Then Kiki turned to me and gave me a big hug, too. For a minute I thought she was going to break my bones. It was scary. And nice.
“Wow, you’re strong,” I said.
“You’re darn right I am,” she said, releasing me. “Take care of the birthday man, and I’ll see you in school on Monday.”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
Part of me meant it.
Finally it was time for bed. The movie ended with all the humans living happily ever after, and all the zombies destroyed, as usual.
“Zombie movies are so silly,” I told Evan, as we brushed our teeth. “I mean, Kiki is right, they don’t even exist.”
“How do you know?” he said. “Maybe they do exist, but we’re protected from them, because if they lived near us, they really would want to eat our brains. You never know.”
“I do know,” I said.
He looked at me with a funny expression on his face. “Are you just saying that because your middle initial and your last name together spell Zombee?”
“No, of course not,” I added quickly. “Now that I think about it, I agree with you. You can’t be too careful.”
Sometimes it’s better to be agreeable than to be right.
We put on our pajamas and went into his room, where he had a bunk bed. I took my contact lenses out right before we turned out the light.
“I’ll sleep on the top,” I said.
“Are you sure? You’re not scared of falling out or anything?”
“Nope.”
The only thing I was scared of was Evan seeing the red streak across my eyes.
We’d been laying in bed for about ten minutes, talking about silly stuff, when we heard the front door open downstairs.
“Evan?” a man’s voice called. “Birthday man, are you still up?”
“Dad!” Evan hollered. “Yay!” He sprang out of bed. “Come meet my dad! He works crazy hours, sometimes all night, but he promised he’d come back before we fell asleep to wish me a happy birthday. And he did!”
Evan raced out of the room and sprinted down the stairs. I climbed down the bunk bed ladder, quickly went to the bathroom to put in a new pair of lenses, and then headed downstairs.
Evan was bear-hugging his dad, so I couldn’t see his dad’s face. A brand-new bicycle with a bow on it was leaning up against the wall.
“You got me a bike!” Evan exclaimed. “I can’t believe it!”
“Ten-speeder,” said Evan’s dad. “That’s a real man’s bike right there.”
“Wow! Thanks!”
Evan’s dad looked up and noticed me. He smiled. “And who’s this?”
“Oh, right!” Evan said, excited to introduce us. “This is Arnold. He’s new in school, but he’s already one of my best friends. Kiki had to go home because she’s a girl, but Arnold is sleeping over.”
“Well, hey there, Arnold.” He walked over to shake my hand. “I’m Horace Brantley. My wife told me she met you a few days back, for a brief minute. I’m very glad to welcome Evan’s new friend to our house.”
We shook hands. He was tall, with a friendly but stern look in his eyes. He had some sort of military hat on, and a red beard that was already turning gray. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.
He looked at me for a long time. “New in school, eh, Arnold? And why is that? Your family just move here?”
“Well, not exactly,” I said. “I’m just staying with my aunt and uncle for a while while my parents are away on assignment.”
Mr. Brantley chuckled. “Away on assignment? That sounds intriguing. What kind of assignment?”
“I’m not really supposed to say,” I said.
“They’re some sort of spies or secret agents,” Evan chimed in.
“Ah, I see.” Mr. Brantley bent down, and I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes, like he just remembered something. “What’s your last name, Arnold?”
“Ombee,” I told him. “O-M-B-E-E.”
“Rhymes with zombie, huh? Look out, Evan, he might bite us and then we’ll be zombies, too!” He roared with laughter, then stood up and took his jacket off. “You two go on back to bed, now. I’ve got to go get some supper and talk with Mom.”
“But, Dad!” Evan moaned. “You just got home.”
“I know, son, but it was a busy day today, and I have to eat. Defending our nation can really work up a guy’s appetite.”
Evan looked at me. “My dad’s the regional commander of the National Martial Services. How cool is that?”
“Very cool,” I said, but a sharp chill ran up my spine.
Mr. Brantley gave his son one last hug. “Hope you had a great birthday,” he said to Evan, but he was looking at me.
“Thanks, Dad,” Evan said.
As we headed back up the stairs, Evan was talking a mile a minute. “I can’t believe my dad got me a bike. That’s so awesome. I already have a bike, but it’s old. Do you have a bike?”
He kept talking, but I wasn’t listening anymore. My mind was racing a mile a minute with other thoughts. Thoughts of fear, and panic, and survival.
Because I knew who Evan’s dad was.
I crawled up to the top bunk, with one thought running through my head.
I recognized him. But maybe he didn’t recognize me.
“Arnold? Are you asleep?”
“Not yet.”
Not ever.
Evan sighed deeply and happily. “This was the best birthday. I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I’m really glad I’m here, too.” Which had been totally true, until about four minutes ago.
“I remember when I got the bunk beds,” Evan said, sleepily. “I begged my parents for a long time to get them. They kept saying no, they were too dangerous. But finally I talked them into it. I wanted them for sleepovers. I was going to have a lot of sleepovers with the bunk beds.”
“Cool.”
“But I didn’t,” Evan said. “You ended up being my first sleepover.”
I whistled. “Wow. I’m honored.”
