Dawn of the Jed (2 page)

Then I heard the kicker.

“Glad to hear, since Robbie was sort of hoping you’d be his opponent.”

Instead of fighting for honor, I was about to fight for my life.

Robbie didn’t let me down.

Once among eighth graders, I knelt off to the side, waiting for my name to be called. It wasn’t long.

“Robbie, you’re up,” Mr. Benatar said. “Bring your victim, er, opponent, with you.”

Someone pinched the back of my neck. Robbie.

Perfect.

He was Pine Hollow’s preeminent bully, and I was his officially licensed victim. Robbie tore me apart so often, I looked for a stamp on me that said “Some disassembly required.”

He squeezed harder and pushed me forward.

“Now,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for this all winter break. For the first time, I’m actually looking forward to school.”

“Because it’s the first time you’re back without an ankle monitor and a permission slip from your parole officer?”

Maybe it was not the best time to mouth off to Robbie, since we were about to enter … wait for it …

“Welcome to the Thunderdome,” Robbie announced, shoving me to the mat. “You’re Humpty Dumpty; I’m the wall. In about three minutes, no one is going to be able to put you back together again.”

I rolled onto my back, hiked my knees, and tucked into a fetal position, a natural sevvie-defense response to threatening stimuli.

A voice. Deep. Mr. Benatar. “Robbie, would you like to start in the up or down position?”

Hands gripped my ankles and pulled. My legs were jerked straight, and I felt like a turtle being pulled out of its shell, exposed to the world.

“Think I’ll just start here, if that’s OK with everyone.”

According to the choruses of “Woot” and “Stomp him,” it was.

As Robbie promised, I was about to go Humpty, and there was nothing I could do about it.

So here I was, playing the part of the wishbone in Robbie’s Thanksgiving fantasy. Since I was the main course, I feared what dessert might be.

My hips were losing hold of my legs. Amid snaps and creaks, it was as if my hips were apologizing. “Jed, we really tried to keep you together, but even you can’t seriously think—”

WHAP
!

I didn’t have to look down to see what had happened. But I did anyway.

“Did you make a wish?” Robbie said as he held my left leg over his head. “Because I did.”

He gripped my leg like a spear, my foot to the back, leaned forward, and let it fly. I quickly lost sight of my limb. A sharp metal clang told me all I needed to know. Robbie’s predictability was as good as having a GPS strapped to errant limbs. “Three pointer,” Robbie shouted, giving high-fives to the rest of the eighth-grade class. “That’s how we play.”

As Robbie celebrated, I surveyed the damage. Lifting the waistband of my gym shorts, I peered through the gap and saw what looked like a clean separation at the hip joint. Ooze dripped from the wound, and I was thankful it looked a lot worse than it felt.

Still, I was pretty sure I didn’t have nearly enough duct tape in my backpack to make this right again.

“Wait, how stupid could I be?” Robbie said, turning toward me.

I kept my mouth shut, for once.

“This match isn’t over. A winner has yet to be determined. Let’s finish this.”

I had no idea how much force is generated when one-hundred-eighty pounds falls twenty miles per hour, but it’s a lot. And it hit my chest, forcing out what little air I had in my lungs.

A hand slapped the mat inches from my head. One-two-three.

“We have a winner now,” Mr. Benatar said, helping my worthy opponent to his feet and raising Robbie’s hand in victory. “OK, everyone, hit the showers, bell rang three minutes ago.”

I had no idea since bells were still ringing in my head.

Mr. Benatar kneeled next to me. I was sure he was going to ask me how I was, since caring for every student’s well-being is part of the teacher oath.

“That’s how it is supposed to be between seventh and eighth graders,” he said. “Now all is right with the world.”

Mr. Benatar apparently was sick on oath-taking day.

Once he left, I sat up. The seventh graders were long gone, not wanting anything to do with the zombie who didn’t know his place. But there was Mr. Stanzer at the trash can, one hand poking around the top.

