Page 10 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

‘Hey, Zoey,’ came a monotone voice. This was Terriffany, who when she wasn’t working at the shop attended something called the Venture School, which was some sort of high-achieving alternative high school funded by tech bros and wellness startup types. The students all had portmanteau-type names that sounded like they could be a variety of vegan protein bar, and they all had a passion for entrepreneurial activity.

Zoey hadn’t planned on hiring anyone – she preferred to handle things by herself – but the school had been insistent. The following day, Terriffany had shown up wearing business-casual clothes and a clipboard with a list of S.M.A.R.T. goals and a valuation strategy in case Zoey wanted to take the company public.

Zoey still wasn’t sure whether she was being punked.

Terriffany, who today was wearing crisp slacks and a black turtleneck, set her phone down on the counter and paused her audiobook (Atomic Habits, on 2× speed). ‘So, what are we prepping?’

Zoey walked her through the day’s drinks: the Iron Maiden (full of spinach and also thistles, making it both sharp on the tongue and good for anaemia); the Piña Collider (where pineapple and pine nuts collided); and the Berry Superstitious (berries and witch hazel). And of course, the new mushroom blend.

‘I’m calling it Brain Mush, because it contains—’

Terriffany frowned. ‘Not brains? Though collagen is good for the mind. There’s a powder supplement startup that’s—’

Nope, time to stop you there, Terriffany. Zoey did not need to hear about Silicon Valley’s approach to bio-optimisation right now.

‘Mushrooms,’ she said, before Terriffany could share the powder supplement startup’s elevator pitch. ‘Specifically these weird orange ones.’

Terriffany did a reverse-image search and nodded. ‘Nice product differentiation. I’m not seeing anything similar being used in any of the major markets …’

Well, that was good to know.

Zoey pinned the ingredients print-out to the back of the counter so that Terriffany could do the thing where she scanned it and plugged it into some sort of project-management app.

The door swung, and the first customers of the day sauntered in: a group of marketing types who coworked in what had been a bowling alley until a few years ago. Now it was a neon-lit space filled with communal beanbags and a massive Connect Four across the whole back wall. (Each business in the space was assigned a colour, and was able to place a disc if they met their stretch goals for the week.) There was also a giant rock-climbing wall that Zoey had never seen anyone other than the janitor climb.

‘Rhymes With Orange,’ demanded the bitchy one called Sascha, whose name Zoey always purposefully misspelled. Her nails rattled away at her phone. She was wrapped in a high-fashion, low-function outfit made from loose leather bandages. Zoey had the sneaking suspicion that if you pulled the bandage near her right sleeve cuff, the whole thing would unravel.

Terriffany hit her Pomodoro timer and launched into action.

‘Good morning,’ enthused the second of the group, a cloyingly bubbly guy called Nestor, who was so unwaveringly nice it was almost certain that he was overcompensating for being a serial killer. Nestor wore red-and-white polka-dot Keds and spoke in a breathless way that gave Zoey extreme anxiety.

‘I am loving the turtleneck, Terriffany. So “founder” of you. So, tell me about this Brain Mush. I am all about brain power, what with this all-hands meeting we’re about to dive into, and chugging a box of Nerds just isn’t hitting the way it used to.’

After about ten more run-on sentences, Zoey found room to break in with a quick run-down of the ingredients of the new smoothie. Timing a double-Dutch jump rope was easier.

‘That sounds amazing. I’ll take the giant version. You should call that the Mega Mind. Wouldn’t that be the greatest?’

Zoey plastered on a smile. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s trademarked. But I can ask.’

She blended up a Brain Mush and slid it across the counter for him, popping a striped paper straw on top of Nestor’s reusable Stanley cup.

‘It’s so green.’ Nestor peered delightedly at the mixture. ‘Look at us with our orange and green, Sasch. We’re like a Nineties colour combo, don’t you think? Ready to get on the landline, pull some yo-yo moves and raise some Tamagotchis?’

Sascha narrowed her eyes as she sipped ruthlessly at her smoothie, rather like a vampire might the blood of a victim. (There was a high probability that Sascha, too, was a serial killer.)

‘I don’t think so.’ She hovered her ultra-thin, caseless phone over the point-of-sale system.

‘Well, I’m going in.’ Nestor slurped his smoothie with such vim that Zoey was surprised he didn’t turn inside out.

He’d managed a few additional slurps when he suddenly clamped the butt of his hand against his right eye.

‘Urgh, brain freeze. But it’s … really good. Mustn’t stop.’

Still rubbing at his head, he finished off his smoothie, grimacing the whole while.

‘Almost there,’ he gasped, squinting. There was a slurp and a gurgle as he hit the bottom of the drink. ‘There!’

‘This isn’t a bar,’ said Sascha archly. ‘You can carry your drink out.’