Orthodontics in the Zombie Apocalypse

2. Dream Boy in Zombieland (2/2)

It has been decided, as I gun it down the highway riddled more thickly with pileups of burning cars the closer I am to the nearest city, LA, that I will scour every inch of this country until I find a viable orthodontist. If there isn't a single orthodontist left in the US, then I am going to hijack a plane and fly to Australia, because I love their accents almost as much as British people's. (The reason I won't go to Britain for orthodontics is because my dad always told me they are notorious for bad teeth, though I don't think their smiles are that terrible.) Then I will live a long, happy, braces-free life with the wallabies and koalas in Australia.

Just as I am daydreaming about the blissful simmering sun burning my pale skin—which would be considered tan in the Midwest or northeast but is quite pale for California—and riding ostriches, I feel a large bump beneath the car, closely followed by the sound of air leaving my tires.

"Shit," I hiss through my teeth, my head falling forward onto the wheel, which states its disapproval with a long honk. "What is this day? What is my life? What is life in general?" I question through fake, dramatic sobs, forehead repeatedly tapping against the wheel.

Knuckles tap several times against my window. They look tan and normal. I roll my window down an inch.

"Are you going to try to eat me? Because after the day I've had—" Then I see his face.

He's perfect—of course he's perfect! How could he not be? I look like trash with sexy-looking wind blown hair and badass blood stains and rips on my dress. I can't imagine he could find me attractive, though most boys do. Until they see me smile.

His ocean colored eyes light up when he analyzes me closely. "You're human?"

I roll my eyes. "Of course I'm human! And you better be, too."

He walks around the front of the car to the other door, tries the handle, and looks at me expectantly with light blond eyebrows raised. I purse my lips and my finger inches towards the lock button. I pause, look at him with eyebrows pinched together, and say, "I have a specific policy where I have to know someone's name before letting them in my car."

He chuckles; not annoyed or perturbed by my hesitation, but genuinely amused. "Mikah," he calls through the glass.

The latch clicks open and he swiftly slides into the passenger seat.

"Uh, hi," I say, brushing a curled lock of shining dark hair behind my ear.

"Brace face," is all he says. He sounds contemplating rather than teasing, as if he understands what I'm going through. As if he understands me.

He's possibly the last living, breathing boy on the planet, and thank goodness I'm already falling for him.

"My uncle is an orthodontist. He did my braces, actually. I just got mine off last week."

My lips drop into a frown, puffing over the brackets so I don't add another sore to the club on the inside of my lips. "Lucky. Mine were supposed to come off two hours ago. But, of course, the zombie apocalypse chooses today to enlighten the world."

"That sucks." We sit in a fixed silence for several long moments. "Maybe my uncle would take yours off for you?" he suggests. "I somehow doubt he would charge you, considering everything that has been going on. But I have a specific policy where I have to know someone's name before my uncle does their orthodontics."

I can't help a grin, exposing my metal-covered teeth for all to see. "Piper."

"Pleased to meet you, Piper," Mikah says with a calloused hand extended my way.

I take it, shake it, and let it fall when I feel there has been enough pleasantries. "Where can I find your uncle?"

"LA," he replies.

My foot slams down on the gas pedal and the wheels squeal, making a horrible grinding noise without any motion to compensate. It sounds almost like Dr. Jeunger, but more of a deep, gravelly whine than groaning.

"What did you do to my tires?" I demand, spinning to face the boy. "You killed my car!"

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A/N

Vote and comment if you think Piper's comment about British teeth was uncalled for! (It totally was--I hope I didn't offend any British people here...I think you all have just as many people with good teeth as with bad as any other country!)