by Molly Snow
“That.” Marsha pointed with a long orange fingernail to the grave.
All eyes went to Maggie again, who for once seemed at a loss for words. “Uh, well, uh…”
“What are you burying?” Ted fiddled with the whiskers of his mustache in curiosity.
“A zombie,” Maggie let out.
Stella couldn’t believe it. Of all the times to tell the truth, now was not one of them.
“A zombie?” Marsha put a hand to her chest in surprise. “You’re kidding!!!” She turned to Ted. “A zombie, Ted! Does the fun never end? Grab the shovel and pitch in! The grave needs to be deeper.”
Stella raised her eyebrows at her friends, studying their responses. They looked equally speechless, except for Maggie. Maggie stated with a long sigh, as if releasing a great burden off her shoulders, “You believe me then.”
“Dear, of course I believe you.” Marsha put an arm around her shoulders. “I can tell when someone is lying or not.”
“Oh wonderful.” Maggie smiled. “Well, then, you wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I told you I’m not Maggie Partridge…”
“Maggie!” Kit cut in. “What are you doing?”
“Hmmm.” Marsha looked at Ted. “I guess my intuition’s off just a bit. Nobody’s perfect, right?” She giggled, and turned back to Maggie: “Anywho, darlin’, who’s the zombie?”
Holy cow, Stella slapped her hands to her face. The woman had responded like she just asked for a second round of tea. But Maggie’s eyes lit up at the chance to explain. “It’s Mrs. Partridge herself. She nearly killed us the other night, the ol’ bat! It was the most terrifying thing ever. Thankfully Gordon here really does know Karate, and got her before she got us.”
“You don’t say!” Marsha giggled and glanced at her smiling husband. “Well, good on you,” she told Gordon, who blushed in return. She might as well have pinched his cheeks, Stella thought. Her tone was like that of a proud mother.
“Oh, dear, it really is too bad we dropped our camera down that one waterfall.” Marsha shook her head in thought.
TWENTY-FOUR
The bright sunshine had no rousing affect on Damien. Instead, he slept in the driver’s seat until his eyes popped open with the sudden thought of his father. There was a huge fear that the man he never met had just up and left, changed his mind, decided it was a bad idea after all. He shot up in his seat to look in the rearview mirror. It was a relief to see he was back to his normal self, though his jeans were torn at the seams and so was his shirt. He quickly changed into other clothes, right then and there, topping it all off with a spray of cologne; it would do until he could properly shower for the day.
Right away he noticed how all the cars but two were gone from the lot—the station wagon and the black sedan. He felt some relief over that. Ideally, a meeting of this significance would be done under more private circumstances. There was no desire for the other PAA members to be there. After one knock, the door opened.
“Son?”
“Father?”
They hugged for a long time.
*
“Honey buns, I said to hit Bieber in the pants, right where it hurts!”
Stella sighed. “Mom.”
“Do it!”
The pop star stared back at her with a little smile, looking so innocent. Just because Stella didn’t care for his music, or his Michael Jackson jacket, it didn’t mean she hated him. But... “I’d rather aim for the head, if you don’t mind.”
“I commend you for being brave enough to make a sure shot like that, sweetie. But we just want to bust a cap on his you-know-what; not kill the guy.”
“Really?”
“Billy’s a stalker, not a murderer. Practice crippling a man, not killing him.”
Stella got silent, letting the cold gun go limp in her hand. So she hadn’t been totally open with her mother. Only the PAA would know about Billy’s little secret, and how he wanted to turn her. Only they would understand. Spending her senior year in a padded cell with a matching straight jacket wasn’t her idea of fun.
BOOM! The blast was loud enough to vibrate her ear protection. Stella opened her eyes, which had been squeezed shut in shock for a long moment, and saw Bieber stood there completely intact. It was her mother’s cardboard target that had a new hole.
Was it really necessary to make her father part of target practice? There he was, standing a realistic six-feet tall, wearing his custom black suit, but with a bullet wound. “Mom, you’re intent on giving me nightmares, aren’t you?”
