Adventures of a Middle School Zombie (5 page)

Touching him, however, was still way out of bounds, as he reminded me in the locker room that day.

“One more thing,” Robbie said, stripping off his shirt. “I don’t see any of that Ooze crap on it, but I’m not taking any chances. See me at my locker after school, because you owe me twenty-five dollars for a new shirt. And you’re doing my Biology homework.”

Robbie turned and started to walk out, holding his shirt in his right hand.

“Dude, where you going?” Ben and Joe said at just about the same time.

“Home. Getting a new shirt. Thanks to Zom-boy.”

“Zom-boy, that’s a good one,” Ben or Joe said.

“Shut up!”

Ben and Joe looked at me. I ducked out and onto the field for some very welcome conditioning.

***

OK, I can do this
, I told myself.
I mean, I can do this without looking like a geekling.

I didn’t understand why I had to take a shower. I really wasn’t sweating all that much. Well, until it was time to strip down, anyway.

I looked up, very quickly, just to see what others were doing, then focused back on my locker. OK, what did I see? Some naked butts. Yeah, some guys just didn’t care. But mostly I saw kids doing the same thing I was, staring at their lockers, wearing only shorts.

When I’d practiced with the towel, I’d had no idea my plan had a fatal flaw—the towel cage. Rather than grab a towel from a rack, you had to line up at the towel cage and get it from the towel guy.

And that meant, according to my estimate, a roughly fifty-foot walk without the benefit of anything to cover myself, save my hands.

I took another look and saw some kids had already started their naked march to the cage. The hiss of showers also echoed in the locker room, reminding me of the water torture ahead.

I could wait it out. Stay here another ten minutes, even if it meant I was late to the next period. Let things empty out a bit, and avoid the humiliation of the two-handed cup-cover that some kids were using. That’d work, just making sure I was last. I should’ve thought of that before—

“Jed, drop ’em and get into the shower.” Mr. Stanzer walked up the concrete aisle in shorts with a whistle dangling from his neck. He continued herding stragglers. “Percy, Trevor, you too. C’mon guys, we need to clear out for the next class.”

Now or never.
Slipping my thumbs into the elastic waistbands, I tugged down my shorts and underwear in one move and stepped out of them. No time to grab the clothes and put them in my locker; I’d do that when I got back. I left them pooled on the floor, turned, and headed toward the towel cage.

But now it was much farther away. Maybe a football field. Maybe more.

My hands went instinctively to my private area. Oh no, it was the two-handed cup of the geekling. I took a few steps, a few more. My hands remained where they were as if glued there. Tried to move them, but it was hopeless.
Can’t … instill … self-confidence.

Other kids filtered in from other aisles. Jeremy and Albert, just ahead, walked hunched forward, arms in the cover position. It looked like Dallas was just ahead of them, upright, arms swinging at his side. No doubt a beneficiary of puberty.

The towel cage was just ahead now. Yes, five kids in front. Four, three. Two. Almost my turn.

“Hey Zom-boy, we were looking for you,” came a voice on my right.

Ben (where was Joe?) stood dripping wet, towel slung over his shoulder. I turned back to the towel cage as if I didn’t see him, he didn’t exist. When you are standing with a bunch of other naked kids for the very first time in your life, cupping yourself, reality just doesn’t seem to exist.

I stepped up to the metal cage. Eyes straight ahead, focused on the towel guy.

“Hey Jed.” It was Josh. I wouldn’t exactly say we were friends at this point, but over the past two weeks, he’d nodded at me between classes and never expressed an interest to throw me in a trash can. When it came to eighth graders, that made him my friend.

“Josh, hi.” I held out my hand for a towel, and Josh reached behind him.

“Hang on, I’ve got better towels back here, a little larger, more absorbent,” he said. He leaned closer. “Thicker. Which you’re going to need. Keep it in front, down low. Don’t worry about protecting your butt.”

“Uh, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“You will,” he said, handing it to me. “Just remember what I said.”

