Dawn of the Jed (11 page)

“So we good?” Luke said.

No, we weren’t. Not yet. But I wasn’t going to say that.

“Yeah, all good.”

I stood and leaned toward Luke, offering my hand. We shook and did a shoulder-bump, completing the man hug.

“One more thing,” I said as I followed him down the stairs. “You ever heard of the NZN Network?”

“Nope,” Luke said too quickly. “See ya.”

He was out the door without looking back. Too bad, because I really wanted to see the expression on his face.

I slid the tray along the metal rails, examining the bins filled with, well, I’d find out soon enough because there was no way to tell on this side of the buffet glass. Something that at some point was declared edible by someone. This was definitely the Food Line the Health Inspector Forgot.

Was it International Day? I hoped not. I’d heard a civil rights group sued the district last year to stop International Day, believing it to be cruel and unusual punishment, largely because it included a Scottish delicacy called haggis, which is weird stuff boiled in even weirder stuff. Intestines, for the most part.

I pushed my tray again, and it stopped suddenly with a sound of plastic on plastic.

“Dude, if you’re in such a hurry I’ll be happy to make sure you’re out of this line in five seconds.”

The voice came from Dominic, who stood in front of me in the cafeteria line. He was a small but feisty eighth grader known for his quick wit and even quicker hands. It was said your head would be in the toilet before you felt his fingers on your neck.

A run-in with Dominic was all I needed after a really crappy morning. I wasn’t in the mood.

“Relax, it was an accident,” I said, staring at the back of his head since he didn’t even bother to turn around while threatening me. Dominic was a confident kid.

“You really think I care? It’s about manners, like the ones I’m about to teach you.”

I could feel about a dozen pairs of eyes on us as the line came to a halt. Even the two cafeteria ladies had stopped serving, ladles filled with the day’s mysteries pausing in midair. I knew what they were thinking. How many pieces was the zombie kid going to be in by the time Dom finished? I swore I saw one kid pulling a dollar bill from his pocket, whispering, “I got a buck says more than three.”

I stood my ground, daring him to look around. And he did, turning slowly like a bad guy in an old western. Our eyes met. I clenched my fists, wondering if I might be able to get in one punch before taking up the usual defensive position—a tight tuck, protecting the vital areas.

Except Dominic’s face went from “I will destroy you” to “Nice weather we’re having” in a split second. The anger didn’t disappear. It ran away.

“Forget it, we’re cool,” Dominic said.

He stepped out of line, leaving his tray behind.

I knew why. It was the NZN Network.

It was also why I was in such a lousy mood.

The group’s leaflets had spread quickly over the past few weeks. When the semester started, not long after I found the first under the table in the cafetorium, I had recently occupied, I noticed one or two kicked around the hallways between classes. The leaflets were ignored as they skimmed across the linoleum floor in the breeze of rapid footsteps.

Little by little, the NZN pamphlets become more numerous. Some had blown against the fence by the basketball courts. Others were taped outside the library and teachers’ lounge. Last week, Mr. Anderson tore down an NZN leaflet taped next to the fire extinguisher in Woodshop, resulting in a predictable outcome.

“This is Woodshop,” he said, crumpling the paper slowly after we’d taken our seats. “Extraneous material will not be tolerated. Particularly one that is such a waste of wood-pulp products. It’s an insult to the forestry industry. The person who printed without regard to the consequences will now step forward. No? Everyone. Circle of Shame. Rotated by alphabetical order. Abbott, Bailey, Detwiler, Edwards. Now.”

Earlier this week, Mr. Stanzer, the P.E. teacher who was one of Pine Hollow’s most vocal zombie supporters, asked me to stay after class.

“Jed, when I got in this morning I found a few of these taped in the locker room,” he said, handing me one of the now-familiar leaflets. This one’s headline was, “Nature abhors a zombie,” with a list of ten ways you can tell a dead person from an undead one. I only read as far as No. 1 “Dead person does not scream, ‘You are making a big mistake’ as coffin is lowered.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stanzer,” I said, tearing it into strips, noticing No. 2 as I did so, “An undead person is easily angered by zombie-hate literature.”

“So you’ve seen these around,” he said. “I think you need to talk to Principal Buckley. If you won’t, I will.”

I begged Mr. Stanzer to leave it alone for now. If I learned one thing last year, it was that going through the proper channels rarely helps. Teachers liked to say you needed to report bullying to get it to stop, but they hadn’t been kids for a long time. I learned survival was more about having good friends and standing up for myself.

Besides, Principal Buckley was the biggest bully of them all.

“Mr. Stanzer, just let me do it my way for now,” I said. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll let you know.”

I was still feeling pretty good about my odds. Whatever the NZN Network was, it was operating in the shadows. As long as it stayed there, I didn’t consider it a threat.

That all changed this morning. And as with many life-changing moments, it happened in the bathroom.

Woodshop had just ended, Mr. Anderson’s browbeating still fresh in mind—“Any bird would be embarrassed to take up residence in such a lopsided house. Do it again. This time with a respect toward future residents.”

I suddenly had to go to the bathroom. Zombies suck at holding it.

I had about four minutes before English started, so I ducked into the boy’s room and saw them.

Anti-zombie leaflets taped over each urinal and on the door to each stall. I knew what this meant. The NZN Network was coming out of the shadows. There was no better way to announce yourself to the world than through the shared medium of public bathrooms.

“Hey, DJ, seems like you have an anti-fan club.”

Robbie. He stared at the leaflet above his own urinal.

“Is it true that when a zombies laughs, an angel bursts into flames? That’s what it says here, one of Ten Shocking Zombie Facts. You might want to avoid comedy clubs. Think of the heavenly massacre it could cause. Looks like you aren’t laughing now, so that’s good.”

