Double Feature: Attack of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies/Bride of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies (The Russel Middlebrook Series Book 3) (11 page)

I made the decision to talk to her on the way out of the auditorium. "It's going to take some work to turn you into a zombie," I would say, flirting brazenly. She would blush, flustered, but then say how much she liked my purple hair. Only now would I comment on her epaulets, since that was the obvious thing, and we would go from there. She might even invite me out for coffee. I had come alone in my own car, so it was conceivable that I could go.

Finally, the meeting was over, and we all stood up to leave. I turned toward the girl in the epaulets, to sort of maneuver my way toward her.

I didn't see her. I did spot Kevin Land, however. He had been sitting in the back row. I knew in an instant that he was waiting there to do to Russel what I was trying to do to the girl in the epaulets—to "accidentally" run into him. This was the last thing Russel needed. I knew how much he missed Kevin.

This was entirely my fault. Why had I been so stupid as to tell Kevin that Russel and I were doing this movie? I needed to stop this from happening.

"Russel?" I said. "Wait! Let's go out the other way."

I don't think he heard me. I grabbed him by the jacket, but it was too late. He'd already entered the river of people rolling toward the exit. The current was too strong, and I lost my grip on him. There was no way to stop him from running into Kevin now. I decided to follow close behind to see if I could minimize the damage.

Russel saw Kevin almost immediately.

"Kevin?" he said. I couldn't help but notice how pleased he looked.

"Kevin!" I said. I didn't disguise the annoyance in my own voice.

"Hey, Russel!" said Kevin. "Hey, Min." He wouldn't look at me, probably due to the fact that I was scowling at him from right behind Russel.

"Uh, what are you doing here?" Russel asked him. As if I didn't know.

"Well," said Kevin. "I wanted to be a zombie."

"Is that
right
?" I said pointedly. I was more aware than ever that Kevin is exactly the kind of macho guy I detest: strong on the outside, but with absolutely no backbone, at least not when it comes to anything real.

"Yeah," said Kevin. "That was pretty cool, what they did, huh?" He meant the display of special effects that the producer and director had had up onstage.

"Huh?" said Russel. "Oh, yeah, it was. So you came here to be a movie extra too?"

"Yeah," said Kevin. "I saw that poster in the hallway, and I thought it looked really interesting."

"What a
coincidence
," I said. I turned my back on him. "Russel, we should go." The river of people had pulled Gunnar and Em away from us and had probably already deposited them in the parking lot.

"Yeah," said Russel. "Sure. Well," he said to Kevin. See you.

I prodded Russel back into the flow of exiting people, but it had lessened to a mere trickle now.

"Hey, Russel?" called Kevin. Before I could stop him, Russel looked back. "We should get together sometime," Kevin went on. "Just to talk."

"I mean it!" I said to Russel, firmly. "We really have to go."

Before either of them could say anything else, I grabbed Russel by the jacket and started dragging him away.

Gunnar and Em were waiting for us outside. I also saw the girl in the epaulets, on the other end of the campus—so far away that I'd never catch up to her now.

I guess that secretly I'd been expecting something to happen after all.

This is the part where
I
'm supposed to complain about my family.

I wish I could. There are few greater joys in life than finishing a test before anyone else and complaining about one's family. The truth, however, is that my family is pretty decent.

I love my mom. She's one of those people that, whenever she's around, you have the feeling that things can't ever get too out of hand. It's hard to pin down exactly why. I think it's because she's verbal, but not pretentious; she's thoughtful, but not neurotic; and she's organized, but not rigid. Her fatal flaw is her taste in clothing, which is just inexcusably bad.

She has a Ph.D. in education and is always doing research on various teaching methods. Not surprisingly, I ended up her best subject. Free school, homeschool, unschool, Montessori school, progressive school—you name it, I've done it. Finally, when I turned fourteen, I put my foot down and said I wanted to go to plain old public school. To her credit, she said okay.

Her parents were born in China, but she was born in the United States. Even so, she was raised to be very much the dutiful Chinese daughter, always deferential and attentive, especially to men. To hear her tell it, she was. Around the time she turned thirty, however, she realized that she'd been a fool, that you didn't get anywhere in the United States by being deferential and attentive, especially to men. In the United States, you got ahead by being loud and aggressive. She's always saying that in America, it's not so much what you say, but how you say it.

By the time I came around, my mom was determined that I not make the same mistakes she had. So from a very early age, she always encouraged me to speak up. Supposedly, she wouldn't feed me until I cried at a certain volume—sort of the Ferber Method in reverse.