“A woman’s gotta have some inspiration… and fun.” She tittered, before putting her gun into her garter.
Stella had to give her credit for her brazenness. “How did you and Dad ever fall in love in the first place?”
“Shoot your target, and then I’ll tell you.”
Stella lifted the weapon, aimed “right where it hurts,” and pulled the trigger.
“Yow!” came a yelp.
It was a man a few booths over. “I’ll never cross you, girlie!” he added. “Wowee!”
“That’s my daughter!” Her mom prided herself.
“Mom.”
After a couple more embarrassing moments of talk with the stranger—about how it was too bad Stella wasn’t old enough to own a gun, how they reported her stalker to the police, and what a little Annie Oakley she’s turning out to be—the shooting resumed.
No matter how many bullets punched through Stella’s target, however, it still stood there, smiling. And that fact, scared her to death. How do you kill the undead, anyway?
*
Kit scratched the Scotch tape to yet another zombie poster off Stella’s bedroom wall. With somberness, she laid it flat on the pile that formed on the bed. Seeing her friend’s sadness, Stella couldn’t help but compare the situation to a funeral. Stella was laying her former self to sleep, never to wake up again.
When Kit went for the Johnny Depp picture above the headboard, Stella caught her wrist. “You can leave that one,” she said, and Kit gave a satisfied smile in response.
TWENTY-FIVE
Stella took a deep breath as she exited Kit’s beetle. School sure looked the same, but it didn’t feel the same. It stood there, a gray, two-story structure, colder than ever before. It didn’t matter that the summer sun was doing a good job of lighting the morning sky; it felt cold. A glance across the packed parking lot made her think of her driver’s ed class, when Billy’s gaze took her by surprise. She caught her breath. He was leaning against a car, just watching her. “Him,” she said.
“Who?” Kit asked. “Where?”
Stella pointed, but there was no one. “Never mind.”
“Did you see Billy?”
“N-no. I just thought I did.”
“Okay, you’re freaking me out.” Kit touched Stella’s shoulder and moved in front of her, blocking her line of sight. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Um… yeah,” she said, knowing full-well, though, it was only a matter of time before he’d pop up somewhere unexpected. Someday it wouldn’t be her mind playing tricks on her. He would be there. She tapped at the bulge in her pocket, thankful her mom had thought to supply her with pepper spray. But do zombies even react to pepper spray? She thought of Mrs. Partridge popping up like a Pop Tart after Maggie flattened her.
Caleb just about galloped in delight over to them, and quickly snatched Kit’s hand in his. “First day of school, and we’re seniors. Booyah!” The three followed the swarm of students entering the campus.
Kit said with a warning tone, “Stella’s having a rough morning.”
Not taking the hint, Caleb looked over Stella’s ensemble and said, “What’s the matter? You fulfilled your dare to ask Damien on a date. You don’t have to dress all girly for your first day of school.”
“I wanted to wear this,” Stella said seriously, and looked down to her retro-inspired preppie dress.
Kit switched gears, as if forgetting her warning to Caleb just a second ago. “Yeah, it’s st
ill going to take me a while to get used to, you know. You look so different.”
“Neither of you are shallow enough to dump me as a friend over the way I dress, are you?” Stella said. She knew they weren’t, but their comments upset her. Personally, she was pleased with her look. The combat boots she would miss, but she wasn’t married to her old stuff.
“You just look so… different,” Kit said.
“Hey, give me a break. At least it’s not the tutu.” She smiled.
“…I guess so.” Her friend eyed her some more as they entered the courtyard between classes. “But you really look like Hannah Montana right now.”
Caleb snickered to that.
“What?” Stella stopped in her tracks and glared. “I’m not dressed anything like her. Are you sure you mean Hannah Montana?”
“Yeah, not like Miley Cyrus, but like Hannah Montana. Her alter-ego pop star look. Is that a wig?”
