Still Not Dead, page 7
I’m so touched. I hoped I was in Paolo’s thoughts, but this way exceeds my expectations. “Were you guys, like, spying around the clock? What about school?”
“Eff school!” Paolo says. “I’m a dead man anyway.”
“This is the first day I’m missing,” Millie says. “I was in gym class when Paolo texted that he was going to pick me up in two minutes. I told Mrs. Pinkus I was having Lady Problems and then walked out of school. It was surprisingly easy.”
“Has Veronica been around for any of this?” I ask.
“Dude,” Paolo says. “Don’t even get me started on V. She’s taken this whole our-mom-is-a-government-agent thing really hard.” Part of me is thinking/hoping that what she’s really taken hard is my absence. “I have no clue what she’s been doing all week. She’s out all day, comes home to sleep, then leaves early the next morning. I tried to do an intervention on her, but she just got pissy.”
“I told you, Paolo,” Millie says. “She’s grieving.”
“Dent didn’t even die, though!”
“Not Denton. She’s grieving for the loss of the mom she thought she knew and trying to align that with the reality of who your mom really is.”
“Damn,” Paolo says, opening his eyes wide and shaking his face back and forth, like he’s been splashed with water. “Some deep shit right there.” He leans his head back toward me. “She blows my mind all the time with crap like that.”
“I’m right here,” Millie says. “So you don’t need to talk about me in the third person.”
“I know, babe. It was just, like, a stylistic choice, you know? For humor.”
“Hmm,” Millie says.
“Where are we going right now, by the way?”
“I have no idea,” Paolo says. “I figured I’d keep driving straight until you told me to turn.”
“Oh.” I look out the window. A street sign says Seventeenth Street. “No, this is good. The numbers are going down, so that means we’re going south.” My dad taught me that on our first family trip to the city. “I don’t think they’ll expect us to do that.”
“They might,” Millie says, looking in her side mirror.
“What do you mean?” I whip my head around and see that a black car is about five cars behind us. “You sure that’s them?”
“Not entirely.”
“Damn, I’m blowing up,” Paolo says. “Mills, wanna grab my phone out of my back pocket? It’s near my butt.” He contorts his body awkwardly and lifts his pelvis in the air to make it easier for Millie, who gingerly tugs the phone out.
“It’s your mom,” Millie says.
“For reals?” Paolo asks. “Answer. Put her on speakerphone.”
“You sure?” I say, but Millie’s already done it.
“Hey, Mama,” Paolo says. “How’s things?”
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Paolo, but this is highly inappropriate,” Paolo’s mom says, her voice all speakerphoney. “And what the hell were you doing turning the wrong way on a one-way street? Trying to get yourself killed early? Almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry ’bout that. But if I remember correctly, I’m not on speaking terms with you at the moment. So I guess I’ll hang up now.”
“Wait, please!” Paolo’s mom says. “We don’t want this chase to continue. We’re drawing too much attention to ourselves. People could get hurt. It’s stupid.”
“I agree,” Paolo says. “We’re totally in favor of you not chasing us.”
“Is Denton there?”
“Hey, Cynthia,” I say.
“Hi, Denton. I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea about us. We’re really on your side. Would you please tell your friend to pull over so you can come with us and end this craziness?”
“Um…I don’t think so, Cynthia,” I say.
She sighs. “Well, okay, then. But you know we’re going to catch up to you. We’ve got more cars on the way.”
“I may have more cool tricks up my sleeve, though,” Paolo says. “Get you guys off our tail.”
“Seriously, please don’t do anything like that again, Pow,” his mom says. “I don’t think you understand. Nothing you do will shake us. We will always know where you guys are, okay?”
And something about the way she says it flips a switch in my brain. We can’t stay in Danza anymore. We need to get out of this car as soon as we can.
