The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,2
face T-zone, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.
Was it weird to think she was cute? She had shining brown eyes and a button nose that crinkled adorably each time she looked at the fluorescent lights. Well, as adorable as a zombified girl could be, with all that makeup, straggly hair, and fake wounds. Why did she take this “zombie girl in the closet” role? She could seriously star in commercials or something like that.
This girl was way out of my league, though. Out of my dimension, even. My heart pounded as my chest tightened, giving me the sensation that my body was trying to choke my heart out of my chest cavity. God, why was I so awkward around girls? And a zombie girl, no less.
Not knowing what else to do next, I extended my clammy, sweat-pooled hand, and we shook firmly, like we were coaches facing off in a football game.
“Nice to meet you, Nate,” she said, then stretched her arms high above her head. “That closet is way too small for someone my height. And I’m only five foot three and a half.” After hopping around on both feet, she added, “My feet are asleep!”
“So, you’re the new big finale, jumping out of the closet at the end? You’re here from now through Halloween, and then what—are you coming back for Thanksgiving and Hanukkah and Christmas?” I was torn between being ecstatic about her new role and being terrified, knowing she’d be hiding in the closet for fifty-nine minutes of each session, maybe listening to me give my opening spiel. Even with fifty-plus escape room games under my belt, my self-confidence shrank by the second at the mere thought of being in future sessions with this zombie girl.
“Yeah, I’m just a seasonal worker, not a year-rounder like you. Will work for food. Or brains,” she said, giving a nod toward my shirt. A boom of thunder rumbled and echoed through the building, taking me by surprise. Thunderstorms were a rarity in Seattle, something to do with the cool breeze on the Pacific Ocean. Something I didn’t really pay much attention to in junior high science class, but maybe should have.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” she asked.
Gulping down my fear, I replied, “Depends. What do you need? If you need a ride home or something, then maybe?” My mom’s 2002 Honda was a busted piece of crap and shimmied at fifty-five miles per hour, its top speed, but it got the job done, driving from point A to point B. But if Kate wanted to borrow money, she was shit out of luck. All of my wages went toward my Xbox subscription, college fund, and savings for a business I’d launch in a few years. I had nothing to spare.
“I need you to tell me which black eye looks better.” She pointed double-finger guns at her face. “Left eye…or the right one? I’m trying to perfect my makeup artistry for work again tomorrow.” Damn, she was working a shift tomorrow, and unfortunately I wasn’t. My stomach twinged with disappointment. Or hunger. Maybe both.
“I—I—I like the one on the left. It gives your eye a gaunt, hollow look,” I said hesitantly as she raised an eyebrow at me.
She pulled a mirror from her purse and examined both eyes. “Interesting. I kind of like the other one. It looks more realistic to me. Like I’m not trying too hard to look dead, you know?”
What in the hell was she talking about? Both of her eyes were “dead”-looking. I’d worked at this zombie escape room job for a year. Read every zombie survival guide I could get my hands on. Watched every zombie movie and every episode of The Walking Dead more than once. I knew my zombie shit.
“Yeah, I agree,” I replied, and motioned for her to come with me to the employee lockers in the break room.
“So, actually, could I get a lift home maybe?” she asked as we opened our lockers. “I didn’t really think about how I’d look taking public transportation. And you know, the rain could make it all worse.” She removed her hat and smiled, revealing a fake missing tooth and bloody gums. I had to