Zomburbia (12 page)

After we were done at the store, we went back to Sherri's. I climbed on my bike and rode home. My dad was there. He told me he'd ordered a pizza and I feigned enthusiasm. You can't have too much pizza, right?

I worried he was going to ask me about my spazzing earlier that day. All he did was ask if I was okay. I told him I was on the way there and he seemed satisfied. We just sat and watched TV and ate our pizza. Despite it being time I spent with my dad, I did have a good time.

I guess weirder things have happened.

I
sat on the front porch and looked at my watch again. 8:30. I'd been sitting there for twenty minutes already, waiting for Willie to come get me. He was never late, and if he couldn't get me, he always called. Great. He must have been really pissed at me.

I took out my phone and dialed his house. Again. No answer. I didn't expect one, really. I'd already called twice before and not gotten ahold of anyone. Which was sort of weird when I thought about it. His mom didn't have to leave the house until it was time to take Julie to school. I was sure she'd pick up just for the chance to berate whoever was on the other end of the line.

I hung up and dialed Sherri. She answered on the first ring.

“Am I sitting here waiting for Willie to come pick me up because of you?” she demanded.

“Good morning,” I said full of false chipperness. “So he didn't pick you up, either, huh?”

“Nope,” she said. “Any chance your dad can give us a ride? We've already missed the bus.”

“He's left already,” I said. “What about borrowing the Beater?”

“That'll mean speaking to my dad,” she said, “and more than likely having to promise to perform some sort of chore.”

“If that's the case, I'll help with whatever it is.”

“You'd better,” she said. “Let me go talk to him.” She said she'd call if she couldn't get the Beater, what we called her parents' spare BMW. Usually parents would never give their kid the keys to such a car, especially an avowed delinquent like Sherri. It was because the car was about a million years old and looked like the only thing holding it together was Bondo, which is why they felt okay about letting Sherri behind the wheel.

While I waited for Sherri to show up, I basically sat there and fretted. I couldn't believe that Willie was so mad that he'd just not come get us
and
not call. He'd been picking us up ever since he could drive—most of last year and all of this one. Those early morning drives in together were the closest thing to a school tradition we had between the three of us. The thought that I'd messed that up with my carelessness made my stomach sour. Was sixteen too young to develop an ulcer?

Sherri saved me from my thoughts by pulling up to the curb and laying on the horn even though she could see me sitting there waiting for her. I hurried as fast as I could and got in the car so she'd stop. She screeched the tires as she pulled away.

We didn't talk much. I didn't feel like it and I think Sherri was tired of chastising me about how I'd treated Willie. Lucky me.

“Want the radio?” Sherri asked. I told her sure. The Beater doesn't have a CD, just an old cassette player. As Sherri and I would not lower ourselves to buy a cassette, we were stuck with the radio. Which was stuck on NPR. God.

The voices droned on in the background, barely audible over the sound of the engine laboring to pull us along on perfectly level ground. It was kind of hypnotic. The sound of the engine and the voices just on the edge of hearing. I leaned my head against the door and closed my eyes. I thought I'd get a few Zs before we got to school.

I was nodding off when I heard something on the radio that jerked me awake. I sat up suddenly and startled Sherri. The car swerved as she reacted.

“What the hell, Courtney?”

“Shut up a minute,” I said, and reached over to crank up the radio. Normally telling her to shut up and touching the radio are two big no-nos. She must have heard something in my voice that made her keep quiet.

The news guy's voice came in mid-story.

“. . . Police suspect the fire to have been deliberately set. Professor Keller's belief that the undead can be communicated with had sparked controversy. He has received more than a dozen death threats in the past several weeks following an appearance on a late-night talk show. Four undead humans were destroyed in the attack, which left Professor Keller in critical but stable condition. No other living humans were harmed in the fire. The FBI is currently following up on several leads.

“In international news . . .”

I switched off the radio and sat back in the seat. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

“Is that the guy you saw on that show?” Sherri asked. “Willie told me you told him.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“The zombie-whisperer, right?”

