Page 57 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

‘I’m not wearing nail polish,’ barked Beryl, looking as though she might smack Joaquin for their imprudence. ‘This is all natural.’

She popped open her smoothie and went shuffling off, forearms pressed against her walker so that she could scoot and sip at the same time. ‘Ugh, brain freeze,’ she snarled, mashing a blue palm against her face.

‘I thought Smurfs were meant to be nice,’ said Joaquin.

Zoey’s eyes sparkled. ‘Smurf on the outside, Gargamel on the inside.’

Nick had to hold back a guffaw. All right, so Zoey was maybe a tad evil sometimes, but he loved it. He loved her sense of humour. He loved everything about her: the way her mind worked, the way she always greeted Alice with a giant hug, the way her lips curved when she smiled. The way he caught her looking at him when she thought he wasn’t watching.

He just wished she’d let him love her – without protest, without feeling like she had to offer something in return. Without the fear that he would let her down. Because Nick had no intention of ever doing that.

Joaquin chugged their mushroom smoothie, wincing as the brain freeze hit. ‘So, a little birdie told me you two were thinking about matching tattoos.’

‘What do you say, Zoey?’ said Nick, nudging her. ‘A Frog and Toad?’

Joaquin’s eyes widened behind their thick-framed glasses. ‘How could anyone say no to Frog and Toad? I could do them on a bicycle. Or the one with the kite? Or the picnic! What about the cookies?’

Zoey bit her lip.

‘Need someone to watch your booth, babe?’ shouted Reba. ‘Gracie can do it.’

Gracie swanned over with her camera. ‘Here to help.’

‘I’ll go first,’ said Nick, allowing himself to be dragged off to Joaquin’s tent. Zoey followed, looking curious but apprehensive. His heart went out to her. For him, a tattoo wasn’t such a big deal. Whatever happened, he knew he’d have a piece of art on his skin that he loved. For her, it was a commitment. Every bit of it, from the ink itself to what it stood for.

Joaquin invited Nick over to the table they’d set up in the Inkstigators tent, which with its framed art and gold highlights did a pretty good job of evoking the vibes of the studio on Hawthorne.

‘Good to see you again, man,’ said Joaquin, pulling on a set of black gloves.

‘You too. Looks like the shop’s doing well.’ Nick nodded at the Polaroids on the wall – Joaquin had been snapping photos of the day’s pieces.

Joaquin beamed. ‘Right? I’ve come a long way from tattooing people in the living room. But I think it’s all about this ink, really.’ They grabbed a set of ink cartridges, holding them up to the light. ‘It’s a special plant ink sourced from the Amazon – apparently lightly medicinal, which makes for faster healing. And it comes out so vivid.’

Joaquin showed off a design on their own arm: the iconic White Stag sign from downtown, surrounded by vibrant roses. Nick was admiring it when a commotion behind him caught his attention. One of the ‘Thriller’ zombie shufflers, apparently running a bit late on the choreography, was lurching past. His red polka-dot Keds squeaked on the floor, and Nick frowned. He knew those shoes – they belonged to that dumpster-diving customer of Zoey’s.

‘Nestor?’ Zoey’s eyes widened and she jumped up from her seat. ‘How have you been? Sascha said you’ve been off work for a bit.’

Nestor grunted unbecomingly. He lurched closer, apparently to check out the flash pieces that Joaquin had pinned to the booth’s black wall draping. As he did, he jostled Joaquin, who accidentally jabbed him with the tattoo pen they’d been showing off.

‘Oh shit.’ Joaquin grimaced as they inspected the damage. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m usually Mx Steadyhands over here. But it’s just a little dot – unless you want me to turn it into something else? Because we could do something really cool with that.’

Nestor was blinking like he’d just emerged from a stupor. Perhaps he wasn’t a fan of needles. Or maybe the fluorescent lights were disorienting him.

‘How about some promo stickers?’ offered Joaquin, brandishing a bowl of tattoo-themed stickers. ‘They’re vinyl. Great quality. Everyone loves a sticker.’

Nestor swallowed, then grabbed the bowl. After a bit more blinking, he started up on one of his usual obsequious soliloquys.

‘Oh my God, these are amazing,’ he said, his voice raspier than usual. ‘Zo-zo, have you seen these? I’ll pop some on Sascha’s desk. She’ll be utterly delighted. Hang on, are they doing ice-skating for beginners? I’ve always wanted to try. I think I’d be a natural, don’t you? I pirouette so effortlessly.’

Nestor demonstrated, almost taking down Joaquin’s tent as he did so, then sashayed off towards the ice-skating rink, where a group of sock-wearing skating newbies were doing a conga line in their socks.

‘Wow,’ said Zoey, cringing on Nestor’s behalf. ‘Well, I guess he’s feeling all right after all. I probably do owe him an apology for assuming he went off-grid after going on a serial-killer murder spree.’

‘Not sure you should voice that particular sentiment,’ said Nick, with a chuckle.

‘Fair,’ said Zoey. She shot him a grin. ‘Just in case it inspires him to kill again.’

Nick snorted.