Kit went to pull a strand and Stella caught her hand midway. “No, it is not a wig. It’s not even blonde. The bottle said Chestnut, and it’s the closest thing to my natural hair color. So please don’t compare me to Ms. Montana.”
“It’s just—”
“Zip!”
“But—”
“Zip it!”
Caleb interjected. “Hey, don’t hate on Hannah. She’s got the best of both worlds.”
Stella sighed. “You guys, I want my first day to go smoothly.”
Kit asked, “Does this mean you aren’t a fan of The Deathheads anymore?”
“Huh? Of course I am their fan, for forever. Nothing will change that. The Meet and Greet is still on for next month.”
Everyone was rushing to their separate classes, and soon Stella found hers with a wave goodbye to her friends. Apparently those in her homeroom English class were early birds, as they already were seated, shuffling through their bags. She couldn’t help but notice some of the guys give a double-take glance up to her. Spotting Damien, she quickly averted her eyes and took an open seat near the front.
*
Damien sat in the very back of class, tapping his pencil against his desk while Tyler talked about all he missed while away. “Dude,” Tyler leaned to him from the desk to his right, “we need to do some major catching up. It’s time for you to come back to the shore and surf.”
He gave a noncommittal nod, not looking his friend in the eyes. For once Damien wished he could just disappear from out of his popular status. On the first day of school, with the first class barely started, he already felt so much pressure. Add to that, that this was the earliest he had been up and active in a month, and he knew he was doomed to sitting through class with his head on his desk, recuperating.
Someone with dark hair walked in late and handed the teacher a note. Automatically, he thought of Stella and fixed his eyes on her. When she turned to take her seat, he saw it was someone else. He slumped back down in his seat and felt his heart rate come back down.
Just his luck, Tina from Dough-licious then entered with her usual heels click-clacking. It was the first time Damien saw her since the bonfire. Since returning home from the PAA’s fieldtrip, his uncle relieved him of his duties, to spend some much needed time with his dad.
Damien averted his eyes to the teacher rifling through some notes at his desk, but could hear Tina clack down his row, and couldn’t help but glance up. She noticed, as if waiting for him to look her way, and snapped around, giving him the cold shoulder before taking an empty seat. It was just as well, and he sighed in relief.
Class was a blur to him. He could feel his eyes were still bloodshot. At one point, he was certain he heard someone whisper, “What’s wrong with him?” But he didn’t care to look up.
When his favorite subject, PE, came around, he didn’t feel any better. His teacher wasted no time getting right into things. Damien had to use all his concentration to perform at a much lower level than he was capable. He didn’t want to come across as inhuman, racing past his peers on the track, grappling up a rope like it was nothing, and performing thirty push-ups without breaking a sweat. Not trying, however, sucked all the fun out of stuff he loved.
Coach came over to Damien at the end of class, and with an arm around his shoulders, said, “It’s good to see you. This football season we’ll break records for sure. How much are you bench pressing now? I see you’ve put in a lot of work over summer.”
“Uh-I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure, son? You’re huge. You have to be working out at the YMCA at least six times a week to get this big. Probably taking protein drinks, eating right, the whole nine yards.”
Damien forced a half-smile and ignored responding to the comment.
“You okay?” Coach asked. “You look out of it.” He then lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “You aren’t on ’roids are you? Listen, if you are, you can confide in me. I can help.”
“I’m fine.” Damien looked him in the eyes, assuring him. “It’s a growth spurt.”
“Big growth spurt. …Okay, well, just so you know, you’re on the Varsity team again. Come to try-outs just for the formalities, the paperwork, all that mumbo jumbo. But, you’re in.” He winked.
“Thanks, Coach.” Under normal circumstances, Damien would have been all pumped up over the compliment and offer.
“I don’t want to find out later that you’ve been on the juice when you just told me you’re clean. You understand?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’m clean.”
