Dead and Beloved Page 4

  I pull Jessica away and lead her down another hall where no one can watch us. We talk casually while I show her the different rooms where I go to class. We circle the school several times, but I'm not counting; I'm savoring the sensation of her hand gripping mine and the sound of her voice.

  “Where's your locker?” she asks.

  “You want to see my locker?”

  “Sure.” Jessica swings her arm playfully, lifting mine with hers.

  I can't resist. I lead her back the way we came and take her down the darkened hallway to my locker. It feels creepy here in the shadows, but it's quiet.

  “Death to zombies?” Jessica traces her finger along an inscription on my locker door.

  I smirk and move her hand away. “People think they're funny. But for all they know, zombies are already dead.”

  My joke makes her laugh, and I'm happy she understands it that way. “You're not dead,” she says. She runs a finger up the center of my chest, making me shudder. “I feel the heat inside of you. There's life, and feeling, and plenty more.”

  My back is against the locker and she's leaning against me. “How does someone like you put up with someone like me?” I ask.

  She grins and heaves another deep breath into my chest. “You make me alive, Ryan. When I'm talking with you, I feel everything that a person is meant to feel. It's as if a lifetime of emotion is stirring inside of me.”

  “I feel the same way.” It's true, because my stomach is spinning and twisting.

  “There's something special between us. I don't want to lose it.”

  “It can't last forever,” I say. “I mean—I want it to, but I am infected. One day I'll be gone.”

  “But you'll always be with me.” Jessica leans her head against my chest. “Inside. I don't care what happens in the future. I'm not worried about then. All I know is that our moments together are special. I'll remember them forever.”

  I don't know what to think. She's so honest, so right. Our friendship isn't meant to last. I'm an experiment; the doctors can only slow down my symptoms and treat the effects for a while. One day, I'll change into the monster that everyone around me fears. It's only a matter of time.

  “I'll break your heart someday,” I tell Jessica. “I don't like knowing that. It's more frightening to me than my future.”

  “Why?” Jessica looks up at me. Her eyes are moist, but she isn't crying. “I know who you are. I accept it.” She leans backward, pulling on my arms, and I hold her upright. “This is high school. We get one shot, one chance to live it. I like living this way. It feels good. It feels pure. I don't care what my friends think. I don't care what my parents say. I care about you and the way you make me feel.” She's staring at me, searching my eyes with hers. “This is an experience. I'm happy to have found you and am glad you accept me.”

  “I'll always accept you,” I say. “You're beautiful.”

  She pulls herself into my chest again. Then she slowly lifts her chin to look up at me. She's so close and so perfect that I can't hold back. I lower my face and take a deep breath. Then I kiss her.

  She responds with a touch of her lips that makes my face tingle. I grab her back and squeeze her into me while sharing everything that I wish and want. The moment lasts forever. She's here and we're together, and I've never felt so good.

  When we finally separate, I open my eyes and she opens hers. I smile and she smiles back. “You're always so perfect,” I say.

  She doesn't move her gaze. “I'll remember you forever, Ryan.”

  I don't know what to talk about after that. I shift as a shudder envelops me; the hall has a draft.

  “We can walk around some more,” she says.

  “I wish we had more time together.”

  She leans back and pulls me away from the wall. “I do too.” Then she squeezes my arm against her as we walk. She stops near the end of the hall. “That looks fun.”

  She's nodding toward a poster advertising the Spring Prom. I grimace, suddenly wary of how that would work out.

  “It would be fun,” I say, teasing. “I could have the hospital shuttle pull into your driveway.” I grin at her as an image pops into my head. “And I can see the headline now: 'Angry father shoots daughter's zombie date with shotgun.'”

  Jessica laughs and pulls me closer. “My dad doesn't believe in guns. Prom would be nice. I want to dance with you.”

  “We could dance now.”

  Jessica sways into me. “We could. Will you take me to prom?”

