They Both Die at the End (Death-Cast #1)(62)

“You good?” Rufus asks.

“Nervous and excited. Mainly nervous.”

“Regret making me jump off a cliff yet?”

“Do you regret jumping?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

“Are you gonna have fun in there?”

“No pressure,” I say. There’s a difference between jumping off a cliff and having fun. Once you jump off a cliff, there’s no undoing it, there’s no stopping midair. But having the kind of fun that seems daring and embarrassing in front of strangers requires a special bravery.

“There’s no pressure,” Rufus says. “Just our last few hours left on this planet to die without any regrets. Again, no pressure.”

No regrets. He’s right.

My friends stand behind me as I pull open the door and walk into a world where I immediately regret not having spent every minute possible. There are strobe lights, flashing blues, yellows, and grays. The graffiti on the walls was marked by Deckers and their friends, sometimes the last piece of themselves the Deckers have left behind, something that immortalizes them. No matter when it happens, we all have our endings. No one goes on, but what we leave behind keeps us alive for someone else. And I look at this crowded room of people, Deckers and friends, and they are all living.

A hand closes on mine, and it’s not the same one that grabbed mine less than an hour ago; this hand carries history. The hand I held when my goddaughter was born, and the many mornings and evenings after Christian died. Traveling that world-within-a-world with Lidia was incredible, and having her here in this moment, a moment I couldn’t buy, makes me happy despite every reason to be down. Rufus comes up beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“The floor is yours,” Rufus says. “The stage, too, when you’re game.”

“I’m getting there,” I say. I have to get there.

Onstage there’s a teenager on crutches singing “Can’t Fight This Feeling” and, as Rufus would say, he’s absolutely killing it. There are a couple people dancing behind him—friends, strangers, who knows, who cares—and this energy elevates me. I guess I could call this energy freedom. No one will be around to judge me tomorrow. No one will send messages to friends about the lame kid who had no rhythm. And in this moment, how stupid it was to care hits me like a punch to the face.

I wasted time and missed fun because I cared about the wrong things.

“Got a song in mind?”

“Nope,” I say. There are plenty of songs I love: “Vienna” by Billy Joel; “Tomorrow, Tomorrow” by Elliott Smith. “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen is one of Dad’s favorites. All these songs have notes I have no chance of hitting, but that’s not what’s stopping me. I just want the song to be right.

The menu above the bar is illustrated with a skull and crossbones, and it’s striking to see the skull smiling. Last Day to Smile, it reads. The drinks are all alcohol-free, which makes sense since dying isn’t an excuse to sell alcohol to minors. There was a huge debate a couple years ago about whether or not Deckers eighteen and up should be allowed to purchase drinks. When lawyers presented percentages about teenagers dying from alcohol poisoning and drunk driving, it was ruled things would remain as they have been—legally. It’s still really easy to get liquor and beer, is my understanding; always has been, always will be.

“Let’s grab a drink,” I say.

We push past the crowd, strangers dancing against us as we try to clear a path. The deejay calls up a bearded guy named David to the stage. David rolls onto the stage and announces he’s singing “A Fond Farewell” by Elliott Smith; I don’t know if he’s a Decker or singing for a friend, but it’s beautiful.

We reach the bar.

I’m not in the mood for a GrapeYard Mocktail. Definitely not Death’s Spring.

Lidia orders a Terminator, this ruby-red mocktail. They serve her quickly. She takes a sip, scrunching her face like she’s eaten a handful of sour candy. “Do you want?”

“I’m good,” I say.

“I wish this had some kick to it,” Lidia says. “I can’t be sober when I lose you.”

Rufus orders a soda and I do the same.

Once we have our drinks, I raise my glass. “To smiling while we can.” We clink glasses and Lidia is biting her quivering lower lip while Rufus, like me, is smiling.

Rufus cuts through our circle and he’s so close his shoulder is pressed against mine. He talks directly into my ear since the music and cheers are so loud. “This is your night, Mateo. Seriously. You sang to your dad earlier and stopped when I came in. No one is judging you. You’re holding yourself back and you have to go for it.” That David guy finishes his song and everyone applauds, and it’s not some faint applause either; you would think there’s a rock legend performing up there.

“See? They just wanna see you having fun, living it up.”

I smile and lean in to his ear. “You have to sing with me. You choose the song.”

Rufus nods and his head leans against mine. “Okay. ‘American Pie.’ Can we make that happen?”

I love that song. “It’s happening.”

I ask Lidia to watch our drinks as Rufus and I run up to put in a request with the deejay. Before we reach the deejay, a Turkish girl named Jasmine sings “Because the Night” by Patti Smith and it’s amazing how someone so tiny can demand such attention and ignite this level of excitement. A brunette girl with a wide smile—a smile you don’t expect to find on someone dying—requests a song and steps away. I tell DJ LouOw our song and he compliments our choice. I sway a little to Jasmine’s performance, bopping my head when I feel it’s appropriate. Rufus is smiling, watching me, and I stop, embarrassed.