The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(56)

“We’re on the green line,” Orion says, tracing where we started and down to Union Square. “And here’s where we’re getting out.”

I gesture at the map. “Do you think I could travel all of this in one day?”

“I don’t know, but honestly, why would you? The trains are mad gross. That hellhole we just escaped from is not rare.”

“I originally dreamt about visiting every corner of New York. At least by riding the train I could say I passed through them.”

“But the best parts of New York are out on the streets.”

“Like when I got shot at?”

“Like when you got shot at!”

“Terrifying.”

“Fucking terrifying.”

I hope they catch that guy.

Minutes later, the train stops at Forty-Second Street, close to Times Square, where everything changed. The doors remain open too long, and I shudder thinking that man in the skull mask could be any of these passengers filing in. He could think I recognize his eyes and need to finish this job. Choosing to embrace possibilities like this by not retreating home doesn’t make things less terrifying, but all I can do is hope for the best today.

As we’re approaching Union Square, I look up and down the car. People are holding on to the poles while reading a newspaper or on their phone. Someone else is dozing off, their head snapping back upright as their chin touches their chest. Others are sitting quietly, traveling from A to B or even B back to A. But I really thought there would be some kind of show, like young people turning the train into a jungle gym as they swing around the poles and flip around while blasting music. We reach our stop, and before I step onto the platform, I wait one extra moment to see if a show is about to begin, but nothing.

“First thoughts on your first ride?” Orion asks as we climb the stairs.

“More ordinary than I thought. Where were all the dancers? Is it too early?”

“Nah, I’d see them on the train rides to school a lot of mornings. That really pissed off people. Maybe the usual performers were out doing their thing last night.” He squeezes my arm as we leave the station. “I bet you’ll catch a show on the way back.”

“Hopefully.”

I can’t imagine I would be heartbroken on my deathbed by not having seen people dancing on the train, but it’s one of those daily occurrences in New York I’ve been imagining for so long that it feels weird to not have been granted that instantly. Especially when time is so limited. It just shows that no matter what’s happening in your life, the world doesn’t only spin for you.

However, Union Square is a breath of fresh air. There are chess players sitting on top of crates, basking in the sun. One woman has the biggest smile on her face as she walks eight dogs. Two women are holding hands and coffees as they enter this little park. That could actually be a nice place for a cozy, autumnal photo shoot. I can already picture myself standing on a bench with the flaps of my gray wool coat thrown open, revealing a white tee and . . . I stop planning the outfit I won’t be able to wear this fall.

While waiting at the crosswalk, we stand at the curb and I stare at the sky and watch an airplane flying over us. I can’t wait until Scarlett gets here.

“Have you ever flown before?” I ask as we cross the street.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

Then I stop in the middle of the street with my hands to my mouth. I’m asking Orion why he’s never flown after a hijacked plane killed his parents and uprooted his life. That was so stupid and careless. Orion looks over his shoulder to see I’m not following him at the very same time I remember I’m a Decker who can be run over at any moment. I don’t even look both ways, which is probably as foolish as stopping in the middle of the street in the first place. I would be terrible at playing Frogger, though I miraculously make it to the next block in one piece.

Orion grabs my shoulders. “You got to be careful!”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter if cars have stopped, assume there’s an idiot behind the wheel.”

“I always do,” I say, thinking about the idiot who almost killed Scarlett. “But I’m sorry for forgetting about your parents. I won’t even blame it on being tired or because it’s my End Day. I just wasn’t thinking.”

Orion shrugs. “You’re not the first to slip. It’s all good.”

I shake my head. “No it’s not. But I’ll be better from here on out. However long that is.”

Orion’s hands are on my shoulders again, this time gentler. “If you really want to make it up to me, you won’t make it so easy for anyone to kill you.”


7:38 a.m.

We arrive at the Future Star Model Management offices.

This is a newer agency that promises to be behind the biggest faces in the modeling world. I’m really grateful they saw my potential after reviewing my online portfolio—their favorite photographs were taken by Scarlett—and after one fun Skype interview I signed with the team. Their company is currently located in some generic commercial building, and I like to think they will make good on their promise and turn people into superstars.

Even though Future Star is new, I still thought the office was going to be glossy with magazines laid out on a glass coffee table. Instead, it feels like this place hasn’t gone through any renovations from whatever business was here before; I’m going to go ahead and guess this was a dentist practice since it still has that tooth-dust smell that I remember well from having one of my own ground down before being restored to match its neighbor.