Double Feature: Attack of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies/Bride of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies (The Russel Middlebrook Series Book 3) (7 page)

"Oh," he said. "Hello again."

He picked up a silver dagger that I hadn't noticed sitting on top of the urinal. It had jewels in the handle and everything.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Just a prop. What I use to kill the zombies in the last part of the movie. I find it in a drawer in the principal's desk."

Taking the dagger with him, he crossed to the sinks to wash his hands.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" I said. I didn't really have a question in mind, but I figured I had to say something, or he'd fly away again.

"Huh?" he said. "Sure, I guess." He finished washing and started drying his hands.

"What's the secret of high school?"

I have no idea what made me say this. It was just the first thing that popped into my head. I guess it was because Declan McDonnell was always playing high school students. He had to know the secret, right?

He shrugged. "Beats me. I didn't even go to high school."

"What?"

"It's true. I dropped out my sophomore year, when I started getting jobs on television. I had on-set tutors. I always wondered if I missed out."

"You didn't," I said quickly. "Seriously. Not at
all
. Trust me on this."

He laughed. "Well, it is ironic. I've spent the last ten years playing high school students."

"You're twenty-six?" I said, surprised. I knew he probably wasn't a teenager, but I had no idea he was that old.

"Maybe even more like twenty-eight." He winked. "Don't tell anyone, okay?" He looked at me. "So you hate high school, huh?"

"Well,
hate
is a strong word. So I'd say, yeah, it's perfect to describe how I feel about high school."

He snorted. "You're pretty smart. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yeah. It's part of the reason why I've always been known as Mr. Popularity at my school."

He laughed one more time, and I wondered why I couldn't ever be this charming around guys who weren't untouchable angels.

"I didn't go to high school, but I read a lot of high school scripts, so I've learned a few things," Declan McDonnell said. "You really want the secret?"

"Yeah," I said. "Totally."

He fingered the pommel of the dagger in his hand. "Adults think they know what's going on," he said, "but they actually have no idea."

I thought about this. "I know that's a movie cliche, but that's actually true."

"The less you care about popularity, the cooler you are," he continued.

"I can't deny it," I said.

"Finally, high school is about the future."

"What?"

"Think about it," he said. "Every year in high school is a new one, a chance to reinvent yourself, a chance to try something different. And every year leads you closer to that ultimate adventure, graduation. When you've played as many valedictorians as I have, and given all those graduation speeches, you know that high school is about looking ahead. Believe me."

I thought about this last one. It actually made a lot of sense.

"Well," Declan McDonnell said at last. "I should be getting back."

"Right," I said. "And thanks! A lot."

"Sure."

This time I watched him leave, disappearing up that little flight of steps. It didn't make him any more human, though. Declan McDonnell was the kind of angel who didn't need wings to fly.

*   *   *

When I got home that night, I felt better than I had in a long time. It was partly my second encounter with Declan McDonnell. But it was also the fact that in three days Otto was going to be here, and then everything would be clear. I was certain I'd see him, and it would feel just like old times. Everything would be right again, and I'd know that we could make this long-distance-relationship thing work. Or maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't feel right. Either way, things would finally be settled.

For the time being, I'd forgotten all about my parents. Let's face it: they were being total babies about this whole gay thing, and I had more important things to worry about.

Unfortunately, my parents were waiting for me again, right inside the front door. What had they been doing, standing in the foyer?

"What," I said. I could tell just by looking that whatever they wanted to say, it wasn't good. For one thing, there was more dirt under my mom's fingernails.

"He can't come," my mom said.

"What?" I said.

"That boy. The one from summer camp."

"Otto?" She knew his name. We'd been talking about Otto's visit for weeks. But now that she knew I was gay and he was my boyfriend, he had suddenly become "that boy."

"Mom," I said. "What are you talking about?"

"Your mother and I talked about it," my dad said. "He can't come here for Thanksgiving break."

"But he's already bought his ticket," I protested. "It's all planned. It's
been
planned!"

"Look," my mom said, "did you really think that we were going to let you bring your boyfriend into this house to stay with you?"

"Bu
t—
!"

"There is no 'but'," my mom said. "He can't stay here, and that's final!"

I don't know why I was so surprised. It should have been obvious when my mom had learned Otto was my boyfriend that she wasn't going to let him come and stay with us. I guess I'd deliberately avoided doing the math.

But
now
what did I do? I honestly didn't know. I
needed
Otto to come for Thanksgiving, not just because I really, really wanted to see him, but also because I had to figure out where this relationship of ours was heading. Now my parents were saying he couldn't come. Living so far apart, we weren't going to be seeing much of each other anyway, but now the one chance we had was gone.

"Why doesn't he stay here with me?" Gunnar said. Gunnar lived right near me, and I'd gone over there to bitch about what my parents had done.

"What?" I said, perking up.

Gunnar shrugged. "Well, why not? He's my friend too." This was true. We'd both met Otto at the same time, at camp that summer. "I'll have to ask my parents," Gunnar went on, "but I'm sure it'll be okay. I'll tell them Otto got a free ticket at the last minute or something. Or I might even tell 'em the truth!"

