The Twilight Saga Collection part 1(175)

“Brought what on?”

“Why did you suddenly decide...to go out?” It sounded like she changed her question halfway through.

I shrugged. “Just needed a change.”

I recognized the song on the radio then, and quickly reached for the dial. “Do you mind?” I asked.

“No, go ahead.”

I scanned through the stations until I found one that was harmless. I peeked at Jess’s expression as the new music filled the car.

Her eyes squinted. “Since when do you listen to rap?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “A while.”

“You like this?” she asked doubtfully.

“Sure.”

It would be much too hard to interact with Jessica normally if I had to work to tune out the music, too. I nodded my head, hoping I was in time with the beat.

“Okay....” She stared out the windshield with wide eyes.

“So what’s up with you and Mike these days?” I asked quickly.

“You see him more than I do.”

The question hadn’t started her talking like I’d hoped it would.

“It’s hard to talk at work,” I mumbled, and then I tried again. “Have you been out with anyone lately?”

“Not really. I go out with Conner sometimes. I went out with Eric two weeks ago.” She rolled her eyes, and I sensed a long story. I clutched at the opportunity.

“Eric Yorkie? Who asked who?”

She groaned, getting more animated. “He did, of course! I couldn’t think of a nice way to say no.”

“Where did he take you?” I demanded, knowing she would interpret my eagerness as interest. “Tell me all about it.”

She launched into her tale, and I settled into my seat, more comfortable now. I paid strict attention, murmuring in sympathy and gasping in horror as called for. When she was finished with her Eric story, she continued into a Conner comparison without any prodding.

The movie was playing early, so Jess thought we should hit the twilight showing and eat later. I was happy to go along with whatever she wanted; after all, I was getting what I wanted—Charlie off my back.

I kept Jess talking through the previews, so I could ignore them more easily. But I got nervous when the movie started. A young couple was walking along a beach, swinging hands and discussing their mutual affection with gooey falseness. I resisted the urge to cover my ears and start humming. I had not bargained for a romance.

“I thought we picked the zombie movie,” I hissed to Jessica.

“This is the zombie movie.”

“Then why isn’t anyone getting eaten?” I asked desperately.

She looked at me with wide eyes that were almost alarmed. “I’m sure that part’s coming,” she whispered.

“I’m getting popcorn. Do you want any?”

“No, thanks.”

Someone shushed us from behind.

I took my time at the concession counter, watching the clock and debating what percentage of a ninety-minute movie could be spent on romantic exposition. I decided ten minutes was more than enough, but I paused just inside the theater doors to be sure. I could hear horrified screams blaring from the speakers, so I knew I’d waited long enough.

“You missed everything,” Jess murmured when I slid back into my seat. “Almost everyone is a zombie now.”

“Long line.” I offered her some popcorn. She took a handful.

The rest of the movie was comprised of gruesome zombie attacks and endless screaming from the handful of people left alive, their numbers dwindling quickly. I would have thought there was nothing in that to disturb me. But I felt uneasy, and I wasn’t sure why at first.

It wasn’t until almost the very end, as I watched a haggard zombie shambling after the last shrieking survivor, that I realized what the problem was. The scene kept cutting between the horrified face of the heroine, and the dead, emotionless face of her pursuer, back and forth as it closed the distance.

And I realized which one resembled me the most.

I stood up.

“Where are you going? There’s, like, two minutes left,” Jess hissed.

“I need a drink,” I muttered as I raced for the exit.

I sat down on the bench outside the theater door and tried very hard not to think of the irony. But it was ironic, all things considered, that, in the end, I would wind up as a zombie. I hadn’t seen that one coming.

Not that I hadn’t dreamed of becoming a mythical monster once—just never a grotesque, animated corpse. I shook my head to dislodge that train of thought, feeling panicky. I couldn’t afford to think about what I’d once dreamed of.

It was depressing to realize that I wasn’t the heroine anymore, that my story was over.

Jessica came out of the theater doors and hesitated, probably wondering where the best place was to search for me. When she saw me, she looked relieved, but only for a moment. Then she looked irritated.