Zombies Don't Forgive Read Online Free Page A

grounded. “Because she’s different.”
    My heart hurts a little, dead and useless as it is. Because what if she is? What if this Val girl is different? For a while it’s been Stamp watching Dane shareglances and inside jokes with me. Would I be strong enough, mature enough, zombie enough to trade places and stand by if Stamp was strutting around with someone … serious?
    â€œYeah, right.” Dane sneers.
    I guess it’s one too many disses for Stamp tonight, because suddenly he’s out of his chair, towering over Dane.
    â€œShe is.”
    Neither boy moves an inch.
    â€œOkay, Stamp,” I say softly, easing out of the rowing machine and wedging into the four inches of breathing space they’ve left between their puffed out chests and bad attitudes. “I believe that … Val … is different. So why not bring her around for dinner some night?”
    Dane frowns.
    Stamp smiles cagily. “Maybe I will.”
    Doesn’t he know he’s sassing the wrong zombie?
    â€œNo maybe,” Dane presses. “Definitely. You bring her for dinner if she’s so special.”
    God, now we really do sound like parents. What’s next? A curfew? Docking his allowance? Taking away his cell phone privileges?
    â€œI will.”
    â€œSunday.” I pin down an actual date for once. “You bring Mel over for a nice—”
    â€œVal.” He shakes his head at me as if I should know better.
    And, of course, I do. “Fine. You bring Val over fora nice Sunday dinner and show us how special she is.”
    â€œDeal,” he says, reaching into a pocket to grab his shiny new cell phone. His long thumbs fly across the surface. “Letting her know about it right now.” He storms off, texting all the way into his room, where he promptly slams the door and turns on his metal music, just like the surly teenager that he is—that I suppose he always will be.
    â€œYou think that’s such a good idea?” Dane sits across from me at the table and turns Stamp’s Sports Slurp cap over and over in his pale fingers. “I mean, look at this place. You think this looks like a Normal’s home?”
    I stare at the portable gym on our living room carpet: weight bench, treadmill, rowing machine, exercise bike, medicine ball, jump ropes hanging from the key rack by the door.
    â€œSo we’ll move the gym into the back bedrooms for one night. Big deal. Besides, you know Stamp. No way will this Val chick still be around by Sunday.”

3
The Plot—and the Sauce—Thickens
    â€œGod, it’s been so long since I’ve cooked human food I’ve almost forgotten!”
    â€œReally?” Dane waves a hand in front of his nose as I set the foggy lid on the pot of simmering spaghetti sauce. “I just thought you were a really, really bad cook!”
    He zips out of range just as I’m trying to snap him with the damp dish towel that’s been draped over my shoulder for the last two hours.
    Yes, two hours. For spaghetti. And a salad. And garlic bread. (Good thing I’m a zombie and not a vampire. Hehehe.)
    â€œYou take that back, Dane Fields.” I put the towel back on my shoulder. “I’ll have you know this is my dad’s famous recipe for million-dollar spaghetti I’m making here.”
    He holds his hands up in mock defeat. “You’re makingit from memory, I hope.” Even now—oven on, the smell of fresh garlic in the air, the table set—and there is still a warning tone in his voice.
    â€œMostly.”
    His eyes go big.
    â€œDon’t worry. I used a pay phone, way across town, and so did he. It’s totally, completely untraceable.”
    Dane shakes his head.
    I finish draining the pasta.
    â€œI thought I said you could talk to your dad once a month.”
    â€œIt was my one call this month. Trust me. I’m not going to jeopardize what we’ve worked so hard to build here