ZIA, The Teenage Zombie & The Undead Diaries by Angela Scott

ZIA, The Teenage Zombie & the Undead Diaries
by Angela Scott
Release date: September 20th 2015

Summary from Goodreads:

Zia would give anything to be a typical teenager... again. Heck, she’d settle for being a vampire or smelly werewolf, but a member of the walking dead? The lowliest of all the monsters? No way! Nothing is worse than being a skin-sloughing, limb-losing, maggot-housing, brain-craving undead girl. Nothing.

It wouldn’t be so bad if humans didn’t insist on “Living Impaireds” wearing bands to keep their insatiable appetites in check. And if LIs want to coexist with humans, then rules must be followed, no matter how ludicrous they might seem. Why do undead teenagers have to go to high school anyway?

Zia does her best to blend in and go unnoticed, but when a new group of LIs are bused in from another school and she finds herself part of a growing horde, all bets are off.

Besides, rules are meant to be broken—especially when an unbeating heart is pulled in two different directions.

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Excerpt:

"Hey, you dropped something." 

I turn around, surprised anyone else was in the hall with me, and see Eli holding something of mine in his hand.   

I’m not sure what to make of this or even where he came from—most likely the stoner boys’bathroom where he snuck a smoke or something. He’s popular in a dangerous, non-lethal, totally human way. He’s been mistaken for a vamp before, with his dark leather jacket and the usual black pants. He isn’t a vamp at all. He just dresses like one.   

Eli Olsen is a normal human. Why is he talking to me?   

I retrace a few of my steps and he meets me in the middle. He holds his hand out toward me, and I’m immediately petrified and embarrassed.   

He’s holding my finger in the palm of his hand. My finger! 

"Oh my gosh!" I look down at my hand, hoping beyond all hope the finger he is holding isn’t mine. But it is. It fell off and I didn’t even realize it. "I’m so sorry." I snatch it from his hand. When I look at his face, I don’t see any hint of horror. He stands there as if he was handing me a piece of gum or something equally common and not my detached finger.   

The bell rings and I hurry and shove it in my pocket, not sure what else to do with it. Kids file out of the classroom and push past, for the most part ignoring us. I turn to leave since I’m already running behind and also want to hide my utter humiliation.   

Eli grabs my arm and stops me. "I can fix that," he says, motioning to the finger in my pocket. "That is, if you want me to." 

I still don’t understand why he is talking to me. He never talked to me before I was a zombie; we didn’t run in the same circles. "Okay." I’m not sure why I say that. Maybe because I had no idea what to do with my finger, anyway.   

He starts to walk away, heading in the opposite direction, but calls back, "Meet me in Mr. T’s room after school." 

I nod, but worry this might be some sort of sick joke. Humans think it’s funny to mock and terrorize us. We’re the monsters, but they’re the bullies. 

***

About the Author

I hear voices. Tiny fictional people sit on my shoulders and whisper their stories in my ear. Instead of medicating myself, I decided to pick up a pen, write down everything those voices tell me, and turn it into a book. I’m not crazy. I’m an author.

For the most part, I write contemporary Young Adult novels. However, through a writing exercise that spiraled out of control, I found myself writing about zombies terrorizing the Wild Wild West—and loving it. My zombies don’t sparkle, and they definitely don’t cuddle. At least, I wouldn’t suggest it.

I live on the benches of the beautiful Wasatch Mountains with two lovely children, one teenager, and a very patient husband. I graduated from Utah State University with a B.A. degree in English, not because of my love for the written word, but because it was the only major that didn’t require math. I can’t spell, and grammar is my arch nemesis. But they gave me the degree, and there are no take backs.

As a child, I never sucked on a pacifier; I chewed on a pencil. I’ve been writing that long. It has only been the past few years that I’ve pursued it professionally, forged relationships with other like-minded individuals, and determined to make a career out of it. 

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