come on. Let’s go.”
I followed Mookie to the cafeteria.
“I definitely feel better,” he said as we got into the food line.
“I hope you aren’t totally better,” I said. “We might need you to puke again.”
“I’ll do my best. Hey, look, they have chicken fingers, too.” He started to laugh as he loaded his tray.
“What’s so funny?”
“I just realized something. If you put a finger down your throat, it makes you puke. But not a chicken finger. I wonder why.”
“Maybe because you don’t chew up your own fingers,” I said.
“That’s because I’m not a zombie.” He held up his hands. “I chew my nails sometimes.”
“Zombies don’t chew their own fingers, either,” I said.
“You’re right. Wait—I think there’s a joke in there somewhere,” Mookie said. “You know, like the one about how you can pick your friends and pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose. I got it! You can chew your nails and choose your friends, but you can’t chew your friend’s nails.”
“Not bad.” I had to admit, that was a pretty decent joke—especially compared with some of the ones he came up with.
When we got to our table, I noticed Adam had brought his lunch from home. I guess he didn’t trust the cafeteria food after that stinky burger. I couldn’t blame him. While I missed eating things like pizza and ice cream, I definitely didn’t miss some of the stuff they cooked up in the cafeteria. From what I’d seen, the food at Borloff was pretty much the same as the food at Belgosi. They had smaller portions, but there was just as much slime, grease, gristle, and mystery.
After lunch, we headed back to class. I think everyone was tired of being crammed together. Even the teachers looked like they’d be happy when this was over.
Ridley gave me a mean look when he came in. But I managed to avoid him when we all headed out at the end of the day.
“Any appointments, shopping trips, or stuff like that?” I asked Mookie and Abigail when we got outside.
“Nope,” they said.
“Great. I need somewhere to hang out,” I said. “Bear Season is getting really unbearable.”
“Let’s go to my place,” Abigail said. “I’ve got some new slides for my microscope.”
“I thought you lost your microscope in the fire,” I said. There’d been a fire at her house that destroyed all her stuff.
“Dr. Cushing sent me a new one. And a pair of binoculars.”
“That’s really nice of her.” I’d introduced Dr. Cushing to Abigail, and they got along great. Dr. Cushing worked for BUM, but she wasn’t a spy. She looked after the agents and did medical research.
“I’ve been bird-watching,” Abigail said. “I saw three different types of hawks this week, and a pair of cardinals. Did you know there are flocks of land gulls near the mall parking lot?”
“Nope,” I said. “I didn’t even know ther
e was any other kind of gull beside seagulls.”
We headed over to Abigail’s place. She told me a whole lot more about all kinds of birds. My favorite bird used to be turkey. With stuffing and gravy.
When Abigail paused to catch her breath, somewhere between finches and starlings, Mookie said, “How come Dr. Cushing never sends me anything?”
“What would you want her to send you?” Abigail asked.
“I don’t know,” Mookie said. “Maybe a laser or something cool. Yeah—a laser. That would be awesome.” He swung his arms like he was using a light saber and made whooshing sounds.
“I don’t think she has that kind of laser,” Abigail said.
“Well, she should.” Mookie kept swooshing. He didn’t kill any space aliens, but he managed to knock over two garbage cans.
Then he started swooshing at me, yelling, “Zombie slicer! Off with his head!”
“Cut it out,” I said.
That, of course, was the wrong thing to say.
“I can’t cut it out,” he said. “But I can cut it off.”
For the rest of the walk, he kept slicing me with his imaginary laser, until I grabbed it from him and snapped it over my knee. “Enough!”
“Now you broke it,” he said.
People might think you can’t snap an imaginary object, but with Mookie’s imagination, anything is possible.
Right after we got there, Abigail’s mom brought glasses of lemonade up to her room. As she was handing out the drinks, she sniffed and said, “You might want to open a window. It’s kind of stuffy in here.”
She headed out. I sniffed. Something definitely smelled a bit ripe, like Adam’s hamburger.
