My So-Called Death

by Stacey Jay

  I can safely say I'd never felt so repulsive. Even knowing the girl losing it across the room was a nutcase didn't help. I hadn't expected to be immediate BFFs with my roommate, but I hadn't expected this either. This was... horrible! Clarice and her freaky black bed and nasty grease head and chipped black fingernails had finally finished the job of making this the worst day of my entire life. Bar none.

  "Oh gosh, Karen. Don't cry. I promise you, this will get better," Mandy Dee said with a tentative pat on my arm. "Clarice gets upset easily, but she--"

  "Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Clarice yelled from under her blanket, her words ending in a strangled sob.

  "Really, it won't be that bad," our RA continued in a whisper. "She's all bark and--"

  "I am not! I am not all bark. I bite, and I'll bite her if you let her stay here!" After those encouraging words, Clarice fell completely apart, sobbing so hysterically you would have thought the powers that be were forcing her to room with a freak with infectious boils, not a perfectly clean natural blond.

  28

  For some reason, hearing her crying harder made me start crying harder too, and pretty soon I couldn't even hear what Mandy Dee was saying as she flipped off the lights and backed out of the room. All I could hear was the sound of my own nonbeating heart breaking as I hurled myself onto my pink bed and sobbed until the exhaustion of the day finally got to me.

  As my eyes slid closed, I worried for a second that Clarice would try to kill me in my sleep, but then I remembered I was already dead--or Undead--and it probably wouldn't matter if she did. I was mostly indestructible and likely to be around for a very long time.

  Which didn't sound so great right now. Life had just been getting weirder and weirder from the second I'd died. I had a feeling the only thing I could count on was that the weirdness would continue.

  And I didn't like weirdness. Not one little bit.

  29

  CHAPTER THREE

  In our darkest hours, when the sound of a nonbeating heart is as loud in its absence as the hooves of many thousand Roman horses, still we remain, the Undead, the Undeniable, sons and daughters of the first Egypt.

  --Akori, ancient Egyptian slave & third generation

  Undead, Zombie Poets Through the Ages, 2nd edition

  "You're going to have to take that off before lunch," Trish warned as she threw the books from her morning classes in her locker and brushed her straight brown bangs out of her face. The look in her eyes was completely serious, but I still couldn't keep from smiling.

  I had a new friend! Before the events of last night, that wouldn't have been such a big deal. I made friends easily and often. But after eight fitful hours breathing the same air as Clarice the Psychotic and Evil, listening to her sob and mutter to herself under her blanket all night, I had a new appreciation for friendly faces.

  Trish was well on her way to being my new BFE So far, I loved the girl like a zombie loves brains. She was excessively funny and friendly and had gone out of her way to

  30

  make my first morning at DEAD an absolute breeze. Not only did I get a guided tour of the campus after breakfast-- complete with advice on the best places to scope

  drool-worthy Undead guys--but she had saved me from severe embarrassment during first period when Mr. Cork initiated some unsolicited teacher-student bonding.

  Mr. Cork, the English and Zombie Poets teacher, was nearly six feet tall but probably didn't weigh much more than I did. He was so skinny he practically disappeared when he turned sideways, and looked like a skeleton who had shoplifted a set of bulgy eyes from a dead fish. And he smelled nearly as bad. The man reeked of cologne, like he'd taken a bath in Stinky Cowboy Dipped in Melted Cinnamon Number 5 or something equally heinous. It was seriously all I could do not to throw up my brain cakes when he'd put his arm around me, pinning me to his side while he tried to figure out who he should move so that I could have one of the chairs near the front, the better to help me catch up on all the zombie poetry I'd missed in the first nine weeks of school.

  Thankfully, Trish had raised her hand almost immediately, offering her chair and moving to the back, proving she hadn't just hung around with me so far because it had been her turn to play tour guide. She actually liked me and, like a true friend, wanted to spare me the torture of standing within two feet of Mr. Cork any longer than necessary.

