Why I Quit Zombie School (5 page)

The leg bounced to the grass. The boy’s sneaker made a soft
thud
as it landed. The leg lay flat on the field.

The boy stood there on one leg, gazing down at it. His eyes were wide with shock. “I … don’t … believe it,” he murmured.

My stomach lurched. I spun away. Dropped to my knees. Covered my face with my hands.

“Oh, noooo,” I moaned. “What have I done?”

I stayed down on the ground with my face covered for a long time. I wanted it all to go away. Everything. This horrible school. These frightening kids.

When I looked up, the boy was being carried away on a stretcher. He was on his back, and he held the leg up high in one hand. He waved it at the sky like a trophy.

I felt sick. I struggled to keep my lunch down. The ground spun in front of me.

I realized someone had a hand on my shoulder. I gazed up to see Coach Meadows beside me.

His face seemed to sag even more. His eyes were sad. He reached out his hands. “Stand up, Matt,” he said.

He helped pull me to my feet. My legs were shaky. I thought I might fall right back down.

I pictured that leg lying on the grass.

No blood. The leg cracked off, but the boy didn’t bleed.

“Don’t worry, Matt,” the coach said softly. “Stop thinking about it. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But —” I started. My words caught in my throat.

“These injuries happen all the time,” Coach Meadows said.

“They do?” I choked out.

He nodded solemnly. Behind him, the other players stared at me blankly. They didn’t react at all to a guy losing his whole leg!

“You looked pretty good out there,” the coach said. He rubbed his bald head. “Actually, you looked
very
good.”

Until I kicked a player’s leg off.

“Let’s call it for today,” Coach Meadows said. “Go to your room, Matt, and don’t think about soccer. They took Davey to the Reviver Room. He’ll be back in time for practice tomorrow.”

“He will?” I said. “Oh. Uh … good.” I didn’t want to act too surprised. I had to act like the other players.

Coach Meadows blew his whistle. His whole body sagged, as if it took all his strength to make it work.

“Tomorrow at four!” he announced to everyone. He flashed me a thumbs-up and slumped toward the back of the school.

Most of the players started to jog up the hill with the coach. I walked slowly after them.

But Angelo and his friend Mikey stepped up to block my way. They both eyed me suspiciously.

“You’re just ner vous — right?” Angelo said.

“Uh … yeah. I’m kind of ner vous,” I replied.

Mikey scowled at me. “You’re tense and pumped up,” he said. “That’s why you ran so much faster than us?”

I swallowed hard. My mouth suddenly felt dry as cotton.

I didn’t want to be caught. Saturday was Parents Day. Maybe my parents could get me away from here before the zombie kids realized I wasn’t one of them.

I just had to be careful. Very, very careful.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Whenever I’m really pumped, I act like that. You know. Almost like I’m alive. But I’m not. I’m still dead, see. I mean, still undead. Whatever. Really.”

That didn’t come out right.

The two big hulks didn’t move. They continued to study me, their faces frozen with scowls.

Mikey motioned to the field. “You were very fast,” he said.

“Just nerves,” I said.

Angelo squinted at me. “Dude, when did you die?” he asked.

“Recently,” I said. “Very recently.”

They both nodded.

“Catch you later,” Mikey said.

They both jogged off toward the school.

I stood there shaking. I realized I had sweat pouring down my face.

This is what REAL horror is like,
I told myself.

I swore to myself if I survived this school, I’d never go to another horror movie.

I just had to make it till Saturday. Saturday morning, my parents would arrive. Could I convince them to take me away from here?

Could I convince them to save my life?

Saturday morning, I woke up early. I skipped breakfast and waited at the front of the school for Mom and Dad to arrive.

It was a gray morning with dark clouds low overhead. From time to time, lightning flashed in the black clouds. Thunder rumbled far in the distance.

Perfect for a horror movie.

In my head, I kept running over and over all the things I wanted to tell my parents. I knew it would be hard to make them believe my story.

So I knew I had to
show
them I was telling the truth. I planned to give them a tour of the school that would convince them beyond a doubt that we were surrounded by zombies.

The night before, I’d looked for Franny. I wanted to ask if her parents were coming, too. I wanted to ask if she was as desperate to get out of this zombie school as I was.

But she was studying with a group of girls. And I didn’t get to talk to her.

I paced back and forth in the front hall. Most kids were still in the Dining Hall having their breakfast.

Finally, I saw my parents’ car curling up the long driveway. I shoved open the doors and rushed out to meet them.

A light rain had started to fall. By the time my dad parked the car, I was fairly soaked.

But I didn’t care. It was
Escape Time
.

First, we had a lot of hugs. My parents kept saying how much they missed me, even though it had only been two weeks.

“Jamie misses you, too,” Mom said. “But she’d never admit it.”

“Where
is
Jamie?” I asked.

“She had too much homework. She had to stay home,” Mom said. “She’s in high school, you know. They give a lot of homework.”

I sighed. “Here, too.”

We started to walk to the front entrance. “How’s school going?” Dad asked. “Better than the last time you called?”

