Page 31 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

‘Like from that William Gibson dystopian novel?’

‘Sure, sort of.’ Terriffany grimaced, trying to figure out a way to translate between Teen and Old Person. ‘But if my growth projections are correct, you should probably start looking at seed funding.’

‘But mushrooms use spores, not seeds.’

Terriffany cocked her head, trying to figure out whether Zoey was being obtuse, or simply was obtuse.

‘Seed funding. Like money. For growth.’

Zoey sipped her coffee. Last night had been a late one, and a smoothie wasn’t going to hack it. ‘I know. But I’m not sure I want the shop to grow. Businesses expand, and then they become shit. Or go bankrupt because they’re beholden to investors with dollar signs in their eyes.’

Besides, growth meant spending more of her life at the shop, which, as much as she wanted to support Maeve and her legacy, she wasn’t sure she wanted. The Smoothie Maven had treated her well, but it wasn’t her dream by any means – although her dream was to kick back in a home library with a research paper in her lap, a Pendleton blankie over her legs and a grazing plate beside her. Which was probably less viable than running a smoothie shop.

But Terriffany was not interested in this logic. She held up a handful of chia seeds. ‘Everything wants to grow. Businesses. Ant colonies. Viral outbreaks. Can I at least use it for my Unicorn Studies project?’

Zoey had been dismayed to learn that Unicorn Studies did not involve the study of mythological beasts. Rather, it was all about trying to identify and replicate the success factors of eight-figure tech companies.

‘You should’ve enrolled in forest school,’ said Zoey. ‘Think of all the fun you’d be having identifying coprolites and grafting trees or whatever. But sure. Why not.’

Terriffany tapped away on her tablet. ‘I also ran a word-frequency histogram for brains, and I’m not seeing anything particularly unusual. But I’ve got an alert set up in case it trends.’

Oh right. Zoey had forgotten all about that. She’d sent Terriffany a text after the weird slam-poetry events. Although that had been when the chocolate martini was peaking.

‘Zoooo-ey!’ Ainsley, who historically paid ‘closed’ signs no mind, came bopping into the shop, her sparkly Vans squeaking over the tiles. Her sequined sardine-patterned tote bag clacked with art supplies. ‘It’s happening. Romero is officially running for Cat Mayor of Laurelhurst. I got the confirmation today.’

Zoey raised an eyebrow. ‘This is a lot more formal than I was expecting.’

‘There was so much paperwork. I also had to fudge his address, and the question about Romero’s whereabouts since, well …’ Ainsley gestured around.

‘He’ll show up.’ Zoey tried to sound confident. Even though this was the longest Romero had gone without leaping through their front window in search of treats. ‘He’s probably just getting better snacks at another house.’

And they’d spotted him during their latest Romero-finding expedition, right? Or at least, Zoey wanted to assume the yowly, wide-eyed black cat they’d come across was Romero. Even if that cat had been more, well, feral than Romero usually was. Romero had never been the snuggliest of visitors, but he wasn’t a habitual hisser and scratcher. Maybe they’d been chasing a lookalike instead. Portland had no shortage of roaming kitties.

‘I’m putting good cat-finding energy out there.’ Ainsley pulled out some poster board and some paint markers. ‘How do we feel about Ro-mayor-O as a campaign name?’

Zoey chuckled. All right, so that was pretty clever.

‘It’s brilliant,’ she said. ‘And yet I’ll never understand what it is to be inside your brain.’

‘Come to the joining side, babe. It’s great. We have community.’ Ainsley said it in a teasing woo-woo voice, the way she and Joaquin had the other day when enticing her to agree to a temporary tattoo. Zoey rolled her eyes.

Frankly, she felt that living in a sharehouse was her concession to this particular socially mandated requirement.

‘I have one of these, don’t I?’ Zoey waved the temporary tattoo at Ainsley. ‘I did my bit.’

‘Bah. It’s got like a few flecks left. You should get a replacement. Or a real one.’

‘Flecks count!’ protested Zoey, jabbing at her wrist. There was definitely still a faint outline of the temporary tattoo.

‘C’mon, Zoey. Show some civic pride.’

‘Fine.’ Zoey dropped her cleaning cloth and folded her arms. ‘What platform is Romero running on, exactly?’

Ainsley gave Zoey a withering look. ‘Cat Nip, obviously. Two words.’

‘And is he pro or against it?’

Ainsley grinned evilly. ‘He takes a Schrödinger’s position on it. Okay, so one thing …’