Fifth-Grade Zombies Page 5

  Back home, Skipper picked up a softball in the yard, and we started to toss it back and forth along the edge of the cornfield. “I thought I might get serious about playing baseball,” he told me. “But I messed up my knee in sixth grade.”

  “That’s bad news,” I said.

  He scrunched up his face. “Can you imagine? I was twelve and my whole career was over.” He threw the ball high, over my head. “Oh. Sorry.”

  I chased it across the grass and tossed it back to him.

  “Do you play any sports?” he asked.

  “Not really,” I said. “Well … I take tennis lessons. That’s about it.”

  We threw the ball in silence for a while. Then he asked, “Are you tense about starting school on Monday?”

  I shrugged. “A little.”

  “It will be different from back in New York,” he said, then snickered. “You will probably be shocked at how small the school is.”

  I nodded. “Everything is different here.” I caught the ball low and held on to it.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “For sure,” he said. He walked closer. “What’s up?”

  I told him the story Shameka and Mila told me about the fifth-grade class from Michigan going into the cornfield. I thought they had made it up, but I just wanted to make sure. “They said those kids were never seen again.” I locked my eyes on Skipper’s. “Is that story true?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. No way,” he said. He ran a hand through his long hair. “I don’t believe it,” he murmured. “Mila tells me to stop scaring you. Then she goes ahead and tells you that crazy story.”

  I opened my mouth to reply. But I stopped when I heard a sound. From the cornfield.

  Howls. Long and low. Rising and falling.

  Human-sounding howls ringing out from deep in the field.

  My mouth dropped open.

  A gust of wind seemed to carry the howls and swirl them all around me.

  I covered my ears and turned to Skipper.

  He was watching me. “Farm cats,” he said. “Feral cats. They live in the wild. In the cornfield. They howl like that all the time.”

  First day of school.

  Yes. Skipper was right. It was a lot smaller than P.S. 196 in Forest Hills. Mila and I are in fifth grade, and Skipper is in eighth. But we were in the same building.

  It was about a twenty-minute drive from the farm. Aunt Clara dropped us off in front of the square, redbrick school. It looked more like a house than a school to me.

  I could see a playground for little kids on one side. And a grassy soccer field stretching along the other side. Behind the school, a forest with a border of tall trees made a high wall.

  I waved to Aunt Clara as she pulled the truck away from the school. And I followed Mila and Skipper up the stairs to the front entrance.

  Mila gave me a gentle shove. “Don’t look so nervous, Todd.”

  “You’re supposed to be nervous on the first day of school,” I said.

  “You definitely should be nervous,” Skipper said. “It’s a new school, new teacher, and you don’t know anyone. You don’t even know where the bathroom is!”

  “Shut up, Skipper!” Mila snapped. “You’re not funny.” She turned to me. “No worries. I’ll show you around. It isn’t too hard.”

  A gray-haired woman in a dark blue skirt and a pale blue sweater opened the glass door for us. She had bright green eyes behind her square eyeglasses. Her face was pale except for the dark lipstick on her smiling mouth.

  She nodded to Mila and Skipper, then turned her smile on me. “You must be Todd,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Bane, the principal.” She had a smooth, young voice. “Welcome to Moose Hollow School. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Really?” I said. Awkward. I never know what to say when someone says that.

  “Todd is nervous,” Skipper said. “You know. New school.”

  Why did he tell her that? Just to embarrass me?

  Mrs. Bane’s smile grew wider. “I’m sure everyone will make you feel at home.” She turned to Mila. “Will you show Todd to his locker and then to Miss Opperman’s classroom?”

  The principal glanced at the large watch on her wrist. “Please scoot. We really need to hurry now.”

  Mrs. Bane turned to some kids who were talking by the wall of lockers. “Classrooms, people!” she called. “Hurry. No loitering in the hall. Scoot!”

  Mila put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down the hall. “This way. I’ll show you. Here’s your locker.”