I took the towel (it was soft and thick—terrycloth?) and turned to find that, yes, Ben still existed. The very patient Ben, blocking my way to the shower room.

“Excuse me,” I said, looking down to avoid eye contact. I stepped to the right, and so did he. Then stepped to the left, and back to the right. And so did he.

It was the Dance of the Doomed.

“Hey, eyes up here, Zom-boy,” Ben said. “Or are you checking out my junk? Really? Is that what you’re doing? Hey, seems like Zom-boy has a little secret. Maybe being
dead
also makes you
gay
.”

A small crowd had gathered around us, some wearing towels, others still pulling on their street clothes.

“Is that it, Zom-boy, you’re just a little homo? And you think since you’re dead no one is going to notice?”

“Please move.” Did I say something? I could barely hear myself.

“Excuse me, did you say something, homo-boy?” A ripple of laughter. “Hmm, Zom-boy and homo-boy. Does that make you a zomo-boy?”

“Please move.” A little louder this time. “I just want to shower, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure, no problem. Let’s make room for zomo-boy to take a shower so he can really get his rocks off. That is, if he has any.”

Ben moved to the side, and I passed, took two steps, and discovered where Joe had been all along. Ben closed in behind me, taking the towel from his shoulder and twirling it in his hands. Joe was doing the same with his towel.

Now I knew what Josh was talking about.

“You know Zom-boy, maybe it’s not such a good idea you came to this school,” Joe said. “I gotta say, finding clumps of your skin in the bathroom really isn’t all that pleasant. And then you had to go and try to turn Robbie into a zombie. I have to say, things just aren’t working out.”

Turn Robbie into a zombie? What was he talking about? All I did was get a little …

Wait a minute. I knew Ben and Joe’s views on life were pretty narrow, coming from the low rungs on the evolutionary ladder. But could they really believe Ooze causes zombie?

Yes. Yes they could. And I could probably convince them Ooze wasn’t the only weapon in my bodily fluid arsenal. If they thought I was not just a zombie, but a walking, talking zombie factory, maybe they’d stay away from me. They might think I was cruising for a bruising, but they could be cruising for an Oozing.

For the time being, other things were on my mind. Like those towels dangling from Ben and Joe’s hands, cottony fluffiness about to turn into torture devices.

Joe flicked the towel toward me. Anticipating, I hopped to the left and felt the tip brush my thigh before there was a loud
snap
. More laughter, followed by a few “ooohs.”

Another
snap
, and pain flared for an instant on my butt. I could feel a chunk of skin start to slide down the back of my leg.

“Holy Christ, what the hell!” It was Ben, reacting to what surely must have looked like a gaping, life-threatening wound on my backside (and it would have been life-threatening had I been alive). “Joe, you have to check this out.”

I turned to inspect the damage. Ah, a little chunk of flesh missing, no big deal. It would grow in. Or I could smooth out the skin above it, stretching it to cover the mark. I did that all the time.

If they knew that, Ben and Joe probably wouldn’t be happy with just a pound of flesh. Like all middle schoolers, I knew when it was time to get dramatic.

“Oh man, geez, that really hurt,” I said. “Stop, please.” I threw in a wince for good measure. Not Oscar-worthy, but surely an Emmy.

Couldn’t tell from the crowd. It went undeathly silent.

“Turn around.” Joe motioned with his fingers.

“I just want to take a shower,” I said, gripping my towel tightly in front of me.

“Yeah, you will. First, turn around.”

I turned, noticing the others who just stood there watching. Not smiling. Not anything. Their faces were just—empty. I thought I saw out of the corner of my eye someone putting his hand up to his mouth, then he wasn’t there.

“Oh, dude.” Joe’s voice behind me. I stared at my feet. “Looks like that’s gonna leave a mark. Oh, wait. It already did.”

Thwack
! Another burst of pain that quickly faded. And then the all-too-familiar wet, jellylike feeling down my leg.

