Return of the Jed (28 page)

At least I had good news there. Anna was relieved as I told her about the Ooze-fear connection, and how limbs remained attached in the usual zombie way, meaning a quick jerk could still remove them.

“A quick jerk?” she asked. “I’d swear you were talking about Robbie, but he’s not very quick.”

It felt good to deliver some good news. I didn’t want her to worry, or worse, become angry. Girlfriends can dump you for buying the small popcorn and then having the nerve to put your arm around them during the movie. The first time I put my arm around Anna, I was so nervous it dropped off and fell into our large popcorn.

Luckily, Anna laughed and said if I wanted more popcorn, I could just ask. But girlfriends leave for reasons far less serious than Repetitive Limb Loss Syndrome.

In the next few moments, when I’d finally confided in Anna, I’d test our relationship, and learn more about us both in the process.

“Jed, come on, are you so politically correct I can’t make a freakshow joke?” Anna said, misinterpreting my mood. “I apologize for all Turtle Boys I may have offended. Same for ladies with excessive facial hair, men who are half-bats, and all other people who through no fault of their own were exploited for entertainment purposes in the dark days before the Internet made stars of everyone.”

I shook my head. “Turtle Boy, I get it. It is funny. I’m not in a very good mood for funny.”

“Jed, I’ve never seen you in the mood for not funny. What’s wrong?”

I stared at Anna’s face, her desk light casting shadows that made her look even prettier. There have been so many amazing inventions—smartwatches, self-driving cars, the Bacon Bowl (turns bacon into a bowl!)—but no teleporters. I imagined stepping into one, hitting a button, and beaming next to Anna. She was right there, a computer screen away, and yet she felt so far away.

“Do you like me?” I said.

“What?” Anna said. “Who got kicked out of the theater for, wait, what was it? Right, excessive cheering of the undead during
World War Z.
Did I or did I not put that stupid ‘Time of the Season’ song on my MP3 player just because it was by the Zombies? And do I refrain from holding my ears every time you sing it? You have many wonderful qualities, and singing definitely is not one of them. Why would you ask such a question?”

“Let me rephrase it. Do you like who I am?”

“Again, stupid question. If I like you, I like who you are. I don’t understand this. Is that way you’re so upset? Have you gotten it into that brain-dead skull that I don’t like you for some reason? If so, you’re ticking me off.”

Not the way I planned this to go. In seeking reassurance, I’d managed to anger the one person I wanted—needed—in my corner.

There was only one way to do this. I had to be honest, even though I had no idea if it was in me.

“What if I told you I could be different? Better? Jed two-point-oh, new and improved and intact. Able to leap tall buildings and race faster than a bullet. Maybe not that last one, but definitely a step up from this Jed.”

Anna leaned toward the camera, staring at it instead of the screen, so I could see directly into her eyes.

“Now you’re scaring me. You need to tell me what’s going on, and you need to tell me now.”

I’d been preparing this part for the last two days, ever since the Tread experiment. The image of Tread trying to take off his tail and bury it was still fresh. The tail, however, was permanently attached thanks to Substance Z, Ooze, and electricity. My beloved undead dog had a real live tail.

When it was time to call Anna a day later, I texted her that I was busy and would catch up later. I didn’t know how to explain to her what happened, and what it meant. For once, I wasn’t ready to spill my guts (thank goodness just a metaphor in this pull-apart body).

“I-was-in-the-hospital-don’t-worry-I-was-fine-it-was-nothing,” I spit out before she had a chance to interrupt. “I met a doctor who was very interested—”

“Jed?” Anna interrupted anyway. “Let’s go back to the hospital. I’ve never known you to suffer anything that a little duct tape couldn’t solve. Why were you in the hospital?”

“Just a slight wrestling injury,” I said, wishing I could remember what happened between being launched by Vampiro and waking up in a room far too white and clean for my tastes.

“Oh my God, your head finally came off, didn’t it? Popped right off, and people screamed, and everyone freaked out and not just because there was so little blood. So … little … blood.”