“No,” I said. I stopped them on the front walk. “I really need you to listen to me. I need you to believe me. Everything I’ve told you about this school — I’m not making it up.”

They both groaned. “Please, Matt. Don’t start with that zombie nonsense,” Dad said. “Let’s
have a nice day together and talk about
real
things.”

“Wait. Wait,” I said. I blocked their path to the front doors. “Let’s make a deal,” I said. “Just give me a chance to prove my case. Okay? I mean, just keep an open mind.”

“But how can we —?” Dad started.

I put my hands together like I was begging. “Just let me take you around this morning,” I said. “Let me show you some things and let you talk to some kids. That’s all. Just don’t make up your minds till after lunch. Is that okay?”

They exchanged glances. “This is crazy,” Mom muttered. “You’re keeping us out here in the rain. For what? You really want us to believe there are zombies in this school?”

“I’m going to show you,” I said. “If you’ll give me a chance.”

Silence for a long moment. “Okay,” Dad said finally. “Deal.”

“And then you’ll drop the whole zombie nonsense?” Mom asked.

“Open mind,” I said. “Remember? You’re keeping an open mind?”

I turned to the school entrance. I saw the principal, Mr. Craven, step out to the top of the stairs. A flash of lightning made his bald onion head glow.

I turned back to Mom and Dad. “Okay,” I said. “There’s Mr. Craven. Remember him? Get ready. Here’s your first clue.”

Rain pattered on the walk as we made our way to the front steps. Mr. Craven had a big smile on his round, pale face. He had his hands in the jacket pockets of the baggy gray suit he wore every day.

I knew he was eager to give Mom and Dad a big greeting.

“Now be sure to shake hands with him,” I told them. “He’s a zombie, so his hands will be ice-cold. Dry and cold. That’s because he’s dead.”

Mom frowned at me. “The man probably has bad circulation.”

“Yes. Very bad circulation,” I said. “Because he’s
dead
!”

“
Ssshh
. He’ll hear you,” Mom whispered.

I heard a clatter of shoes on the walk. I turned to see a big black umbrella. A man and a woman were hunched under it, jogging quickly toward us.

Visiting parents.

They passed us and climbed the stairs to Mr. Craven. Craven’s smile grew wider. He greeted them warmly and shook their hands. He waved them into the building.

We were right behind them. “Get ready,” I whispered.

“Hello, Krinskys,” Craven said warmly. “Hurry. Get out of the rain.” He held the door open and waved us inside.

Mom and Dad started into the school. “No — wait,” I said. “Shake hands. Shake his hand.”

Too late. We were inside.

The other parents closed their umbrella and shook it out. Mom and Dad wiped rainwater from their hair. Two more parents burst in behind us.

“Mom, Dad — don’t you see how pale the other parents are?” I asked.

They frowned. “It’s a dark, rainy day, Matt,” Dad said. “Everyone looks pale.”

“Welcome, everyone. Welcome,” Craven gushed, ignoring the raindrops running down his bald head.

“He seems perfectly nice,” Mom whispered.

“You are welcome to wander around the school,” Craven announced. “It is Saturday, so our students will be relaxed and casual.”

“They’re so relaxed, they’re
dead
,” I whispered.

Mom shushed me and gazed at the zombie principal.

“If you are hungry from your trip, breakfast
is still being served in the Dining Hall,” Craven said.

“Yes! Breakfast!” I cried. I wanted my parents to see the disgusting stuff these undead kids ate. And the gross, sickening way they ate it.

“Come on,” I said, pulling them by the hand. “Breakfast. You have to see this.”

“I don’t think so,” Mom said. “We had a big breakfast before we left.”

“Let’s just wander around a bit,” Dad said. “Show us what you’ve done to your room.”

“No. Breakfast,” I insisted. “You don’t have to eat. I just want you to see it.”

They both shrugged. I led the way upstairs. I knew when they saw the zombie kids eating, they’d
have
to believe me.

As soon as we reached the second floor, I could smell the food. For breakfast, the cooks serve huge vats of nearly raw eggs, pots of bacon fat, big gray pancakes that tasted like dirt, and fruit plates piled up with brown fruits that must have decayed ten years ago.

The zombie kids lap it up. I usually had a bowl of Frosted Flakes with milk — unless they were serving sour milk that day. Then, I ate the cereal with orange juice.

“Mmmmm. Smells good,” Dad said, sniffing the air. “Reminds me of
my
school days.”

“It won’t,” I said. I pushed open the double doors for them. “Come on in. See how zombies eat.”

I led them inside. I glanced around. Perfect. At the first table, a boy was shoving raw eggs into his mouth with both hands. He had egg yolk all over his face.

Near the back, some guys were tossing a gray pancake back and forth like a Frisbee. Two girls were shoving black sausages into their mouths as fast as they could.

I turned to Mom and Dad. They were watching the whole thing with shocked expressions on their faces.

“See?” I said eagerly. “See?”

Then they both started laughing.

“Nothing ever changes,” Mom said.

Dad shook his head. “We were much worse,” he said. “Wow. I remember the incredible food fights we used to have. The whole lunchroom would be covered in slop.”

“Kids will always be kids,” Mom said. “Just look at them.”

