Anyway, it’s a miracle that ZombieCon! is even here. I’m serious, it’s like a gift from the fandom gods just to me. ZombieCon! travels around the country, but it usually only hits the really big cities. Your Los Angeleses, your Houstons, your Chicagos, your New Yorks. Not my Senoybia. But there had been a contest, with the tagline: “Is your city A WASTELAND?” that encouraged fans to petition the fanfest, and tell them why ZombieCon! should come to their town. I boosted the posts nominating Senoybia, and so did Imani, and Siggy. Blair did, too, back before I learned about what she did. When I still thought she was my friend.
Even thinking of her name summons a particular pain. Still new. Betrayal. This is what it feels like: shame, anger, and hurt, like sandpaper made of shattered glass, rubbing under your skin.
I shake my head to stop thinking about her.
Anyway, Senoybia won the contest, and our convention center was approved as the location. It’s big enough, and new enough, and there’s even a luxury hotel attached to the convention center by a skyway. I mean, they want you to call it a skyway, but really, it’s a bridge-tube like the kind hamsters use. Ridiculous to even have it, of course, because on most days the traffic in downtown Senoybia is downright sleepy, sluggish, and otherwise nonexistent. A child could literally play on the street and be fine, most days.
Mom turns into the convention center drop-off circle and puts the van in park.
I have my safety belt off and the door open before Imani can finish saying, “Thanks for the ride and the spend-the-night, Mrs. Blue.”
Imani and I get out onto the sidewalk. I adjust the neckline of my favorite olive green shirt. It’s just the right amount of slouchy-and-stylish, with a wide scoop neckline that falls off one shoulder, so I always wear a wide-strapped black tank top underneath. Plus the olive color looks nice against my brownish-reddish hair. So that’s a plus.
“You’re welcome, sweet girl!” Mom puts the passenger window down and leans over to call to us. “Have fun! Stick together! See you at midnight!”
Imani gives a big nod and a little salute.
It’s not Mom’s fault she’s hopelessly uncool. Or that she likes my friends and spends entirely too much time talking to them. I mean, I like talking to them, too, they’re my friends.
Okay, but it was nice of her to offer to drop us off so we wouldn’t have to spend an extra ten bucks on parking.
“Thanks, Mom!” I yell, and wave.
She blows me a kiss and eases back onto the street.
Imani smooths her crisp white tunic. She’s so cool. She looks like a fashion blogger or something, her legs long and slender in black leggings, with sparkly black sneakers and a coral cropped jacket that matches her nails.
I look cute, too, and actually feel it. I’m short compared to Imani, and I’m not model-slender like her. I’m average, I think. Normal. Rounded. Some days I don’t feel so good about my shape, but today I feel lush and curvy, wearing my favorite shirt, ripped skinny jeans, and red high-top Converse.
Imani gives me a smile, and I can tell she’s thinking the same thing.
We look good.
Now it’s really starting. I have a whole day to spend with my friends, with my fellow fans, with zombie and apocalyptic horror lovers from all over.
ZombieCon! The Ultimate in Undead Entertainment starts now!
2
ZombieCon! The Ultimate in Undead Entertainment will start once we get inside. Now we’re walking along the massive line of people already waiting for the doors to open.
“Sorry about all the college questions,” I say.
“It’s okay.”
But when I glance at her face, a frown has stitched in between her eyebrows.
“You’re totally getting in. You know that, right?” I say.
“Harvard has a five percent acceptance rate, June.” Her voice is gentle, but resigned. “Less, actually.”
“Well, if they don’t take you, they don’t deserve you!”
Imani smiles a little.
“Seriously, Imani!” I loop my arm through hers. “You’re so badass. You’re going to get in somewhere amazing, and they’re going to pay you for the honor of having you as a student.”
Imani lets out a tight breath, almost like she’s been holding part of it, holding a slight catch of breath deep inside her lungs, holding it inside forever, waiting, waiting, just waiting and hoping.
She gets straight A’s. She kicked the SAT’s butt so hard it couldn’t sit right for a week.
And school can still sometimes make her so anxious she calls me in tears or on the verge of them. When that happens we end up watching Bob Ross paint some happy trees together while we talk about life after college. What different places we might live. What kind of pets we might have. What we might name our pets or our kids, if we have them. Places we might travel. People we might know. People we might become.
The whole wide world outside of school.
The weird thing is, Imani actually loves school, loves learning, loves working on projects and papers. It’s just grades and class rankings that make her miserable.
“Listen, let’s take the day off from it,” I suggest.
Imani’s eyebrows lift, but she’s got an amused look in her eyes.
Since we almost always know what the other is thinking, I can see she’s already there with me.
“The day off from college applications and acceptance stress. Imagine.” Her eyebrow quirks up like a punctuation.
We smile at each other, these huge Cheshire grins.
“Deal.”
We shake hands to seal it.
“There’s the end of the line, I think,” Imani says, pointing with a coral-colored nail.
Did I mention she’s gorgeous? While our relationship is purely platonic, it doesn’t keep me from admiring how beautiful she is. Beauty is just beauty.
And Imani is every bit as beautiful on the inside.
By which I mean she’s a really sweet, wonderful person.
Not that her insides themselves are beautiful. Which sounds weird and serial-killer-y when you think about it.
Imani hooks her arm with mine again. “This is going to be so much fun, June.”
I smile back, even though we’re still walking to the end of the line.
“Everyone coming to Senoybia for the con, it’ll be like our town has imported a town!” Imani says.
“A town full of zombie fans!” I chirp back. I can’t help it, I give a little jump of joy.
“And just look at this line!” Imani murmurs, squeezing my arm.