“That rhyme you’re singing was used to subjugate women, you know,” said the head.
“What?” And she did meanwhat, as his voice was muffled by the canvas. She opened the bag and tossed him out, letting him bounce end over end once before coming to rest on his right cheek.
“I said: that rhyme was used to attack the ruling women of the day. Mary, Queen of Scots. Mary the First of England. Nobody liked a woman in charge. Not back then.”
“And not now,” Maria said. “So are you really going to mansplain nursery rhymes to me?”
“It’s not mansplaining.”
“It’s not?”
“Not exactly, since clearly you are not an expert in nursery rhymes and it’s equally clear that I’m not either. I’m just a head. A head named Ethan, by the way. Could you roll me faceup?”
She did it, if only so he could see her glare.
“There,” she said, and propped him against the first mound of dirt. His eyes moved around, as if trying to see behind him.
“Am I resting against one of your ‘pretty maids’?”
“He wasn’t a pretty maid. He was a ghoul. Like you. And I caved the back of his skull in. Just like I’m going to do to you, in a minute.”
She waited for him to plead, or seem shocked, or hilariously try to roll away. But he didn’t. He seemed like he expected it, and was only a little disappointed.
“This is a nice place you picked,” he said. “Nice trees. Nice clean air. No noise but the birds.”
“What’s your point?”
“You must be a nice person.”
“What?”
“Even though you’re clearly on a mission to eradicate ghouls, you’re laying us to rest. You don’t hate us. If I hated something, I wouldn’t bury it in a place like this. I’d flush it down a toilet.”
“You’d clog a toilet,” Maria hissed, and to her surprise, he laughed.
“Sorry,” he said. “Poop humor. It’s never not funny.”
Then he smiled. It was a good-looking smile, too, and not just for a dead boy. It was crooked, and a little sheepish, and his lips looked soft and not a bit rotten, and he had nice teeth. Not the perfect kind from braces or caps. Just nice.
Just as nice as they were when they bit you, she reminded herself.Good god, Maria, you haven’t been dead for that long that you need to creep on the hot boy who killed you. Who is also JUST A HEAD.
“Why are you even talking?” she asked. “Howcan you talk? You don’t have lungs.”
“Still have a voice box. And you’re also dead and walking around, unless I’m missing something, so maybe don’t think about it too much.”
“Whatever,” Maria said. “In about thirty seconds, your brains are going to be spilling out into that hole, and I won’t have to hear you ever again. So any last words?”
He turned his eyes up to the sky, where the light was starting to tilt toward afternoon. She’d taken a long time digging the hole with the damned hoe, and he’d been in the farthest cemetery from the garden when she’d found him. But what did time matter? Time was for the living.
“I guess not,” he said. “Maybe just a last question?”
“Okay.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Really?” she asked. “Look at my face. Don’t you know?”
He looked at her. She wiped the dirt from her cheek and pulled her dark blond hair back to give him a better view.
