From the author of Zombies Don't Cry comes Zombies Don't Read, featuring 5 completely FREE stories of the living dead, including Zombies Don't Swim, Zombies Don't Carve, Zombies Don't Kiss & Tell, Zombies Don't Study and Zombies Don't Sleep.
Excerpt from Zombies Don’t Swim:
“Ugghh,” says Lavinia, shuddering as if it was 58-Degrees out and not 85. She crawls out of the shallow end dramatically, dripping clear water all over our brand new pool deck from her long, volleyball limbs. “I hate it when they bump into you, you know? It’s so … creepy. Gawd, why does your Dad insist on hiring those clowns anyway, Viv? It’s so … retro.”
“Somebody has to hire them,” I point out neutrally, not sharing Lavinia’s massive distaste for the undead. “Dad likes to give back to the community, you know? Besides, it’s not like they don’t do a good job.”
“Anyone can do a good job, Viv; it’s pool cleaning, not… rocket science.”
She makes her “you’re so dull face,” which looks a lot like her “I’m trying not to pass gas in front of this cute guy in class” face.
“Besides, what’s the good of having a pool boy if you can’t ogle him while having cocktails with your BFF over spring break? I told you we should have used my pool.”
I avoid her eyes and confess, “Well, I’m waiting for Scott to call and I knew if he knew I was hanging with you, he wouldn’t.”
“Please,” she says, waving a fat-free arm dismissively, her dangling butterfly bracelet slinking up and down her bony wrist. I gave it to her for Christmas last year; I don’t think she’s taken it off since. “Get over that clown, will you already? He’s already gotten over you, trust me.”
“I want to,” I sigh, looking away. “I know I should after what he did with
Sheila after the game last week, but … I can’t.”
“Please,” she reminds for about the 1,000th time this spring break. “You can’t take him back now, Viv. What kind of message would that send?”
“I’m not interested in sending a message,” I whine. “I just want him back.”
“Uggh,” she says, that patented look of distaste smeared across her otherwise flawless face. “There’s nothing worse than the tragic story of a good girl getting dumped by a bad boy. Oh, wait, here’s one: the good girl’s best friend who can’t abide the sight of a zombie cleaning her best friend’s pool. I take it back; that story IS more tragic.”
I grin just to shut her up, and try to see if my cell phone is chirping without her noticing.
Into an awkward silence she says, “Besides, you wouldn’t have to actually tell Scott you were at my casa; you could always lie, Viv, you know? Like the rest of the world?”
“Even if I did lie, Lavinia, you’re always blaring your music top-shelf and he knows I’m not into that speed metal crap, so … it was just easier to come here, no? Besides, I wanted you to see the new pool deck. Isn’t it sweet?”
She nods, admiring the cascading waterfall, the bubbling Jacuzzi, the potted palms and the brand new pavers Dad had put in the minute word came back that he’d finally gotten his new promotion.
“The deck I’m in love with,” she sighs. “The dead white guy at the bottom of the pool? Not so much.”
I put down my half-iced tea, half-lemonade and snort, “Well, why don’t you just wait until he’s through to take a dip? I’m sure he doesn’t want you rubbing up on him anymore than you want him rubbing up on you.”
“And why wouldn’t he?” preens my best friend, positively statuesque and stunning in her tiny bikini, the kind that doesn’t match with the barely there pink bottom and the almost there blue top. “Stupid zombies need to come when nobody’s using the pool anyway. I mean, it’s not like they sleep or anything, right?”
I knew it was a mistake to invite Lavinia over when the dude from Past Life Pools was scheduled for his weekly cleaning.
It had just completely skipped my mind that Thursday was pool day and, with spring break almost over, I figured Lavinia could overlook the marble heavy hunk scrubbing the bottom of our pool in order to catch some quick spring rays; guess not.
“I don’t know what your big deal is anyway,” I sigh, craning my neck to see if I can spot Zombie Pool Boy flexing his muscles by the pool drain; no luck.
I’d need to sit up a little higher to peep that and I’m too comfortable for that kind of abdominal gymnastics at the moment, thank you very much.
“You know if he was mortal you’d be all over that in a hot minute,” I tease.
She makes her frowny face and finishes drying off her hair, not just sliding down into the thick deck chair next to me but practically melting into one of the new khaki cushions Mom picked out to match the new deck.
Her limbs are honey brown from the early spring sun, her stomach empty and concave from her since-February diet.
“I dunno,” she hems, pouring a little more of the spiked lemonade from the cooler between us into her melted ice tea. “I’ve never been one for the strong, silent types, you know?”
Also by Rusty Fischer on obooko: Vampires Drool! Zombies Rule!
