Part 5 (1/2)
”What? You're not going to put me in your will, are you? Because you're not going to die,” I told her.
”Maybe. Maybe not. But I don't have a will. I wrote something else. And I need you to help me with it.”
”What? Do you want me to kill someone?” I asked ner vous ly.
”Alex, shut up. Although, I'll keep that in mind. No, I wrote a bucket list. And I need you to help me do it.”
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CHAPTER.
7.
”A bucket list? Like something an old man writes when he retires? Bungee jumping and s.h.i.+t?”
”Not only old men write bucket lists, Alex. And I already went bungee jumping when my family went to Acapulco.”
”So what are you talking about?”
”Stuff I want to do before I die. Not only old people die, you know.”
”I'm thoroughly aware of that, thank you.” I pursed my lips at the thought that my dad, while parently old, would never have been considered an old man.
”All the more reason to do a bucket list. We have no idea how much time any of us have left, and what if we don't get to do all of the things we dreamed we'd do?”
”Big f.u.c.king deal. Then we'll be dead in a box, in the ground, not knowing any better. Actually, I'm thinking cremation and having --1 -0 -+1 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 33 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 33 4/17/13 8:57 PM.
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my ashes sprinkled on the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland. But don't tell anyone.”
”I'll take it to the grave.” Becca smirked.
”Why are we even talking about this? You are not going to die.
You are not. Going. To. Die.” I stood up and started to pace, kicking at broken pieces of frame gla.s.s along the way.
”Let's say I'm not, for the sheer joy of being not dead, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't be doing amazing things.”
”Amazing things? You want me to build a well in a third world country?” I stopped pacing long enough to give her my patented you've got to be kidding look.
”Your kindness s.h.i.+nes through your blackened exterior, Alex.” I fl ipped Becca off . ”Maybe not amazing, but we have to do what we want and not let conventional fear get in the way. Like when we were freshmen, remember when Ryan Gosling was at an appearance at a bookstore because he wrote a page or something in a book on eti- quette for teens, and you totally wanted to go ...”
”I thought we promised not to talk about that.”
”I'm playing the cancer card and bringing it back.”
”How gloriously thoughtful of you,” I drolled.
”I know, right? Anyway, you had that box with all of those pic- tures of him in the secret hole in your closet, but you refused to go see him. And you cried, remember? Because you regretted not going.”
”I did not cry.” I sat down again at the degrading memory.
”Two tears, but for you that's extreme.” I shrugged because I knew she was right. ”We should never have any regrets, not when we're dying and not when we're alive. Like Ke$ha so wisely puts it, -1- 'Let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young.' ” Becca 0- looked so determined, I couldn't fault her for quoting Ke$ha.
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”Does this mean you want me to write a bucket list, and we'll drop out of school together and travel the world pursuing our sick and twisted fantasies and then drive off a cliff holding hands?”
”Take it down a notch, Alex. Your bucket list can wait. I'm the one dying here.”
”I'll only help you if you stop f.u.c.king saying that.”