My So-Called Death Read online

  "Our magic is based in death, in darkness, and as a consequence is unpredictable and dangerous." Samedi's voice held a warning I didn't understand. "You will be instructed in basic spells that will facilitate your continued interaction with your family and the human world. Nothing more."

  "So she gets to be human and come home. Why are we faking a funeral?" Mom asked, her frustration clear.

  Samedi sighed. "Karen will be able to interact with the human world, but she will never be human and she will never be known to humans as Karen Vera. The High Council of the United States will not allow it. She will have to assume another identity."

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  "So you're telling me I've lost my daughter."

  "Mom, you haven't lost me," I said, snapped out of my chicken-chomping haze by the sound of tears in Mom's voice. "I'm right here. It's just a new school."

  "Right. Just a new school." My mom started crying for real, but then the triplets started screaming and wailing and tearing each other's hair out in a prelude to their own feeding frenzy (hungry babies, nearly as scary as hungry zombies), and she had to pull it together.

  Surprisingly, she seemed mostly okay by the time she fetched the trips some Cheerios to gnaw on while she cooked macaroni and cheese. Mourning my loss came second to feeding my siblings--which hurt, despite the fact that I was glad to see Mom chill out.

  "I know this is a lot to take in," Samedi said in a hushed voice, like she didn't want Mom, who was busy in the kitchen, to hear what she was saying. "But we are the only facility in our area equipped to provide for Karen's continuing education while preparing her for the unique needs of her Death Challenged life."

  "What kind of unique needs?" I asked around a mouthful of food, assuming it was okay to talk with my mouth full since I'd just been through a traumatic event.

  "Well, for one thing, your physical body is now even more precious than it was before," Samedi said, addressing me in the same tone she'd used with Dad, winning her big points in my book. "You could potentially live for hundreds of years, and you're going to have to learn to take very good care of your mortal flesh."

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  Hmmm... hundreds of years. That could be cool.

  "You'll also run the risk of being confused with black magically raised zombies." She then went on to explain how black magically raised zombies are mindless, scary, red-glowing-eyed freaks who want to chow on human flesh and not much else.

  "And I thought they were only in Romero films," Dad said, earning a chuckle from the principal.

  Some old person joke, I guessed, continuing to munch.

  "No, they're real. And there are paranormally gifted humans who devote their lives to slaying the creatures." Samedi's smile faded as she continued. "Some of them know about the Death Challenged and will take the time to differentiate between the two. But there are others who believe any Undead who refuses to return to the grave deserves to be destroyed."

  "Destroyed like... killed for real?" A shiver ran down my spine when she nodded. So my zombie mob fears were not unfounded.

  "I'm afraid so. And I've only attracted more negative attention with my work with the Deprogrammed teens in the area," she said.

  "They're different than the Death Challenged kids?" I asked.

  Samedi nodded. "Sometimes, black magically raised zombies can have their soul returned to their body if their corpse was raised within a year of their death. And if the proper spells are employed before they develop a taste for human blood."

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  Ugh. Taste for human blood. Gross. Finally, my chicken craving began to fade.

  "Those who hunt the Undead consider the Deprogrammed abominations who will eventually return to the murderous business they were raised for, but I haven't found that to be the case. Once the dark power that controls the black magically raised is banished, many go on to lead existences very similar to the naturally Death Challenged. A number of them even study at our school."

  Things got quiet for a moment as Samedi let all that info sink in, Dad adjusted his glasses ten more times, and I returned to shoveling in the popcorn chicken until my cardboard box was empty. Finally Dad broke the silence.

  "I've done some research about extended life in my family, but I have no idea how to help Karen through this." He looked stressed out and excited at the same time. "I think attending your school would be for the best. What do you think, honey?"

  What did I think? I still had a hole in the back of my head where my brains would spill out if I bent over too far. Was I even capable of thinking, let alone making good decisions?

