by Scott Craven
“Anyway, I gotta get to class,” he said. “Just keep an eye on Robbie, OK? I think he got a hint that I’m on your side, which will make him a little more cautious. But he’s still going to try to make you pay.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That will never change.”
The three of us went our separate ways as the one-minute bell rang.
Javon certainly stood out. He was great at almost every sport, had the lead role in the school play, and in seventh grade was named scholar-athlete of the year. Everyone liked him.
He was just a cool guy who happened to be black. But before he was cool, maybe he was just known in our pretty white neighborhood as the black kid, standing out for something as superficial as skin color. I stood out too, because of the way I was born.
“Javon!” I yelled. “Javon!”
He turned around just as he opened the door to one of the halls. “What?”
“Football tomorrow?”
“Sure.” He disappeared inside.
The last bell rang. I was late.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I looked at the red and yellow menu that stretched above the length of the counter, awash in the glare of the fluorescent lights.
Anna and I stood shoulder to shoulder, both scanning the offerings, even though I was going to order the same thing I’d ordered the last hundred times I’d been to the Burger Bucket.
Anna was gazing at the Bucket Lite menu, which had just two items: Bucket of Salad and Bucket of Yogurt Parfait (which was really just an eight-ounce portion, according to the description, stretching the whole “bucket” label).
“I’ll have the salad with creamy Italian,” she said. The guy behind the counter, who I’d seen picking up his brother at our school, punched the order into his terminal.
“Drink?”
“Yes, a Coke please.”
“Size?”
“Um, how big is the bucket of beverage?”
“It’s one-hundred-twenty-eight ounces, and you have to give us a few minutes to pour.”
“I’ll have a medium, then, thanks.”
Anna and I had been getting along even better after the dance. We weren’t quite hanging out at lunch (her friends still gave me looks somewhere between dislike and dismissal, though I was still one of the few who got any reaction from them at all, so I took that as a good sign). But we would talk a few minutes between classes every day.
A few days after the dance, I even asked her to a movie. A real date. Just walked up to her at the bus stop after school and said, “Anna, I was thinking, we should go to a movie sometime.”
But I didn’t stop there.
“Saturday. This Saturday. What do you think?”
“Sure,” she said. “Sounds fun.”
It’s one of those really romantic moments that, when you tell friends, is just a little too personal to share everything. So when I told Luke about it, I just said I asked her out and she said yeah. That way, the really cool stuff is still between Anna and me.
I waited a few days to text her, just so I wouldn’t seem too anxious, and I was kind of nervous when she waited a day to text me back, but she said OK, and after that we still talked between classes. I wasn’t afraid at all that she would back out. Mostly, anyway.
Almost as good, Dad agreed to do the driving without me having to beg.
“So this is actually a date this time?” he said.
“No, just hanging out,” I said, before totally blowing the cool thing. “OK, it’s pretty much a date. For me, anyway.”
“Sounds good,” Dad said. “Tell you what. We won’t even take the ManVan. We’ll do the real car for you.”
Next, I just had to pick the right movie. Something R was out of the question, obviously. But I didn’t want anything lame like PG. Had to go PG-13. Some action, but not too much. But more violence than romance, because I didn’t want her to think I was hitting on her, even though I sort of was.
It took me three days, but I found a movie I was comfortable with: Illegal Alien, about an extraterrestrial who crashes in Mexico, gets in trouble with a drug gang, and has to flee to the US, where he is caught by a female Border Patrol officer, who happens to be the only person who believes his story about coming from outer space.
And things were going so well as we sat in the theater, I put my hand a few inches from hers, and she didn’t move it. And as we shared popcorn, sometimes we reached for it together, and she didn’t pull back.
A great evening all around, and on the way home my dad had a suggestion.
“You guys wanna stop for a late-night snack?” he said. “My treat.”
“Yeah, sure,” Anna said.
And that’s how we found ourselves at the Burger Bucket at around ten p.m., so it was still pretty busy.
“I loved this place when I was your age,” Dad said as we pulled in. “My buddies and I would hang out totally scoping the ladies, you know what I mean? And—”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you do two things for us?”
“Absolutely. Name it.”
“Just wait here for us? And never ever say ‘scoping the ladies’ again?”
“Uh, sure. You bet.”
At the counter, I made sure to do the gentlemanly thing and let Anna order first. When she was done the, clerk looked at me, finger poised over the touch pad.
“May I please have the Bucket o’ Burgers, medium sized, and a small bucket of fries with the barbecue dipping oil?” I said.
“You want the fries spicy or extra soaked?”
“No, regular, please.”
“Drink?”
“Just water.”
“Water?”
“Please.”
“You know I have to go into the back and get, like, a plastic cup for that, right? Because we can’t use our soda cups, in case you were thinking about dumping out the water and getting a Coke or something.”
“Sure, that’s OK.”
“OK for you, but I gotta go into the back. That might take a few minutes … hey, you’re that one kid.”
“Huh?”
“The dead kid, right? My brother told me about you.”
“He told you what?”
