Author: G.G. Silverman
Genre: Teen Humor, Fiction, Literature
Clarissa Hargrove thinks prom sucks. She’s been protesting it for weeks, but the conformist sheep that go to Redvale High could care less. Not one single girl has ditched her prom gown in the name of feminism, except for Clarissa’s loyal, underappreciated BFF Cokie. But Clarissa is still on a mission to save more souls–she’ll be at prom, with her bullhorn and picket signs, telling girls they have one last chance to ditch their hooker heels and claim their independence before high school is over. That night, Clarissa drags Cokie to school to protest, but almost everyone at prom has turned into flesh-eating monsters. Trapped in a high-school zombie hellhole, the girls realize they’ve never taken a chance on love, and set out on dangerous quest to save their crushes.
But there’s one teensy little problem.
Clarissa is vegan and hates violence of any kind. Will Cokie and Clarissa survive?
A mashup of pop culture hits like Daria, Mean Girls, and Shaun of the Dead, Vegan Teenage Zombie Huntress will have you on the edge of your seat until the very end.
About G.G. Silverman
G.G. Silverman lives north of Seattle with her husband and dog, both of whom are ridiculously adorable. When she isn’t writing, she loves to explore the mossy woods and wind-swept coast of the Pacific Northwest, which provide moody inspiration for all her stories. She also enjoys bouts of inappropriate laughter, and hates wind chimes because they remind her of horror movies.
Ms. Silverman has won three short story awards, you can read about them here. She is a member of SCBWI and PNWA, and has also served as a judge for the 2013 PNWA Literary Contest, for the short story category.
Read an Excerpt
Mom breezed into the kitchen, looking super sharp in her navy blue power suit. She kissed Dad on the forehead, and did the same to me. Then she looked over my shoulder, and sniffed.
“Sprouted wheatgrass soup. Want some?”
“Eh, no. Looks like…pond scum. Sorry, love.”
“Want some burger?” Dad offered. A speck of mayo lingered in the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, hon, I’m kind of tired of burgers. Got anything else? What about salad?”
Like he would ever know what that was.
“Yup, there’s some bagged lettuce in the back of the fridge. Have at it.”
I stood corrected.
Mom rescued the forlorn package of lettuce and tore it open with delicate fingers, dropping some into a small wooden bowl. She splashed it with fat-free dressing, sat beside me at our cozy, round kitchen table, and smiled her best CEO-of-the-Year/Mom-trying-really-hard smile. Uh oh. The interrogation would begin any moment now.
“So, I heard it’s prom night. Still boycotting?” She lifted a forkful of lettuce to her mouth and chewed slowly, watching me sideways with the eyes of a suspicious woman.
“I’m definitely not going.”
Mom raised one of her signature bushy eyebrows.
“Well, I am going, but not to dance, only to stand outside…”
More skeptical looks from Mom. “Only to stand outside and…protest?”
Dad let out a low whistle. He and Mom gave each other THE LOOK, a knowing glance that meant, uh oh, all hands on deck, we’ve got a live one here.
Mom grabbed my hand. “Look, honey, despite your father’s frighteningly average IQ, we are fortunate to have raised a smart young woman. And we are so grateful that you have strong convictions and are willing to stand up for them. But…”
“But what?” I asked, completely exasperated. I thought that my mother, of all people, would understand my feminist leanings.
Dad chimed in. “But we’re worried that you’re missing out on a critical moment of teenage life, a major American rite of passage. Feminist or not, girls all over the world would kill to have the life you have, and they’d kill to go to prom.” Dad was using the word “kill” an awful lot, which made me nervous. “Look,” he continued. “We’re just worried that you’ll look back on this night and regret it.”
Mom nodded her head in somber agreement and squeezed my hand even tighter. “Are you sure you won’t regret it, my little nonconformist bunny rabbit?”
“Mom, I’m absolutely, one hundred percent sure.”
I had no idea how prescient those words would become.