“But — but — but —” I sputtered. “Don’t you see? These aren’t normal kids. They —”

“Of course they are,” Dad said. He tugged my arm and guided me to the doors. “What could be more normal? Come on. Let’s go. Mom and I want to see your room.”

“Take us around the school. Give us the full tour,” Mom said.

I sighed. So far, I was a total failure. How could I convince them they were in a zombie school?

This was my only chance to prove I wasn’t making up a horror story. I had to convince them. My life depended on it.

I led them upstairs past the Study Room. Through the glass door, I could see zombie kids studying in there, tapping away on their laptops.

Angelo wandered past. He waved and called out my name.

“A new friend?” Mom asked.

“He’s on the soccer team,” I said. “But if he finds out I’m alive, he’ll probably kill me.”

The bell rang overhead just as I said that. Mom and Dad didn’t hear me.

“I like the calm atmosphere here,” Dad said. “Everyone moves so slowly. No one is in a hurry. It’s a very relaxed place.”

“Dad, they’re moving slowly because they’re undead,” I said. “That’s as fast as they can move.”

They both laughed.

“You’re not convincing us,” Mom said. She glanced at her watch. “You don’t have much time left to show us your proof.”

“I know,” I said.

We stepped into the Center Court in the middle of the school. I looked up at the balcony. And suddenly I knew.

I knew I was going to convince my parents this was a zombie school.

They were about to see the proof with their own eyes.

A few kids gathered in the court. They moved in front of us. They all had their eyes on the balcony.

A few seconds later, a girl peered over the railing. She had short blond hair tied in pigtails. She wore a black sweater over black jeans.

“Watch,” I told my parents. I motioned to the balcony. “Just watch this. It’s going to be horrible. But maybe you’ll believe me.”

The girl started to pull herself up to the top of the balcony wall.

“Oh. Hey,” Dad said. He fumbled in his pants pocket. He pulled out his phone. “Oh. Sorry. I have a call.”

He started to raise the phone to his ear. But it slipped out of his hand.

The phone hit the hard floor with a
clang
.

The blond-haired girl leaped off the balcony and hit the floor. She thudded heavily, and she bounced twice before landing in a heap.

“Did you see —?” I started. Then I gasped.

Both of my parents had their backs turned. They were both bending over to pick up Dad’s phone.

“I’ll bet it was Jamie,” Dad said. He grabbed the phone and studied it.

“Is it okay? Did it break?” Mom asked.

“Didn’t you see her jump!”
I screamed.
“Didn’t you see what just happened?”

Dad squinted at the phone screen. “It seems to be okay,” he said.

“Check the call log,” Mom said. “Was that Jamie calling?”

I totally lost it. I started screaming my head off. “That girl jumped off the balcony!” I cried. “Didn’t you see her?”

Kids turned to look at me. I realized it was dangerous to scream.

“Where?” Mom asked. “Who jumped? Where?”

I pointed. The blond-haired girl was climbing to her feet. She brushed off the front of her sweater. She started to walk away.

“She couldn’t have jumped,” Mom said. “Look. She’s walking away. Why would you say such a crazy thing?”

“Matt, it’s time to drop the whole zombie thing,” Dad said. “We gave you a chance. Now it’s just getting tired.”

I failed again. Failed. Failed. Failed.

I wanted to jump up and down and scream and throw myself into the wall and — and —

Wait. One last try. One last chance to save my life.

I knew who could help me. I knew who could convince them.

My parents wouldn’t listen to me. But they
would
listen to Franny.

Franny. The only other living kid in this school.

Franny would tell them this is a zombie school. And they would believe her.

Now where could I find her? She could be anywhere.

And then I nearly cried out when I saw Franny step into the court. She wore a red-and-black Romero sweatshirt over a short black skirt. She had a bulging backpack on her shoulders.

I guessed she was headed to the Study Room upstairs.

“Franny! Hey!” I took off, running through the crowded circle of kids. “Franny!”

She turned and waited for me. “Matt, what’s up?”

“Did your parents come?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not this time. Yours?”

“Yes,” I said. “I want you to meet them. I want you to tell them —”

“Tell them?” Franny said.

I turned. My parents had followed me across
the hall. Dad was texting someone on his phone. Mom smiled at Franny.

“This is Franny. She’s in my class,” I said.

Mom and Dad said hi. Dad frowned at the phone and tucked it into his pants pocket.

“Have you been at Romero long?” Mom asked her.

“This is my second year,” Franny said. She shifted her backpack on her shoulders.

“I’ve been trying to tell my mom and dad about this school,” I told Franny. “But they don’t believe me.”

She giggled. “Really?”

Dad rolled his eyes. “You’re not starting this stuff again, are you? In front of your friend?”

“Tell them,” I said to Franny. “Go ahead. Tell them the truth about this school. They won’t believe me — but they’ll believe you.”

Franny squinted at me. “The truth?”

“Yes,” I insisted. “Go ahead. Tell them what’s
special
about this school.”

Franny raised her eyes to the ceiling, as if she was thinking hard. She took a deep breath. Finally, she started. “Well …”