“Phew. Did one of your pet fish die?” Mookie asked.
“I don’t have fish,” Abigail said. “And I keep my room scrupulously clean.”
“Something definitely smells rotten,” Mookie said.
“It must be you guys,” Abigail said. “Boys have been known to smell. Maybe you really do need to change your pants.”
We both lifted our arms and smelled our pits. Mookie looked at Abigail. “It’s not us,” he said. “We didn’t even have gym today. I’ll bet it’s you. Let’s see.” He walked toward her, sniffing like a rabbit.
“Keep your nose away from me,” she said. “I don’t smell. And there’s no way I’m going to start sniffing myself.”
“But something smells bad.” I sniffed again. I’d found some bologna in the back of the fridge a year or two ago. It had fallen out of the deli drawer. I don’t know how old it was, but it had smelled pretty much the same way as Abigail’s room.
This didn’t make sense. I looked at the perfectly level poster of Einstein on her wall, and the dust-free rows of books in her bookcase. Abigail was too neat to leave a sandwich lying under her bed or stick a hot dog in one of her desk drawers. Mookie had found a piece of hot dog under my bed once, but I’d never claimed to be all that neat and clean.
“Something in here has to be making that smell.” I grabbed a stuffed animal from her bookcase. Her uncle had sent it to her from Bezimo Island. It was some kind of monkey creature with fangs and claws. It would probably give most kids nightmares, but I’d bet Abigail was fascinated by it.
I took a sniff. “Phew. Found it.”
“No way,” Abigail said. “Mr. Fangle doesn’t smell.” She snatched it from me and took a sniff, then wrinkled her nose. “Oh, ick.” She tossed the stuffed animal out into the hall and closed the door.
Mookie sniffed. “I still smell it.”
“How could you?” I asked.
Abigail sniffed the spot on the bookcase where the monkey had been. “It’s fine. No smell.” She stared at me. “Wait a minute. . . .”
“What?”
“You’re not going to like this,” she said.
I definitely didn’t like the look in her eyes. It reminded me of the way parents’ eyes get before they tell you bad news.
9
P (yo)U
“Hold out your hand,” Abigail said. I held out my hand. She sniffed it, then staggered back. “Ohmygosh! That’s why my Mr. Fangle smelled.” She snapped her fingers, then pointed at me. “And that’s why Adam’s burger smelled. Of course. This makes perfect sense. It’s not either of those things. It’s your hands.”
“No way.” I sniffed my fingers. Oh, no. She was right. My hands smelled like dead meat. I sniffed my arm. It was fine. “It’s not all of me,” I said. “I wonder if it’s just my hands?” I looked at Mookie.
“Forget it!” he shouted. “I’m not sniffing your body.”
“Check your feet,” Abigail said.
I stared down at my feet. I guess I could try to get my foot close to my nose, but I didn’t like the idea of bending my leg that much. I was afraid I’d snap it.
“Oh, just take off your shoe,” Abigail said. “I’ll do it.”
I pulled off my shoe.
Abigail leaned over.
“That’s disgusting,” Mookie said.
“It’s science,” Abigail said. “We do what we have to in order to make discoveries. Madam Curie suffered a lot more than I ever will. But even she wouldn’t eat a hamburger she sneezed on. So watch who you call disgusting.” She sniffed my foot. Then she got up and sniffed my hand again. Finally, she sniffed the top of my head.
“Well?” I asked.
“Extremities,” she said.
I waited.
“Hands and feet,” she said. “Actually, probably just fingers and toes. The outer parts of your body are starting to rot.”
“Rot!” I stared at my hands. I wanted to fling them off my arms. The bad thing was, I could probably do that with a hard-enough fling. “I’m rotting?”
“Well, you are a zombie,” Mookie said. “So it’s not like this is a gigantic surprise.”
