They Both Die at the End (Death-Cast #1)(34)

“Why?” Mateo asks.

“He said he liked tracking a person’s growth and not just physically. He’s hard on himself, but he’s smart as hell.” But for real, I kicked Malcolm in his giant knee when he first showed me that photo weeks later. Creep. “I keep my photos in black and white because my life lost color after they died.”

“And you’re living your life but not forgetting theirs?” Mateo asks.

“Exactly.”

“I thought people got on Instagram just to be on Instagram.”

I shrug. “Old school.”

“Your photos look old school,” Mateo says. He shifts, looking at me with wide eyes. He smiles at me for the first time and yo, this is not the face you see on a Decker. “You don’t need the CountDowners app, you can post everything here. You can create a hashtag or whatever, too. But I think you should post your life in color. . . . Let that be how the Plutos remember you.” The smile goes away because that’s the nature of today. “Forget it. That’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” I say. “I actually really like this. The Plutos can revisit the times I lived with them in black and white, like a cooler history book, and my End Day will have its own unfiltered contrast. Can you take a pic of me sitting here? In case it’s my last post, I want everyone to see me alive.”

Mateo smiles again, like he’s the one posing for the photo.

He gets up and points the camera my way.

I don’t pose. I just sit here with my back against the wall, in the spot where I convinced my Last Friend to keep adventuring and where he gave me the idea to add some life to my profile. I don’t even smile. I’ve never been a smiler and starting now feels off. I don’t want them to see a stranger.

“Got it,” Mateo says. He hands me the phone. “I can take another if you hate it.”

I don’t care about photo approval, I’m not that into myself. The photo is surprisingly dope though. Mateo caught me looking sad and proud all at once, like my parents looked the day Olivia graduated high school. And the front wheel of my bike makes a cameo too. “Thanks, dude.”

I upload the picture, unfiltered. I consider captioning it with #EndDay, but I don’t need fake sympathetic “oh no, R.I.P!!!!” comments or trolls telling me to “Rest in Pieces!!!!” The people who matter the most to me know.

And I hope they remember me as I was and not as the guy who punched in someone’s face earlier for no real good reason.





PATRICK “PECK” GAVIN


7:08 a.m.

Death-Cast did not call Patrick “Peck” Gavin because he’s not dying today, though he was expecting the alert before his attacker received the call himself.

He’s home now, pressing a frozen hamburger patty against his bruises. It smells, but the migraine is fading away.

Peck shouldn’t have left Aimee in the street, but she didn’t want to see him and he’s not exactly happy with her either. He used his old phone and called Aimee up, but the arguing only lasted so long before she began passing out from exhaustion, and it was so hard not to hang up on her when she said she wanted to make an effort to see Rufus again, to be with him on his End Day.

Peck used to operate by a code with people like Rufus.

A code that goes into play when someone tries to walk all over you.

Peck has a lot to sleep on. But things aren’t looking good for Rufus if he’s still around when Peck wakes up.





RUFUS


7:12 a.m.

My phone vibrates and I’m counting on it being the Plutos, but that hope gets squashed once a chime follows. Mateo checks his phone and gets the same notification—another message we both got today: Make-A-Moment location nearby: 1.2 miles.

I suck my teeth. “What the hell is this?”

“You never heard of it?” Mateo asks. “They launched last fall.”

“Nope.” I keep it moving down the block, half-listening, half-wondering why the Plutos haven’t hit me back yet.

“It’s sort of like the Make-A-Wish Foundation,” Mateo says. “But any Decker can go, it’s not just for kids. They have these low-grade virtual reality stations designed to give you the same thrills as crazy experiences like skydiving and racecar driving and other extreme risks Deckers can’t safely experience on their End Day.”

“So it’s a straight rip-off, watered-down version of the Make-A-Wish Foundation?”

“I don’t think it’s all that bad,” Mateo says.

I check my phone again to see if I’ve missed any messages. As I step off the curb Mateo’s arm bangs into my chest.

I look right. He looks right. I look left. He looks left.

There are no cars. The street is dead quiet.

“I know how to cross the street,” I say. “I’ve sort of been walking my entire life.”

“You were on your phone,” Mateo says.

“I knew no cars were coming,” I say. Crossing the street is pretty instinctive at this point. If there are no cars, you go. If there are cars coming toward you, you don’t go—or you go really quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Mateo says. “I want this day to last.”

He’s on edge, I know. But he needs to step off at some point.