I think she created a monster. Sometimes I wonder if my mom regrets raising a daughter who has a definite opinion about everything and who, unfortunately, doesn't always know when to shut up. I've certainly horrified enough of our relatives.

My dad, for example. He is much more traditional. He was born in China and didn't come over to the United States until he was seven years old. He's always shaking his head whenever I say or do something shocking, but he never actually criticizes me. The truth is, I think he's secretly proud of the fact that I stand up for myself. It's like I get to say and do all the things he never let himself say or do.

He's a Ph.D. too, but he prefers to teach rather than do research. He's also soft-spoken and mild-mannered, but absolutely uncompromising. If I get my candor from my mom, I get my sense of ethics from my dad. He's the kind of person who always corrects the checker for undercharging him—even if it's just a dollar, even if the checker is obviously incompetent, and even if it means my dad is going to be late. He's a big believer in personal sacrifice, and I am as well. He often says, "If ethics were easy, everyone would have them." If my dad gets embarrassed by my mom for being outspoken, she gets frustrated with him for being so obstinate. According to her, the world will not end if she lies and tells the waitress that one of her kids is a year younger than she really is, so we can still order off the damn children's menu.

Finally, there's my sister, Lei. She's six, so there's not a lot to say. She likes Barbies. This drives both my parents absolutely bonkers, which I think is to their credit, but what can they do?

I am named after my father's mother, Grandma Min, who now has Alzheimer's and who lives in an Alzheimer's unit a couple of miles away. I used to be jealous that my name wasn't Heather or Catherine, like the other American-born Chinese girls I know. Now, however, I appreciate that my name is a little unusual.

Earlier this year, I came out to my parents as bi. As I'd expected, they'd experienced some difficulty at first. Still, my parents pride themselves on their education, and on the very idea of education. Once they got over their initial distress, they went out and educated themselves. Despite what some people try to pretend, the research on sexual orientation is clear and overwhelming: it's a characteristic, not an illness; the feelings are involuntary, not freely chosen; and it's not changeable. My parents had learned that, and they'd immediately come around.

Finally, while still on the subject of my family, I'd like to take a moment and make fun of all things Chinese. Because I am Asian myself, I can do that, and no one can call me racist.

So here's to all the vinyl tablecloths, and to a hundred different Tupperware containers in the fridge, each containing one little bite of food. Here's to school supplies given as Christmas gifts, and to mothers who can't just order what's on the menu. Here's to too many damn dragons, and dads who think they can fix anything, but only end up making it worse.

There. Now that that's out of the way, we can move on with the story.

*   *   *

For as far back as I can remember, my mom and I have had tea together whenever I got home from school. I should probably think it's silly. After all, I am sixteen years old. Most kids my age barely even talk to their parents, much less have tea with them. The truth is, I kind of like having my mom fuss over me for a few minutes every day. The fact that we have Ding Dongs with our tea doesn't hurt.

The afternoon of the zombie meeting, my mom and I sat at the kitchen table while we waited for the tea to steep. It isn't a tea ceremony or anything, but it is true that we never start talking until the tea is done. Mom always uses fresh tea too, never tea bags. She can actually be quite snobby about this; she refuses to even drink the tea at most restaurants.

Finally, my mom poured two cups, one for her, one for me. According to tradition, you're supposed to drink the tea in three gulps, but we never do.

"So," said my mother. "How was your day?" She was wearing paisley with plaid. It looked like a pair of drapes threw up on her. Still, I'd long since learned that it was futile to point out things like this.

"Oh, it was fine," I said. It was technically still the afternoon, so we were drinking green tea. I explained about the meeting for the zombie movie, but I didn't mention the girl in the epaulets.

"That sounds like fun," said my mom.

"Yes, I think it will be."

I sipped my tea while my mom nibbled on her Ding Dong, watching me.

Finally, she said, "Min, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" I said. "There's nothing wrong. Why do you think something's wrong?"

"You seem sad."

"No. Not at all."

'You're lonely, aren't you?"

I kept sipping my tea. I refused to affirm or deny the accusation.

"I remember what it was like," said my mom wistfully. "More than anything in the world, I wanted a boyfriend." Her eyes met mine. "Or a girlfriend! Not that I wanted a girlfriend. Just that it's okay if you want a girlfriend too."

This is a good example of how much my parents had come around regarding my sexual orientation.

"I guess so," I said noncommittally.

My mom studied my hair. "Did I tell you how much I like the purple?"

I sighed. "Yes, Mom. About a hundred times." I didn't regret dyeing my hair, but it would have been a lot more satisfying if my mom had been horrified, like any normal parent.