  We were obviously kindred spirits, even though I was naturally Death Challenged and Trish was Deprogrammed.

  31

  But was I ever glad she was. It was just too awful to think of her dying at fourteen because her friend's mom's car was hit by a drunk driver. (People who drink and drive are total wastes, and I would gladly eat their brains. Zombies are supposed to stick to animal brains, but I think they should make an exception for certain wastes of human flesh like drunk drivers and murderers and people who lie about getting to second base.)

  Of course, since no one in Trish's family had any clue zombies were real, her mom was way more freaked than my parents when the people from DEAD showed up on her front doorstep one dark and rainy night with the daughter she'd buried a couple of months before. Her mom had started screaming and eventually had to be sedated. It had taken three days for Principal Samedi to convince Trish's mom that Trish's body had been raised by a voodoo priest and then Deprogrammed by Principal Samedi. It took another four days to convince her to send Trish to zombie school.

  I was a little jealous, honestly. My parents had been way too cool about the whole zombie business, making me wonder if they'd been looking for an excuse to ship me off to boarding school even before my accident.

  The thought made my smile fade.

  "I'm serious, K. You're going to get in trouble." Trish's dark brown eyes landed pointedly on my chest and then turned to check her chin-length bob in her locker mirror. "Principal Samedi is on lunch duty today and she gets seriously distressed about uniform violations."

  32

  "This isn't a uniform, it's a fashion emergency," I protested, nevertheless removing my very gangsta-esque silver skull-and-crossbones necklace and shoving it in my locker before trailing Trish down the hall toward the cafeteria.

  I'd worn the thing more as an act of protest than a fashion statement, anyway. It was a remnant from a long-ago Halloween and the only thing I could find in my jewelry box that was big enough not to get lost amidst the yards of black fabric that swirled around my body and all the way to the floor.

  The black choir robe-ish uniform was crushing my will to live, and it was only my first day of classes. Unlike Trish, who was five feet ten inches tall and had the kind of clothes-hanger-like model's body that could make even the DEAD high uniform look decent, I looked like a black blob. An incredibly pale and short black blob, since even the smallest-size robe was still a little too big, and my Undead skin looked even more Undead when contrasted with something so dark.

  Of course, I knew it could be worse. I could be a male of the species forced to wear the atrocity.

  DEAD issued the same uniform for both sexes, in some sort of equality thing that was just too cruel and unusually evil for words. The boys looked like sinister Friar Tucks. Or members of the same depressing choir as the girls. But at least the girls were allowed to wear conservative makeup and hair accessories; the boys just looked... sad.

  I'd clipped an obnoxiously pink bow in my hair this

  33

  morning just to make a statement--and to annoy Clarice, of course. If you cant be good friends, be good at being enemies was my new motto, and I planned to make my roomies nights as miserable as she made mine.

  Luckily, me making Clarice miserable had also made Trish laugh. She'd loved the bow-paired-with-sparkly-crossbones look and insisted we do lunch together.

  I was grateful for the invite since kindred spirits seemed in short supply at DEAD. Over half the school had the creepy goth thing going on big time. Which, I'm sorry, but, cliché' much? We were zombies. I was being way more rebellious and socie
tal-norm-rejecting by wearing a pink bow than the goth minions were with their black eyeliner and purple fingernails.

  Trish was on the same page--she wore only the slightest smudge of brown eyeliner on her top lids and very fashion-forward lip-gloss. Still, she attracted her share of attention, since she was by far the tallest girl in the school. I, of course, was one of the shortest--even shorter than most of the seventh and eighth graders--so we were a bit of an odd-looking pair.

  The height difference wouldn't have bothered me that much in my old life, but now that I knew I would never get any taller, it sort of made me sad to have to look up to nearly everyone else in the world. I'd always assumed I would get a growth spurt and end up at least five five. Now I'd always be a rather runty five one.

