The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(83)

Orion shakes my shoulders in excitement. “This is going to be epic! Okay, so they are a tough crowd, but I can hype this up as a one-time event. You game with being introduced as a Decker, maybe even as the first Decker? I want you to get all the love you deserve.”

Even if no one else pays attention, I think I’d be happy with Orion watching me walk the train. “Whatever you think is best.”

He hands me his phone. “Pick your song.”

I wanted to know what music Orion is into, and now I’m getting the chance. There’s such a range, between Linkin Park and Alicia Keys and Evanescence and Death Cab for Cutie and Carlos Santana and Celine Dion and Eve and the Pussycat Dolls. There’s so many songs by women, and it gets me thinking about my personal playlist of songs I’d listen to whenever I had the house to myself. I never really felt comfortable listening to pop music around my parents, especially if the artist was a woman. That’s how it was before and after coming out. If they were home and I wanted to listen to my favorite songs that they would disapprove of, I’d have to listen to them discreetly on my iPod; it felt like hiding my porn habits all over again. But now my parents aren’t around and I’m not stuck in my bedroom. I’m free to listen to whatever I want by whoever I want whenever I want.

There’s a song in Orion’s playlist that was also on mine: “Release Me” by Agnes. It feels appropriate.

“Attention, attention!” Orion shouts. He hops up on an empty train bench, his arm outstretched like he’s sailing on the deck of his ship—my ship. He’s been an incredible co-captain, like I thought he could be.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to dance again,” he says after a couple passengers groan as if their entire afternoons will be ruined by another interruption. “But we’ve got a really special show for you. This is Valentino Prince, and he’s not only a Decker, but he’s the very first Decker—he got his call from Joaquin Rosa!”

For the first time, everyone’s paying attention.

No one is on the phone or reading a book or talking among themselves.

Death makes people pay attention that way.

All eyes are on me.

Orion’s too. “Valentino moved to New York to be a model, but since today is his End Day, I’d love it if we could hype up Valentino as he turns this train into his first and only runway. Can we give it up for him?”

There’s instant applause, like I’m a household name everyone has been waiting to see.

Orion presses Play on the song.

All my nerves get stomped flat with my first step, and I walk my imaginary line, one leg over the other like an acrobat on a tightrope; one misstep and you can die. My arms swing and hips sway naturally as I lean back, my chest puffed out and my head held high. I stare straight ahead as the music follows me thanks to Orion. Passengers are cheering me on and taking pictures on their phones, maybe even recording. I can’t let that break my focus. Every model should have an objective, something they’re selling to those who are watching. For me, it’s making your dreams come true by any means necessary. At the end of the car, I throw open my overshirt and slide one hand in my pocket and return down the aisle, stopping to flourish my free hand at the same train pole Orion swung around. He whistles, and others join in, this song that I’ve only heard in my imagination, and it’s a dream come true to live this moment.

It doesn’t matter that I’m not walking for one of the big Fashion Weeks in New York or London or Tokyo or Paris or Milan. I’m getting to be seen by real people, people who will have seen me strut in a way that I wasn’t able to do in my own home.

As I’m making another lap down the train, I realize we’re one stop away from Times Square. Some passengers offer me condolences before stepping out as others board.

“This is your last stop to see the one and only Valentino Prince!” Orion shouts, taking pictures.

For my last act, everything is coming off.

I start removing clothes like it’s an old life to shed.

First, the overshirt gets thrown over my shoulder, until I pass Orion and give it to him.

Next, I show off the Have a Happy End Day! shirt before removing it.

Finally, I’m in nothing but jeans and boots.

Everyone is cheering, and Orion is collecting cash in his cap as the song comes to an end and we arrive at Times Square. Most of the passengers give me a standing ovation, and I blow everyone a big kiss before picking up my shirts and grabbing Orion’s hand and dragging him out of the train and onto the platform. I throw my clothes down again and pick up Orion, just like I did on the bridge, and his nails dig into my sweaty back.

We’re both laughing over how exhilarating that experience was, and then we give New Yorkers a third show with a passionate kiss that proves Orion and I aren’t strangers.

None of them know how I almost died in Times Square and how amazing it feels to be here right now.

Not only alive, but living.

“You were amazing,” Orion says. “You should, like, be a model.”

“I’m in the market for a new agent. But I got to ask: Do you believe in Death-Cast?”

“Hell no I don’t.”

“Fantastic. The job is all yours.” I wipe the sweat off my chest with my button-down before getting dressed. “You made my dream come true, Orion. Thank you for everything.”