Back in the locker room, he turned away from the other guys while changing. After buttoning his jeans and shoving his t-shirt over his head, he thought for sure he saw Stella. He shot a glance back over to the showers, back to the dripping black tresses with hope, but quickly grossed himself out at the sight of big hands scrubbing through the hair.
It
was
a
dude.
Damien shook his head in exasperation. Who else would be in the guys’ locker room? As if a girl would just happen to be showering openly, right there. If he thought one more person was Stella… Then he realized he didn’t even know if Stella attended Shoreline High. He hadn’t asked her, and she didn’t say anything that would clue him in. They barely had two conversations the whole time he was down there, at the PAA trip. And here he was getting all worked up over thinking he spotted her over and over, when she probably attended the other high school in town, Liberty High.
“Earth to Damien,” someone said.
“Huh?” He turned to them. It was another football player. One of the running backs.
“I was talking to you about the upcoming season, but your head is in the clouds, man.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Long night,” he just said, and slammed his locker shut.
TWENTY-SIX
“Ding dong!” The door bell rang, making Stella jump in surprise. She was home alone, and all the way upstairs in her bedroom. Automatically, her eyes darted to her window, which was now boarded up at her request. With a huff, she headed downstairs.
Through the peephole, she caught sight of what looked like a bug head—huge eyes with glasses, and a narrow little chin. When she opened the door, she found what she thought was a distorted image reflected real life pretty well. “Gordon, hi. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you about the PAA,” he said, pushing his glasses up.
“The PAA? It’s not in existence anymore….”
“Well, it sort of still is. Maggie and I have been meeting together.”
That was news. She didn’t know how to feel about that. “For real? You do? And you… get along?”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad. Maggie and I are sort of friends now, I guess.”
Hm. “That’s cool. So why are you telling me about this?”
“Well, I have a couple questions, if you don’t mind.”
Stella glanced over her shoulder to the living room’s couch. “Alr
ight. Come inside.”
Gordon entered with a look of reverence. Or was it nervousness? He sat down and folded his hands on his lap, after again pushing his glasses up his nose. Stella took a chair across from him, still wearing her dress.
“You look different,” he said, eyeing her from head to toe.
“Yes, I do,” she stated flatly. “It was totally on purpose.”
“Of course. I mean, I wouldn’t expect your mother to be dressing you at your age. I mean, you look nice, Stella.”
“Thank you.” She smiled for receiving her first compliment of the day, even if it didn’t come across the best.
He looked down to his folded hands and back up to her, still not saying anything.
“What would you like to ask?” she insisted.
“Have you seen Billy around?”
Stella twitched her head to say no. “Why?”
“That’s good,” he said. “I know you don’t want to be a part of PAA anymore, so I just wanted to know if it was just because of Billy. Because of, you know, zombies.”
“Pretty much. Kit can now be happy I am over with that phase. I had her help me tear down my posters and get rid of my zombie books.” The werewolf romance in her night stand came to mind. She had forgotten about that one.
“So…, does this mean you are open to discussing other creatures? We can make PAA a zombie-free zone, so you can still be included.”
“I’m pretty much against anything paranormal now.” Stella furrowed her brows and felt her shoulders tense up. “I don’t find fun in it anymore.”
“I understand.” Gordon looked deflated, and slumped back in his seat.
“It will be okay, right? You two won’t really miss me that much, will you?” She picked a hanging thread off her skirt.
“I’ll miss you,” he slowly confessed. “You were the only one who supported me in my Bigfoot research. You didn’t believe in him, but still. You didn’t make me feel like a total dweeb about it either.”
“Awww, Gordon. That’s because you’re not a dweeb.”
“I’m not?” he asked, looking up at her.
“No, Gordon. Your accomplishments are out of this world. Literally. You’ve been in space! Come on, that is amazing right there. You just turned sixteen, and already you have a driver’s license. I still need to get my butt in gear and get mine. And do I even need to mention how you karate kicked Mrs. Partridge, saving us all from getting our brains eaten?”
