Girl Z: My Life As A Teenage Zombie Read Free Page A

it.
    Window. I had to get some air.
    Up and on my feet, I took a few unsteady steps, stumbling around like I’d been taking secret nips of my aunt’s homemade raspberry Sangria.
    The last thing I remember, before everything went black, was hearing my cousin scream and call my name.

Chapter Three
    I came to, not at home, not on the couch, but in a hospital bed, how I got here a mystery.
    I tried to remember what had happened. Digging for the memory was like stringing a pearl necklace with gloves on.
    Wait. The image became clearer. The porch. I’d bumped my arm. Okay, but that didn’t explain the rest of me.
    I gazed at my skin’s unusual grayish tone and the strange blotches without comprehension.
    A lizard. My skin made me think of a lizard. A hiccupping sound escaped me. Wow, I couldn’t even cry right.
    I glanced at my aunt and cousin standing in the doorway. Carm hopped from one foot to the other; my aunt nervously wrung her hands. My agitation surged inside like someone had turned on a furnace. The bright green LED numbers on the monitor went higher, causing the machine beside the bed to blip in protest.
Beep-Beep-Beep.
    Finally the nurse, a short, stout lady (
I’m a little teapot,
I thought) in white pants topped by a pretty pink floral scrub shirt rushed in. She made my aunt seem much taller than her five-foot-six frame.
    â€œRelax. Deep breath, that’s it.” She adjusted the machine. “
Mmm-hmm
, again. It’s normal to feel confused when you wake. You’re doing very well. Now stay calm or we’ll have to give you a sedative. Doctor will be in to see you shortly. He’ll explain everything. All right? You understand?”
    I murmured yes and watched the doctor, a thin, balding, dark-skinned man in a white coat, enter. He studied me, his face serious, and told me about the outbreak of a new virus. Research was underway at various places, he droned on, and certain medicines had shown promise against the infection’s bacterial elements. He tried to make it sound positive that it had mutated. The virus affected younger people differently and seemed to be slower acting, he explained.
    I wasn’t buying any of it.
    The rest of his monologue—new diet, pills, body changes—
blah, blah, blah,
went unheard. I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in the metal container on the table next to me. Familiar chocolate brown eyes stared back from under ebony bangs. Dark brows.
    Spots.
    My hands flew to my cheeks. Oh, my face! At first, I almost thought I had some kind of mask on, or someone had brushed on a layer of fireplace ash for makeup. The blotches stood out in contrast to the pink, peeling spots.
    I banged the bed rail and screamed. This was much more than a made-up crisis like a bad hair day, or some quickly forgotten drama.
    I was ugly.
    Everyone—the nurse, my cousin, my aunt—gathered around the bed and told me it was okay, I’d get better. “You’ll be all right, cuz, really,” Carm whispered.
    The nurse talked about my having a normal life. My head spun, the vertigo adding another odd layer of feeling to my panic.
    Normal? I gazed again at my hands and arms in disgust. How could looking like freaking King Tut without his wrappings ever be normal?
    Tia
Imelda stroked the top of my head and hummed low, the tune her way of coping and praying, I knew. “It’ll be fine, honey, just fine. You’ll see.”
    I appreciated
Tia’s
positive thinking and her link with God and all, but I still didn’t get it.
    The nurse checked my chart and eyed me, her face stern, as the machine bleeped again. I tried to push away my next question—
didn’t nurses always check your pulse?
—and attempted to ignore the spiral of thoughts that threatened to make me crazy.
    Easy, take it easy.
    â€œI’ll be okay,” I whispered.
    Nurse Teapot’s “don’t mess with me” glare told me she wasn’t