“Cupcake?” She laughed and shoved him sideways into me.
“Damn. Flying zombies. It’s like I’m printing money here,” Clay said.
I went to push him against Janie, but he leapt back, and I stumbled into her instead. She shoved me hard, then took off running after Clay.
I chased them, making guttural zombie noises.
At Janie’s stop we settled down, but were still laughing and shoving each other lightly.
“All right, you win,” Janie finally said to me. “Easy money. But remember your promise.”
I put a fist over my heart. “Uphill both ways.”
Janie’s bus ground to a stop. She got on. I watched through the windows as she found a seat next to that kid Hunter. He put an arm around her.
I showed my teeth and waved.
Hunter winced and waved back. Took his arm off her as the bus shuddered forward.
Clay and I walked to school. Stopped at the far edge of the parking lot. Clay squinted at the cluster of showroom-shiny cars where Michael and the others waited.
“In all the movies, in all the books and shows, when the zombie apocalypse comes, the humans turn out to be worse than the zombies,” he said. “Always.”
I followed his eyes, watched Michael’s group churning between the cars like flies over meat. I nodded. Clay left, walking to the building.
I crossed to Michael and leaned against his car. The others stood around, like always, although there was an undercurrent of tension. Nods and intense eye contact, everyone watching each other and pretending they weren’t.
The impending break-in hovered behind smiles and glances.
Dwight glared at me from T-Man’s car. He stayed back, a distant moon circling the planet that held him. Like Michael’s magnetism had reversed and now forced him back.
Cyndra arrived and smiled at me before kissing Michael and standing under his arm.
Something rose in my throat, burning and sour. I mumbled about the bathroom, slapped hands with Michael, and left.
The first bell toned as I hit the bathroom door. I leaned over a sink, gripped the scarred porcelain in both hands. A couple of stupid freshmen eyed me as they edged out.
My eyes closed. I pushed deep lungfuls out my nose, forced the choking mass in my throat back down.
Behind me, the door creaked. I opened my eyes as the lights went out.
The door groaned as it was shoved shut.
I turned, fists clenched, listening to another person breathe. Waiting.
My first thought, stupid as it was, was that it was Cesare, that Michael had played me for a fool, had set me up to take the fall for dealing drugs, because Michael had dealt the man’s drugs but had kept the man’s money.
All while saying it was me. Which anyone in the school would confirm.
But I was at school. And Cesare would never come for me or anyone here. A flashlight beam swung into my eyes.
I lifted my arm. The flashlight winked off, and whoever it was tackled me. We fell against the wall. My head glanced off the cinder blocks. He put a hand on my throat.
I grabbed the arm that held me as a point of reference. Jacked a punch into his unprotected side.
The grip on my throat loosened.
I held his shoulder and punched again, white dot afterimages from the flashlight floating before my eyes.
Our breaths sawed the air. He grunted as I grabbed at his head.
Three things bloomed in my mind with the rapid perfection of a time-lapse flower. The arm was covered in leather, but at the shoulder was scratchy wool. The head was buzz-cut.
A letterman’s jacket. A big guy with buzz-cut hair. A grudge to settle.
I laughed. One hand held the back of his head. With my other, I made a fist and punched the guy in the face. Felt the scrape of his teeth against my knuckles.
Dwight crumpled toward me.
I shot an elbow at his face. Chunked against his cheekbone. He hit the floor with a groan.
I walked, hand out in the dark, to the light switch. Flipped it.
Dwight shifted up, propping his shoulders against the wall nearest him. Swiped a hand across the blood and spit smearing his chin.
“Thanks,” he said.
I reached for the door.
“Don’t go yet. I haven’t even started.” He shifted against the wall again. Touched his cheekbone gingerly. “Is it bruising already?”
I flexed the hand that had punched him.
“You did exactly what I wanted. Busted lip and all,” Dwight said.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I wanted you to hit me. There’s not a mark on you, except your knuckles. From when you jumped me. Do you honestly think I’m that bad a fighter that I couldn’t even hit you once?”
He smiled, gap-wide at the corners of his mouth. “This is what I’ll tell the principal: I went to the bathroom. And you jumped me.”
“So what? I’ll tell them you jumped me first. Worst case, we’re both suspended.”
Dwight squeezed his lip to get more blood up. “Wait. You haven’t heard the whole thing.” He giggled like he was performing how funny it was for me. “See, I’ll tell the principal that I followed you to the bathroom because I was angry and wanted to confront you. About how you make Cyndra deal for you. Then you jumped me.”
I forced my fist open.
“Those cameras in the hall?” His voice like a teacher trying to lead you to the answer. “They got both of us walking in here. No one else. So you can’t say it wasn’t you who did it.” He gestured to his face.
“What do you want?”
“Let me enjoy this for a minute.” He got up and checked his face in the mirror. “Yes. This is so much better than hitting you. Although I’ll eventually get to that.”
“We’ll see.”
Dwight flashed a self-satisfied grin. “You’re not worried about the principal? The cops?”
I shrugged. “Again. Say what you want. I’ll deny it. Cyndra won’t back your play.”
“You’re probably right. But that won’t matter when they check your locker.”
Cold stroked up my spine.
Dwight laughed. “Look at your face!”