  “What’s the big hurry?” I asked. “Why is she making everyone rush? It’s early.”

  Mila didn’t answer.

  I shoved my backpack into the locker. Then I hurried to catch up to her.

  At the end of the hall, we turned a corner. She stopped in front of a closed classroom door. Room 4-A.

  “This is your room,” Mila said. She pointed. “My class is near the front.”

  “Huh?” I blinked. “But I thought we’d be in the same class.”

  She shook her head. “Hurry. Go in. I’ll see you later.”

  I started to ask her again. But she was already running down the hall toward her room, her shoes banging on the tile floor.

  “Well … here goes,” I muttered. I took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

  “Are you Todd?” Miss Opperman jumped up from her desk chair. She was fairly young and on the short side, with black hair and dark eyes. Her slacks were black, but she wore a bright purple-and-white Moose Hollow sweatshirt.

  “Come in. Please hurry.” She turned to the class. I saw about a dozen kids, already sitting behind their desks. “Hey, everyone. This is Todd. He’s our only new student this year.”

  They all studied me as if I was some kind of science lab experiment.

  “Tell everyone where you are from, Todd,” the teacher said.

  “Queens, New York,” I said.

  “Cool,” a boy said from the back of the room. No one else made a sound.

  “How many of you have ever been to New York?” Miss Opperman asked.

  Two hands went up.

  “I saved you a desk by the window,” the teacher said, pointing.

  I made my way to the desk and slid into it. I wondered when everyone would stop watching me like I was some kind of alien invader.

  Someone had scratched the word bored into the wooden desktop. Outside the window, I could see the trees in the forest, their leaves already brown and yellow.

  I gazed around the room. It was strange seeing all new faces. Kids I didn’t know. Like starting life all over again, only more awkward.

  You can do this, Todd, I told myself.

  You’re pretty smart. You’re not shy. You know how to get along with kids.

  “Hey.” The boy next to me tapped my desktop.

  I turned. He had short blond hair and a pale, round face dotted with freckles. He wore a red T-shirt with the bright green face of the Hulk bursting across the front.

  “My family went to New York once,” he said. “It was fun.”

  I nodded. “I don’t live in Manhattan. I live across the river.”

  He narrowed his blue eyes at me. “How come you came here?”

  I shrugged. “It’s a long story. What’s your name?”

  “Owen. Do you play Minecraft?”

  “Yeah. I’m into it,” I said.

  “Maybe someday after school—” he started, taking a notebook from his backpack.

  I jumped to my feet. I suddenly realized I’d shoved my backpack, with my notebook in it, into my locker near the front entrance.

  I started to ask Miss Opperman if I could go get it. But she was writing something on the chalkboard, and her back was turned.

  I made my way along the wall, then darted out of the room. No one in the hall. I felt turned-around for a moment. Then I remembered the way to the front, where the lockers were.

  My footsteps echoed in the empty hall. My locker was number 103, righ
t across from the glass entrance door. Some of the lockers had padlocks, but mine didn’t.

  I pulled open the locker door and reached down for my backpack. But then I stopped.

  Through the door, I saw a bus pull up to the front of the school. I squinted into the sun’s reflection on the glass.

  I could see that it wasn’t a typical school bus. It was painted gray. A lot of the paint had cracked away. I saw big rust spots on the side. The front fender was crumpled, caved in.

  I tried to see inside. But the windows were solid black.

  “Weird,” I muttered to myself.

  But then things got weirder.

  The bus door swung open. I watched as a kid stepped out. His head was lowered. A black hood hung loosely over his head. One sleeve of his hoodie was missing.

  His dark pants were torn at the knees and the leg bottoms were ragged. His shoes were caked with mud.

  He slouched toward the school building. And then another kid appeared in the bus doorway.

  I squinted hard, confused by the strange sight. Who are these kids?

  I didn’t have time to think about it. A hand grabbed my shoulder. Tightened its grip. Spun me around.

