Adventures of a Middle School Zombie Read Free Page A

titled “My Man Days” that has about a hundred photos of “Jenny,” the car he bought in 1980 and spent another three years restoring; oh, and there’s one photo of Mom—“The only time she was allowed in the driver’s seat,” Dad says, and I’m not sure he’s joking). And one day after the Camaro sold—December 7, 1998, “My own Pearl Harbor Day,” Dad says—they bought the minivan.
    Which Dad slowly turned into the ManVan.
    Luke and I stepped off the porch, and there, in the driveway, was the ManVan. Mom called it the SVU (So Very Ugly) SUV. Luke and I referred to it as the MucusMobile with PhlegmMatic Transmission.
    Dad had transferred the paint scheme from the Camaro to the van, from the bright yellow down to the racing stripe along its length—only he did it himself, so the stripe is more like a billowy ribbon. And he painted reddish and orange circles above the taillights, but didn’t bother to stay within the lines.
    “Thrusters, baby,” he explained. “And those are the flames coming out.”
    According to family legend, when Dad unveiled the repainted van, Mom said, “And I thought Jed was the brain-dead one.”
    We have come to accept the ManVan, of course, but …
    “Dad, can we take the Focus today?” I said. “It might be a little easier to park because I bet the school is going to be really crowded on the first day.”
    “Nonsense,” Dad said. “I’m just going to do what I usually do, pull up to the front and drop you guys off. Don’t worry about it.”
    “But I think the Focus has more gas; Mom just filled it.”
    “The ManVan is brimming too, don’t worry. Besides, don’t you want to stand out on your first day?”
    “Not really. I mean, look at me. Don’t you think I’m already going to stand out?”
    Dad, hand on the passenger side door, turned around. He looked at me for a few seconds. I swear his shoulders slumped as he opened the door. “Jed, we’ve been through this,” he said. “I know this is tough. We all do. But you have to embrace your differences. The sooner you accept who you are, the easier this is all going to be. Besides, everyone in middle school thinks they’re the weird one. It comes with the territory.”
    “I know,” I said. “But I’m not just different. I’m really different. Does anyone else have hair that falls out if you comb it too hard? If they twist their arms just right, do they come off? If they sneeze too hard, does their nose shoot halfway across the room?”
    Luke interrupted. “His nose record is 11 feet, 3 inches. Measured it myself. Oh, and it went all the way across the room. Epic.”
    Dad and I ignored him. We’re good at that.
    “Of course not,” Dad said. “And we all know how different you are. But just as you will swear everyone is looking at you, everyone else will be thinking all eyes are on them. It’s all a part of being thirteen. It’s awkward. But soon everyone learns to be comfortable in their own skin.”
    “Does their skin peel off in the shower? Or get left behind on the toilet? Or, or … ” Dang, I hated getting like this. I felt like such a baby. All I wanted was to not show up in a van that screamed, “Caution, freaks on board.” Was that too much to ask?
    Dad turned to the ManVan, hesitated, and shut the door. “Go ask your mom for the keys to the Focus. But Jed?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Just this once.”
    “You bet, I get it. Thanks. Really, thanks.”
    I turned to Luke and gave him a hard high five. After he gave me my hand back, and I dug out the duct tape in my backpack, I started back toward the house for the Focus keys.
    “One more thing,” Dad said. “Tonight, you will write me a fifty-word essay on good things about being a zombie. Deal?”
    “Deal.”

Chapter Three

     
    After Dad dropped us off in the plain-Jane, unassuming Ford Focus, Luke and I were among, like, thousands. Most walked in twos and threes through the front gate, which opened into the quad.
    The school was ugly but