  I'm still worried about how it will work out, but I can't resist her. I want to spend more time with her. “Yes,” I answer. “I'll take you to prom.”

  With a tiny squeal, Jessica leaps into my arms and kisses me again. I spin her around and embrace her, but a flash of light interrupts the moment. I open my eyes and see someone dash away around the corner.

  Chapter Five: Headlines

  Jessica insists that there won't be any problems, but worry wrenches my stomach the rest of our time together. The flash repeats over and over in my mind, etching a fear that someone took our picture. After a long goodbye, and a final healthy kiss from Jessica, I rush to my shuttle to wait, anxious to avoid any crowds or questions. I have no interest in basketball and find no joy in the raucous cheers echoing from the gym.

  The lonely wait out in the cold night adds to my suffering. My thoughts are loud, like banging drums inside my head, pounding rhythmic anger with every passing moment. By the time my driver arrives, I'm glaring and hot.

  “That was a great game,” he says, whistling as he unlocks the door to the shuttle.

  I scramble to my seat at the back and pretend I didn't hear him. I'm not feeling friendly anymore and the sensation in my stomach is now a veritable free fall. We arrive at the hospital and I rush past the glass door entrance. I want to run up to my room, but the attendant at the front desk makes me check in first and answer a dozen questions about the game while checking my vitals. At least she doesn't take me into the Scream Room.

  Finally, I'm safe in room three forty one, free from prying eyes and cameras and the world. I tear off my shirt—I feel like I'm on fire now—and open a chat session.

  Nothing. Of course there wouldn't be. Jessica won't get home for a while. Still, I stare at the flashing curser and hope for a miracle. Nothing.

  My worries continue through the weekend. I spend Saturday waiting by my computer, but no message comes. Sunday night, I type out an entire paragraph about how good it was to see her and hold my finger above the send button, set to send it as soon as she appears in the session. She doesn't come and I'm left staring at the empty screen from my bed until I fall asleep.

  ~ O ~

  Monday is Valentine's Day and my fears are confirmed at school that morning while everyone is sharing red hearts and hugs.

  A kid I don’t know catches me in the hall before English. “Way to go, Ryan!” He slaps me on the shoulder, making me jump.

  Several kids turn to look and snicker.

  I keep walking, not wanting to be late. “What are you talking about?”

  “This.” The kid shoves a phone in my face and there I am, in bold color, kissing Jessica against the wall. She's pointing to the prom poster.

  I snatch the phone from his fingers. “Where did you get this?”

  “It's everywhere,” he answers with a laugh. “You're freakin' famous.”

  I don't want to be famous. I was famous when I made the push last summer to come back to high school. News stations begged for interviews and gossip magazines posted my photo next to alien ships and drunk celebrities. Famous brought out protesters, and lies, and hate. Famous never brought my family back. Or Andre.

  I think about smashing the kid's phone against the classroom door, but think better of it. People are staring. I have to control myself. “I thought I saw a flash,” I groan. I duck into class and slide into my seat. “When will I ever get any privacy?”

  “Hey,” says the kid, poking his into the room. “This is
a great picture. Who is she?”

  I’d love to tell someone about Jessica, about our chats, about sneaking to her house. But not this kid. He's mocking my best moment with her. I glare back at him and fight the growl that's brewing inside of me. The bell rings and Miss Reeves promptly assigns us a new book for the week. I think I'm safe, but when I activate my tablet and see the book she's assigned, I let out another groan. Romeo and Juliette. Really? Today?

  Someone says my name and a bunch of kids make kissing sounds behind my back.

  “Yeah, he's a killer,” someone else snaps. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” There's uproar of laughter while my face burns.

  “Ryan, did you have a good weekend?” There's a tease in Miss Reeves' voice and I know she means it in jest, but her words only add to the anger boiling inside of me.

