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mean to me,” I said. Now that I’d been sucked into self-pity, I’d really found my groove.
    â€œHell, no,” Phil said as we reached the car. He unlocked the door and helped me into the passenger seat. I felt like an invalid. Some sort of social leper who was meant to stay away from society. Oh, man, this was going to be a pity party of epic proportions. He climbed in behind the wheel and got us going toward home. At some point, he dug tissues out of the glove box and handed them to me. I blew my nose and wiped gummy mascara away from my eyes— not with the same tissue. I just hoped my dad would still be gone when I got home. I didn’t want to explain to him why I was already an emotional wreck so early in the school year.
    Music blared from the radio. I think Phil knew I didn’t want to talk.
    We finally pulled up to my house and Phil let the car sit idling. I looked up and down the street—no shufflers to be seen on the street—though I might have welcomed a zombie attack at that point. I didn’t see my dad’s car, either, so that was good.
    â€œWant me to come inside?” Phil asked.
    I thought about that. Under other circumstances I’d welcome the chance to get him alone in the house, but not just then.
    â€œNo,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”
    He nodded and I wasn’t sure whether or not he believed me.
    â€œThis was a really crappy first day of school,” I said.
    â€œMaybe it’s all puppies and rainbows after this,” he said.
    â€œI seriously doubt that,” I said.
    He grinned for just a second. “Me, too,” he said. “But you’ll handle it.”
    With that I got out of the car and darted through the chain-link fence into my yard. I waved good-bye as he pulled away. Why did he have so much faith in me? Why did he think I’d be able to handle all of this garbage when I wasn’t so sure myself? Great, now I felt like I had to bear up to it or I’d disappoint Phil.
    â€œAsshole,” I said to no one at all.
    Then I went into the house to wash my face before Dad got home.

CHAPTER THREE
    A Group of Elite Z Hunters
    T he next day wasn’t much better. If anything, there seemed to be an escalation in hostilities from the Jocktocracy. My books were knocked out of my arms on more than one occasion. People hissed unsavory names in my ear. In general, I felt like a Black Panther at a Republican convention. (We’d just started a unit on the civil rights era in A.P. History . . .) The only thing that salvaged the day was when Phil’s friend, and our frequent partner in late-night shenanigans, Cody suggested a zombie hunt.
    â€œI think a ghoul hunt might do our little Courtney a world of good,” he said to Phil. Speaking about me as if I wasn’t there was a great source of amusement for our boy Cody.
    â€œOur little Courtney,” I said. “Keep up that kind of talk and I’m going to use you as bait, pinhead.”
    His smile faltered.
    â€œBut he’s right,” I said to Phil. Turnabout is fair, right? “Going out tonight and catching some Zs might be what I need.”
    â€œSure,” said Phil. “It’s been a few nights since we went out. Let’s do it.”
    We agreed to get together well after our parental units went to bed.
    I drifted through the rest of my day trying to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Still, lots of glares followed me through the halls. Though, for some reason, it seemed like people from my social phylum were being nicer to me. Maybe they thought I’d been raked over the coals enough already. Or they were trying to get me to lower my defenses so they could properly kick my ass.
    At one point, Carol Langworthy sidled up to me as I walked the halls between class.
    â€œHey, Hart,” she said. She smiled at me and exposed braces that I swear she’d been sporting since kindergarten. I’d consider a