Still Not Dead, page 27
I see Millie out in the stands, and even from here, I can tell she’s turning red.
“But then,” Paolo continues, “I was like, Wow, I’ve been in the world eighteen years, and I’ve never been in a love triangle, and now I get to be in one with two of my favorite people in the whole world. How awesome is that?” Only Paolo would come to this conclusion. I love him so much.
“And also,” he continues, “I was feeling two things I’d never felt before in my whole life: true love and true heartbreak. And, sure, the second feeling sucked, but it was also new. And I thought, How many other feelings are out there that I haven’t experienced? That made me really not want to die, because I want to experience them all: Sad! Happy! Jealous! Confused! Defeated! Triumphant! Disgusted! Superhorny!”
“Okay,” I say, covering the microphone. “I think they get it.” I hope footage of Paolo shouting superhorny makes the news.
“Wait, just one more,” Paolo says. I reluctantly uncover the mic. “Happy!” he shouts.
“You said that one already.”
“Oh, did I? Cool. Just wanted to make sure I got that in there.”
There are at least twenty cameras filming us now.
“I’ll add one more,” I say. “Surprised. Because ever since I didn’t die, I feel alive in a different way. I wake up every day not knowing if it might be my last. Not knowing what’s going to happen. Not knowing who’s going to piss me off or make me smile or break my heart. Not knowing what funny thing Paolo is going to say, or what annoying thing my parents are going to do, and whether that annoying thing is going to also end up being comforting, because my parents know me better than anyone else, and that’s kind of amazing.” Paolo’s nodding, in all his purple-and-red glory, like I’m saying something really deep, which is encouraging. “Not knowing if I’m going to feel really alone or really insecure or really in pain, but knowing maybe that’s okay, because the next day is a whole new opportunity to not know. To be surprised by life.”
“It’s kind of like at the end of Thelma and Louise,” Paolo says, “when they’re flying through the—”
I shake my head vigorously at him. He looks at me like, No? I shake my head. No.
The crowd is silent. It’s time to bring this home.
“Look,” I say. “The woman who gave birth to me thought it shouldn’t be mandatory to know your deathdate. That’s why this virus was created: to change the government’s stance on deathdates. I don’t really want to spend my life fighting that battle, but I think she had a point. It seems like you should get to choose. Because, I have to say, there’s something surprisingly awesome about not knowing.”
“Yeah,” Paolo says, “here’s your chance! This virus thing is totally contagious, if anybody wants some!”
I laugh. But the audience doesn’t. It occurs to me that this is actually something we can offer. “Wait,” I say. “I mean, seriously, if anybody does want to erase their deathdate, the virus transfers through saliva, so all you have to do is kiss Paolo. Or, you know, share a bottle of water with him.”
Shocked murmurs ripple through the crowd.
“I would choose kissing,” Paolo says.
“Maybe your deathdate is coming up,” I say, gaining confidence with every word. “Getting this virus means you might live past that deathdate. Or, well, you might die even sooner. So you’re taking a risk. But, in a way, your mind will be free from worry because every day could be your last.”
“I’ll do it,” a voice says.
Paolo and I see freckly Danica Riegel, Paolo’s most recent crush pre-Millie, standing up from the sea of purple graduates.
“Whoa, really?” Paolo says.
She walks down the aisle toward the podium, a look of determination on her face.
“Dani, no!” a voice shouts from the bleachers. It’s a freckly woman, waving her arms frantically. Must be Danica’s mom. “Please, think about this first! This is very dangerous!”
“Am I seriously gonna kiss her right now in front of everybody?” Paolo whispers off-mic.
“I have no idea,” I say. “Maybe?”
Danica arrives at the podium and gives us hugs. “I’m so glad you’re both alive,” she says.
“You know it, girl,” Paolo says.
“Thanks, Danica,” I say. “So, you sure you want to do this?”
“I mean,” she says into the mic. “I just…I think about it all the time. The day I’m going to die. And I don’t want it taking up all that room in my head, affecting every decision I make, you know? So, yeah, I’m sure. If you are, Paolo.”
