Night of the Zombie Chickens (22 page)

I try not to roll my eyes. Vampires are so overdone.

“I keep telling her it should have werewolves,” Lizzy says. “Werewolves are cool.”

“They are,” Olivia admits, “but they're too furry. Who wants to look like a rabid dog? Vampires are hot.”

The bus chugs up to Lizzy and Olivia's stop. They're still debating werewolves versus vampires as they get off. It's Jack Timner's stop, too. His backpack hits me in the
back of the head as he goes by. Probably payback for staring at him. “Sorry,” he calls over his shoulder, smirking.

Hot vampires, hairy werewolves—I sigh and lean back. I'm pretty sure Alyssa doesn't want to wear fangs or fur. It's great that so many kids want to be in my movie, but
I'm going to need someone to help me control the chaos. I need an assistant. Who would be right for the job? I stare out the window at the bare trees flying past. Gray slush splatters the
dirty snow mounded on the curbs as we pass by. Winter always drags on too long, like one of those boring black-and-white foreign films that never ends. I slip off my shoes. My socks are wet and my
toes feel like tiny blocks of ice.

The bus slows down as we enter a development on the edge of town. It's called Deer Hollow even though the deer are long gone. This area used to be full of trees but now it's lined
with big, fancy houses. We stop at a new home and Tristan swings past and hurries down the bus steps. I watch him walk up the long driveway. What kind of movies has he made? Most likely short ones
with his friends. He would probably love to help make a longer movie. That's when it hits me. Tristan would be the perfect assistant director! I may not be a big-time Hollywood player yet,
but I can teach him what I've learned so far.

We stop at a few more houses in Deer Hollow until I'm the last person on the bus. Sal, the bus driver, has to drive another ten minutes on country roads to reach my home. I sigh and wish
for the millionth time that my family had moved to Deer Hollow instead of a run-down farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The funny thing is, we have tons of deer. All the ones that got chased off
by the mega-house invasion must have headed over to our place.

Sal glances at me through the big mirror over his head. I always feel bad for him because he has a girl's name. He's Italian and I guess it's short for Salvatore. The boys on
the bus all call him Sally but he doesn't seem to mind.

“You decided what your next movie's about, Kate?” he calls out. Sal's a big film buff. He even came to my premiere.

“I'm not sure. Maybe a romance.”

Sal twists his lower lip, like he sucked on a lemon. “Romance? Hmmm. Could be tricky.”

“Yeah, I know.”

The bus finally wheezes to a stop outside our house and I hurry up the aisle. “Crime drama,” Sal says out of the corner of his mouth, like he's offering me a shady tip on a
horse race. “Italian mafia. Hasn't been done well since
The Godfather
.” He taps his head. “I got all kinds of stories. From my grandfather, about the old days.
Somebody needs to make it into a movie.”

This stops me in my tracks. “Your grandfather was in the mafia?”

Sal laughs like this is a funny joke. “No, no, no. Maybe.” He shrugs. “He knew people who knew people.”

I'm dying to ask Sal if he's in the mafia too, but if he admitted it, then he might have to kill me so I couldn't tell anyone.

“I'll think about it,” I promise.

What I'm really thinking about as I swing off the bus is how great it would be to have a cute A.D. from NYC helping me on my next project. The thought warms my insides, all the way down to
my frozen feet.