  But on the bright side, at least I'd died at fourteen and

  34

  not any younger. Due to the aging process of zombified skin--which just isn't as fresh and nubile looking as the real thing, no matter how many brains you eat--I would be able to pass as an adult in the human world in a few years, as long as I used an illusion spell to make sure I wasn't recognized by anyone from my old life. I'd be able to get a driver's license and vote and maybe even get married... if I met an Undead guy worth looking at twice, let alone hooking up with for eternity.

  So far, the Death Challenged dudes were not so dreamy.

  Except for him, of course.

  "Ladies, might I interest you in a menu?" The sex god himself sat on a stool just inside the door to the cafeteria, handing out little paper menus and punching lunch cards. Not even the dorky cafeteria-worker hat he wore was able to detract from his complete hotness.

  Gavin McDougal. Sigh... more like Gavin McDoMe.

  He was by far the best-looking guy I'd ever seen in real life--Death Challenged or average human. His black hair was just long enough to hang in his bright blue eyes, and his almost-too-perfect face was softened by the cutest set of dimples in the world. Even deathly pale skin couldn't make Gavin anything but entirely yummy. He also happened to be one of the smartest guys in the junior class and had lettered in swimming two years running.

  Swim team was one of the only sports offered at DEAD--aside from distance running, a leftover from a time when zombies spent most of their time running away

  35

  from angry human mobs. Other sports were considered too unsafe for the Undead. We can heal most injuries if we get the proper amount of brainy nutrition, but head trauma can occasionally do permanent and gruesome damage. Considering we have to make do with the bodies we have for the rest of our very long lives, it makes sense to be careful with the earthly shell. So swimming and running were the only organized athletic options. No contact sports, no high-risk athletics, and certainly no cheerleading. Sob!

  But really, what would be the point? It's not like the runners would be around long enough to hear the cheers, and swimmers couldn't admire perky stunts with their heads underwater. And, I came to find out, my accident wasn't the first case of zombification by cheering. Cheer zombies were more common than shark-attack-induced Undead and lightning-strike-induced Undead combined.

  Which was good to know... though there was still no way I was getting in the ocean. I'd watched When Animals Attack on the Discovery Channel and was properly afraid of things (like sharks) that had teeth as big as my hand.

  "No, I don't need a menu," Trish said, grinning at Gavin. She thought he was the hottest thing going at DEAD, too. We'd discussed his fabulousness in depth over breakfast. "I'm going raw line. I cut myself shaving last night and need a quick fix."

  Zombie hair and fingernails grow after death, which is pretty cool. I'd hate to think I'd be doomed to a lifetime of skanky nails if I broke one off opening my locker.

  36

  "And what about you, Karen? Menu?" McDoMe asked as he punched Trish's lunch card. He knew my name! And we hadn't even been introduced! He must have asked someone about me, or at the very least paid attention to the "new girl" gossip.

  "Yeah, I'll take one," I said, trying not to let my grin get too goofy when Gavin's fingers brushed mine as he handed over the slip of paper.

  Menu Tuesday Lunch

  The raw line:

  Cow brains and ground beef with a side of shaved tuna.

  The hot line:

  Popcorn pig brain bites with a side of raw seasoned sausage served in intestines.

  "I did the raw thing this morning," I said, batting my eyes. "So I guess I can check out the hot line. Right?"

  I already knew that the raw line was only mandatory if you had a cut or bruise or your skin had started to rot-- because raw brains and meat helped the Death Challenged heal more quickly than cooked--but I wasn't about to pass up a chance to get some older and wiser advice from my new crush.

  "Yeah, you should be fine to go hot." He punched my lunch card, grinning in a way that made my addled brain certain there was more to those words than met the ear.

  Maybe he'd meant I should be fine to go with the hot

  37

  line because I was so hot. Because I was irresistible to his older, cooler self despite the fact that I was a newbie, a freshman, and looked like a little black rain cloud in my heinous school uniform.

