I Dream of Disney (Volume II)

Life Can Be A Scream [Z-O-M-B-I-E-S Bucky x Reader] Part II

Part II - Two Sides To Every Story

The school is gated into two sections. A few yards of refined and corrugated steel fencing separates the students that it allows into its halls. The one side seems brighter: students are wearing those pale, pastel uniforms with a noticeably bright and cheerful attitude. The other side is much darker: the students here are slower and more tentative. They look around at everything the way a fly glances at the petals of a Venus flytrap; as if they expect everything to fall and cave them in. These students wear black, green, mauve and oxblood. They move around, clutching backpacks and gym bags. They enter through a door marked with 'ZOMBIES'. The other students' doorway is marked 'NORMALS'. A line of policemen (or perhaps just a couple of stern, eagle-eyed security guards) make sure each kind of student knows which way to go.

I don't look like either of them. Either species can look at me with distrust or suspicion, as many people are doing now. Often, I could pass as a human but there's something just off about me that bothers them. Perhaps it's the slight reddish-purplish tinge around my eyes that makes me look like I'm suffering with hayfever or the way that my hair, caught in just the wrong angle around midday, looks almost green. My skin is never the right colour either; I look a little grey, like I'm in desperate need of sun tanning. I tried it once. I went as grey as a Notre Dame gargoyle. Never again.

Of course, even though I'm half-and-half, they put me on this side of the fence. The side with the Zombies, who are all giving the "sickly human" a strange glance as they mutter in their Zombie language and pass through the hallways. I almost don't mind that they're staring.

I have captured the attention of the other side of the gate, too. The humans - feels so strange to refer to them like that - stare at me silently, murmuring about the brave (yet incredibly stupid) girl who would dare standing on this side of the fence. The wrong side. Wearing dark clothes, combat boots and a light grey beanie (I have to - my roots are dark green). My fingertips are tempted to pull it off, expose the little extra part of myself that wasn't like them, but then I see a figure that I'm looking for. Surrounded by a flock of cheerleaders. I should have expected.

"Bucky!" I shout. "Hey, Bucky!"

There are zombies moving around me, sometimes pushing forward to block my way to the fence. I struggle to fight the tide of preternatural teens, but I'm determined to stay there, heavy and steady as a rock, until I can greet my new friend. I try standing on tiptoes, waving my hand above my head like a person signaling a lifeguard, but he passes by the fence. At this point, my mild-mannered shouts have become loud yells.

"BUCKY!" I yell. "Bucky, over here!"

Bucky pauses. My heart skips a beat at the thought that I've finally caught his attention. Hello, popular friends. Hello, cute guy. Without even a glance, he raises his hand in a contrary wave.

"No autographs at this time, please."

Within a flash of pink and green and the faintly audible song of departing pompoms, Bucky's disappeared. His cheerleading disciples follow obediently, as if trying to suck up the knowledge and the expertise by studying the way he scratches his ankle or sips from his plastic Starbucks cup.

My heart sinks a little. Though I don't notice it at first, my fingers are hooked into the gate as I stare after him. No worries, I tell myself. It's a busy day for everyone here. A lot of auditions and try-outs and first-day-jitters. You will see him later. At lunch. After school.

The butterflies in my stomach prefer that way of thinking and start flapping around again. Taking a deep breath, I try to lift my spirits.

"Hey!" A security guard complains. "Move it or lose it, Zom!"