I struggled to my feet. No, sorry, I struggled to my foot and hopped over to the waste can.

Mr. Stanzer heard my footstep. “Jed, sorry,” he said.

“No worries,” I said. “It’s only a flesh wound.”

“No, not your leg.” He stared into the trash can. “It’s Taco Day.”

Of all the trash cans on all the days in this crazy school, Robbie had to toss my leg into cafetorium trash on Taco Day.

My left foot protruded from shredded lettuce, ground beef, and the most dreaded lunch substance of all—refried beans.

“Mr. Stanzer, I got this,” I said. His face was turning a shade of green I’d never seen.

“You sure?”

“Abso—”

He was gone.

“—lutely.”

I removed the leg from the can as if pulling the sword from the stone. It came out smoothly, coated in Taco Day.
Victory!
I held it above my head and hopped in a circle.

“Jed, what the heck?” a familiar voice said behind me.

I swiveled as fast as a one-legged zombie, which wasn’t very fast.

“Anna, hey.”

“I don’t even want to ask. I do, but I know the answer. Robbie.”

“Pretty much.”

Anna was my girlfriend. Not that I ever said that out loud. Or admitted it to anyone. Or ever thought about letting Anna know how I felt. Especially that last one. Total deal breaker.

We hung out almost every day. We walked home together. We’d been to the movies a few times, just the two of us. While that may not seem to cross the friend-girlfriend barrier, consider this: we always bought one bucket of popcorn. Medium. It sat between us, and we’d often go for it at the same time, fingertips touching. But the real proof was in the soda. We shared it, including the straw.

If that’s not having a girlfriend, what is?

“Looks like you could use a little help,” Anna said, slinging her backpack off her shoulder.

“Mr. Stanzer told you, right?”

“What do you think, that I have some sort of zombie sense that tingles every time you’re in trouble? If I did, I’d never get any rest. Yes, Mr. Stanzer said some reassembly was required.”

She unzipped her backpack and took out a staple gun and duct tape.

“I hope I have enough, this one looks pretty serious,” she said, kneeling to get a better look. “Look, you’re going to have to lift your shorts a little bit so I can see exactly what happened.”

My face got as hot as if I were sticking my head in an oven and setting it for “Humiliated.”

“Would you mind if, you know, maybe I did it myself, or …”

“I think that’s best,” Anna said. The awkwardness of the situation probably hit her as soon as she said, “Lift your shorts.”

I knew what I had to do, but it required the help of a friend who hadn’t been so friendly lately. Something weird, even a little scary, had happened over Christmas break. I wasn’t so sure Luke could let it go.

But I really needed his help.

“Anna, could you go get Luke before the next PE classes start coming in?” I asked. We had another five minutes or so as students changed into their gym gear.

“You bet, but you have to do something.”

“I know. I’m already tired of hopping around. I feel like the Easter Zombie Bunny.”

“Not your leg. You have to tell someone about Robbie. He can’t rip off a limb and get away with it.”

“Who am I going to tell?” I said, wiping my leg on my T-shirt to scrape off taco remains. “Mr. Benatar saw it all and cheered Robbie on. Principal Buckley threatened to expel me for smoking when he found my dismembered arm holding Robbie’s cigarette.”

Anna glared at me.

She is so my girlfriend.

“Fine, I’ll get Luke.”

“You’ll get Luke what?” Luke appeared out of nowhere, as if he hit a “Decloaking” button. Was I the only kid at Pine Hollow who had no stealth mode?

“Jed, nice look,” he said. “That refried bean pattern on your T-shirt sort of looks like Robbie.”

Anna nodded. “In fact if you squint you can—”

“Do you mind if we skip a game of ‘Guess the Stain’ and get me fixed up?”

“Geez, you’re pretty cranky for a guy with one leg,” Luke said. “Fine, pass me the stuff, and let’s get this going.”

“And that is my cue,” Anna said. “See you guys later.”

