to take orders from anyone just because they were popular.
âAnd you?â Megan asked Happy. âHow did you change?â
âMy parents expect me to design clothes and someday work with them â so thatâs what I used tofocus on. I never painted before I got here,â Happy admitted. âI like it.â
Megan smiled. It was the first time sheâd ever heard Happy say anything positive.
Of course, being Happy, she immediately added, âIâm not very good, though.â
âSam thinks youâre great,â Megan said. âWhy not try painting in color?â
âBoring.â Happy snorted. âThen Iâd be like everyone else.â
As they walked out of the bathroom, Megan found that she was feeling a little better. She still wanted to get cured and go home ASAP, but now that Happy had shared something private, something really important to her, she felt like she had a best friend at ZA.
And she was fascinated by the idea that kids coming to the Academy felt like they could change who theyâd been or how theyâd been treated at their old schools. Megan wondered about Sam. What had he been like before? Was he different now, too?
âHome economics is starting now.â Happy looked at her watch. âScience is over.â
âIsnât home ec a thing from the 1950s?â Megan asked.
That wasnât what sheâd planned to ask Happy. She had a different, more important question to get to first, but yet again, the thought wasnât sticky in her brain. It was frustrating not being able to remember what you were thinking minute to minute.
âIn the olden days, home ec used to be for girls to learn sewing, cooking, cleaning â you know, the skills theyâd need when they got married.â The corners of Happyâs lips rose to the place where Megan thought she might smile. But she didnât. âNow itâs about living a zombie life.â
âI donât get it,â Megan said. âA zombie life?â
âItâs an easy class.â Happy checked her red notebook for the schedule. âToday, weâre cooking zombie food.â
âThat doesnât sound bad,â Megan said. âI liked the cafeteria vegeta ââ It took an instant for Megan to realize what they were making. âUgh. Weâre doing brain recipes, arenât we?â Meganâs stomach flipped as if sheâd just gotten off a roller coaster. âEwww,â she said.
âDonât worry,â Happy said. âWe donât use real human brains in class. You can choose rabbit or pig.â
âUhhhh-uhhhh,â Megan groaned. She thought she might puke.
Even without smiling, Happy could joke. âJust kidding,â she said dryly. âWeâre making desserts out of rotten fruit.â
Suddenly, Meganâs stomach felt better, and she found she was in fact hungry. âI could go for that.â
âI hate fruit,â Happy said. âAnd vegetables. And meat. And bread.â She added, âAnd brains.â
âOf course you do,â Megan said with a chuckle, adding, âI hate brains, too.â
As they walked down the hallway, a young boy, about ten years old, came rushing up to Megan. He grabbed her around the waist so hard, he nearly knocked her down.
âI love you,â the boy said. He had straight dark hair and wore glasses. There was a huge gash over one of his eyes and a long gooey slash down his right arm. If she ignored the zombie stuff, the boy reminded Megan of Zach.
âUhhhh,â Megan half groaned. She wasnât sure how to respond. It was the first time a boy, other than her dad, had told her he loved her.
He released her from the hug, just enough to look up at Megan. âUntil you came, the Bs didnât like me because I pulled a fire-alarm prank that made the sprinklers go off in the dorm and got all their stuffwet!â He hugged Megan again.
Learning to Kill: Stories