"Are you serious about this?"

"Why not? We can pick him up at the airport together, and we can even eat Thanksgiving here. But then you guys can get together too. You can even spend the night over here, downstairs."

"But my parents—"

"What about them?"

I thought about this. Technically, my parents hadn't said Otto couldn't come visit—just that he couldn't stay with
them.
And they were being completely unreasonable and homophobic, so why should I care what they said anyway?

I let myself smile. "Gunnar, you're a genius. Let's do it!"

*   *   *

Two days later, Gunnar, Em, Min, and I picked up Otto at the airport. We had to wait for him outside the security gate. So close to Thanksgiving, it was a madhouse. I was jumpy, excited to see him, but also anxious that somehow things had changed between us.

I stared into the crowd of people rushing at us through the security gate. After a while, everyone started to look the same. It's not that the individuals stopped looking different—old, young, fat, skinny, black, white, whatever. It's just that after about a minute or so, all I saw were about fifteen "types" of people, like one of those old cartoons where the character is running, and you can tell they're recycling the background.

Finally, the crowd parted, and Otto emerged. He looked a little dazed, dragging his suitcase but trying to figure out where to go next. Then he saw us, and his face lit up like a halogen lamp. He looked like I remembered, but more so, if that makes any sense. And he looked nothing whatsoever like anyone else around him.

No, really. For one thing, he was really cute. His smile reached out and really grabbed you. And if he didn't snag you with his smile, he got you with his eyes, which are this amazing brownish burgundy. He also had this nice trim bod, if I do say so myself.

For another thing, he had this huge scar that covered one half of his face (and others on his shoulder and back, except they were obviously hidden by his clothes). The scar on his face looked sort of like a swirl with his eye in the middle. When he was seven years old, he'd had an accident with some gasoline. But this didn't make him any less handsome. In my mind, it made him look better, because it was something unique, part of him and him alone.

He let go of his bag, stepped forward, and kissed me. I was surprised for a second, but then I kissed him right back. He smelled like juniper bushes (and tasted like ginger ale).

I knew people were staring at us, two teenage boys kissing. But I guess Otto with his scar was used to being stared at, because he didn't seem to notice.

I didn't mind either. On the contrary, I was busting with pride.

*   *   *

Once we got to Gunnar's, Otto and I went for a walk so we could be alone and talk. It was after ten on a November night, but if the air was cold, I sure didn't feel it. The best part was just being able to hold his hand—though we did have to let go of each other and step apart every time a car drove by. (It's one thing to be stared at in airports; it's something else entirely to have beer bottles thrown in your direction from passing pickup trucks. But that's young gay love for you.)

"God, I've missed you so much!" Otto said.

"Me too," I said.

"How much?"

I looked over at him. "What?"

"How much have you missed me?" He smirked mischievously, so I figured he wanted me to say something romantic.

I glanced up at the sky, and then I had it. "I've missed you like the earth misses the moon!" A second later, I added, more quietly, "You know that the moon used to be part of the earth, right? They learned that from moon rocks they collected back in the seventies."

Otto didn't say anything, just smiled. So I added, "Wow, romantic sayings lose a lot when you have to explain the science behind them, don't they?"

Otto laughed, so I laughed too.

"Okay," I said. "How about this? I've missed you like the beach misses the wave."

"How does the beach miss the wave?" Otto asked. "It only has to wait a minute or so for the next wave."

"Well, not at low tide. Because there's a twelve-hour period when—"

"More science, huh?"

"Everyone's a critic! Well, this is harder than it seems. You try."

"Okay." He thought for a second. "I've missed you like a desert misses the rain. There. Nice and simple, and you don't need to know the scientific explanation."

"Yeah," I said, "but it's a total cliche."

"Oh, yeah? Like a beach missing the wave isn't a cliche? Okay, you don't want cliches? Well, then, I've missed you like a decapitated head misses its neck!"

"Definitely not a cliche," I agreed. "But not very romantic either."

Otto snickered. "Take your pick. You can't have everything."

"Well, in that case," I said, "I've missed you like a frog misses the ozone layer."

"And I've missed you like a loose eyeball misses its socket."

"Ewww!" I said, laughing. "Well, I've missed you like the surface of Mars misses an atmosphere!"

"And I've missed you like a disemboweled body misses its, well, bowels!"

We were both laughing so hard now we could barely talk. I felt so good, like I was completely weightless, and Otto and I were bobbing around giddily up among the clouds. All the stuff with my parents, and Kevin, it just no longer existed.

I suddenly thought about what Declan McDonnell had said about high school being about the future. That's what it felt like right then. But barreling into the future all the time, not to mention bobbing around weightless, is very disorienting.

I lost my balance for a second and bumped up against Otto.

The moment I touched him, I had the strangest sensation. You know how they say that people sometimes live in their head? At that moment, it was like I was living in my skin. That was the only part of me that existed. My skin had never felt so sensitive before, every inch of it, tingling and aware. It was different from the electricity that had passed between Kevin and me when he'd been working on his dead battery. That had definitely gotten my attention, but this felt deeper somehow, not merely physical.