“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, you work for the government, you know all, we got it,” Paolo says. “You can hang up, Milltown.” She does, just as Paolo’s mom is starting to say something else. “You know, I love my mom,” he says, “but she’s really pissing me off right now. And it’s so weird to feel pissed at her! Because she’s always been the best mom! But now she’s being the worst mom. It is confusing to me.”
Millie pats his shoulder.
“Thanks, babe.” The car suddenly revs forward, gaining speed as Paolo blasts through a light just as it’s turning red. “I’m not gonna let her get us, Dent. Don’t worry.”
“I appreciate that, Pow, but I actually think we need to get out of Danza.”
“No offense, Denter, but now is no time to be worrying about me driving your precious car.”
“It’s not that. I think as long as we’re in the car, they know exactly where we are. Your mom must have put some kind of tracking device in it, probably way before my deathdate. Probably the first day I got the car.” I shiver as I consider all of the different ways and times Paolo’s mom may have been spying on me while I was completely oblivious.
“Whoa, don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid, bro-bro?” Paolo asks.
“Pow! Your mom was spying on me the whole time I knew you!”
“A good point,” Paolo says, looking into his rearview mirror. “Man, they’re gaining on us. I’m not good at fast driving.”
“I am,” Millie says.
“Seriously?” Paolo says, looking over to her. “Why have you never mentioned that?”
“It never came up.”
“You should be driving right now! Not me!”
“Okay, look,” I say. “Whoever’s driving, I think we have to find a way to lose the black car, get out of sight, and then—as much as I hate to say it—ditch Danza.” Damn, I don’t want to have to say bye to this car again.
“Dude, why would we do that? A car is faster than walking.”
“Oh, is it?” I say. “Guess I hadn’t thought of that. Never mind, then.”
“Wow, this past week must have really shaken you up, man. Because that is a very basic fac—”
“I know a car is faster than walking!” I shout. “We need to get out of the car so your mom won’t be able to find us. Remember the tracking device we discussed thirty seconds ago?”
“Ah, yeah, now I do, now that you reminded me,” Paolo says, completely earnest. Our car stops at a light, and he turns to Millie. “So let’s switch,” he says.
“Okay,” Millie says.
“You’re doing this right now?” I ask as they enter into a minute-long negotiation of limbs and torsos—Millie’s skirt at one point getting stuck underneath Paolo’s leg—which ends with them having traded seats. The whole time, I’m wildly looking back, half expecting Paolo’s mom to get out of her car while we’re stopped and try to get into Danza with us. But just as Millie settles herself and clicks her seat belt in, the light turns green.
“Do you mind if I turn this on?” she asks, gesturing to the radio.
“Uh, yeah, go for it, babe,” Paolo says.
“Thanks.” The radio comes on, and Millie turns the knob all the way up. Beyoncé reverberates throughout the car. “I drive better with music,” she shouts.
We rocket forward, and, holy shit, Millie wasn’t kidding around: she is good at driving. We’re weaving, passing car after car, making last-second turns onto streets, and somehow avoiding having to stop at a single traffic light. Paolo looks back to me, like, What the hell is happening? I just shrug as I grip on to the armrest for dear life.
“Where’d you learn to drive like this?” Paolo asks.
“I’m not sure,” Millie says. “Mario Kart, maybe.” She looks up to the rearview mirror. “Dent, where do we want to end up?”
“Um, well, don’t worry about that, because you’re not driving us there. We have to ditch the car, remember?”
“No, I’m asking so I know which subway line to drive us to.”
“Oh, gotcha,” I say. Millie knows the subway system? “Um, well, I was thinking maybe we could go back to Jersey first, so if we could get to Penn—”
“Back to Jersey?” Paolo interrupts. “You crazy, boy?”
“I think it might be nice to see my parents, let them know I’m okay.”
“Not happening, dude,” Paolo says as his body gets propelled toward the car window by one of Millie’s turns. “My mom has so many agents staked out around your house, it’s not even funny. There’s no way you’d be able to get inside. I’m sorry, dude.”
