Leo yawned and rubbed his eyes. He squinted at his alarm clock until the red blur turned into numbers. He had time to fit in a quick update before school. His laptop was still open on his legs from last night. Leo pressed a button, and the familiar screen of his Web site lit up.
For all your zombie needs, the slogan read. Hmmm. Maybe he needed something catchier. No time to think about that now, though. Leo scrolled over to the “Z-News” section and started typing:
Good morning, zombie geeks! ZombieZapper #1 here with an update. Yes, folks, this is a true story. It’s my own report from the field. My assistants and I are still sorting through the data. But I can tell you this: Z-spotting at Rotfield Mall confirmed yesterday at 12:06 p.m.
Location: In-Between Burger.
Subject: Teenage male, light brown hair, blue eyes.
Skin color: Gray!
“ZombieZapper. . . . Seriously?”
Leo slammed his laptop shut. His stepsister Shelly was smirking over his shoulder.
“Shelly, what the—? Get out!” Leo sputtered. He tried to untangle himself from the mess of blankets.
“Leo, you’re late.” She tapped her watch with a sparkly fingernail. “I had planned to get to school early to organize my locker.” Hands on hips, Shelly took in the sight of her stepbrother flailing under his zombie-themed comforter.
Leo finally plopped onto the floor, dragging the sheets with him. When he looked up at Shelly, she had that determined look she got before she had to do something unpleasant. Like flushing a dead fish or cleaning up dog poop.
“Leo, you look like a troll. Did you even sleep last night? Leo—ooooh, gross.” Shelly felt something slippery under her foot. She bent down and picked up a plastic baggie with two fingernail tips. She peered at the bright green blob in the bottom. “Leo, is this a slug?”
“Gimme that.” Leo grabbed the bag. “It’s a sample. For science.”
“You mean for your zombie stuff?” Shelly’s voice was the opposite of impressed.
“I mean for zombie science,” Leo said. “This slug is a decomposer. It’s important to stage four of the zombie life cycle.”
“Don’t you mean death cycle?” Shelly was in the doorway now. She had her trying-to-be-patient look.
“Okay, technically—” Leo began.
“Seriously, Leo. Sweetie.” Shelly cut him off. Leo hated when she acted like his mother just because she was in seventh grade and he was in sixth. “Don’t you think it’s time to lay off the zombie stuff just a bit? Leo, I’m worried about you.”
Gag. “I’m FINE.” Leo got up and shut the door behind his stepsister. He listened to her click-click down the stairs. Even her footsteps sounded in charge.
“I bet I’d like you better as a zombie,” Leo said under his breath. Then he shook his slug out of the bag. He carefully slid it into a jar with air holes and a rotting finger.