Never Slow Dance with a Zombie - By E. Van Lowe Page 0,23

dignity and grace, and never look through a classmate as if she didn't exist just because she didn't look or act like me. I would be a shining example for it-girls across America--once I got up off the floor.

At that moment a mouse darted between two pursuing zombies. The scrambling mouse leaped into the air, and landed in my lap.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

They say time stops in moments of crisis. I've heard stories of people in horrific car accidents who've said the whole thing played out moment by moment in front of them in slow motion. I never believed any of those stories. I always thought the people who told them were being overly dramatic. I couldn't fathom that something occurring in a split second could play out like a DVD stuck in slo-mo--until it happened to me.

The next several things I am about to tell you happened in a matter of seconds.

Slow Motion

My ear-piercing scream alerted the zombies. Their heads jerkily whipped from side to side as they tried to determine the origin of the sound. Then one by one their eyes all fell on me. Dark eyes.

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Ravenous eyes. Their mouths opened, revealing fangs dripping with saliva.

The zombies began crawling in my direction.

I glanced over at Sybil. Terror was frozen onto her face. It seemed at any moment she'd faint dead away.

Thinking more quickly than I ever thought possible, I grabbed at Sybil's hand. "Grrr," I said.

I pulled her hand open, pretending to snatch something from it. Then I cupped my hands to my mouth and began making noisy, gobbling sounds. I pretended to chew, swallow, then glanced around at the leering zombies. I screamed again.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" But I filled this second scream with the primal delight of a cavewoman who had just discovered fire.

Normal Time

I put my head down and went back to sluggishly swatting at the remaining mice, keeping a watchful eye on the zombies around me, hoping, praying they'd fall for my little charade. Slowly they too went back to the task at hand. A fleeing mouse somehow landed in the hand of one of Amanda's bunch.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr," she croaked, mimicking my scream. Then she picked the squirming rodent up by the tail, lowered it into her mouth and... well, you get the picture. Ick!

I glanced back at Sybil. The color was slowly draining back into her face. She looked at me. "Grr," she growled gratefully.

"Grrwelcome," I replied.

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Chapter Thirteen

From there the day proceeded uneventfully until I got to gym class. I'd been looking forward to gym, figuring Sybil and I could use the free period to work on themes for the homecoming celebration. I entered and climbed into the bleachers as I always did.

"Margot Jean Johnson, where do you think you're going?" It was the unmistakable throaty rasp of Mrs. Mars.

I wheeled around, surprised to find a very much alive Mrs. Mars standing in front of the class, a class consisting of zombies dressed in ugly green gym uniforms. The zombies leered up at me with hungry eyes.

"Be careful, Mrs. Mars. They're dangerous," I warned softly.

"Who's dangerous?" she bellowed.

"Why... them." I pointed in the direction of the zombies.

She shot the ghouls an incredulous stare. "What's Miss Johnson talking about?" she rasped.

Surprisingly, all the zombies took a step backward, as if they were afraid of her. Then it dawned on me. Sense memory, of course. These girls had been afraid of Mrs. Mars since

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before they'd come to Salesian. Her evil reputation was legend in every junior high and middle school in the area. As humans they'd never dream of challenging her. Now that they were zombies, something in their bones told them she was way more dangerous than they were.

"Remember our little pact? Note or not, you're mine." She wheezed.

"I think you need to check with Principal Taft." My voice rose with indignation. "I'm sure he'll tell you I am exempt from gym for the rest of the semester."

Cackling laughter burst from her lips. "Principal Taft?" The zombies all took another step back. "Principal Taft has no jurisdiction over my PE class."

"But... but... he's the principal."

"We're hitting the track in preparation for the state endurance exam this morning. I expect you'll be joining us, won't you, Miss Johnson?"

I wanted to scream, Who cares about the state endurance exam? The school is overrun with zombies who eat live mice, and Principal Taft promised me I'd never have to participate in gym class ever again.

Mrs. Mars was staring at me, her beady eyes boring into me. "Time's a wastin', Miss Johnson."

I looked at the