  One moment captured for the world to see and I become the focus of its mockery. Friday night, I had wanted to keep the prom poster as a souvenir. Now I want to run out of the classroom and rip it to shreds. I feel the same way about whoever took my picture.

  It doesn't take long before another comment disrupts the class. Everyone is kicking, and laughing, and bouncing in their chairs. It seems my picture has made comedians out of everyone.

  “There's proof I have a love life,” I retort at Matt, who asks if I'll act out Romeo for the school. “Where's yours?”

  That shuts him up and allows Miss Reeves control of the room again, though I'm the target of her harsh scold. I don't care. I'd rather be yelled at than teased.

  All day, I'm followed by kissing sounds and moans as if someone is making out behind me. Some kids even get dramatic and act out our kiss in the cafeteria. The girl falls to the ground and starts shaking, as if a zombie kiss sent her into deadly convulsions. Everyone roars with laughter, and even I find myself cracking a smile at the dramatic interpretation. Still, it's annoying to be the center of attention. It's like my first day back at school all over again, and I'm eager for it to end.

  ~ O ~

  That night, there's no word from Jessica. I stare at the empty chat box for an hour, wondering if she's seen the photo. It's likely, since nowadays images are transmitted faster than money. There's probably a whole school in Singapore ringing with laughter at our expense.

  Since there's no one to talk to, I use the time to get an extra workout. The frustration of the day gives me extra energy. I work up a sweat this time and have to catch my breath afterword. I clean up, shower, and decide to do the reading Miss Reeves assigned.

  Everyone's read Romeo and Juliet before. The book was required back in junior high, so I'm annoyed that Miss Reeves assigned it for Senior English, especially today. We're supposed to memorize a paragraph, but the words are fancy and don't make sense to me. I toss the tablet at the foot of my bed and resign myself to a night of rest. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

  ~ O ~

  Hopes and dreams are one thing, and high school is another. During another day of humiliation and mocking, my neck bleeds again. I curse under my breath when Mr. Heaps sends me to the nurse's office, though I'm partly relieved because no one can tease me there.

  “You were doing so well.” Nurse Jennings grimaces when she sees me in the hall. “I had hoped you would get through the week.”

  I nod my agreement and glance behind to make sure no one has followed me. When I'm safely inside her office, I drop my backpack to the floor. “I suppose you've seen it then?” I ask.

  Nurse Jennings smiles and removes a sterile needle from its wrapping. “I don't expect there's anyone who hasn't,” she tells me. She injects me near my chin and presses a bandage there to hold in the medicine. “You've become the symbol of the future for most.”

  I wince. “And what am I to the rest?”

  “Looks like you know that already.” She gives me another shot and opens a package of Second Skin. She's quiet as she finishes her work on me, but her mutters and pauses tell me she doesn't like what she sees. I'm about to ask her why when she speaks again. “There's another treatment for Breytazine,” she announces. “Have you heard? It's a new formula that shows promise.”

  There's longing in her words and she almost whispers them. I understand why, but I don't press. New treatments now don’t help her family, or mine. Our lives have already been altered.

  “Did Andre ever have a girlfriend?” Nurse Jennings looks at me, tears trying to break free. "He never mentioned one."

  Andre and I dated plenty of girls in ninth and tenth grade, but we were so busy with basketball that we never had anyone steady. “Why bother,” we had always told each other. “There’s so much time and so many girls.” It had been a joke before, something we had laughed about in the locker room. But that was then. Andre is gone and I'm on my way to join him.

  “Yes,” I answer, smiling so his mother doesn't realize my half-truth. “And many more would have loved the chance.”

  My answer makes her smile and I know I've said the right thing. I can't bring my best friend back, but I can help his mother's loss feel a little bit less sharp. I remove my shirt, braving the chill in the room, and fight the discomfort while Nurse Jennings completes the rest of my examination.

  “What's her name?” she asks, while entering my vitals into her tablet.