“That's him,” I said.

“People suck, dude,” she said, but without a lot of feeling. I agreed with her.

I wasn't sure why news of this guy's being attacked affected me. I felt really sad, though. God, I'd barely thought about the guy since I'd talked to Willie the day after I saw the show. I'd meant to Google him, maybe even write him an e-mail. I just hadn't gotten around to it. I mean, I thought his idea was interesting. I just couldn't even decide if I thought he was crazy or not.

“You okay over there?” Sherri asked.

“I'm fine.”

“It's not like you knew the guy, Courtney. He's not even dead.”

“I said, ‘I'm fine,' ” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “everyone who's fine says so in a monotone.” But she let it drop after that and we got to school just a few minutes later. Thankfully, she couldn't talk as she navigated security to get into the parking lot. After she parked, we climbed out of the car and walked toward the building. We had to split up before reaching the doors.

“I have Willie in pre-Algebra,” she said. “I'll kick him in the ass for the both of us.”

“Go easy on him,” I told her. “I think he had a rough weekend.”

“If I went easy on him,” she said, “he'd think that
I
didn't love him, too!” She ran away before I could take a swing at her. I had to admit it did make me smile despite myself.

I was distracted during my homeroom and AP English class, still worried about Willie. As the day went on, I thought about him less and less. Being able to concentrate on school despite whatever crap was going on in my life was sort of a survival technique.

I didn't see Sherri again until lunch, and I really expected Willie to be with her. When he wasn't, I again felt a hot rock in the pit of my stomach. As she approached, Sherri shook her head.

“He was a no-show in PA,” she said. “I even tried to call him while Saunders was explaining radical equations. No answer.”

“Dammit,” I said, “it's not like him to go all silent-treatment-y.”

She sat and opened up her lunch bag. She started to pull Tupperware dishes full of weird-looking food out and set it on the table. Sherri's mom is full-blood Hungarian and a lot of her leftovers look like science experiments gone horribly awry.

“I think it's a good sign,” Sherri said as she tucked into something blood red and stringy. “I think it's a sign that he's growing a backbone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Of course, we don't want him to get too uppity,” she said around a mouthful of food. “We'll have to make sure he knows his place in our little hierarchy.”

I was about to accuse her of being mentally deficient when a voice spoke up behind us.

“Can I join you?”

We both turned—Sherri with a forkful of food halfway to her mouth. Brandon stood there looking at us expectantly. I wondered what horror was about to pop out of Sherri's mouth. She placed the fork back in its plastic receptacle and she smiled. I winced.

“Brandon,” she said, “it would be lovely if you would join us.”

Oh, dear God,
I thought,
please let me die of something really fast right this instant.

It was further proof that there was no God when I lived to see Brandon plant himself on the bench opposite us.

For several moments, we all just sort of stared at one another. Maybe this situation was so awkward we'd all be rendered speechless. It was a scene of biblical awfulness, so maybe God stepped in and, in a reverse Tower-of-Babel sort of thing, he'd taken away our ability to speak.

“You're Sherri, right?” Brandon asked, dashing my hopes. “I'm Brandon. I didn't get a chance to meet you Friday night. I guess I owe you an apology.”

Sherri looked at me before turning to Brandon and giving him a toothy smile. “And why's that, Brandon?” she asked.

“Well, it's because of me that all of those people showed up,” he said. He really did look sorry. I looked over at Sherri to see if she was buying it. She was still pulling her I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about act. “I just hope it wasn't too much of a problem for you to have them there,” Brandon said.

“Well, it
was
unexpected, Brandon,” she said, “but, you know, no harm meant, right?”

“God, no,” Brandon said.

“Then don't sweat it,” she said.

I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd laid into him, made him storm away from the table with her berating. I'd seen it happen before. Honestly, the nice act made me even more uneasy.

“I'm so glad you see it that way,” Brandon said.

Sherri just nodded and took a big bite out of her whatever. Brandon turned his smile on me.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “Better since Saturday?”