  Although, if I'd understood Samedi correctly, there wasn't really a decision to be made. I either faked my death and transferred to her school or... disappeared? She'd said I wouldn't be allowed to live as Karen Vera anymore because of some big, United States-wide rule.

  Personally, I didn't want to find out what would happen to me if I refused to follow that rule. I had a feeling

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  the consequences wouldn't be pleasant. Besides, I was a rule follower from way back. Even in preschool I'd gotten gold stars for sharing my paste and being the first to lie down and snooze when the teacher hit the lights for naptime.

  ""Well... I can't go back to PHS if I'm dead. So I guess you'd better sign me up."

  "A wise choice." Principal Samedi smiled and then dove right into what would need to be done to get me enrolled in the high school for the zombified.

  First of all, I was going to have to be officially declared dead to everyone I'd known before, except for my immediate family. There would have to be a funeral and mourning and an obituary and everything. My dad was a little concerned about how he was going to fake my death without a body, but Principal Samedi said she would take care of all that with her connection down at the coroner's office. Right after she introduced me to my new roomie at DEAD.

  "Then I'll have my assistant issue Karen's uniforms and get to work on her class schedule." Samedi smiled and rose from the couch, signaling that our business here was done. "That way, Karen won't have to miss any school as a result of her unfortunate accident."

  Okay, so, let's recap:

  1. Dead to everyone I used to know, including my best friend, Piper.

  2. No longer allowed to go to real school or cheer on my cheer squad.

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  3. Must now attend strange school where I know no one.

  4. Must now wear uniforms at strange school where I know no one.

  5. Must room with stranger at this strange school where I know no one.

  6. Will not even get to miss a single freaking day of classes as a result of falling off a cheer pyramid and having my skull cracked open like an egg on drugs. (Or whatever that old commercial was... the one on VH1's 1980s special.)

  And as if that weren't bad enough, Principal Samedi took that moment to drop the food bomb. I was reaching for a bowl of mac and cheese from the tray Mom brought into the living room when I was told I would no longer be allowed to eat real food. Any real food, with the exception of various forms of raw meat. Turns out that dairy, sugar, fruits, vegetables, and just about anything else yummy wreaks havoc on the Undead's digestion.

  "But what about the popcorn chicken? It wasn't raw," I said, determined to find a loophole in the no-food rule. I mean, I love food. And chocolate! Geez. How was I expected to live--or at least not die--without chocolate?!

  That's when Principal Samedi told me about brains. That eating brains was necessary to keep my body in good working order and prevent rot, and that I would be eating them for the rest of my death.

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  Not only that, but I had already been eating them for the past fifteen minutes.

  I ran to the bathroom and tried to throw up, but it turned out that my newly Undead body had already metabolized the brains.

  Ewwwww... brains.

  I looked at myself in the mirror and did my best imitation of a horror movie creature, groaning "braiiinnnnsssss" to my pale reflection. Then I sat on the to
ilet and cried until Principal Samedi knocked on the door and told me it was time for us to go.

  Turns out tears are not exclusively for the living. Yippee.

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  CHAPTER TWO

  Respecting your new roommate is essential. Now that you are one of the Undead, you could conceivably live for hundreds of years. The relationships you begin now will be the friendships that carry you through the millennium. Remember that, and conduct yourselves accordingly.

  --Dorm Handbook for Incoming Students,

  DEAD High

  "Wanted: White noise machine, will pay any price.

  Would be awesome if it had one of those aromatherapy

  things too. My roommate snores and smells! Pleaz help!

  Am exhausted and nasally tormented!

  --Note on girls' dorm bulletin board

  Clarice sucks butt.

  --Bathroom stall, second floor girls' bathroom

  "What are you doing? Is that a cheerleader on my wall?" The shriek from the doorway made me scream and then burst out laughing.

  I always laugh when I'm scared. I probably would have laughed as I was falling off the cheer pyramid if there had been time. Admittedly weird, but my friends back in my

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  human life thought it was funny that I giggled all the way through horror movies.