He nods and shrugs. They move their mouths toward each other, then away, then toward each other again. It’s awkward, and I’m thinking we’ve made a terrible mistake when suddenly Paolo and Danica are making out in front of everybody. It ramps up bizarrely fast from a small, chaste kiss into full-on tonguing, and I get the sense everyone’s as shocked as me. But then some sitcom-style oooooohs turn into raucous shouts and applause. And Paolo and Danica are still making out.
Finally, they pull apart. They’re both dazed, smiling at each other.
“Okay, then,” I say into the microphone. “Well, that happened.”
People cheer louder, and I see Lucinda Delgado coming down the aisle to go next. I can’t even believe it, another one of Paolo’s crushes. It occurs to me that maybe Paolo’s had a crush on everybody.
“Anybody else that wants to be undated, feel free to get in line,” I say. “Happy graduation. Have a great life and death, everybody!” I’m backing away from the mic, and I’m wishing we had brought candy to throw. I can’t help but want to end on even more of an up note. “HALF-PRICE BAGELS!” I shout. I throw a hand in the air, and the crowd goes nuts, which I realize is also because Danica has turned purple with red dots.
Even though there’s more ceremony left, one of the seniors gets overexcited and throws his cap into the air. A few others follow, and soon everyone’s hurling up their graduation caps.
Principal Barisch pushes Paolo and me aside to get on the microphone. “It’s too early for that,” she says. “Please, don’t throw your hats up yet! We still have to hear from our valedictorian, Lindsay Feldstein. Please.” But it’s no use. Even the high school marching band gets confused, breaking into a rousing number that I quickly realize is “Don’t You Forget About Me” from The Breakfast Club. I turn to Paolo, like, Did you tell them to play that? and he gives me one of his trademark eyebrow flicks, like, Who else, baby?
I stare out into the crowd, and my dad holds up his phone and gives me a thumbs-up. Something uncoils within me.
It’s done.
Even if my dad messes up the upload, one of the thirty news cameras definitely got that on tape. And who wouldn’t run the footage of that kiss? We’re safe.
I give my dad a thumbs-up back, and I think about all the things I still want to ask him, all the conversations I want to have in the very near future.
My stepmom has been standing by my side this whole time, and now she pulls me in close, wrapping her arms around me. “I love you,” she says. I try to say it back, but it doesn’t make it past the lump in my throat.
“You did good, Denton,” Paolo’s mom says, tears in her eyes, too.
Meanwhile, Paolo is making out with Lucinda, and a line has formed. It includes three girls from our grade, two dudes (including Danny Delfino), and Ms. Donatella, the drama teacher.
I look back into the sea of purple robes, and without even meaning to, I catch the eye of my ex-girlfriend Taryn. I’m thinking maybe she’s going to look pissed, but she doesn’t. Her eyes twinkle, like, I can’t believe this. I smile back, like, Me neither. She’s holding hands with Rick Jackson, that football player who I’m sort of friends with, the guy who saved me at prom. It somehow makes sense.
Danica and Lucinda are both purple now, and they’re making out with other people and turning them purple, too. It’s chaos.
In the bleachers, I see Veronica, in a gray T-shirt that has a hole in one sleeve, talking animatedly to Mrs. Lucevich, the high school art teacher. I’m too far away to hear what she’s saying, but I know how it sounds: that unique combination of sarcasm and passion and intelligence that I’ve been captivated by since I was seven. I don’t think she’ll be my girlfriend anytime soon, which sucks. I do hope I know her until the day I die, though.
I feel a tap on my shoulder, and it’s Millie, wearing the same adorable purple-and-yellow dress she wore to prom.
“Aloha,” she says.
“Hey,” I say.
“I think that was a success. Though what’s happening right now is pretty much insane.”
The sea of purple people in purple robes is growing wider. Danny Delfino and Andy Stetler are making out next to us. Danny is purple; Andy’s splotch is forming before our eyes.
“I agree,” I say. I like standing next to her. I can’t see anything happening with us, because I don’t think I could ever do that to Paolo, but considering he’s behind us, furiously making out with yet another girl, who really knows?
“Fog would be proud,” Millie says, giving me that tiny grin.
I’m about to grin back when a voice says, “Denton, hi,” and I turn to see a woman holding a microphone in my face. “I’m Daisy Douglas, with ABC News. Your story is truly amazing. Now that you’ve lived, what are you going to do next?”