“Ha! You should be.” And then, two seconds later, he was asleep.
I lay there for a few minutes, listening to the rhythm of Evan’s breathing. I thought about how confusing the last few days had been. How I’d made up my mind to leave, but then I changed my mind and wasn’t sure, and how seeing Evan’s dad reminded me of the danger I would be putting everyone in—including myself—if I really did stay.
At least I had all night to think about it.
I was staring out the window, looking at the stars in the night sky and thinking about how fun it had been to jump on the trampoline with Evan and Kiki, when I heard the bedroom door creak open.
A sliver of light from the hallway streaked in, just enough for me to see the shadow of a person standing in the doorway.
“Hello?” I said.
The shadow didn’t answer.
Evan kept snoring.
“Who is that?” I asked, my voice trembling just a little bit.
“Why aren’t you asleep, Arnold?” the shadow whispered. “Not tired?”
“Mrs. Brantley? Is that you?” I was pretty sure it wasn’t, but I asked anyway.
“Nope. Try again.” The shadow moved closer, and I saw that it was carrying something big. “I have a hunch why you’re not tired. It’s because you don’t get tired. Isn’t that right?”
By now, the shadow was standing right by the bed. I heard a click, and a bright flashlight suddenly blinded me.
“You can’t fool me, Arnold Z. Ombee,” hissed the shadow. “You can’t fool me with those fake blue eyes, and that friendly smile, and that new-kid-in-school act. I recognized you the second I saw you.” He turned the flashlight up toward his own face, and I saw Mr. Brantley leaning in, with a wild look in his eyes. “Just like I know you recognized me.” He leaned in closer. “Because we’ve met before, haven’t we, Norbus Clacknozzle?”
“I don’t think so,” I managed to croak.
“Oh, I
’m afraid we have,” he said. “But guess what? It wasn’t even me who spotted you. My wife knew who you were, the second she saw you. She tipped me off. How’s that for some detective work?”
I thought back to the other day, when I met Mrs. Brantley on the walk home. I’d forgotten all about that when I tried to figure out who’d called the authorities.
And I’m supposed to be super smart.
“But I told her, let’s not jump to conclusions,” said the shadow. “We don’t want to accuse an innocent young boy, now, do we? Let’s throw Evan a little party, make sure he invites you, and then we’ll know for sure.” Mr. Brantley held up the big thing he’d brought into the room. With a growing sense of dread I realized what it was.
A bag of salt.
He was going to do a Salt Melt to paralyze me right then and there, while his son slept soundly next to us.
Without even thinking, I grabbed the flashlight out of his hand and shined it in his face to blind him. Then, when he held his hand up to shield his eyes, I whacked him on the head with it.
“OW!” he cried out in pain.
I jumped out of bed, climbed down the ladder, and started running for the door.
Evan stirred. “Hello?” he mumbled. “What’s going on? Dad, is that you?”
“Go back to sleep, son,” Mr. Brantley said. He grabbed me, trying to stop me from leaving, but I slipped out of his grasp. Then I took the blanket that was covering Evan and threw it over his father’s face, but I couldn’t escape, because Mr. Brantley was blocking the door. I decided to try to jump out the window, even though we were on the second floor. But by then, he’d gotten rid of the blanket and was running after me.
Mr. Brantley grabbed the salt bag just as I was opening the window, but as he tried to pour it on me, I ducked out of the way. He tried again, and I realized I had no choice. I had to go for it. I had to do it again.
I reached out with my right hand and squeezed his left shoulder. “What the—!” said Mr. Brantley.
And then he couldn’t move.
Unable to control his legs, Mr. Brantley started to tip forward toward the window. I ran and opened it. Then, as he fell past me, I pushed him as hard as I could—as hard as I’ve ever pushed anything in my whole non-life.
“ARRRGGHH!” cried Mr. Brantley, as he disappeared through the window.
Two seconds later, I heard a thud as he landed on the front lawn.
“DAD!!!!” cried Evan, who was fully awake by now. “ARNOLD? WHAT’S HAPPENING?”
But I didn’t stick around to answer Evan’s question.
I flew out of the room as fast as my rubbery legs could take me, headed down the stairs, through the hallway, and out the front door. Then I started running—or doing my version of running—and I didn’t stop for ten whole minutes, until my legs collapsed and I fell down in a heap.
I was sweating yellow goo all over my hands and feet. I wasn’t breathing hard—because I don’t breathe at all—but I just couldn’t run anymore. After a short rest, I got up and started walking. And walking, and walking, and walking.
I had no idea what to do, and I had no idea where to go.
But I knew one thing.
I wasn’t going back.
When you’re walking along a road at night, and there’s no one around, and there no sound except the wind brushing through the trees, and there’s nothing to look at except stars and blackness, you think of the strangest things.
You picture what it’s like to have a real family, and a mom who loves you.
You imagine what it’s like to be a human boy.
You wonder what life would be like if you only had one leg.
You pretend to know what chocolate pie tastes like.
You sing that weird song that Lester plays every morning in the bathroom when he’s taking a shower.
People are strange
When you’re a stranger.
