Page 28 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

‘And yet I really want to buy her a set of crocheted pens with sunflower toppers.’ He bought a bundle of them from a street vendor wearing a knitted sloth beanie, who wrapped them for Zoey as though they were a bouquet of flowers.

‘Looks like it pays to be a monster,’ said Zoey.

All right. She secretly loved the gift.

‘Thanks,’ she said momentarily. ‘That was really sweet. I’ll use them to write my magnum opus. Or at least draw some smiley faces on receipts. Oh look, Darina would love those.’

They’d arrived at a booth that veritably bristled with tutus and floofy, tiered skirts. Zoey had never seen such a profusion of sequins: it was lucky the sun was low, or the light rebounding off the outfits might well have set something on fire.

‘Speaking of Darina.’ Nick held a giant sparkly bow over Alice’s head in thoughtful assessment. ‘She was meant to come out to the farm for a small-business assessment thing the other day.’

‘She didn’t show?’ Zoey was surprised. Darina was one of the least flaky people she knew. She built in extra commute time to allow for spontaneous cartwheeling.

‘Oh, she showed. But I think she had a fever or something – maybe something’s going around. She was shambling all about the place, making no sense whatsoever. In the end I had to call for help.’

Zoey made a face at a ruffled collar. ‘I hope she’s all right. I haven’t seen her at the shop in a few days, actually. I just assumed she was off doing a handstand somewhere. But I’ll ask June next time she comes in.’

‘Good idea. I just hope she doesn’t have to pay out for the rideshare she ruined. Straight into the ditch, smoothie all over the upholstery.’

‘Shouldn’t drink and drive, I guess,’ said Zoey. ‘Especially when you can barely see over the dashboard to begin with.’

But something about the situation made her feel a tad uneasy. First Nestor’s strange behaviour behind the dumpster. Sascha had said that he hadn’t been in to work since – he must’ve scavenged and eaten something well beyond its due date. Then Nova, who’d left Opal in the lurch the other day and apparently wasn’t answering his calls. And now Darina. The city of Portland was known for being the very embodiment of the artistic temperament, but was it normal for this many people to go off the rails all at once? Perhaps it was an early seasonal affective disorder thing.

They’d reached the end of the art crawl, as marked by a security barrier decorated with shimmery bunting and balloon animals. There, at the very corner of the street, was a tiny building with painted-over windows and decorative tiling in the shape of an open book. An extremely stoned guy sat on a fire hydrant spinning a sign that read Slam Poetry.

‘All roads lead to slam poetry,’ whispered Nick.

Zoey grinned, her thoughts about Darina and the others now on the backburner. ‘Uh-huh. It’s like reposting Tom Holland dancing to “Umbrella”. We can’t not do it.’

‘Even Alice wants to,’ agreed Nick.

Alice was sniffing around at the tiled front entrance for reasons that Zoey wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

‘Oh shit, the mime’s back,’ she whispered, pointing. ‘And I still can’t read his expressions, but I’m pretty sure he’s angry.’

‘That settles it. We’re going in. C’mon.’

Nick pulled her through the black front door, slapping a twenty down on the counter where a bored individual in an ironic trucker’s cap and dramatic suspenders squinted at a volume of Richard Brautigan short stories in the changeable light of a lava lamp.

Not looking up from the Brautigan, Trucker Cap pointed down a flight of stairs lit only by the type of glow-in-the-dark star stickers that had adorned Zoey’s childhood best friend’s bedroom. Zoey ran her hands over the stars as she descended the steps, Alice’s nails clicking along beside her.

‘I always wanted a set of these,’ she admitted.

Nick’s hand covered hers. ‘What’s stopping you now?’

Zoey frowned. ‘They’re silly.’

‘Frog and Toad are silly,’ he pointed out.

He had a point. But perhaps that wasn’t what she’d meant. Perhaps what she’d meant was that they were part of a childhood that was so divergent from her own that it didn’t make sense that they’d actually find their way into her life.

They paused on a triangular threshold that led down to the event space – Zoey could hear the murmuring of tipsy voices. Before Zoey could take another step, Nick put his arm around her again.

And kissed her. A dizzying, electric kiss that was just about enough to inspire Zoey to take to the slam-poetry stage herself.

Fuck it. Fuck it all. She kissed him right back, leaning up on her toes, her lips finding his, hungrily, insatiably. Nick’s fingers cupped her cheeks in a way that was both sure and gentle, and she let herself disappear into the moment.

Kissing him was all that she wanted. All that she could think of.