It’s a good question.
At the moment, though, I’m way too overwhelmed to begin to answer it.
I mean, hopefully, I’ll go to college.
Learn a lot of things. Maybe make out with some people. Fall in love.
Get to know my parents better.
Grab a beer with Felix.
Go to fancy adult dinner parties.
Paolo comes up for air and gives me the goofiest smile. For a brief second, I get a flash of how he might look in his fifties. Less hair, same infectious grin, a man with a distinguished career as a grocery cashier, zookeeper, and red-carpet interviewer, his bookshelves proudly displaying his many porn Oscars.
And then he’s himself again. Behind him, I see several purple people frolicking across the football field.
I think about Cheryl. I wonder if seeing all this would make her happy. I wonder if she’d be proud of me.
I wonder if my heart will give out on me one day.
Or maybe I’ll be thirty-two, visiting my parents back in my hometown, when, as I’m crossing the street, Willis Ellis will, finally, collide into me with his mom’s car.
Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll be in a retirement home with my wife, lying in bed, holding her brittle hand as my eyes slowly blink closed.
I have no idea.
And there’s something liberating about that.
Terrifying, but liberating.
Maybe even a little beautiful, too.
The reporter is still holding a microphone expectantly in my face.
“I don’t really know what I’ll do next,” I say. “I guess I’m hoping to surprise myself.”
A breeze lifts my T-shirt off my chest for a second.
I could die tomorrow.
The sun warms my neck.
Or I could live for another eighty years.
My heart beats.
Or.
I could die right now.
Or now.
Or now.
Or now.
Welcome to the end of the book! I can’t tell you how much it means that you spent time on this journey. (Well, actually, I can: A LOT. It means a lot.) Thank you.
Immense thanks also to:
Nancy Siscoe, heroic editor, whose brilliant guidance shaped this book (and whose “Ha!”s continue to be so gratifying). Angela Carlino, cover designer, for killing it time and time again. All of the other fantastic people at Random House, including Mary McCue, Heather Kelly, Stephen Brown, Katherine Harrison, Jennifer Brown, Adrienne Waintraub, Laura Antonacci, Artie Bennett, Bobbie Ford, and the rest of the delightful folks in marketing, sales, and publicity.
Mollie Glick, kick-ass agent, for always having my back. Joy Fowlkes, for helping Mollie to do that. The superb folks at Foundry Literary + Media, especially Jess Regel and Richie Kern. The terrific Dana Spector at Paradigm.
Everyone who helped make the audiobooks, including director May Wuthrich, engineer Fametta Sawyer, producer Kelly Gildea, and the entire Listening Library team. All of the wonderful international publishers of Denton, including De Agostini, Piper Verlag, S&S UK, and Intrinseca.
Zack Wagman, for perpetual above-and-beyond awesomeness. Ray Muñoz, for being supportive as hell and for inspiring most people’s favorite character.
The booksellers, librarians, bloggers, and teachers who have been so enthusiastic about Denton. You blow my mind. Special shout-out to all the amazing indies out there, including (but certainly not limited to) Books of Wonder, Community Bookstore, BookCourt, and the Voracious Reader.
All of the warm, lovely, generous authors I’ve met so far, especially the Fearless 15ers. Special thanks to Isabel Quintero, Tim Federle, Becky Albertalli, Kurt Dinan, Kathryn Holmes, David Levithan, Adam Silvera, Natalia Sylvester, and Greg Andree.
Stephen Feehan (for thoughts on how deathdates would affect the life insurance industry), Tea Lounge (RIP), the Brooklyn Public Library system, Kos Kaffe, Iconis and Family, Postmark Cafe, the Gang, Mates of State, and the person who left a New York Times article about viruses on the table at the coffeeshop just when I needed it most.
My extraordinary family: Mom and Dad, Dustin and Erin, Mariel and Brett, Jenny and Larry, and Hannah and David.
Minna Rubin, who retained her loving, inquisitive, larger-than-life presence almost till her deathdate. Love you, Grandma.
Sly Rubin, for being a hilarious, inspiring human being.
And, above all, Katie Schorr, my funny, wise, beautiful, tenacious partner, who makes my writing and my life exponentially better.
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Lance Rubin, Still Not Dead
