This one works pretty well as a novel graveyard book--it was my zombie attempt from a few years ago. This is actually a completed manuscript, but it never made it past a rough draft. You can see other novel graveyard posts HERE.
Again, this is a ROUGH, unedited passage from a book that I never finished/polished. It's called The Rules for Dating a Teenage Zombie, and instead of chapter numbers, each chapter was started with a rule.
Hope you like it!
THE RULES FOR DATING A TEENAGE ZOMBIE
Rule 1: Don’t cross paths with a zombie. Especially if it’s two weeks before prom. That's just tacky.
I looked at the clock as my foot continued to tap on the tile of my kitchen floor. Forty-three minutes. Sawyer was forty-three minutes late. Because he was with her. Victoria. God. My teeth clenched just at the sound of her name.
Okay, yes. She was dead. And technically, Sawyer was only paying his last respects, but still. There was no need to spend an extra forty-three, no, forty-four minutes with your ex-girlfriend’s dead body. I stopped tapping. Jealousy was making me sick.
The phone rang. It was about time. I jumped up, and skidded to a stop in front of the counter.
“You’d better have a really good reason for--”
I curled my lip. What the hell? “Who is this?” I demanded.
There was a cough. “Emmie?”
“Sawyer? What are you doing, you freak? Why are you so late?” Even though I wanted to be a bitch, I was sure he could hear the sense of relief in my voice. Victoria was finally out of our lives.
“I’m hurt,” Sawyer said. His voice was low, breathy.
My heart rate sped up and I furrowed my brow. “Hurt? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I think so. It was Victoria, she--”
My insides knotted. “Are you seriously going to still talk about her?” The girl had tried to ruin our lives and he was going to let her keep doing it? Postmortem?
“No, baby,” he said and exhaled. “It’s not that. She--”
“I’m hanging up now.” Tears sprang to my eyes. I was so tired of being harassed by my boyfriend’s ex. Over the last two years, she had one, slashed my tires exactly six different times; two, forged my signature on a school transfer request form; and three, egged my house during my father’s funeral. And I couldn’t even count the number of times she’d shown up at Sawyer’s house, threatening to kill me. Ugh. I was so glad she was dead.
I made the sign of the cross and looked up. Just in case.
“Don’t hang up,” Sawyer said. “I’m coming over. I don’t feel good, Emmie.”
My face softened. Well. If he didn’t feel good, I guess I could be a little nicer. Poor thing. He never was very good at being sick.
“Fine.” I cradled the phone to my ear. “But I don’t want to hear her name even once.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Sawyer hung up but I stood there, listening to the dial tone before setting the receiver down. Was it possible for me to be jealous of a dead girl? Was that even remotely healthy? The phone rang again.