“What are you made of, cheese?” Joe said. “When you jerk off, is that what really happens, you jerk it off?” I braced for more laughter, but it was just Ben and Joe giggling.

Not that anyone was stepping in to stop them, though.

I looked out at the faces. Did I see sympathy? Or just fear?

Then I noticed Luke. At the back, his face peeking out over a couple of bare shoulders. I shot him a “Dude, I could really use a little backup here” look. Then his face was gone.

“Sucks to be dead, doesn’t it?” Ben, maybe Joe, said.

I set myself for another towel slap, but none came. Maybe they were scared they could actually kill a dead guy with a wet towel. But more likely, they just got bored.

“Let’s go see if Robbie is back,” Ben said, walking away with Joe.

The rest of the crowd dispersed, and I stood there, towel still covering me. But then I just dropped it and walked back to my locker, got dressed, and went home, walking defiantly across the lawn as I crossed the quad.

Of course, everyone was already in class.

I stared at my lunch of beans, beef, and other random taco bits mixed together in an aluminum-foil boat (I love taco night, but the leftovers not so much). I dug in with the plastic fork I swiped from the lunch line and swirled things around a bit until I had a round mound of brown on it. And yeah, it tasted about as good as it looked.

First thing when I got home would be to try and convince Mom—again—that taco night leftovers should just go to the dog. Though first we’d need to get a dog. And I’d walk him and feed him and pick up after him. Man, I really wanted a dog. But that was a story for another time.

“She’s looking at you now, no, she’s talking to her friends … laughing … she’s looking up and pointing … now she’s looking over here again. See, I told you.”

I studied my lunch, trying to focus on how cool it would be to have a dog. He could sleep with me on my bed, unless I was allergic, but so far I’ve never been allergic to anything, probably something to do with being undead.

“Dude, you aren’t even paying attention,” Luke continued. “I’m telling you, it’s true, and at some point I really think you need to do something about it. Or at least just talk to her.”

“I’m not even sure I want to be talking to
you
,” I said. If I got a dog, would he bury my arm in the backyard? Or play fetch with my femur?

“You still on that?” Luke said. “That was, like, weeks ago. Pull on your big zombie pants.”

“It was three days ago. But I remember it like it was yesterday. Two big guys armed with towels, threatening one fairly naked undead guy. Undead guy’s friend disappears like a ghost. Spooky, you know?”

Luke pushed away his burger, which was odd because he never pushes away food. If the Competitive Eating Association had a minor league, Luke would be its MVP since he seems to train every day.

“Do you want to know what really happened?” Luke said. “Or do you just want to keep giving me crap about it?”

“You were there. You ran away. What’s left to tell?”

“Whatever. I wasn’t going to tell you because it would only make you feel worse. But fine, you win. For the record, I did not run away.”

“You sure weren’t in the locker room, either.”

“I left. To get help. I’m sorry, but even if I had jumped in, those odds were against us. You only saw Ben and Joe. But they had plenty of help just waiting to jump in.”

I hated to admit it, but Luke was right. My problems went beyond Ben, Joe, and Robbie. The other kids may not have wanted a piece of me, but they were hardly stepping up to defend me, either. “I didn’t want to be a snitch, but I knew if I didn’t find someone who could intervene, you were gonna go Humpty Dumpty in a few minutes. I wasn’t even sure there would be enough pieces left to put back together. So I went to … he was the only … if there was anyone else—”

“Principal Buckley,” I said. I remembered his welcoming speech over the PA, telling everyone to welcome me, but making sure it also sounded like a warning. “Luke, that guy’s a tool.”

“I know. But what choice did I have?”

“Anyone else. Anyone. Heck, the lunch lady would have been more help.”

“I found that out,” Luke said, shaking his head.

“What do you mean?”

“He said in a few minutes, he’d send over the janitor with a mop and bucket, to clean up, and I quote, ‘Whatever zombie mess your friend got into.’ And then he put me in detention.”