Otto was clearly experiencing all this too. "Wow!" he said, eyes wide. "What was
that
?"

"I don't know," I said.

I lifted the palm of my hand, and Otto pressed his against mine. I wasn't just feeling my actual skin anymore. Before that moment, I hadn't believed in auras or spirits or even souls in the literal sense, but I believed in them now. I could actually
feel
mine, like a second skin, and maybe even more alive. I could feel Otto's too, pressing up against me, warm and soothing.

I leaned forward to kiss him. When his tongue slipped inside my mouth, I gasped. His soul was suddenly inside mine too, something I had never felt before.

I wanted to stay that way forever, but Otto broke the kiss far too soon.

"Wait," he said. "What's that smell?"

"Huh?" I said, disoriented again, missing his soul and his tongue.

"It smells like a swamp. Methane or something."

I looked around and suddenly realized where we were. We'd walked to the park with the stinky picnic gazebo, the place where I'd met Kevin the first time, and the week earlier as well. Why had I brought Otto here? I hadn't intended to. We'd just been walking aimlessly. But my skin wasn't aware and tingly anymore. And remember when I said I felt all weightless and giddy? I felt the pull of gravity again. I suddenly wanted more than anything to get away from this place.

"What is it?" Otto said, sensing the change in me.

"Nothing," I said, stepping away. "Let's just keep walking, okay?"

*   *   *

The next day, Thursday, I had Thanksgiving with my parents (and some relatives) early in the afternoon, but I barely ate. I also pretended to be all miffed and sullen (which wasn't hard). So when I said "I'm going over to Gunnar's," my parents were perfectly happy to see me go.

When I got to Gunnar's house, he and his family and Otto were just starting dinner. Min and Em had also stopped by. Gunnar's mom put us all at this table by ourselves in the kitchen, along with Gunnar's bespectacled, eleven-year-old cousin Myron. For the first time in my life, I didn't mind being at the "kiddies' table." Even with Myron there, it was like my friends and I were having our own Thanksgiving meal, complete with all the fixings. We even had our own little turkey, but I was sitting facing the hollowed-out end where the stuffing had been, so it felt a little like I was being mooned.

"Gunnar," I said, dishing up the cranberry corn bread stuffing, "this is great! Thanks for having us."

"Thank my mom," he said. "All I did was make the papier-mache cornucopia out on the grown-ups' table. And that was back in the sixth grade."

We all laughed and started chowing down. The turkey was moist, and the gravy had a creamy rosemary flavor.

But as we ate, we talked—about everything under the sun.

For example, I told everyone an idea I'd had a few months before, when I was weeding in our yard.

"There should be something called National Dandelion Day," I said. "On one day, every person in the world goes out and digs up all the dandelions in his yard at the very same time. Then there'd be no dandelions to go to seed and send their little evil parachutes out into the world. It would solve the dandelion problem forever. No one would ever have to weed again! Assuming everyone got the roots. You have to get all the root, or the damn thing grows back."

"It wouldn't work," Min said.

"Why not?" Gunnar asked. "I'd be into it."

"Yeah," said Myron, Gunnar's eleven-year-old cousin. "Why not?"

"Well," Min said, "there'd be plenty of jackasses who wouldn't do it. You know, all the idiots who rant and rave about how they don't want anyone telling them what to do with 'their' land? So they wouldn't weed their yards. And they'd sit on their porches with their shotguns to make sure no one else weeded their yards either. So their dandelions would keep growing, and then they'd go to seed, and they'd screw the whole thing up."

"Min's right," Em said. "Some people have no idea about the common good. They bitch about low-flow toilets and they go out and buy a huge, expensive SUV and then flip out about the three-cent gas tax that's needed to pay for all the pollution and congestion they're causing. It's like they think they're the only people in the world."

"I used the bathroom on the plane over here," Otto said. "I went in right after this hotshot businessman-type. But when I got in there, I saw he'd peed all over the toilet seat. It was completely disgusting. He couldn't even have bothered lifting the seat. It never occurred to him that women were going to use that thing, and old and disabled people who might not be able to bend down and clean it first. Or maybe he just didn't care."

"They need a new sign in airplane bathrooms," Gunnar said. "Rather than the one that says 'As a courtesy to the next passenger, please wipe down the basin after each use.' It should say 'As a courtesy to the next passenger, please don't piss all over the damn toilet.'"

It was funny, and everyone laughed except me. I wasn't sure why I didn't.

We kept eating, and eventually we moved on to talking about which was the world's best amusement park ride.

"Oh, Tower of Terror!" Gunnar said. "At Disney World. No contest. There are higher drop rides, but none of them have Tower of Terror's atmosphere."

"I like the Haunted Mansion," Em said.

"Oh, yes," said Min. "That's a classic."

"It doesn't have as many of those cheesy animatronic robots, like Pirates of the Caribbean," Em said. "So it seems less dated. Plus it has a better sense of humor."

"But you've got to love those fireflies on Pirates of the Caribbean," Min said.