"Well, I do," she said. "It really expresses your individuality."

"Thanks," I said, but individuality or not, I still wasn't going to tell her I liked her pants.

*   *   *

That Saturday, we had our first day of work on
Attack of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies
. We had an 8
a.m.
makeup call at the school where they were filming. I wasn't thrilled to go that early, but in my family of workaholics, I'd long since been transformed into a morning person whether I liked it or not.

Climbing out of my car in the parking lot, I spied Kevin nearby.

"You!" I said, approaching him like a storm.

"What about me?" he said. He looked taken back, to say the least.

"What are you
doing
here?"

"What do you mean? I wanted to be a zombie. What's wrong with that?"

"That is not why you're here, and you know it!"

"It is so!"

"Kevin!"

"What?"

"What, are you stalking him?" I said.

"Who?"

"You know who!"

"Min! No, I'm not stalking him."

"Look," I said, lowering my voice. "I'm warning you that—"

Right then, Gunnar drove up with Em and Russel. They piled out, and we all acknowledged one another. I obviously couldn't talk to Kevin anymore, so I just stood there glaring at him. Once again, he would not look me in the eye.

As we walked inside, everyone was talking, but I wasn't listening. I was thinking about Kevin. What was he up to? It didn't make any sense. The exact reason he and Russel had broken up all those months ago was because Russel had come out to the whole school but Kevin hadn't. He'd been too petrified about becoming even slightly less popular. He'd actually teased Russel for being gay, to draw attention away from himself. After that, Kevin had even had the temerity to want the two of them to keep seeing each other, in secret, but Russel had said no. I absolutely supported him. I'd tried a relationship in hiding once, with my first girlfriend, Terese, and it had been a complete catastrophe. It was impossible. It required that you be two completely different people, and in high school it's hard enough just being
one
person. I would never make that mistake again, and I wouldn't let Russel do it either.

Kevin knew all this, so what was he thinking now?

A couple of production assistants were waiting for us at a table just inside the door. They collected the release forms that we'd had to get signed by our parents and presented us with plastic numbers, the kind you get at a hardware store to put on your mailbox. I was number six.

More extras were arriving all the time, so one of the assistants led us to what they called the "hospitality suite," which was really just the school cafeteria with some boxes of doughnuts and bagels, trays of fruit, and jugs of orange juice spread out on one of the tables.

There was only one teenager in the hospitality suite before us: the girl in epaulets. She was wearing a different jacket now, though, one that didn't have epaulets.

I was so surprised, I dropped my plastic number. I don't know why I hadn't expected to see her again, but I really hadn't.

Russel reached down and picked it up for me. "Oops," he said. "You dropped this."

I didn't answer. I was watching the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets, standing all by herself near the doughnuts. Apparently, she'd come alone. Right then, I decided I wanted a doughnut too.

I sidled up beside her and reached for a napkin. I could see her perfect profile, not to mention the fact that she wasn't wearing makeup.

She immediately turned to me. "Hey there," she said. "So you want to be a zombie, huh? That'll be a challenge."

Wait, I thought. That was way too similar to the line I'd been going to say to her, about how hard it would be to turn her into a zombie. I couldn't say it now.

"Oh," I said instead. "Thanks." Or did she mean something about my being Asian?

"Nice hair," said the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets.

"Thanks," I said again. At this point, the plan had been for me to comment on her epaulets, but she wasn't wearing them anymore.

This was stupid. I was interested in this girl. Why couldn't I talk to her?

"Carrots and peas!" I blurted. It was the only thing I could think of. That said, we were here to be movie extras, and Gunnar's account of what extras supposedly say in the background was a fun piece of trivia.

"Pardon me?" said the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets.

Before I could explain what I was saying, the production assistant stuck her head back into the classroom.

"We're ready for numbers one and two," she said.

The Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets looked down at her number. "Oh, that's me. Well...bye." She smiled at me and strode over toward the production assistant.

Wait! I wanted to say. I needed to explain what I meant when I'd blurted "carrots and peas." Because if I
didn't
explain, she was going to think I was stupid or weird—she might even think I had a mild case of Asperger's syndrome, like Gunnar.

Before I could say another word, she was gone.

It was destiny. Me and the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets were destined never to talk.

"All right," said the production assistant to the Girl Who Had Formerly Worn Epaulets. "And two? Who's two?"

No one moved.

"Come on, folks, we're on a tight schedule here."

I looked down at my own number at last. It said "two," not "six." When I'd dropped mine and Russel had picked it up, he must have given me his number by mistake.

"Oh!" I said stupidly. "I'm two!"