“All right,” I say, feeling my heart pulse with disappointment.
“Let’s catch whatever train will take us far, far away,” Paolo says. “Why the eff not, right? We can get polka-dot sacks to hang on sticks! Hobo it up on freight trains across this glorious country!”
“I could be down to hobo it up,” Millie says.
“Okay, that does sound beautiful,” I say, “but—”
“Yo, bro,” Paolo says. “Not to be obnoxious, but perhaps my input should get priority, what with me dying in two and a half weeks and everything.”
“I totally agree, Pow, but about that…I learned some things, and I’m thinking maybe since I spread the virus to you, it might make you live through your deathdate, too.”
“Wha?” Paolo says, turning around in his seat to face me, his mouth agape. “Are you for serious?”
“It’s just a theory at this point,” I say. “But maybe.”
“Holy poop machine,” Paolo says. “I mean, the thought did occur to me, but I assumed it was just wistful thinking.” I decide not to ruin this poignant moment by correcting him. “Who told you this stuff? Have you been staying with that cool Brian dude?”
“No, actually. I’ve, um, been staying at this safe house with, uh, my mom.”
“What. The. Hell.” Paolo looks over at Millie in disbelief. “You were in Jersey this whole time? Just hiding in your own house? That’s bonkers! How’d you get to the city?”
“No,” I say. “I haven’t been in Jersey. I was talking about my actual, biological mother. You know, the one who died giving birth to me? Yeah, turns out she didn’t actually die. She’s totally alive.”
“Cómosaywhatnow?”
“That is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said,” Millie says, zipping us past two slower cars.
“You’re not messing with us?” Paolo asks. “Your mom is alive?”
I nod.
“Holy crapoly mustard sundae with Polly-O string cheese on top, this shit keeps climbing notches on the Paolo Diaz scale of mindblowery! What’s she like?”
“Um,” I say. “She’s…interesting.”
“MILF…?” he asks.
“I’m not going to answer that,” I say. “But that’s why we can’t hobo it up. She might know how to save your life, Pow.”
“Well, when you put it like that…,” Paolo says. “No hobo!”
“Where is the safe house?” Millie asks, all business.
“I don’t remember exactly. I think Fifty-Third Street near, like, Eighth or Ninth Avenue?”
“So, Hell’s Kitchen?”
I have no idea what that means. “Yeah, maybe?”
“All right, I’ve come up with a plan,” Millie says. “We’re gonna leave Danza at the corner of Canal and Varick, and hop onto the A-C-E line to get back to this safe house you speak of.”
“There’s another notch,” Paolo says.
“Sounds amazing, Millie, thanks,” I say. “But, uh, how do you even, uh—”
“My dad’s office is in the city. I’m here a lot. Oh, there they are.”
I turn back, and the black car has made its triumphant return. No matter how fast we’re going, they always know where we are and always catch up.
“Not to worry,” Millie says.
A police siren cuts through the air.
“Oh shit, is that for us?” I say.
“Probably,” Millie says. “I’m going really fast.”
Sure enough, there’s a cop car with its lights on several blocks back. “Dammit, there’s always cops!”
“You sound like a criminal when you say that,” Paolo says.
“We can’t not stop for the cops, can we?”
“We’ll be fine,” Millie says. “As long as we jump out of the car immediately after we get to the subway.”
“But they can trace this car back to us,” I say.
“Not to us, just to you,” Millie says, wiping at the steering wheel with her sleeve. “A dead teenager. They’ll assume the car was stolen. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
Wow, Millie is beyond impressive today. I’m sort of in awe and also astounded that I never knew about this side of her. And to think, if I’d died, I never would have found out.
“We’re almost there,” Millie says. Suddenly the car is slowing down, and the subway entrance is right outside my window. “Okay, let’s go!”
“Now? Ah, that was too quick!” I shout, frantically trying to open my door. “Goodbye again, Danza! You’re amazing!”
