Dawn of the Jed (14 page)

“You’re the one who hit him, not me. He’s fine when he’s not full of himself. And he’s better when you’re doing this project for social studies that requires you to build a computer slide show. Thanks to Ray, I know how to do that now. What’s the big deal?”

Luke started walking again.

Yeah, what was the big deal? I was reading way too much into it. Wasn’t I?

There were six words a good student never wanted to hear from a teacher: “Can I see you after class?”

That six-word combination was even worse than “You just have to hold it” and “This goes on your permanent record.”

Students who weren’t doing well almost expected the invitation from Mr. Landrum. With five minutes left in Biology, Mr. Landrum walked up and down the aisles as we worked on papers about cell division. Robbie sat to my left, having flunked the first semester of eighth grade Biology. Or, as Mr. Landrum put it when he introduced Robbie on the first day of the semester: “He has been unable to maintain what was considered to be reasonable progress and thus joins us for reinforcement learning.”

Translation: Robbie was barely getting by eighth grade Biology. Which was odd because I was pretty sure he was studying one-celled creatures, so he should be doing well because he could identify with them so well.

I looked over to see him sketching fighter jets gunning down hordes of innocent stick people who either had spiky Afros or were on fire (I was going with “on fire”). Robbie’s artistic talents left much to be desired, but he sure was good at cramming lots of violence into small spaces. He was making quite the show of goofing off, as if trying to draw the attention of the teacher.

Sure enough, Mr. Landrum stood between us when he cleared his throat. “Can I see—”

Robbie was already up, smiling and nodding. While the rest of us would feel the dread that came with such an invitation (as well as an order to see the principal), Robbie treated it as a hall pass allowing him to be tardy for his next class. Knowing he could show up at least twenty minutes late, he probably allowed five minutes for the discussion with Mr. Landrum, leaving him with fifteen minutes to kill. Plenty of time to super-glue seven lockers (ten if he worked fast), or grab a smoke in the boy’s room hoping for a stray student to wander in. Robbie called those his “free-range victims.”

Mr. Landrum cleared his throat again.

“No, Robbie,” Mr. Landrum said. “I am as surprised as you at these turn of events, but this time I’m speaking with Jed. Can I see you after class?”

It took a while for everything to register. Mr. Landrum asked to see Robbie after class. Then my name was mentioned. By Robbie? Did Robbie want to see me after class? Was he finally going to make good on his threat to play “zombie wishbone,” with the winner being whoever got the biggest piece of me?

None of this was making sense.

“Jed? Please?”

I looked up. It wasn’t Robbie who was speaking. Mr. Landrum repeated the question. Staring into my eyes.

“Can I see you after class?”

“Yes. Sure. Sir,” I mumbled.

“What? Speak up please, more lively.”

Now teachers were taking digs with zombie wordplay. No one was immune to pun-dead humor.

Hearing it from Mr. Landrum was odd. He’d never gone out of his way to help me, but he seemed to accept me. He never resorted to anti-zombie slurs. Last semester he even cut me a break when I asked to be excused from frog dissection. The frog was brain dead but still alive, bringing up some uncomfortable feelings.

“Yes, sir,” I said, too loudly.

“Fine,” Mr. Landrum said. “Rest of the class, you may start to pack up. Remember, papers are due next Friday.”

I folded my paper, put it in my biology text as a bookmark, and shoved the book into my backpack. All I thought about for those three minutes was why Mr. Landrum would want to speak to me alone.

That meant bad news. You don’t ask a kid to stay after class to tell him something like, “Nice job on the last test, you were the only A in the class.” Unless he knew such praise would make me a target. Maybe that was it. He was sparing me the attention that came with being an overachiever.

Life (well, undeadness) was far from perfect over the last few weeks since Luke and I tried to patch things up at the Burger Bucket.

The Ray situation kept nibbling at the back of my brain, flipping the zombie food-chain on its head. After I told Anna about lunching with Luke, she reminded me to keep an eye on the Ray-Luke relationship, but not to let it prey on my mind. Her little pep talks helped, not so much her words but the way she held my hands while speaking. Did you know zombies get the tingles? True story.

But what helped the most was running into Javon just a few days after the Luke lunch. Javon was one of those rare eighth graders who saw sevvies as human, even capable of contributing to society. While many eighth graders were kind enough to remain neutral while witnessing sevvies being shoved into lockers, Javon was the rare breed who would intervene. That made him a saint among sevvies.

He secured that spot when he refused to play for the eighth graders in the annual football game, taking a stand against the inherent unfairness caused by more than age difference. When Pine Hollow authorities kicked me off the seventh-grade team, Javon did more than defend me. He coached the sevvies to victory.

He turned up again when I needed him most. The lunch bell had just sounded as a warning (it was the dreaded Wad of Meat Wednesday, according to rumors) when someone shoved me sideways. I banged off the lockers and saw Ray walking away, his back to me. He glanced over his shoulder and sneered, which in any other case would lead to a short trip into a tall trash can. But this time I simply looked down, not up for the challenge.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Sometimes you just have to let things slide.”

I recognized Javon’s voice and turned around. I knew he meant well with that sympathetic look, but it only made me feel worse. Defeated, almost.

He dug into his back pocket and took out a sheet of paper I recognized immediately. That stupid NZN newsletter.

“I assume your mood has a lot to do with this,” he said, shoving it back in his pocket. “But you can’t let these creeps get under your skin.”

“I happen to have skin that is really easy to get under,” I replied, absent-mindedly peeling a narrow strip from my forearm, feeling Ooze tingle as soon as I did it. “But everybody knows that. What they don’t know is how I am so tired of it.”