  “Jessica.” I don't even think about it. I'm comfortable around Nurse Jennings. I would trust her with any secret.

  “That's pretty.” She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. She's trying to be discreet and hasn't noticed that I've seen her. “How did I do today?”

  I look at the clock. “Twenty minutes.” Was it really that long?

  “I'm sorry I was so slow. Detention again?”

  I nod as I put my shirt on, then stop speaking as I realize I'm in for another hour with Mr. Montrose. The room fills with silence that lingers longer than I had planned. As I turn to leave, Nurse Jennings reaches around my waist and squeezes me close. I feel her breath shaking with fear. What is she not telling me?

  “Take care, Ryan.”

  “I will,” I answer. “Thank you.”

  She holds me for a moment and then pulls away to resume her cleanup from my visit. It feels good to know someone cares about me—I haven't known that for so long—but her reaction bothers me the entire walk back to Biology. This time, I stop in the bathroom and collect my thoughts before returning to class.

  ~ O ~

  Three more days of detention due to bleeding officially make it one of the worst weeks of my life. Copies of the picture of Jessica and me are everywhere. One has been blown up and taped onto a big prom poster in a hall that teachers rarely roam. To add insult to me, someone had marked it with a pen. The caption reads: “Everyone is dying to go to prom. See you in the spring.”

  Chapter Six: Silence

  Tyson Adler is the only player on the Viewmont football team good enough for a scholarship. To say he's proud that he's committed to Nebraska is not saying enough. The guy lives and breathes that school. From his jacket, to his shirts, to the decals on the tinted windows of his Durango, there's nothing that doesn't announce how good he is and where he's going. My usual walk from Geometry to Art takes me past the football team lockers and past Tyson Adler. When I reach him today, Tyson steps in front of me.

  “What do you say, Moon?” he asks me with a snarl. “Once you're dead and gone, can I have her?”

  He opens his locker, revealing a copy of the photo, only my face has been covered with a picture of Tyson. Jessica is there, leaning and embracing the soon-to-be Nebraska linebacker.

  He yells at me as I shove past him. “What's the matter, Moon? Give me her number. I think we could get along.”

  Someone snickers behind me and I want to turn around and throw something, but I know better. Half the football team surrounds Tyson, but he wouldn't need them to destroy a guy like me. He once busted the facemask of a running back from Davis. With bare hands, he broke the metal meant to withstand pressure of hundreds of pounds. He'd like it if I picked
a fight and I'd be an idiot to take him on.

  Tyson is in my last class that day, and he keeps turning around and making kissing faces at me when Mr. Johnson isn't looking. I've already earned detention, so I tell Mr. Johnson that I'm bleeding and flee to the sanctuary of Nurse Jennings' office for awhile.

  ~ O ~

  That night, I don't bother opening a chat session. I'm not in the mood and don't know what I would say to Jessica anyway. My head hurts and I'm having trouble focusing. Even the faint florescent lights in the hospital seem too bright for anything. I turn on some music, down my medicine, and fall asleep to my lonely thoughts.

  ~ O ~

  Friday, my hospital breakfast includes two extra pills. When I ask why, the nurse gives me a flat smile and tells me they're for my new symptoms. She doesn't tell me what those symptoms are. I'm used to pills and take them like the others, but these are nothing like I've had before. The first tastes so dry and chalky, it takes two swallows of water to swallow it. I nearly cough up my lungs after swallowing the other. The drugs do their job, though, and I avoid detention at school, which makes the day better than the rest.

  That night, I open a chat session. Still, there's silence. My body tingles with vigor and emotion, but there's nothing inside of me; life wasn't meant to feel so empty. Staring at the screen doesn't do me any good, so I make my music louder than normal and take a swipe at my dummy. The blow sends it firmly against my door and shakes the wall. I feel a little better. I leap toward it and strike it again, then again, then a hundred more times. I'm feeling better. The screen is still dark. I beat the dummy over and over, and then start again.