Hilda looks toward her two friends and says, “When I run out of your fingers and toes, I’ll start in on theirs.”
One of the girls shrieks.
Neither Hilda or I care which.
Hilda opens her mouth to say more, then shakes her head.
She looks at me. “It’s not even worth it,” she says, standing.
We walk out of the locker room together, pausing only so Hilda can turn at the door and, over her shoulder, wish the girls, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
The commons is deserted; even the janitor has gone home for the day.
The walls are littered with paper hearts and red and pink streamers as we stroll by, together, not even bothering to stop by our lockers.
“Thanks,” she says a few blocks from the school.
It’s the first thing either of us has said to each other since we left the girls’ locker room.
“For what?” I ask, chuckling dryly in the mid-February chill. “You didn’t even let me use any of my vampire powers.”
“Why waste them on Char and her friends?” she asks seriously, as if she’s been plotting world domination for quite some time now. “I mean, then what would happen? They’d go tell their parents, and their parents would tell the town, and before you know it we’d all be coming after you with torches and pitchforks. It’s easier this way.”
“But why, Hilda?”
“They ticked me off one last time, Chester. It’s embarrassing, taking their crap all day long. I mean, that crap’s been going on for years. But… when they did it in front of you, well, that took the cake. I snapped, I guess.”
I chuckle.
She says, “What’s so funny? That I snapped in my bra?”
“No, I mean, yes, but… what I meant was, why did you give me a valentine in the first place?”
“Oh, that?”
She smiles to herself, walking on those long, stringy legs for another few steps before finally admitting, “I was too shy to talk to you, and I’ve wanted to ever since you transferred here after Christmas, so… I figured I’d give you a card and see what happened.”
“Are you sorry you did?”
“Heck no!”
“I mean, that you gave a valentine to a… vampire?”
“Oh that? Who cares? I mean, as long as you don’t try to turn me, we’re cool…”
I nod, shuffling along at her side.
“You’re not? Going to try to turn me, I mean? Right Chester?”
I grab her hand; it’s so warm against my cold, cold skin.
“Not until you ask me to, Hilda. Not until you ask me to…”
* * * * *
About the Author
Rusty Fischer is the author of over a dozen zombie novels, including Zombies Don’t Cry, Zombies Don’t Forgive, The Girl Who Could talk to Zombies and Panty Raid at Zombie High! Visit him at www.zombiesdontblog.blogspot.com to learn more and read tons of FREE zombie stories and poems just like this one!
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