“So since you’re tired, you’re just going to stop standing up for yourself?” Javon said. “That’s exactly what they want you to do. They want you to fade into the background, be just another sevvie who toes the line. You know why some people pick on you?”

“Duh. I’m a zombie. Easy target.”

“That’s a small part of it. It’s mostly because you’re different. People like Robbie—heck, even people like Ray—fear anyone who’s different. It upsets their world when people don’t fit in like they’re supposed to.”

“Why should it?”

“Because Robbie and Ray fit in so well. If they weren’t bullying those who were different, they’d be the ones fading into the background. They’d disappear. Poof, just another face in the crowd. They lose meaning. And that scares the hell out of them.”

“If I stop fighting, wouldn’t that give them a reason to just leave me alone? Let us all fade away?”

Javon shook his head. “Dude, they’d just find someone else to humiliate because that’s their survival instinct. I don’t care about them. I care about you. That skin you said is so easy to get under?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to be comfortable in it. The better it fits, the harder it will be to get under it. Trust me. I’ve run across a ton of people trying to get under this skin.”

Javon pinched himself inside his elbow, the brownish flesh popping right back when he released it.

“Fits like a glove,” he said. “You can’t get under it unless I let you. Which I’ve done with a couple of girls, but that’s another story.”

Javon’s words stuck with me, so even when I noticed Luke mingling every now and then with the Tech Club, I reminded myself that it could bug me only if I let it. It still bugged me, but not nearly as much.

Now Mr. Landrum wanted to see me. I was hoping halfway-decent grades would keep the teachers’ attention off me. As with any average student, I went into stealth mode every time I stepped into the classroom. Each successful journey ended with going unnoticed.

When the bell rang, I stayed seated as students streamed out of class, talking and laughing in ways I found really bothersome. Robbie was the last one out, stopping at the door and looking back at Mr. Landrum, who sat behind his desk.

“Are you sure it wasn’t me you wanted to see?” he asked. “Because I’d be happy to address any concerns—”

“Quite, Robbie, but thank you for your consideration,” Mr. Landrum said as he pulled open his middle drawer. “No doubt next time, based on the usual odds. And please close the door behind you.”

“Sure thing.”

Robbie caught my eye and gave me a smirk. Then raised his most often used finger.

“We know your IQ, Robbie, but thank you for the reminder just the same,” Mr. Landrum said without lifting his eyes from the drawer. Note to self: Mr. Landrum’s peripheral vision bordered on superhuman.

“Now, Jed, a word,” he said, pulling a sheet of paper and placing it in front of him.

I didn’t move.

“At my desk, please.”

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and counted the steps. It was either focus on walking or throw up.

I almost did both.

“Jed, you look a little pale,” Mr. Landrum said. “I mean, more than usual, which I wasn’t sure was possible. Please, have a seat.”

“I’m OK standing,” I said. I wasn’t really, but the only place to sit must have been a product of the Small and Uncomfortable Chair Company (“Proudly making your butt sweat for a century”). I chose to stand more and squirm less.

“So be it,” Mr. Landrum said, smoothing out that sheet of paper. I finally got a good look at it.

It was from the NZN Network. And one I hadn’t seen before.

Life just kept getting better.

“Are you aware of these flyers?”

Hmm, let’s see. A series of anti-zombie leaflets that were distributed for all to see. And as far as zombies went, it was “Population—Jed.” Yeah, I was pretty dang aware.

“I’ve seen them around, I think,” I said.

“And this one? I believe it is relatively new. I found it on my desk this morning.”

“It doesn’t look familiar.”

But it did look familiar. Very familiar, and I didn’t need to see the No Zombies Now title at the top. A pit formed in my stomach, but I forced myself to keep my “Whatever, no big deal” face in front of Mr. Landrum. I had to see where this was going.

He pushed the sheet forward as if I needed a closer look. I looked past the title, quickly seeing the rest was new.

Within seconds, I learned zombies can have a chill run down their spine. It happened when I saw the headline:

Zombie Creates Franken-Canine
.

“That’s just stupid and ignorant,” I said instinctively, my eyes locked on the word Franken-canine.

Then I looked at the rest of the flyer.

There were three photos, two of me playing with Tread. The other was a close-up of Tread, carrying his tail in his mouth.

All were shot in my backyard. The two of Tread and me playing looked as if they were snapped from the elm tree, maybe fifteen feet off the ground. But that was impossible. I would have seen someone.

The other photo made my blood boil (if a zombie could have a spine chill, why not boiling blood?).

Whoever took that one was bold enough to trespass while someone was home, because Tread was always inside when he was left alone. I wondered who had the guts to intrude on our privacy like that.

I was going to find whoever did this. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But at least before school was out for summer.

These NZN losers were going to discover just how persistent a zombie could be. Go ahead, lock your doors. Board your windows. I will crash through them even if I have to un-live up to every stereotype. Remember, I can function without normally operating organs. Nothing says commitment like living the undead life.

I started to read the column of text: “The NZN Network has learned that a member of the Zombie Party has found a way—”

Suddenly I was looking at the bare metal of Mr. Landrum’s desk. The leaflet was gone. I looked up just in time to see Mr. Landrum stuffing it back in his desk.

“I show you that only as a courtesy.” Mr. Landrum sat back and folded his hands on his lap. “Jed, I will admit it took me a while to … accept … the impossibility that is you. In my experience as a biology teacher, the only outcome is death when presented with the aspects of your condition.”

There was that “condition” word again, the one that stripped me of my, well, being-ness, I guess. As if the only good zombie was a dead zombie. Or an un-undead zombie.

“But you’ve been a good student, always trying,” he continued. “Save for that frog incident, you’ve done all you’ve been asked to do. You are just like any student, and that is a compliment, considering.”