Part 8 (1/2)

”Before,” he said. ”In one of the other scenes.”

Otto thought for a second. ”Well,” he said firmly, ”if the director wants us to do that kind of thing now, he'll tell us.”

I couldn't help but be reminded of how Kevin hadn't spoken up before, when this same guy had started picking on us ”nerds.” Sure, he'd hesitated, but then he'd joined right in. Otto, meanwhile, was completely immune to this kind of peer pressure.

Soon the cameras were rolling again, but this time none of the zombie-jocks b.u.mped me at all.

Later, during a break, Otto asked me, ”So who's that guy?” ”Who?” I said, even though I knew exactly who he meant.

”That guy we were talking to before.”

”His name is Kevin. Didn't I introduce you?” ”Yeah, you did. But who is he? How do you know him?” ”He's just a friend.” I thought for a second. ”Well, actually, he used to be my boyfriend.”

”That's the Kevin?” At camp, I'd told Otto all about him.

116 ”Uh, yeah.”

”I thought you weren't talking to him anymore. That he didn't want to come out, so that made it impossible.” Apparently, I'd told Otto all about him. I'd forgotten that.

”Oh,” I said. ”Yeah. Well, we weren't talking, not until he signed up to be an extra in the movie too. Then we started talking again.”

”Doesn't he worry about being seen with you?” What was with the third degree from Otto? But of course I knew.

”Um, Kevin came out,” I admitted.

”When was this?”

”Just last week, actually.”

Otto didn't say anything for a second. I could tell he was surprised.

”Why didn't you tell me any of this?” he said at last.

Why hadn't I told him any of this? At first it was because I wasn't sure if I still had feelings for Kevin, and I hadn't wanted to hurt Otto's feelings. But why hadn't it occurred to me that Otto was going to be a zombie extra too, so he'd eventually figure things out? I should have filled him in. Now I'd made him all suspicious.

”It just never came up,” I said. ”It's not any big deal.”

This wasn't the whole truth. Then again, the issue here really wasn't Kevin. It was Otto, and the fact that he lived 117 so far away.

Otto stared at me. ”Russel,” he said, ”what's going on?

I'm really trying not to be all clingy and insecure. But there's obviously something going on between you and Kevin that you're not telling me about.”

”There's nothing going on!” I said. ”It was all a misunderstanding!” Why was it that telling one sort-of lie always meant you had to tell a whole bunch more?

Otto sighed. ”Okay, whatever. But that doesn't explain why you've been acting all distant.”

I froze. How do you respond to the accusation that you're being distant without either (a) seeming more distant, or (b) confirming that you are being distant? But finally I nodded.

If there was any time for the truth, this was it.

”I'm just really sad that you have to leave,” I said to Otto. ”I can't get it out of my mind. You just got here! And I know it'll be months until I get to see you again. That is, if I ever get to see you again, which is going to be tough the way my parents are talking.”

”Well, there's always next summer. I'll come back for camp.”

”Next summer! That's forever.”

”What are you saying?” Otto said. ”You want to break up?”

118 ”No!” I said. But I'd said it too loudly, like I was trying to convince myself along with Otto. ”No,” I said again. ”Then what do you want?”

And that was the thing. I still didn't know. Which was totally unfair to Otto. How could I be honest with him when I still hadn't been honest with myself?

For the time being, I decided to change the subject.

”I want you, of course,” I said. ”It's this thing with my parents. It has me all mixed up.”

Otto nodded sympathetically. ”It's okay. I understand.” But for the first time, I wondered if maybe he wasn't telling me the whole truth either.

That afternoon, production a.s.sistants shepherded us into the cafeteria for another shot. They divided us into groups of about five each according to our costumes and directed all of us to different lunch tables. A fake corpse lay limply on the top of each table.

I spotted Min on the other side of the room. They'd dressed her as a cheerleader again-a zombie-cheerleader, with green skin and blood-spattered pom-poms. I waved, but she was staring over at the band-geek table, so she didn't notice me.

The director spoke to us all, explaining how we were supposed to pretend to be chomping down on the fake corpse in front of us. Then Brad and Christy, the two 119 main characters, would come in and see us and say some dialogue. The scene was obviously a joke. It was supposed to be just like lunch at a normal high school, with all the jocks at one table, the cheerleaders at another table, the band geeks at another table, and the computer nerds at yet another table. Only the jocks and cheerleaders and band geeks and computer nerds are all zombies, and rather than eating lunches, we're eating human corpses. Get it?

”And make it real!” the director said. ”Get right down into those corpses with your hands and faces!”

We did a rehearsal, then stood around waiting for Declan McDonnell and the actress playing Christy, and for the lighting designer to finish positioning the lights.

The only person I knew in my little cl.u.s.ter of computernerd zombies was Gunnar, which was just as well. I'd wanted to talk to him anyway.

”Here's a fun fact,” Gunnar said, looking down at the corpse on our table. ”The same company that makes many of Hollywood's fake corpses also makes a line of life-size s.e.x dolls.”

I interrupted him. ”Gunnar, I think I screwed up.”

”Now what?” The makeup artist had made it look like someone had jammed a set of Dungeons and Dragons dice 120 into his forehead.

I told Gunnar about the conversation I'd had with Otto. ”Oops,” he said. ”That's not good.”

I appreciated his not saying ”I told you so” about needing to figure out what I wanted before I said anything to Otto.

”So what do I do?” I asked. ”What should I tell him?” But before he could say anything, the director called to us from over by the cameras. ”Rolling!” he called. ”And . . . action!” Brad and Christy had arrived.

Gunnar and I and the other computer-nerd zombies bent down and started pretending like we were eating the fake corpse. Ours was a middle-aged fat guy in gym shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt-the gym instructor (a nice touch, I thought, since we were all computer nerds). The body smelled like latex and Vaseline, but it was eerily realistic-looking: wet and glistening. We could even dig in to actual plastic entrails.

For a second, I felt kind of stupid, smelling that latex and making growling noises that I knew no one would ever really hear.

But then a funny thing happened. I sort of got into the moment. We all looked pretty real, and the body did too. So suddenly I was a zombie. There was nothing I wanted more than to rip chunks of flesh off the luscious, b.l.o.o.d.y pile of fat in front of me. I even lifted a b.l.o.o.d.y arm and 121 started gnawing on it, growling all the while.