  Now, any second he was going to hand back my lunch card and our fingers would brush again. But this time, he wouldn't let go! This time, he would keep holding my hand, abandoning his post so that he could personally escort me to fetch my plate of pig brain bites and--

  "Oh my god! Kendra's dead!!" The lunch lady's scream was met by a round of giggles at first because... um, hello? We are all dead or we wouldn't be attending DEAD High or trolling for brains in the DEAD lunchroom.

  But then she screamed again, and again, and just kept on screaming until finally Principal Samedi--who had been disciplining someone who had dared dye their hair a non-regulatory orange--raced across the lunchroom. The kids waiting in line for the raw meal moved to make way for the stiff-featured principal and her stiffer spiked hair as she strode behind the lunch counter and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Seconds passed in silence, the entire lunchroom as eerily quiet as the tombs we would have all been lying in if we weren't Undead. Then, Principal Samedi, her face whiter than the white high priestess' robe she wore when she was officially on duty, appeared in the doorway.

  She took a deep breath and brought a shaking hand to her lips. She looked like she was about to lose her lunch.

  38

  Considering zombies metabolize at an alarmingly fast rate, that was probably impossible, but it didn't make the gesture any less disturbing.

  Unfortunately, the words out of our fearless leader's lips were even more disturbing.

  "I have never lied to my students and I don't intend to start now, but I will warn you that what I'm about to say is frightening in the extreme. That said, I don't want anyone to lose their composure. Whoever did this will be dealt with. I promise you that." Another deep breath, and the principal's eyes closed, as if she couldn't stand to look us in the eye while she spilled the big, scary beans. "Kendra Duncan has had her cranium fully harvested. If we don't find her brain within the next few days, she won't be... won't be returning to us."

  For a moment I thought maybe Samedi just meant that Kendra (a sophomore who worked the raw line, I'd met her that morning) wouldn't be returning to DEAD High. Then my slow-on-the-uptake brain remembered what "cranium harvesting" meant.

  It meant her brain had been removed. I'd learned all about the cranium harvesting of pigs and cows in health class just two periods ago. But this wasn't a pig or a cow. This was Kendra, a girl I'd seen headed down to the girls' showers this morning, a girl who'd actually remembered my name and said "Hi" to the new freshman in the hall. And someone had harvested her brain.

  "Everyone return to your dorms immediately," Principal

  39

  Samedi announced. "Afternoon classes are cancelled. Do not leave your rooms if it can be avoided. And if you must leave your room, do n
ot, I repeat do not venture out alone. The person responsible for this could still be on campus."

  If I'd eaten anything since breakfast, I know I would have defied the rules of nature and zombie metabolism and spewed all over McDoMe's shoes. As it was, I just leaned over and hyperventilated for a few minutes, giving me plenty of time to observe that Gavin's shoes were not regulation uniform gear. We all had to wear brown or black loafers or boots, but he was wearing Converse one stars--and those non-regulation shoes were splattered with blood.

  40

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The average Undead male requires X milligrams of brains daily.

  The average Undead female requires Y milligrams of brains daily.

  If X is a prime number less than ten and Y is equal to X-1, what is the value of X?

  --Undead and Uneasy with Numbers:

  A User-friendly Algebra Review

  "I'm fine, Mom. I swear," I said, rolling my eyes at Trish, who sat at the end of my bed painting her toenails a shade of pink as bright and cheery as my quilt. Her math homework lay on the floor next to mine, both of them unfinished. Who could concentrate on remedial algebra after the day we'd had? "I just wanted to call so you wouldn't worry when Principal Samedi calls the house tonight. She says she's going to let all the parents know what happened."

  "She'd better let all the parents know. Some girl was killed at--" A wail sounded from the background and Mom sighed in obvious frustration. "Kimmy! Stop that, don't bite your brother."