  Mrs. Bane!

  “Todd—what are you doing out here?” she shrieked. “Get away from the door! Hurry! Get back to your classroom—NOW!”

  I swiped my backpack off the locker floor, whirled away, and went running down the hall. I don’t think I even closed the locker door.

  What is going on here?

  My head spun. My shoulder throbbed from the principal’s strong grip. Nearly to my classroom, I stopped to catch my breath.

  I could hear voices behind me. The voices of the kids who had just arrived.

  I tried to make out their words. But their voices were low and growly. Too rough to be kids’ voices.

  My heartbeats were pounding. But I had to get a better look at those kids.

  Keeping against the wall, I turned and crept halfway back. “Oh, wow,” I muttered as I saw a bunch of them moving into a classroom.

  Some were staggering. Dragging their legs as they stumbled through the open door. Some wore hoods that completely covered their faces. Others had their heads down as they shuffled into the class.

  “Todd?”

  I turned and saw Miss Opperman waving frantically to me from her classroom door. I took a deep breath and trotted over to her.

  “I’m waiting for you,” she said. “You know you can’t just jump up and leave class whenever you feel like it.”

  “I … had to get my backpack,” I stammered. I held it up in front of her as if proving it to her.

  “But you shouldn’t be out of the room,” she repeated. She put a hand on the back of my neck and guided me gently to the door.

  “Uh … wait,” I said. “Can you tell me—?”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I can’t.”

  “But—but—”

  She kept her hand on my neck until I started down the aisle to my desk. Once again, I could feel all eyes on me.

  I slumped into my chair. Beside me, Owen kept his eyes focused on his textbook and avoided me.

  “I just saw something strange,” I murmured. I thought that might make him turn around. But he didn’t.

  I can’t tell you what anyone talked about the rest of the morning. I completely zoned out. I couldn’t stop thinking about those ragged, growling kids climbing off that beat-up, rusted school bus and staggering into the school.

  Were they the same kids who crawled out from the corn and marched along the field? Were they different kids? Was the whole town filled with zombie kids?

  Chill after chill ran down my back. I couldn’t erase their ugly faces and twisted bodies from my mind.

  One thought kept repeating and repeating: Zombies don’t go to school.

  Right?

  Right?

  * * *

  I searched for Mila and Shameka at lunch and couldn’t find them.

  The lunchroom was small, with three long picnic tables taking up most of the room. Kids were jammed on the benches, talking loudly, laughing, and eating lunches from home.

  At the back table, a dark-haired boy jumped to his feet and tossed a crushed juice can at a boy across the room. It bounced off the kid’s head, and everybody laughed and cheered.

  I recognized some of the kids from my class. But no sign of Mila and Shameka.

  “Weird,” I muttered. I knew they couldn’t go home for lunch. The school stood all by itself, surrounded by miles of farm fields and woods.

  I gobbled down the sandwich Aunt Clara had packed for me. Then I hurried back into the hall to continue my search.

  The halls were quiet and empty, except for a couple of teachers who leaned against some lockers and were laughing quietly about something. They didn’t turn around when I passed by.

  The classroom doors were all open. I peeked into each class, hoping to find Mila and Shameka. But everyone seemed to be at lunch.

  “Whoa.” I stopped. One door near the front of the school was shut. The words ROOM 5-Z were stenciled in black on the door.

  I heard low voices inside. Shuffling footsteps. A chair scraped on the floor. Someone coughed, a loud, rough cough.

  I moved closer to the door. I heard a woman say, “Can we continue our talk now?”

  I heard mumbled replies.

  Someone touched my shoulder and I jumped.

  I spun around to see Owen gazing at me intently. “Hey—!” I started.

  He brought his freckled face close to mine, and whispered, “Better move on, Todd. If you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you.”

  I don’t know what Todd is upset about. Every school has its weirdos—right?

  In your school, it’s probably YOU! Hahaha.