“What? No, not at all.”

“And they picked you up, and Luke is telling everyone to put you back together, and he’s trying to tape your head back on, and paramedics arrive and pull him away and tell him it’s too late, but then you open your eyes and start mouthing ‘Help me’ because you can’t speak without air moving through your vocal cords, and now everyone is freaking out over a talking head before—”

“Anna, enough! My head didn’t come off, I swear, look.” I pulled down my collar, allowing her a good look at my perfect, tape—and staple—free neck. “Fine, OK? But speaking of losing your head, it seems you’ve put a lot of thought into that scenario.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just something I think about sometimes. It scares me a little too. You just never know what can happen.”

“With a zombie.”

“What?”

“I finished your sentence. You just never know what can happen … with a zombie.”

“You never know what can happen with anybody!” Anna pushed away from her desk and crossed her arms across her chest. “It’s not about being a zombie. I’d care about you whatever you were, zombie or vampire or Bigfoot or a regular old person.”

“A regular person? You’d like that?”

“I’d like you no matter who you were.”

“Or what I was?”

“If you keep going around in circles like this, maybe I won’t like you at all. Because I don’t like this at all. Jed, please tell me what the hell is going on.”

A voice outside my door. Dad. “Everything OK in there? Because it’s almost dinnertime.”

I felt trapped. So many questions, and all I wanted was one answer.

“I’m fine,” I said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Tacos.”

“Fine!”

Dang.

I focused on Anna, determined to start over. I couldn’t do this alone.

“Like I said, I met a doctor at the hospital,” I began. I told Anna all about Dr. Armendariz, about visiting his office, about Substance Z, about how it reacted with Ooze, about Tread and his suddenly regular, permanently attached tail.

By the time I finished, Anna stared quietly at the scene. She didn’t move, but I could see a sparkle in her eyes. Or maybe it was tears. I couldn’t tell.

“Anna? You still with me? Cat got your tongue?”

Her lips curled upward, and she laughed. The tension in the room dissolved as her smile returned for the first time in what seemed like forever.

“I feel the need to ask the reason for your jocularity,” I said, feeling relieved of a burden I’d carried two days.

“Just the whole ‘cat got your tongue’ thing. Because that could probably happen to you. I pictured some wayward feline reaching into your mouth and … oh, Jed, I am so sorry. I can’t even pretend to know what you’re going through. Assuming, of course, that this Dr. Armendariz has really found a …” Her smile faded.

I said what she did not want to utter.

“Cure. He seems to have found a cure.”

I hated that “C” word as much as I hated “condition.” There were so many things to cure. Cancer. Asthma. Heck, the common cold.

Did left-handedness require a cure? Being a picky eater? Having a distinct lack of hand-eye coordination?

Yet those qualities did not announce themselves with unnatural skin color or frequent loss of limbs. My undeadness was obvious in a way to separate me from the rest of the human pack. What if I could be just like everyone else? No stares, no rude comments, no more cheering excessively for the walking dead.

After all, I’d often thought of fitting in, becoming more of a “who” instead of a “what.”

“Jed, what’s going on in that mind of yours?”

I had no idea.

“Dad and I talked about this last night, when Dr. Armendariz’s offer really sank in.”

“His offer?”

“He said he could change me forever. All I need to do is show up at a conference in a few days. He’ll inject me with Substance Z, then electro-magnetize me so my Ooze will change to Sub-Ooze, and I’ll no longer be a zombie. The duct tape industry will have to kiss their best customer goodbye.”

“What’s this conference?”

“Some paranormal thing. Apparently Dr. Armendariz has orchestrated a few failed presentations, and his colleagues think he’s a crackpot. He wants to prove them all wrong, just like in every mad scientist movie you’ve ever seen.”

“Where everything goes horribly wrong in the end.”

“I guess, but he does have Tread’s tail going for him.”

“What does your dad think?”

I recalled my conversation with Dad the morning after the Tread experiment. I steeled myself, promising not to cry this time. Big zombies don’t cry.

I wasn’t sure about former zombies.