Laughing? I was tearing down the sheets one by one. Stalls first, then urinals, until only one remained. The one Robbie was reading.

I didn’t have to go so badly anymore.

I stood at the sink, looking in the mirror at Robbie’s back. I gripped the faucets so hard I knew they were going to leave marks on my palms. I felt a burning along my forehead, and noticed the filmy sheen of Ooze that had formed.

Damn the NZN Network. It didn’t know a thing about me. Did any of its lists mention zombies enjoyed old movies? Or were into comic books? Or could grill a pretty mean steak? Or had been known to exhibit some mad skills on the dance floor?

Or that they could feel the hurt down to their very undead bones?

“Whoa, you look a little ticked off there, Jeddy,” Robbie said. He stood at the sink next to me, looking at me in the mirror. “Truth hurts, don’t it?”

“Truth?” I said. “Are you kidding me? There’s no truth to any of it. It’s lies. A smear campaign. And even though no one has the guts to put a name on it, I know you’re the NZN Network.”

Robbie stopped washing his hands and turned toward me. “You better stop talking before you make me do something I don’t want to do. Actually, keep talking, because the something I don’t want to do is leave you alone.”

“Here’s what I don’t understand. Why are you hiding it? Everyone knows you’re behind this stuff. You’ve had it in for me ever since I got here. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up thinking, ‘How is Robbie going to ruin my day today? Trash can? Display case? Or will it be old school, ripping books out of my hand and kicking them down the hall?’ You’re nothing but a simple-minded bully who feels good by picking on others. Maybe one day you’ll surprise me by accepting me as I am. But I’m not holding my breath for miracles. And I can hold my breath for a very, very long time. Put that into one of your lists, because I—”

Had I been paying attention, I would have noticed Robbie squeezing his still-wet hands into fists. I would have seen his right pull back and thrust forward, into my stomach. I would have put my arms out trying to catch the sides of the stall when he steered me in.

Instead, I just waited as the toilet flushed, water swirling around my head, until he let me go. I got off my knees, stumbled out, and stood in front of the air-dryer, hitting the button and feeling the cool air blow into my face.

Better. That was better. I was not so hot anymore.

“That wasn’t for your little temper tantrum,” Robbie said, wiping his hands on his pants. “That was for thinking I have anything to do with this stupid NZN crap. When I have a problem with you, I will take it to you directly. As I have just demonstrated. I don’t need some secret group. Me, I think they’re cowards. I despise cowards more than, say, zombies. But they’re cowards with good ideas. I like what they’re doing. Just not how they’re going about it.”

He pushed his way outside as the bell rang. And now I was late to English.

The run-in with Robbie was still fresh on my mind when I got in line for lunch. Sure, the way Dominic just turned and walked away was an unseen benefit of the “Zombies are dangerous” campaign, but I wasn’t like Robbie. I didn’t want people to fear me because of the bad things I could do. I wanted them to understand me, to know the truth, and to make decisions based on that.

“What’ll you have?” the cafeteria lady asked, snapping me back to the present.

I looked at the steaming bins and saw only colors rarely associated with food. “What is, uh, everything? Is this International Day?”

“Nah, we haven’t had that since the court injunction. This is … ” She turned to the other lunch lady behind her, who was busy stuffing something into—no, I looked away, not wanting to know. “Hey, Emma Jay, what did we spin today on the Wheel of Meat?”

“Pork.”

The cafeteria lady turned back to me. “Pork,” she said, as if my hearing was limited to a few feet.

“Maybe I’ll just have a roll.”

“You want pork with that?” she asked, plunging her ladle into a bluish-purple sludge.

“No, just the roll.”

She handed me two rolls. No butter. “Health inspector said he would let us know when we can serve dairy again.”

Apparently this was not the Lunch Line the Health Inspector Forgot. Good to know.

I walked into the seating area, scanning for Anna. She was usually with the goths, who had taken a liking to me ever since Anna started hanging with me.

Goths were usually between the smokers and the overachievers, providing a necessary buffer. I spotted the overachievers, their membership made up largely from the geeks from Tech Club. Everyone was looking at Ray Knowles, king of the geeks, as he waved his arms, probably filling them in on the next big Tech Club project. I still felt bad for punching Ray last semester, even though he was asking for it by getting in my face. But Ray was OK.

Looking down the overachieving table toward the goths, my eyes caught on something I wasn’t expecting.

Luke. He stared at Ray, just like the others.

Luke and I had always been part of the clique-less (which in its own way was a clique, as middle-school forced everyone to fit in somehow). He tried to sit with the jocks in his short-lived athletic phase, but they wouldn’t have him.

But I never saw him with the overachievers.

“Jed, hey, over here!”

I was so tuned in to Anna’s voice, it easily pierced the din. She waved from the end of the goth table, beside an inviting empty space.

I walked quickly since it was pretty easy to balance a tray with two rolls. I plopped down, the day’s first smile on my face.

“I really hope you are having a better day than I am,” I said.

“Rolls? That’s it? What about the spaghetti? You love spaghetti.”

She knew me so well.

“I didn’t see it. Guess they were out.”

“Uh oh. Were they down to whatever they spun on the Wheel of Meat?”

“Yeah.”

“Rolls. Good choice. Oh, not to bring you down or anything, but I wanted you to see this.” She reached into her purse, but I already knew what she was going to produce.

She unfolded the latest publication from the NZN Network. The ten shocking zombie facts. One zombie fact that is not shocking? I saw this coming.

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You found that in the girls’ room.”

“How did you know? I hope it’s not because you went in.”

“Ha ha, funny stuff.”

“You just blew up an angel.”

“Good. I live for killing angels.”

I told Anna about finding the same leaflet in the boys’ room.

“Wow, bathrooms now,” Anna said. “These guys mean business.”