  You’d better listen to Owen, Todd. You might be dying to learn the truth about them—but you don’t want to be DYING for real! Haha.

  I hope Todd enjoys fifth grade. At the rate he’s going, he may be there forever! Hahaha.

  Mila went to Shameka’s house after school, and I didn’t see her until dinnertime. Uncle Jake served what he called his “famous Sloppy Joe” sandwiches, with potato salad.

  “Bet you don’t have these in New York,” he said, dropping a bun overstuffed with hamburger meat and tomato sauce on my plate.

  “You’d win that bet,” I said.

  Skipper had already eaten a whole sandwich. He had orange sauce dripping down his chin. He hummed as he ate, obviously enjoying it.

  I raised my gaze to Mila, who sat across the table from me. “Where were you and Shameka at lunchtime?” I asked. “I looked for you both.”

  She swallowed some sandwich, then smiled. “Shameka and I have a secret lunch place.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “I searched—”

  “How was your first day at school?” Aunt Clara interrupted.

  “Not too bad,” I said, still watching Mila. “Except I saw these weird kids. They got off a bus and—”

  “I made the sauce a little spicy this time,” Uncle Jake interrupted. “What do you think?”

  “I like it,” Skipper said. He was almost finished with his second sandwich. “Tangy.”

  “Ooh, good word!” Mila teased him.

  “Don’t make fun,” Uncle Jake scolded her. “It is a good word. It’s the perfect word.”

  I pounded the table with my fist. “Why won’t you let me talk?” I cried. “Why don’t you want to talk about these strange kids? They were in school today and—”

  “Please, Todd—lower your voice,” Uncle Jake said.

  “Let’s have a pleasant dinner,” Aunt Clara said, helping herself to more potato salad. “We can talk about unpleasant things later.”

  “Unpleasant?” I said. My voice came out higher than I’d planned. “Is that what you call it? A bunch of zombie kids who come to school and—”

  I heard a CRASH.

  I looked up and saw a puddle of water spreading over
the table. Mila had spilled her water glass.

  “Oh! Sorry!” She began mopping up the water with her napkin.

  Did she knock her glass over on purpose? To stop me from talking about the zombie kids?

  Aunt Clara brought paper towels from the kitchen. Mila kept apologizing as she cleaned up the spill.

  I didn’t want to give up. When everyone was seated again, I said, “I was telling you about the zombie kids—”

  “There’s no such thing as zombies,” Mila said. “I saw those scary books you brought, Todd. Maybe you’ve been reading too many of them. Maybe—”

  Aunt Clara raised both hands to quiet us. “Let’s all stay calm and enjoy these great sandwiches.”

  And so we did. We stayed calm and we didn’t talk about the zombie kids, and we acted as if everything was perfectly normal and okay.

  But I was too upset to enjoy the Sloppy Joes. I wanted answers. I wanted to know the truth.

  I hoped I could talk to Skipper about everything after dinner. But he jumped up from the table and said he had to meet a friend. A few seconds later, I watched him speed away on his electric bike.

  Mila hurried to her room and closed the door.

  Aunt Clara was on cleanup duty. She washed the dishes, and I dried.

  When we were nearly finished, she turned off the water and pulled me to the side of the sink. She glanced around, as if making sure we were alone. “Let me tell you something, Todd,” she said. Her voice was just above a whisper.

  I waited for her to continue.

  Her eyes locked on mine. “We want you to enjoy yourself here,” she said. “Don’t worry about things. If you see something that is troubling to you … just remember we are here to take care of you.”

  “But—” I started.

  She pressed her hand over my mouth. Her hand was still hot and damp from the dishwater. “Sshhh.” After a few seconds, she pulled it away.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell you just one thing about your school. I’m just going to tell you one thing. Then, no questions.”

  I nodded. “Okay. No questions.”

  She lowered her voice even more. “Listen carefully …”

  Aunt Clara’s voice stayed just above a whisper. “Here, every kid has to go to school. It’s the law.”