“That there’s a dead kid in his school, what do you think? That’s pretty much all you need to know to start a conversation about it. ‘Hey bro, the principal announced today that there’s a dead kid in school.’ And I’m, ‘Dude, aren’t there rules about having bodies in school?’ I mean, Weekend at Bernie’s is funny and all, but not so much if the dead guy is at school, right? And my brother’s like, ‘No, the kid is dead but he’s alive, a zombie.’ That’s crazy stuff, you know. And nothing personal, but you look like a zombie, with the skin and the hair. And your girl here all dressed in black. She your corpse bride or something?”
Anna took a step back, turned, and said, “I’m going to get us a table.”
What I wanted to do was reach across the counter and throttle the guy. What I did was shake my head and say, “That was incredibly uncool.”
“Hey, I said nothing personal. So what is it like, the whole death thing, ’cause it would seem pretty awesome.”
“Seriously, after what you just said, you think I’m going to talk to you?” I took the twenty-dollar bill Dad had given me and crumpled it into a ball. I was going to throw it in the kid’s face, then I remembered he was going to be handling our food. So I tossed it onto the counter, where it bounced a few times.
“Keep the change,” I said, really hoping there was change.
“Yeah, thanks,” he said. “Look, sorry man, you probably get that a lot. I was just … I’ll bring your food out to you when it’s ready, OK?”
I nodded and weaved through the tables, nearly all of them occupied by teens, or teens and their families, with a sprinkling of single people who probably didn’t have a better place to be. I sat opposite Anna at the small table she occupied in the corner. “Some people, huh?”
Anna kept he
r eyes on the table. “People just want to judge you without knowing a thing about you. I am so tired of that.”
“I’m pretty used to it,” I said. “Ever since I was eight or nine, when kids start to notice differences.”
“There was that innocence back then, wasn’t there?”
“I remember one time when I was little, in first grade, we all made these construction-paper hats, and at the end of class we could trade, so me and another guy traded. So when my mom picked me up, she asked me if I made my hat, and I said no, that I traded. She said, ‘With who?’ And I pointed at the kid wearing my hat, and I said, ‘That kid.’ She said, ‘Which? There are so many.’ And I said, ‘The brown kid.’ My mom said, ‘But most of them are brown.’ And I’m thinking my mom is crazy because the kid was the only one who was brown. So I pointed again and said, ‘There, the brown kid with that red and yellow hat. And she says, ‘Oh, the black kid.’ And I said, ‘No, he’s brown, that brown kid.’ My mom just laughed.”
Anna lifted her eyes and looked at me. “That’s a cool story.”
“Yeah, I never thought of it like that before,” I said. “But it reminds me there was a time when everyone thought I was just like them. We used to play games and have wars with our G.I. Joes and set up really cool tracks with our Hot Wheels. But as time went on, people noticed I was different even though I was the same.”
“But what’s wrong with being different?” Anna said. “I got tired of being like everyone else, and everyone telling me to dress like this and act like that. I didn’t want to be ‘them.’ I wanted to be me.”
“Is that why you went goth?”
“Part of it, yeah. I knew the goth girls really stood out, but when I got to know them, I really liked what they stood for. They just didn’t care what everybody thought. There was a kind of freedom about that, just being who you wanted to be.”
“But that’s just it. You chose to be different. That’s cool, but I never got that choice.”
An arm slid in from the side, placing a bucket of salad in front of Anna.
“Salad for the lady,” the guy who took our order said, “and a bucket of burgers for my friend on the other side … you know, of the table. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, that’s great, thanks,” I said.
Anna looked up and nodded.
“Smells good,” I said. “Burgers are one of my favorite foods. That and brains, of course.”
Anna giggled. Sort of. It was a cross between a hiccup and a laugh, but was definitely way more laugh. And she was smiling.
“I get it,” she said. “I’ve seen my share of, you know … ”
“Movies with zombies. Go ahead, you can say it. Zomm-beees.”
“Zombies.”
“See? Not so hard.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
It’s the same question everyone asks. I usually don’t answer, but usually I’m not on a date at the Burger Bucket. I’m waiting for a bus. Or in the checkout lane at the supermarket. Or in front of the tiger enclosure at the zoo.
And usually I’d say, “You want to know what it’s like to be a zombie. I’ll just say this: at least I know my life is a dead end.” And then I’d walk away, either to (dead) silence or a muttered curse. And I’d try my best to forget about it, chalk it up to people’s ignorance. If I was really on a roll, before I turned away I’d give the whole spiel: “Would you walk up to a blind guy and ask him what it’s like not to see? Or a woman in a wheelchair and ask her what it’s like be paralyzed?”
But this time, I didn’t say any of that.
“You want to know what it’s like to be a zombie,” I said, disappointment in my voice.
“No,” Anna said. “I wanted to know if you really thought that shirt went with those pants.”
“Wow, that is a personal question.”
She laughed again. A real laugh, no hint of a hiccup.
“I’m guessing bad fashion sense comes with being undead.”
“Apparently so. But to tell you the truth, my mom picked these out.”
“Oh my God, that’s even worse!” We both laughed. “Tell your mom that even though you’re a … ”
“Zombie.”
“ … zombie, she doesn’t have to dress you as if you were brain-dead.”