“But . . .” This was too big for my mind to swallow in one piece. I thought about the cover of Mookie’s comic book, with all the badly rotted zombies. Bones broke through green flesh. Strips of skin hung from their faces, revealing cheeks and jaws. That couldn’t be me. That would be terrible. I could hear the screams kids would make when they saw me. I’d be a real monster.
“Don’t get upset,” Abigail said. “It’s obviously not happening quickly. And there’s no visible sign of decomposition.” She grabbed my left wrist and pushed my hand in front of my eyes. “See?”
I stared at my hand. It looked fine. A little pale, maybe, and a bit dry, but it wasn’t green and drippy. There weren’t any big hunks of flesh falling off.
“You aren’t visibly rotting,” she said.
“But my fingers smell,” I said.
“It takes only a little bit of decay to create an odor,” she said. “Just a handful of dead cells. That’s one reason why clothing smells when it sits in a hamper for too long. It’s not just from sweat. It’s also got dead skin cells on it. Think about food wrappers in garbage cans.”
“Mmmm,” Mookie said. “Food wrappers. Yum. I love unwrapping food. Wrappers are fun to lick. Especially if there’s melted cheese on them.” He stuck out his tongue and licked the air. “Schnitzel Shack’s Chili Cheese Dogs are great for that. So are Happy Cow’s Triple Lard Bacon Burgers.”
Mookie kept talking, listing his favorite wrappers. I turned my attention back to Abigail. “I know what you mean. Sometimes when I take out the garbage, the stuff already out there gets pretty ripe. But even if it’s just a little bit of rottenness right now, it’s not going to get any better, right?”
She didn’t answer me. I stared at her. She turned her head away. “Come on, Abigail. I need to know.”
“You’re right,” Abigail said. “It won’t get any better, unless we do something. But I can work on it. So can Dr. Cushing.”
“Hey, so can I,” Mookie said. “I’m still working on my research.”
“I appreciate it,” I said.
“And I’m working on other stuff, too,” he said. “I’m always looking for things you can do with your zom
bie skills. You should be able to make tons of money.”
Mookie’s ideas always had problems. But I could tell he was trying to get my mind off my rotting body. “That’s what makes you such an awesome friend,” I said.
“I got another idea when we were walking here,” Mookie said. “This is great.”
“What?”
“Laser tag.” He held up his hands like he was zapping someone. “You’d be awesome. Nobody could sneak up on you, and you could sneak up on everyone.”
I guess he was right. I could look in two directions at the same time. And people didn’t sense me when I sneaked up on them, unless I made noise. “That could be pretty cool,” I said.
Then I pictured myself in a dark room with a bunch of people running around and crashing into each other. Maybe laser tag wouldn’t be such a good idea.
“Hey,” Mookie said, “quarterbacks need to look all around, too.” He threw an imaginary football. “And they make millions.”
“That would give a whole new meaning to ‘taking the snap,’ ” Abigail said. “One hard tackle, and you’d be flying in five different directions.”
“Yeah. Facing a field of pro players would be ridiculous. I wouldn’t even want to get on the field with an amateur like Ridley. You saw what he did with kids his own age.”
Eventually, I knew I had to go home. As I was leaving, Abigail said, “Try not to worry, Nathan. People have dealt with much bigger problems than a little dead flesh.”
“Thanks.” I looked at my hands. They seemed fine. And the smell wasn’t super noticeable yet. But if things got much worse, I wouldn’t be able to go into a closed room without making everyone gasp and gag.
I guess Mookie knew what I was thinking. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll keep people from smelling you. Watch this.” He scrunched up his face and hunched over.
“No!” Abigail and I both shouted.
“Save it for emergencies,” I said.
With that, I headed home. When I got inside, I went right to the shower and scrubbed my hands and feet really well. I used lots of soap. After the shower, I smelled my fingers. They smelled like soap, along with the tiniest whiff of peaches, but I also caught a little bit of that dead-meat smell underneath all the other scents. It looked like I couldn’t completely get rid of the smell. If it got much stronger, I’d be in real trouble. I dried myself off and went back downstairs.