Luke took my leg, and I eased to the floor. He lifted my shorts without asking, pushing the leg bone into the hip socket with a click.

“Zombie Legos,” he said. “Cool.”

“Just, please.”

“Fine.”

In a few minutes it was done. The joint was a bit loose, but it was a good fix. Ooze would do the rest, stitching everything back together the way it does.

I wished I could repair my friendship with Luke as easily.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem. So if that’s it, I’ll get to class.”

“OK, see ya.”

So much for meaningful conversation.

Luke slipped out the door and was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And the first one was,
You are going to be late to class.

My thought was right. I still had to shower and change.

It wasn’t until I looked at my watch that I noticed the time—and it was time to panic.

The watch wasn’t there.

My dad had given me a
Walking Dead
watch, featuring a couple of zombies on the face. Though it offended my zombie sensibilities—I was on a permanent flesh-free diet—it was pretty cool. And my dad loved the irony, telling me, “You can set the alarm for noon, so when you get hungry, you will know it’s lurch time. Get it?”

The watch must have come off while Robbie tried to turn me into scrap parts. I scanned the mat, but no sign.

Nothing on the floor or along the walls. I noticed several tables that had been pushed into the corner, rolled out each day for lunch. There was plenty of room for something to slide underneath and out of sight.

I put my cheek to the floor and saw dust, hair … a taco! Too bad Luke left.

Something else. Small, black. It looked promising.

I reached as far as I could, felt plastic, put my hand over it, and slid it out.

My watch, thank goodness. But trapped below it was a piece of paper.

A bold headline across the top caught my attention. “Do you have a brain?” Right below it, in slightly smaller type, was, “If so, beware of zombies looking for a snack.”

Not good. I scanned the rest. I hadn’t seen such anti-zombie propaganda since
Night of the Living Dead.
I folded it and tucked it into my back pocket, realizing Robbie wasn’t my only worry this semester.

What the heck was the NZN Network? And what did it have against the undead?

There are three reasons zombies tend not to blend in well at school.

First: No amount of spray tan can hide the gray pallor.

Two: I can bathe ten times a day and still give off a slight whiff of
ZO
(zombie odor).

Three: Bullies consider detachable limbs to be a party game.

That’s why I was in a pretty good mood when school let out the week before Christmas. The sevvies had beaten the eighth graders for the first time ever, and Anna and I had patched up our troubles. She was honest about first being interested in me when she thought I could bring her over to the undead (my mom’s lectures about eating well and cleaning up after yourself had a much better chance at turning someone into a zombie).

But I believed her when she admitted becoming interested in me as a person rather than someone with detachable body parts. I had that effect on people when I turned on the charm.

But the best thing about being on break? Two blissful weeks living in a world where I would not have to encounter those “Beware of flying limbs” signs that were posted in and around Pine Hollow Middle School in the final week of the winter semester. Apparently the administration considers flying limbs a health hazard, rather than the bullies who hurl them.

But none of that was on my mind when, with happy (if non-beating) heart, I sat down with Mom and Dad for our annual exchanging of the Christmas lists, which again took place on my first day of winter break.

Since I was at the time blissfully unaware of what the next semester held (and my future role as wishbone), I grinned as Mom, Dad, and I took our spots at the kitchen table. I clutched my list nervously, since once again it contained an item I’d always dreamed about.

Tradition dictated that Mom went first. She started as she always did, with the origin story.

“As the Rivers clan gathers once again to make sure Christmas morning is not the disaster it once was, let us reflect on the horrible holiday gifts past,” she started, looking squarely at Dad. “Because those who are not shamed by history are doomed to repeat their bad choices.”

No matter how many times I heard this, I still loved it.

“It began long before the arrival of the Rivers’ first-born, in 1989, our first Christmas together,” Mom continued. “It was a vacuum cleaner, a horrid choice no matter its seventeen detachable tools and fifteen-amp motor.