His smile turns cocky and, I have to admit, I like that smile too. “I’ve got time.”
FROM THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE ISLAND, Scott watches as I scoop another spoonful of Lucky Charms into my mouth. I talk through the crunches. “And then I felt a pulse and Lacy thought we should pump again and I shook my head no.”
“Then what happened?” asks Scott.
I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin.
“We won. I mean, we saved the dummy and Mr. Knox said I did good.” I did something right. I still can’t get over it.
“That’s fantastic. Isn’t it, Allison?”
It’s eight o’clock at night. Allison sits at the opposite end of the bar and doesn’t bother glancing up from the latest toy Scott bought her last week: an e-reader. “Fantastic,” she echoes in a voice that tells me she doesn’t actually think so.
Shoving another spoonful of cereal into my mouth keeps me from muttering my exact thoughts. I should have waited to tell Scott the story over breakfast, when it’s just the two of us, but I was too excited.
“Is that what it’s like to be a nurse?” I ask Scott. “To feel all powerful and in control.”
And to have someone tell me that I did good?
My mind races with the possibilities. Maybe I could be a nurse. Blood doesn’t bother me.
Neither does puke. Too worked up to sit still, I drum my hands on the counter—I could really do this.
“You need to excel at science to be a nurse,” says Allison in her bored voice. “And your grades on your last progress report suggest that might be a problem for you.”
My face reddens as if she slapped me. I wish I could think of something wittier, but at times, the plain truth is good enough. “You really are a bitch.”
“Stop it, Elisabeth,” says Scott. “And Allison, her grades are improving.”
Well, screw me, Scott reprimanded the wench. Huh. Allison tears her eyes from the e-reader. I could bask in the glory of this moment, but I decided weeks ago that she’s not worth my time. I turn to Scott. Daydreaming is over. I have real problems. “I need black hair dye.”
“For what?” Scott asks.
Is he blind? I shake my hair and lower my head so he can see my roots. My roots. The blond pokes out from my jet-black hair like annoying rays of sun. I flip my hair back over my shoulder. “Will you buy me some?”
If I buy anything with the cash Isaiah gave me, Scott would be all over me like flies to crap. I’m not ready to tip my hand that I have cash. Besides, he’s always wanting to do something for me—now he can.
“No,” he says.
Um…did I misunderstand him? “No?”
“No.”
“I’m not going to be a blonde.”
“It’s who you are. Why do you have to change something so beautiful?”
“So only blondes are beautiful?”
Scott closes his eyes. “I never said that.”
“Then buy me the dye.”
He reopens them and studies me during one of his patented long silences. “I’ll buy you something that will match your original hair color.”
“I don’t want to be blond.”
“Give me a good reason why not.”
“I prefer black.”
“Not good enough.”
I purposefully gawk at Allison. “I hate blondes.”
“Still not good enough.”
I cross my arms over my chest and redirect my gaze to him. I can also do long silences.
“That’s it, Elisabeth? You want to have black hair. Just because. You have no reason. You want what you want.”
“Yeah.” I don’t like his tone or the way his blue eyes look right through me.
“When did you first dye it?” he asks.
“Eighth grade.” My instincts yell at me to run.
“Why?”
My throat becomes tight and I glance away.
“Because.”
“Because why, Elisabeth?”
Because one of Mom’s boyfriends thought I was her in the middle of the night.
“Tell me.” Scott keeps staring right through me. “Tell me why you dyed your hair.”
Isaiah knows. I told him once when I was too high to keep secrets. Mom’s boyfriend stumbled out of our only bedroom in the middle of the night. He sat on the floor next to where I slept on the couch. He lifted my hand, kissed it, and called me my mother’s name. He smacked me when I screamed and he smacked me again when he realized I wasn’t my mother.
The memories rush forward and I can’t shove them away. They need to go away. I need someone to ground me. I need someone to erase the bad memories. I haven’t forgiven Isaiah yet for betraying me. I haven’t talked to him in weeks and I’m not sure I’m ready to.
Even if there wasn’t our recent past between us, I’m not sure that I’d want Isaiah. For some reason, I crave someone else…and that scares me, and being scared only gives power to the memories.
In my head, I can hear the bastard’s voice. I can feel the bastard’s touch. My fingers claw at my head. Get out, get out, get out! I stand so abruptly the stool wobbles, then crashes to the floor. “Fuck you, Scott. I’ll buy the dye myself.”
Ryan
…and George looked at the girl with new eyes. No—not with new eyes, but maybe with eyes he had possessed in another life. With eyes that belonged not to his head, but to his heart. Her smile caressed him as if her fingers had slid up his arm. She constantly amazed him—a human willingly befriending a zombie. The opposite of him somehow gave this horrifying new life meaning. But what really amazed George was that she granted him the grace of a second chance.
