The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(60)

That shit breaks my heart.

I try wrapping my arm around his shoulder, and he shrugs me off.

“You should stay away,” Valentino says, getting up from the ground. “Just because you can’t die today doesn’t mean I’m not poison. Everything bad is spreading around me. My heart is probably dangerous too. Orion, I don’t know, you should figure out another solution, or find another donor.”

“Fine, fuck your heart! I don’t care about that. You’re not poison or a ship that’s about to crash or whatever other analogy you’re going to spit out to scare me away. I’m your friend, Valentino, and I’m not leaving you alone on your End Day.”

He runs his hands through his hair as he inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales. He stares at the brick wall like he wants to punch it but his breaths keep his fists down at his sides. He’s unraveling, big-time, but we’re going to get through this.

“There are millions of things you can’t control,” I say as he breathes. “But you can still regain control of the ship and steer yourself—sorry, I’m going to drop this metaphor. I’m starting to really fucking feel like we’re out at sea.” I step to him, proving I’m not scared of us crashing together in the worst ways imaginable. “You can’t bring the photographer back to life or make your sister appear in an instant. That’s the kind of shit you can’t control. But there are a lot of things we can.”

Valentino’s ocean eyes look up at me. “Like what?”

“You tell me. What have you been bursting to do in New York?”

“The photo shoot was number one.”

“Then let’s do it. I’ll be your photographer.”

“The agency won’t accept that. You heard her.”

“Screw their photo shoot. We’re creating yours now. It can be an album about your life in New York.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very big album.”

“I bet there’s a lot of pictures we can take in one day.”

“Good point. Hundreds get taken during a one-hour photo shoot, even.”

“Hundreds? I was thinking like twenty, but okay. Challenge accepted.”

He wipes the last tears from his eyes and smiles. “Maybe we can photograph a lot of my firsts in the city.”

“Yes!” I’m hyped to see him getting into it; it’s like he’s coming back to life so quickly after thinking he should drop dead. “I know your super handsome face was supposed to be all over Times Square; I get that this is different now. But just because the whole damn world won’t see these pictures doesn’t mean the people in your world won’t.”

“I really love that. I can show Scarlett the pictures when she gets here.”

“I love that too—I mean, it was my idea, but I’m into it.”

Valentino is lost in thought, and I’m scared he’s going to back out. “I have one condition.”

“Anything,” I say, and I mean it.

“If you’re going to be my photographer, we need to get a really good camera. No phone pictures.”

“Done deal. One really good camera, coming up.”

We’re going to turn this End Day around.

Not like a fucking ship but like two boys who are determined to make every last moment count.

“Thanks for not leaving me alone, Orion.”

My eyes travel from his heart-shaped lips that I want to kiss straight to his gaze.

“I’m your friend to the end, Valentino.”





Valentino


8:38 a.m.

Nothing is open yet on my End Day.

These department stores being closed feels like another slight against me, even though I know it’s just bad timing that I’m dying on a Saturday. I don’t have the luxury of waiting until ten or eleven to buy a camera. Hopefully some businesses are planning more overnight operations for the Deckers who won’t be starting their End Days at the crack of dawn with everyone else.

“I think I found a spot,” Orion says, reading something off his phone. “It’s a pawnshop that’s open twenty-four-seven. I don’t know if they’ll have a camera, but worth checking out.”

“Is it far?” I’m already thinking about getting back on the train to see if my luck changes with the subway performers.

“Three blocks back.”

As Orion leads the way, I read all of Scarlett’s text messages that chronicle her time on the plane. She was panicking—scared that the pilot was going to fly everyone to their deaths, scared that she would be proof that Death-Cast was wrong, scared that I would be dead before we can see each other again one last time. All her words and every last typo from frantic typing burn into my brain, and I hate that she had to experience this fear. I want to apologize, as if dying is my fault; I guess it sort of will be if dying safely for the heart transplant is an option.

Scarlett won’t want me to go through with the operation.

“You’re walking straight into your grave,” she’ll say.

Then I’ll tell her, “I’m going to die anyway.”

“But what if Death-Cast is wrong?” she’ll ask.

That’s the big gamble. If I roll those dice and still die, then Orion might too.