  "What are you laughing at? That has to come down." The girl in the door glared at the United Cheerleader Association calendar I'd hung on my side of the room. She threw her sweater on the floor. Her greasy, shoulder-length black hair twitched angrily around her shoulders and her heavily lined gray eyes narrowed like I was a maggot she'd just spotted on her arm.

  Maggots are a zombie's only natural predator--aside from angry mobs of humans or the supernatural-slayer types. Principal Samedi had already warned me to watch out for flies that love to lay their eggs in Undead flesh because, once they get started, maggot infestations can be almost impossible to get under control.

  Ugh. Maggot infestation. If there was a grosser combination of words in the English language I couldn't think of it.

  The thought made me laugh again. I was in a laugh-or-cry situation. I had to keep giggling or I was going to lose what was left of my sense of humor.

  "Ohmygod, what is wrong with you?" the girl asked, wrinkling her upper lip.

  Guess she didn't share my human friends' appreciation for ill-timed chortling.

  No wonder, really. This chick didn't look like she smiled. Ever. She'd already acquired a frown line between her eyebrows--though she couldn't have been more than

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  fifteen--and her lips turned down in a scowl that she'd clearly worked hours on perfecting. It's not easy to get the sides of your mouth to turn down like that. Unless you're a toddler on the verge of a temper tantrum.

  The girl stomped her foot, doing an excellent impression of a two-year-old. "Hello? Can you talk? I asked you what the hell you were doing here."

  "That's the first time you've said hello." I propped my hands on my hips, determined not to take any psycho from this freak.

  I'd already died, become Undead, eaten brains, been forced to leave the bosom of my family, and endured the stares of the entire second floor of the girls' dorm as I carried my things down the hall. I was done with bad stuff. From here on out, this night was going to get better. It had to, or I was going to lose it and call my mom and beg her to come pick me up and take me home no matter what the High Council of brain munchers had to say about it.

  "Get out. Take your cheerleader crap and that pink ... thing and Get. Out." She pointed one jabby little finger toward the door and her scowl deepened. "I don't room with anyone, let alone some blond bimbo cheer freak with pink bedding."

  Ah. So this was Clarice.

  Clarice, who Principal Samedi had assured me was going to be thrilled to finally have a roommate. Clarice, who was also a freshman and would love to help me get caught up on the work I'd missed so far this semester. Clarice, who the bathroom stall had warned me "sucked butt."

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  Of the three things I'd heard, the last one was the only one I was willing to believe.

  "This is where I was told to put my things," I said, my stomach cramping as I realized I was going to have to live with this nasty little troll. What had I done to deserve this? Been born blond and cute, with a love for the color pink? I couldn't help any of those things. Even loving pink was genetic. It was only a matter of time until that was proven by science. "I'm sorry if you don't like pink, but--"

  "It makes me want to vomit. And your sweater looks like a unicorn puked all over it."

  "This is the only bedspread that I brought with me." I returned her glare, deciding it was best to ignore her commentary on my outfit. There was no point discussing fashion with a girl with enough grease in her hair to fuel the deep frier down at McDonald s. Besides, my sweater was cute. Purple was totally the new black, and the glitter was intentionally ironic. "I can look for something else next time I go home, but--"

  "Oh, you're going, all right. Right now. I'm calling the RA."

  "Go ahead and call the RA." RA? What was the RA? Rabid Animal? Random Android? Rebel Anteater? "But Principal Samedi said this was the only space free on the second floor."

  "Then they can put you on the third floor with the juniors and seniors," Clarice said, before raising her voice to a scream.

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  I winced and covered my ears. I couldn't tell exactly what she was yelling, but it sounded like she was calling for a "manatee," confirming my suspicion that she was completely out of her mind. Manatees do not live on land, even at zombie schools. I might be new, but I wasn't born yesterday.