Pleased with myself, I lean back in the chair and fold my hands over my stomach. Turns out George’s life was more confusing than he could have imagined. First he wakes up a zombie. Then he discovers that the other zombies expect him to be a leader, and then he shocks himself by loving his newfound power.
And then comes the girl.
Girls always complicate things. My lips turn up as I think of Beth. Yeah they do, but in a good way.
My phone vibrates and I glance at the caller ID. It’s an unknown number so I let it go to voice mail. Seconds later the phone chimes, telling me I have a text. I grab the phone and smile: Friends, right?—Beth
Me: Yes
“Then let me in.” Beth’s sexy voice drifts from the other side of my open window.
I check the clock—eleven. Mom and Dad would be in bed. To be safe, I lock the door to my bedroom before I raise the pane and pop the screen out. “What are you doing here?”
Beth swings one leg into my room, followed by the other, with such ease that I believe she’s done this before. “I got bored.”
“You could have called.” Popping the screen in isn’t nearly as easy as popping it out.
“I did.” Beth assesses my room. She picks up a baseball on my dresser, tosses it into the air, and barely makes the catch. “You didn’t answer.”
“You called thirty seconds ago.”
She drops the ball back onto my dresser.
“But I did call.”
The reality of the moment smacks me when she leans over and taps the lava lamp that stopped working a year ago. Her smooth skin and tattoo peek out when her top rides up. I inhale and focus on anything but touching her.
“Does your uncle know you’re here?”
“No.” Beth walks over to the computer.
“What are you working on?”
“A creative writing assignment.”
She pinches her lips as her head falls back.
“Damn. Do we have one? When is it due? Ah hell, Scott is going to rip me on this. And here I thought I was finally keeping up.”
Crap. Until now, I didn’t have to tell anyone.
“No, it’s not a class assignment. It’s something…extra…yeah. Something Mrs. Rowe asked me to do.”
Beth’s shoulders relax like she received a pardon from a death sentence. “Can I read it?”
Besides my teacher, no one’s asked to read my stuff before and I pause…long enough that Beth raises her eyebrows. If anyone’s going to read this, I’d prefer it to be her. Something tells me she’d understand. “Sure.”
“Print it out for me.” Beth plops on my bed and curls up around the pillows.
Her blue eyes survey me as she teases me with a slumberous look. My jeans get tight and I want to join her on the bed, badly, but I’ll show restraint even though she’s going to kill me in the process. “Plan on staying for a while?”
“Did you have other plans?”
No. “I’m going to sleep soon. We do have school tomorrow.”
“I’ve shared a bed way smaller than this for the past two years. Trust me, I’m the queen of not touching if that’s what you’re concerned about. Go on, print it out.”
“Not touching and sharing with who?”
Beth chuckles and shakes her head at the same time. “Jealous much? I think you were printing something out for me.”
Just go with it, Ryan. Like other predators, Beth can smell fear. Without another word, I print out the pages and she snatches them from my hand. I stare at her. She stares at me. “I’m not going to read it with you watching me.
That’s weird.”
“You’re in my room, Beth. You walked a half mile to get here. On a Wednesday. In the middle of the night. Uninvited.” I should define for her what weird is.
“Do you want me to go?”
“No.” I don’t. Somehow nothing has ever felt more right.
That evil smile slips onto her face. “Am I the first girl to be in your bed?”
Yes. I take a deep breath and return to the computer. I’ve dated girls. Been exclusive with a few and I’ve been respectful enough to proceed slowly to each base. There are some bases I have yet to reach. A girl in my bed being one of them. If she’s determined to be here, I’m determined to be okay with it and not let the nerves show. I guess my zombie found a girl he likes and wants to throttle at the same time.
“THIS IS GOOD, RYAN.” Beth’s distant voice snaps me out of the story and my hands stop tapping on the keyboard.
“Thanks,” I say. Beth lies on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. Her cleavage is beautifully exposed. My eyes avert to the floor.
“No, really. It’s good. Like this could be in a bookstore good. I totally get this guy.”
Yeah, so do I. “I finaled in a state writing competition.” The words come out naturally, as if I normally tell the world this sort of thing.
Beth flips through the pages. “I can see why.
Whoever judged the winner must have been on meth not to choose you.”
I glance around the room, waiting for the lightning to hit. Did she pay me a compliment?
“The winner hasn’t been announced. There’s another round of competition in a couple of weeks.”
“Oh,” she says. “Then I’m sure you’ll win.”
My stomach hollows out as I turn off my computer. Yeah, I’m writing the short story, but I still haven’t signed up for the competition.