“I'm fine,” I said more quietly than I'd meant.

“That's good; you seemed pretty shaken up,” he said, and then looked to Sherri. “Did Courtney tell you about Saturday?” he asked her.

“Oh, I know all about Saturday,” Sherri said, and something about her tone caught Brandon's attention. He paused a moment before going on.

“Um, yeah,” he said. “It was crazy. Courtney handled herself like a champ.”

I felt myself blush. Which was stupid. I knew I'd handled myself well. Why would Brandon's saying so matter?

“Mind if I change the subject?” Sherri asked.

“No, of course not,” Brandon said.

Sherri nodded and frowned a little bit, like she was considering something important.

“Let me ask you, Brandon,” she said. “What do you think about drugs?”

I was only barely able to keep myself from gasping. That's why she was being nice to Brandon. It wasn't him she wanted to punish, it was
me
!

Brandon looked at me uncertainly and then back to Sherri. He gave her a nervous grin.

“Drugs?” he asked.

Sherri nodded, encouraging him. “Yeah, you know what drugs are.”

“Yeah, sure I do,” he said. “I guess I've smoked pot a couple of times. It's not a habit or anything.” He added that last bit faster than he needed to and it made me wonder. Whatever.

“Sure, sure,” she said, nodding sagely. “But what about other drugs, harder drugs? Narcotics?”

“What's this about?” Brandon asked.

“It's nothing,” I said, and shot Sherri a glare that she chose to ignore.

“It's just something that Courtney and I were talking about earlier,” she said. Brandon shot me another look. “So what do you think about harder drugs?”

“I don't know,” he said, “I . . . I guess they're not for me . . . I don't know? They can mess people up pretty bad.”

“They can mess people up pretty bad,” Sherri said. She said it in a tone of voice like the thought had never occurred to her. “They can. Can't they, Courtney?”

“Not as bad as some other things,” I hissed at her.

“And what about people who sell drugs, Brandon, you know,
drug dealers
?”

Again he looked between the two of us. I'm sure he wondered what the hell was going on.

“I suppose they'd be responsible for anyone that got hurt doing drugs,” he said slowly.

Sherri nodded again, another revelation! She turned to me. “That makes sense, doesn't it, Courtney?”

“Sure,” I said, and I tried to hate her to death.

Sherri stood up and gathered her things.

“I should go away,” she said. “Brandon, it was really swell getting to know you better. I hope we can talk more later. Toodles, Courtney.”

I didn't say anything, just glared at her back as she walked away. When I turned back to Brandon, he looked at me funny.

“Don't mind her,” I said. “She has deep emotional flaws.”

Brandon gave me a courtesy laugh. “Yeah, that was my strangest conversation in a long while. I guess I'm just glad she's not mad at me.”

“Oh, she's not mad at
you,
” I said.

“I guess you're today's lucky winner,” he said.

“Oh, yeah.”

“How come?”

I thought about that for a bit, wondering if this was when I should have my Oprah moment with him. I decided it wasn't.

“Any number of reasons,” I said.

“Sure,” he said doubtfully.

We sat there for a minute just sort of staring at each other. I started to eat my sandwich again. No reason the awkward tension should keep me from eating. I might need something in my stomach to throw up if things got worse.

“I actually wanted to check in with you about how you're doing,” Brandon said, “after, you know, Saturday.”

“Oh, I know,” I said, “and I'm okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I was more upset about the next day.”

“What did I do yesterday?” Brandon asked.

“Paranoid much?” I asked. “I wasn't upset at you, I was upset with myself. Still
am
upset, really. I let down one of my friends and I think he's still mad at me.”

“He?” Brandon asked too quickly. He must have thought I was discussing some potential competition.

“Yeah,” I said, “my friend Willie.”

“Is he the big guy with the hair?”

“That about sums him up,” I said.

“So, is he . . . ?”

“He's just a friend, Brandon,” I said, “or at least I hope he still is. I need to talk to him. He's not answering when I call his house.”