Faces look ugly
When you’re alone.
I kept walking.
It started to rain. Then the rain stopped and water on the road made it slippery. Then it went from dark to semi-dark, and you could kind of see your hand in front of your face, but it looked like a gray blob. Then the darkness faded, and light announced the beginning of a new day.
And the whole time, I walked. I kept walking and walking, until I saw a place I recognized.
Clarendon Hill.
This was where I’d been, just a few weeks ago. Where everything ended, and everything began, and everything changed.
I kept walking.
And then I saw it.
The ditch that I fell into where I hit my head and forgot everything.
But maybe I didn’t forget everything.
Maybe I never knew anything.
My legs suddenly felt very tired, and I found myself walking toward that ditch, as a place to hide from the world while I figured out what to do next, all over again.
I crossed the street toward the ditch, just under the WELCOME TO CLARENDON HILL sign. I leapt down and was immediately greeted with the biggest shock of my young semi-life.
I wasn’t alone.
A girl was there.
And she didn’t seem all that shocked to see me.
It was still a little dark, but I could make her out well enough. The first thing I recognized was the pink ribbon in her hair. She was laying with her back against the side of the ditch, with a small red bag next to her.
“Oh, hey,” I said.
She said nothing.
“It’s me, Arnold. From school.”
She didn’t seem scared at all, or even surprised that someone else had just jumped into the ditch where she was hiding. (I mean, I think she was hiding. What else does one do in a ditch?) She wouldn’t look at me, but she did move over a little bit, so I could sit down. She was very still and seemed very calm.
Maybe she was actually glad to see me, because that meant she wasn’t alone anymore.
We sat there for about twenty minutes, just staring into space. I didn’t know what to say to her. Finally I had an idea.
“I’m sorry, I forget your name,” I said, which wasn’t true. “What is it again?”
The girl stared up at the sky.
“Sally Anne?”
She shook her head no, quickly, back and forth.
“Sheila Mae?”
More head shakes.
“Carrie Jane?”
She let out a frustrated grunt, then reached into her red bag and pulled out her spelling board. She held it out, like she wanted me to hold it for her, so I did. She started pointing at letters with her right hand, but she was going so fast I couldn’t keep up.
“Slower!” I said. “Please!”
An annoyed expression crossed her face, but she made a wiping motion across the board, then started again. This time I could keep up as her fingers brushed against each letter. S-A-R-A-H A-N-N-E.
“Sarah Anne. That’s right!”
A tiny smiled crossed her lips, then quickly disappeared.
“Nice to see you again. I’m Arnold.”
She wrote on her board: I REMEMBER. THE PUDDING EATER.
“Actually,” I said, “can I tell you a secret? I’m not Arnold. I’m Norbus.” I paused. “It’s a long story.”
She wrote: I BET.
“Why are you here?” I asked her.
She shook her head like she didn’t want to answer.
“I was in this ditch once before,” I said. “Actually, I fell in and hit my head. And then I woke up and just hid in here because I was scared.”
No response.
“I hid here all night,” I went on. “I was alone. I didn’t know where I’d come from, and I had no place to go. But I knew I couldn’t stay here because the same people who were after me would come back. So I ran. I ran, and I ran, and I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. And that’s when two people found me and took care of me.” I noticed she was looking at me for the first time. Not at my shoulder, but staring intensely
into my eyes. “And since then,” I went on, “I’ve met other people who also want to take care of me, or be my friend. And I realized that no matter how bad things are, or how scary the world is, there is always someone who will help you. A lot of someones, actually.”
The sun peeked out from the horizon.
“Are you running away? Is that why you’re here?”
She shrugged, then motioned for me to pick up the board. Her right hand started moving.
I COME HERE SOMETIMES. BUT NEVER BEFORE AT NIGHT.
“Does it have to do with something that happened in school? You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
I LOST MY HORSE.
“I’m really sorry,” I said.
I AM ALL ALONE.
“Want to hear something funny?” I asked her. “I thought you were lucky, because people didn’t bother you.”
THEY WERE IGNORING ME. IT’S EASIER THAT WAY.
“For you or for them?”
FOR THEM. AND I GUESS MAYBE FOR ME, TOO.
“Oh,” I said. “I guess it gets lonely sometimes, huh?”
YES.
I didn’t know what to say to that, except the truth. “I will be your friend, Sarah Anne, and you won’t have to be alone.”
SOMETIMES I SCREAM, BUT NO ONE CAN HEAR ME. NOT EVEN MY PARENTS.
“That’s like me,” I told her. “When I try to yell, nothing comes out.”
She stared, just past my eyes.
“I think we all feel that way sometimes,” I said.
We sat quietly for a while, until I noticed that her left hand was balled up into a fist, and there was something inside it. It looked like a crumpled-up piece of paper.
I pointed. “What’s that?”
She slowly opened her hand and lifted it up to me. Before I read it, I knew what it was.
“Is it a poem? Can I read it?”
She handed it to me. It was called “Hope.”
I read it out loud.
In darkness it is hard to see what’s in front of you
Shapes are blurred and there’s nothing to hold on to
A Zombie Ate My Homework Page 10