“I agree!” Paolo shouts, flinging himself out of my car. Millie is somehow already waiting at the top of the subway stairs for us.
“Stop right there,” a voice says through a megaphone.
But the three of us are already hurtling, nearly tumbling, down the steps into the station. “This seems like a terrible idea,” I say.
“I think I have a stitch in my side,” Paolo says. “Can we take a breather?”
“We just started running!” I say.
“I know—it’s the kind of stitch that you get when you start exercising without stretching. Ahhhh.”
“We can’t stop for a breather, dude. We’re being chased by, like, fifteen different people.” We reach the entryway to the uptown train platform. It’s not your normal turnstile; it’s a giant turning cage. “Where do we pay to get on the train?”
“Don’t worry,” Millie says. “I’ll swipe you guys in.”
“Where did you get that?” Paolo says.
She shrugs and slides the yellow card in her hand through the entryway-swipe thing, and one at a time, we go through the slow-moving spindle. There’s a gradually building roar as we go down more steps, and just as we set foot on the platform, a train comes barreling into the station.
“Paolo! Denton!” Paolo’s mom shouts from the upper level of the station. “Do not get on that train!”
“She’s persistent,” Paolo says. “Gotta love her for that.”
“How long is this train?” I ask, watching car after car pass us.
After what feels like hours but is probably closer to ten seconds, the train finally stops. Its doors open, and we cram onto a fairly crowded car. We try to move deeper in, but there’s a large, bearded man with two dogs blocking our path. Instead, we stand by the open doors, feeling insanely vulnerable. I just want the train to take us away from here.
Paolo’s mom has made it through the turnstile and is racing down the steps toward the train. My heart rate accelerates. This is where it ends, I guess. “Come on, let’s move!” I shout to no one in particular, trying to will the doors shut.
Maybe my plea worked or maybe it’s just a coincidence, but there’s a ding and a pre-recorded voice saying, “Stand clear of the closing doors, please,” and, thank God, the doors are closing. Just in time. I exhale.
“That was close, huh?” Paolo says.
Before I can say yeah, an arm shoots through the small gap left between the doors just before they smack together and grabs on to me. Paolo’s mom stares at us through the glass.
“Ohmigod!” I shout.
“Stand clear of the closing doors, please,” the pre-recorded subway voice says again.
“Please!” Paolo’s mom says. “Get off this train and come with me!”
Paolo and Millie pull at my shoulders as the bearded man’s dogs go into a barking frenzy.
“They might open the doors for her,” Millie says. “Get ready to run.”
“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”
The bearded man has no idea what’s going on, but joins Paolo and Millie anyway in trying to save me from Paolo’s mom’s grip. He’s strong. They free me almost instantly, and Paolo’s mom’s arm slides back during the tussle, so only her hand remains between the doors. She uses her other hand to try to pry the doors open, but she’s unsuccessful and has no choice but to extract herself.
“Sorry, Mama-Lady,” Paolo says as the train dings and slowly pulls away.
She stares at us through the glass, more sad and defeated than angry. For a brief second, I wonder if maybe we’re not doing the right thing, but that thought’s quickly replaced by an overall feeling of relief. We’re actually getting away.
“Me and my mom,” Paolo says to everyone in our train car. “We got in an argument.”
But no one seems to care. Most of them are looking at their phones.
“Get in!” Dane shouts. He’s standing next to a blue CR-V and waving frantically at us from farther down Fifty-Third Street. “Quickly! Come on!”
Paolo, Millie, and I pick up our already brisk pace.
“I actually thought we could go in and talk to my mom,” I say once we’re within speaking distance.
“Your mom is not inside that apartment anymore. And never will be again.”
“What do you mean?”
“They went ahead,” Dane says, anxiously staring down the street behind us. “I stay here in case you come back. Now please! No time to talk. DIA could be here any minute.”
I look to Paolo and Millie, who are even less equipped to decide what to do than I am. “All right, I guess,” I say, getting into the front seat.