  I was getting ready to tell Clarice that her cries for a sea cow to come to her rescue were in vain when a pretty girl with bright red hair and a smattering of brown freckles across her pale, Undead nose appeared in the doorway.

  Most people wouldn't have realized she was Death Challenged, but I was starting to be able to tell who was and who wasn't a zombie within a few seconds of meeting them. It was almost like I'd acquired a sixth sense where the Undead were concerned. I just knew who was my kind and who wasn't. Kind of like I'd just known when a girl from another school was a cheerleader, even if she wasn't in uniform. There's just something in the perky tilt of the chin that gives away the inner school spirit.

  "Hey, Clarice! So this is your new roommate." The new girl smiled widely, as if she didn't notice Clarice's scowl, and held out her hand. "I'm Mandy Dee, one of the Resident Assistants for the second floor, seventh grade through sophomore year."

  Oh. Mandy Dee, not manatee, and an RA was a Resident Assistant, not a Rabid Animal. Still, I wasn't giving Clarice any Get Out of Crazyville Free cards. So far she'd been the rudest person I'd ever met, which meant she was either

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  crazy or an epic jerk. Out of the kindness of my heart, I was willing to call her crazy. A person can't help being crazy. Epic jerkiness, however, is another matter entirely.

  "Karen Vera," I said, taking the offered hand and shaking it, though it felt decidedly weird. Had I ever shaken someone's hand? I couldn't remember. I couldn't seem to remember anything now. Maybe my brains had been irreparably damaged in the accident.

  "What a pretty name, and I love your sweater. You're going to fit right in," Mandy Dee said with another smile. "So how are you?"

  "I'm good, really good." I'd just died and found out I had the roommate from hell; how good could I be? I wasn't good, but I couldn't tell Mandy Dee that, not when I could tell she loved it here at zombie school.

  "Settling in okay?"

  "Well, I--"

  "No, she's not. She's not going to settle in at all. I told Principal Samedi I can't have a roommate, especially her" Clarice said, inserting her angry little body between me and Mandy Dee. "It's just not possible. She's got to go."

  "This is the only bed free, Clarice," Mandy Dee said in a logical, perky voice. "There's nowhere else for Karen to go." Her e
yes slid to mine for a second and I read the pity there, confirming my suspicion that Clarice didn't get any more likable after prolonged exposure.

  "She can go up a floor, can't she?" Clarice's whine made me wince. "There are rooms free up there. Entire rooms."

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  "Those are only for upperclassmen." "But--"

  "Clarice, please."

  "But she's a cheerleader! Look at that stupid thing on the wall!"

  "There's really nothing I can do," Mandy said, looking straight at me, though Clarice was the one protesting our roommate status. "They're working on getting some extra space approved for students on the first floor, but right now those rooms are only for female faculty."

  "This sucks!" Clarice made a sound somewhere between a scream and a growl and hurled herself onto the bed on the other side of the room. The bed that was covered with a black bedspread, black pillows, and a black afghan draped across the end.

  Geez. I should have known me and the roomie weren't going to get along. My sweater might look like a unicorn puked on it, but Clarice's bed looked like the inside of an emo vampire's lair. And emo vampires and unicorns do not get along. One is a creature of light and the other a minion of angst-ridden darkness. (But a unicorn would totally win in a fight. One big, sharp horn trumps two tiny fangs any day.)

  "Listen, Clarice," I said, willing to give reason one last chance. I had to live with this girl, after all, and it would be a heck of a lot easier if she would stop acting like my cheer calendar and I were harbingers of the plague. "I've never had to share a room before, either, but I'm sure we can make this--"

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  "Shut up, you freak!" Clarice snatched the afghan from the edge of her bed and pulled it over her head.

  Oh my god. She was hiding under her blankie. It was so ridiculous I would have laughed if the lump under the afghan hadn't started shaking. Sobbing sounds trickled out from underneath. The girl was crying, crying because she was going to be forced to room with me.