“He told me he would support my decision either way,” I said. “He said I could tell Dr. Armendariz to take a flying leap. But then he asked me to imagine a different life. He didn’t say ‘normal.’ He didn’t have to.”

“And did you?”

“Not at first, but then he asked me questions I’d never thought of. Stuff about high school and college and driving and getting a job. Getting married. Having kids.”

I stopped, remembering my promise to myself.

Dad’s detailed questions flooded back into my mind, sending it into another spin:

—“I know middle school’s been tough, but high school is so much bigger. Will you be able to handle that kind of attention?

—“What will you do if you are denied a driver’s license because your body has the consistency of a crash-test dummy?” (At least I laughed at that one.)

—“Will a future employer take a risk and hire a person who is stereotypically brain-dead? Will they be able to judge you on who you are rather than what you are?”

—“What if you meet that special woman? Are you ready to become a father?”

That last one was a punch in the gut, and Dad wrapped me in a bear hug as soon as the words left his lips. We both knew he’d gone too far, yet later I realized it was a fair question.

Would my kids be zombies? Would I even be able to have kids?

So much riding on one choice. Yes or no?

Anna’s gaze snapped me back to the present. “Dad said the choice was mine, that he’d love me either way,” I said. I kept the rest to myself, that I believed Dad wanted me to say, “Yes, I want to be normal.”

“And what about your mom, Jed? Does she even know what’s going on?”

“I talked to her just before I called you,” I said. “Dad’s been keeping her up to date, so none of this was a surprise. But it made me think more about a conversation I’d had with her earlier, about how people can reinvent themselves, discovering who they really are.”

“So you think she wants you to be un-undead? Because that’s what it sounds like to me.”

“No,” I said a little too quickly. “I know she just wants what’s best for me too. We’re all one big happy family.”

“Really? Because that’s not what I get from the tone of your voice.”

“I’m just trying to figure things out. I shouldn’t have to make these kinds of decisions before I’m even old enough to drive.”

I looked at Anna, willing the tears back inside my eyes where they belonged.

“Jed, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Still thinking.”

“I wish I was there right now, I really do. This is tearing me up inside.”

“I usually get torn up on the outside. So we have that in common.”

That made Anna smile. I felt a light turn on, a reminder of the effect I had on some people, undead or un-undead. “So just one more question,” she said. “Are you sure that if you go through with it, it will work? And if it does, will you be, you know, average, typical, whatever. You won’t be something else entirely?”

“What do you mean?” I honestly hadn’t thought much past the procedure. I thought it would work or it wouldn’t. I’d be Dead Jed or Normal Jed. What could I be other than undead or not dead?

“It seems risky, that’s all,” Anna said. “Unproven.”

“Tread’s tail,” I reminded.

“Great, it works on a wagging appendage. Hardly proof.”

We chatted a bit more, more small talk than anything else. I knew it was my decision, and mine alone. I didn’t want to end the conversation on a heavy note, knowing how much Anna was going to worry.

Part of me—no, a lot of me—wanted someone else to make the decision. I pictured Mom and Dad standing over me. “Son,” they said together, “you will get better grades, you will go to sleep at a decent time, and you will become non-undead.” Next up in my pretend world was Anna. “I love you,” she said. “But I would love you more if I could hold your hand without any fear it could fall off.”

Instead, all I had to help was reality. Anna said the same thing Dad did, that she’d be there for me no matter what happened, which didn’t help much. I wanted them to decide for me. That way if anything went wrong, I could blame them.

I also knew that was the coward’s way out. I had so much to figure out.

“Anna, I have to go. Dinner’s ready, and I don’t want to keep Luke waiting.” That was a lie. Dinner was indeed ready, but I could care less if I kept Luke waiting. I just couldn’t keep talking to Anna. There was nothing left to say.

“Jed, please let’s talk before the procedure, or whatever it is. Please.”

“Of course,” I said.

But as I clicked off, I wouldn’t be talking to Anna again.

At least not from Mexico.

And probably not as a zombie.