The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(6)

“Did you read that article about people wanting platinum memberships?” I ask Dalma.

“I did not. Do I want to know?”

“More like do you want to punch someone in the face?”

“Never, but hit me with it.”

“Some rich-ass clowns were campaigning for Death-Cast to have a platinum tier where the operators would call them before anyone else dying.”

Dalma stops dead in her tracks. “Rich people are why we can’t have nice things.”

Meanwhile, we’ve got Dayana and Floyd investing fifteen grand of their life savings on annual memberships for everyone in the house, not getting greedy for how fast the Death-Cast warning comes as long as it arrives on time before any of us can die.

I stop watching the raffle after seeing someone disappointed that they’ve received a free subscription for only one day. It seems like they were hoping for more, like maybe they can’t afford one of the bigger fees. There’s a lot in this world that I wish were free, and I’m adding Death-Cast to the list. People’s lives are at stake here.

Dalma and I keep it moving and stop at those newish red glass benches that rise like steps, giving Times Square this urban amphitheater vibe for those who want to chill while the city bustles. There’s a full audience and a woman on a small stage. First I think she’s some Death-Cast rep with the way she’s talking about how she expects this service will change things. I spot an A-frame sign, like the one propped outside the barbershop where I get my shape-ups, but this one isn’t marketed to invite you inside for a haircut that’ll make you feel good about yourself. It reads Tell Your Death-Cast Story. This woman isn’t a rep. She’s talking about why she signed up. As she finishes sharing her experiences with sickle cell disease, an actual Death-Cast rep behind a table picks a name out of a glass bowl and invites a girl named Mercedes up to the stage to tell her story.

For years, I’ve dreamt about what it would be like to do a reading at a bookstore, packed with strangers who want to hear my story. Of course I’d want my friends there too, but they’re practically forced to show up. There’s something magical about my words summoning people to one space. I don’t think I’m going to live long enough to actually publish a book of my own—novel, short stories, the world’s slimmest autobiography. Anything! But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a chance tonight to tell my story to this audience.

I go up to the Death-Cast rep, write my name, and drop it into the glass bowl.

This is one of those firsts that can double as a last.





Valentino


11:09 p.m.

Google Maps pretty much laughed when I asked for the fastest route to Times Square.

New York is known for its convenient transportation, but it’s pure chaos on Death-Cast Eve. Especially in Manhattan. I could’ve taken the 6 and transferred to some shuttle, but that trip was estimating one hour. I couldn’t find any buses going downtown, so I figured my best bet was getting in another taxi. I started walking in the general direction, hailing down cars like I’ve seen so many NYC characters do in movies, but I must’ve been doing it wrong because no one stopped. Then halfway there—much like going up the stairs of my newly realized walk-up—I accepted the only way to my destination was to embrace the journey.

That’s what I’ve been doing, and don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to experience the subway, but I would’ve been denied all this sightseeing if I were underground. I walked down Fifth Avenue, passing the entrance to the Central Park Zoo, seeing the famous Plaza Hotel, and Rockefeller Center, where I’ll absolutely be visiting in December to see that massive Christmas tree. It’s been really exciting to glimpse so many iconic buildings in real life, but also lonely. I’m looking forward to experiencing all of this with Scarlett and all the new friends we’ll make along the way. I’m sure I’ll see things differently.

Perspective is everything. When I’m modeling, I am who I am, but how I appear depends on who’s behind the camera. Some photographers will find my strong and flattering angles. Others won’t. Which shots I personally prefer ultimately depends on my perspective. But perspectives shift over time too—years, months, weeks, days, hours, even minutes. Earlier today—though I guess technically tonight, as I jumped time zones—I was sure that nothing could be more beautiful than being on that plane and watching New York come into focus. I was wrong. Nothing is more beautiful than my first glimpse of Times Square.

In the sky, everything below looks like a world for insects.

On the streets, I’m the insect.

The buildings are towering, and I find myself leaning my head back like when I’m modeling because I love the pop of my Adam’s apple and the stretch of my long neck. But this angle isn’t to make me look good right now. It’s to appreciate the beauty around me.

I stopped taking pictures blocks ago because these cell phone cameras aren’t doing the city justice. Scarlett will arrive in the morning, and we can use her real camera to document our new lives. For now, I’m remaining present.

That first step into Times Square is overwhelming, admittedly, because there’s so much life happening from every corner. Someone tries selling me bootleg DVDs of movies that are still in theaters. Shops and restaurants are so closely packed together that I wouldn’t even know where to start. I record a quick video of the Death-Cast hourglasses on the mega screen for Scarlett, though we’ll probably find better-quality footage on YouTube later. I get distracted by these two men shoving each other, one arguing to settle their debts in cash before the world begins ending tomorrow; he’s one of those people. I can’t believe I escaped all those conspiracy theorists back home to immediately find one in Times Square, but that’s the beauty of this city, right? New York is this nexus for everyone in the world. Including Arizonan models wanting to take their life to the next level, dreaming of their faces on these billboards for all to see.