chapter Twenty - eight
I took Sybil home with me. I bathed her wound in Betadine, then bandaged it in gauze. I fed her herbal tea--a chamomile, goldenseal, Red Zinger cocktail. I didn't know what else to do. But it seemed as though the change had slowed. Maybe I had caught it in time. Maybe she wasn't doomed. Maybe I wasn't fooling myself. Maybe.
As evening approached, with it came the fog of doubt.
Everything indicated Mrs. Mars was trying to turn us into zombies. I kept asking myself why. It didn't make sense. But I didn't need to know her reasons. If Mrs. Mars was the culprit, she held the key to the whereabouts of the antidote that could keep my friend from joining the living dead. I needed that key.
"We have to tell Principal Taft that Mrs. Mars got to Baron and Milton. And now she's trying to get us," Sybil said. She was lying on my bed, resting. The circles beneath her eyes had faded. They weren't as red as before.
"We need proof," I said.
"What kind of proof?"
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"I don't know. Something she can't deny."
We sat in silence, and I thought about how many times we'd sat here in my room, eating snickerdoodles and planning our fabulous futures. Not once had our plans included surviving a zombie attack.
"We're telling the truth, right?" I said all of a sudden.
"Of course." She sat up, staring at me with the kind of schoolgirl anticipation she'd had when I'd told her some of my best-kept secrets.
I took a deep breath. "Remember Percy Paulson?"
"Your first kiss," she replied in a playful singsong.
"He wasn't. We didn't kiss that day after the walkathon." A look of surprise came across her face.
"What happened?"
"You left us alone to exchange phone numbers."
"1 remember what I did, Margot."
"Right. Well... we didn't kiss."
"I thought he liked you?"
"He did ... until I threw up."
Sybil shifted to the edge of the bed and stared at me. "What?"
"He leaned in to kiss me, and my stomach got all fluttery. And-blah!"
"How horrible!" She practically gasped.
"I didn't do it on him. No, no. Just a tiny bit on the ground. But I guess it was enough to make him not like me so much after that."
Sybil started to laugh, her laughter building like a musical crescendo, and then suddenly stopped.
"I wish you'd told me."
"I wanted to. But if I'd told you, I would have had to tell you why my stomach got all fluttery." I swallowed hard. "I was scared of being kissed."
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She didn't laugh, or gasp, or look at me like I was from another planet. She eyed me thoughtfully.
"And all this time I thought he just didn't call."
"He didn't Well, maybe he did. I gave him a fake phone
number." Sybil's eyes narrowed. "I was too embarrassed!"
"Why are you telling me this now?" she suddenly said. "You think I'm going to die, don't you?"
"No."
A beatific smile spread across her face. "Margot, I've never told you this before, but you're a lousy liar."
I laughed. It was the most genuine laugh I'd had in a long time.
"We're still telling the truth, right?" Sybil asked.
"Why stop now?"
She took a deep breath. "I only pretended to like Baron Chomsky to make you jealous."
"I know. It was pretty obvious. But you got him anyway. You got him without even trying," I said with a sigh.
"Sometimes you are so dumb. Baron isn't interested in me. He was doing the same thing I was doing, trying to get your attention."
Should I tell her how well it worked?
"That's why I didn't know about the antidote," she continued. "I wasn't hanging with Baron and Milton every night. I was only pretending to."
I was speechless, adjusting to the thought that perhaps Baron still liked me. For an instant my heart fluttered.
"I know you like him," Sybil said after a while. "You just don't want to date a geek. I can understand that. It's not in the manifesto."
I was red with embarrassment over all the bad things I had
thought about Baron and Sybil Then suddenly I asked, "Do you think I'm fat?"
"Do you think I'm skinny?"
"No fair. You're answering a question with a question."
"I know, but since I'm the one who got bit, my rules."
"Okay." Then, "Yes."
She yelped. "I knew it!"
"But in a good way. If I had your legs I could wear thigh-high leather boots."
"If I had your chest I could wear revealing tops. And what a pleasure it would be to have hips to hold my pants up."
All of a sudden we were best friends again, trading body parts like we'd done back in middle school.
And now a brief note about body image: Isn't it amazing how we can't see the best in our own bodies? We are so envious of our friends and enemies. Imagine if we could learn to love ourselves just the way we are. It would put an end to zombie infestations around the world.Okay, maybe it wouldn't
do that, but it would be a good thing.
"Margot, I'm scared."
I guess it really was time to tell the truth.
"I'm scared, too."
"We've got to go back up to the school."
"I know."
A murky silence shrouded the room. Not long ago I would have been thinking about Dirk, or cheerleading uniforms, or the winter queen's first dance. I was overcome by shame for ever having those thoughts.
Sybil shifted to the end of the bed. "We need to go through Mrs. Mars' things. If she has the antidote we may find it tonight. If we wait, she may destroy it."
"She may have destroyed it already."
"But maybe she left a clue. If she did we'll find it tonight. Tomorrow may be too late ... for me as well."
I nodded, standing up. "I should go alone. You're in no shape--"
"Margot, we're in this together," she said, stopping me mid-sentence. She got up off the bed.
I smiled. "I just can't get rid of you."
"Don't even try." We shared the best smile.
Going up to the school meant we had one hurdle to cross before we could carry out our plan--my parents. It was almost nine o'clock. They'd never let me go traipsing up to school at this hour.
"We'll tell them the truth; Sybil said.
"What? That all the kids at our school are zombies except us, and that while I was hanging decorations for the Winter Dance Mrs. Mars led a zombie attack against us? Oh, and speaking of zombies, that ravenous stud sitting next to you on the sofa with his hand in the chicken bucket is a zombie, too. Do I have it right?"
Sybil looked at me and sighed. "They'd send us off to the funny farm, wouldn't they?"
"Only if we were lucky." It was clear what we had to do.
We stopped off in the kitchen and retrieved the rotting fish I'd stuck in the back of the fridge. For weeks my parents had been asking about the smell. "Yeah, I smell it," I told them. "And I think it's high time you guys had a talk with Theo about the proper use of soap and water." Believe it or not, they had made him take a bath. Chalk one up for the good guys.
We rubbed the stinking fish all over our hands and faces, refilled our vials with fresh fish oil, and snuck out the back door.
And now a brief note about sneaking out: I want to state right here I'm not the kind of girl who sneaks out of the house after dark for late-night rendezvous with her friends. That's potentially dangerous. And so I want to go on record that I do not endorse girls sneaking out--unless they've been attacked by flesh-eating zombies, and need proof that their gym teacher is behind it. If that's the case, I think it's perfectly all right for you to slip by your parents and zombie boyfriend while they watch Belly Dance Fitness Fusion or some other ridiculous program and head out into the night. Okay?