“Good point,” I said, looking at my still-untouched bucket of burgers. “But, did you really want to ask me a question?”
“Yeah,” Anna said, picking at her salad. “But I think I’d like to wait and see the answer myself if, you know, you want to hang out again.”
“Really? Because that would be—”
“Oh my God, Anna, you said you would, but I really didn’t think you’d go through with it.” The shrill voice came from two tables over, where three girls pushed their chairs back and stood, each carrying a tray piled with wrappers and paper cups.
Anna’s friends. I didn’t know their names, but I called them (not to their faces) the Twilight Triplets: Bella, Della, and Stella. They were dressed in all black, as usual, with two in pants and the third—Bella, their leader—in a long shirt, short skirt, and torn black leggings.
My eyes followed them as they marched single file to the trash can, Bella in front. Bella opened the flap and tossed in everything, tray included, then Della and Stella followed suit with their trays.
“Jed, I’m sorry, I had no idea they’d be here,” Anna said in just above a whisper. “This really isn’t their kind of place.”
“No need to apologize,” I said. “They’re your friends, I understand.”
“No, you don’t—look, let’s grab our food and—”
“Fancy running into you guys, this is just too much.” Bella, Della, and Stella now stood over us. The scent of grease mixed with a harsh odor of incense. Had to be their perfume, probably whatever was on sale in the “Holy Crap This Stuff Is Strong” aisle at Hot Topic.
“You’re Jed, the zombie boy,” Bella said. “You are so famous—like, can I have your autograph? Here, write on this.”
Bella snatched one of my napkins and held it toward me, so I grabbed it before she could shove it in my face.
“Look at him, he thought I was serious,” she said, taking the napkin out of my hand, putting it between her lips and scrunching them together. She returned the napkin, now with a perfect red lip print. “Something to remember me by.”
Anna shot up out of her seat. “Jed, c’mon, let’s go.”
“Hey, hey, not so fast, we just wanted to say hi and be on our way,” Bella said. “Relax, Anna.”
Bella faced me, reaching into my carton of fries and slowly, very slowly, pulling one out. Stella and Della giggled as Bella put it in her mouth, where it disappeared just as slowly between bites.
“So Anna, what did the zombie say?” Bella said, her eyes never leaving me. “Is he OK with it?”
I looked back at Anna. “Am I OK with what?”
“Nothing,” she snapped, swiveling to Bella. “And Christine, you shut up.”
Christine? Never would have guessed.
Anna lifted her tray, holding a barely touched salad. “Jed, c’mon, I’m not in the mood for this.”
“Anna, do we really need the drama?” Bella—Christine—said. “We were just curious if Jed was going to help you out.”
“Help with what?” I said to Anna, who stood frozen. Only, did she shake her head just a little?
“Nothing. Christine gets these weird ideas,” Anna said. “Who knows what she’s talking about.”
“Oh my God, you haven’t said a word to him about it, have you?” Christine said. She turned to me. “Do you know why she agreed to go out with you, the school freak? Anna says I get weird ideas, but this one never occurred to me.”
“I … you … she did because I … ” I stammered. I had to admit, I had wondered why Anna would go out with, as Bella put it, the “school freak.” You spend any time with me, you open yourself up to a lot of crap from people. But I’d told myself Anna didn�
��t care. The way she looked, the way she acted—it didn’t matter what others thought. It’s almost the definition of goth.
But going out with me went far beyond wearing black clothes, chain belts, and heavy mascara. It put her even further into “weird” territory. It looked like she even had the goths making fun of her, which was only one step up from being a braces-wearing, Rubik’s-Cube-solving, gifted-class-attending kid (which was still a step above a dead kid).
“Anna,” I said. “Why did you go out with me?”
She cleared her throat and started to move her lips. Then she dropped her tray and had just about gotten out the door by the time the last of her Coke burbled out of the cup on the floor.
I’d started after her when Bella said, “Don’t you want to know the truth?”
No, I didn’t. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. But my feet wouldn’t move. I was a deer centered in the glare of headlights.
“You know that everybody heard about what happened in the locker room between you and Robbie, and that Ooze stuff we’ve all read about on the Internet. So of course Robbie came back fine and all, but talking about how weird he felt when all your stuff got on him. And Anna says, ‘I wonder what would happen if you kissed him, or … ’ and we’re like, ‘God, Anna, gross.’ No offense of course, but you know … Anyway, Anna says ‘Maybe it’s like AIDS, and you can catch it.’ And so we started talking about what life would be like if you were a zombie. How you can do stuff like take off your own limbs and put them back on. And the way your joints went all crazy at the dance. We thought it was wicked cool different.
“We went from fantasizing about it to wondering if it could actually happen. Like catching something from you. But Anna, she was the only one who came up with the idea of going right to the source. So, you gonna do it?”
“What?” I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing.
“You gonna do a little zombie magic and turn our girl into one of you? Is it a blood-exchange thing, like a vampire? Or a bite, maybe, kind of a werewolf thing? Or is there another way?”
I shook my head slowly and stood up. Was it possible? Was this whole thing just a sick, twisted plot? Could Anna really believe I had the power to turn people into zombies?
