Part 6 (1/2)
”Before you die,” I pushed.
”Well, I sure as f.u.c.k can't do them after I die.”
”Says you. What if I learn the art of taxidermy, stuff you, and take you with me everywhere I go until we complete the list?”
”You're totally going to turn that into a movie someday, aren't you?”
”Probably.”
”You can use my dead body as the dead body,” Becca volunteered.
”You'll be too busy starring as the gorgeous, living friend. Who is alive. And not dead at all.”
”Okay, good, because that's on my list.” She pointed to number 67: Star in one of Alex's movies and have it seen by actual people instead of just me and Alex. ”Sorry,” she noticed. ”My bucket list isn't very well- worded.”
”Can we stop calling it a bucket list? Again: implied death,” I noted.
--1 ”I thought it meant all the things you can fi t into a bucket to do.”
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”Um, no, I think it means all the things you can do before you kick the bucket. Which, actually, I think is an allusion to suicide, right?
Like, kicking the bucket out from under your feet while you hang.
Or maybe someone else is kicking out the bucket.”
”Yuck and gross and eeww.”
”So no more bucket. How about the f.u.c.k- It list? Like, f.u.c.k it, I might die, but let me look like an idiot doing all sorts of ridiculous things?”
”The f.u.c.k- It List. n.o.ble, but with a hint of edge to it.”
”Think they'd ever let me name a movie The f.u.c.k- It List?”
”Probably not. They'd be all, 'How about The Stuff - It List? That's how kids these days really talk, right?' ” Becca perfectly adopted a hilariously oblivious male executive's voice.
From downstairs we heard Becca's mom yell, ”Ten minutes!”
”d.a.m.n, Woman. She's probably got her stopwatch ticking.
Okay, we need to focus. I don't know how much of the list I can do by myself in a short amount of time, so I had the idea that maybe you could help me out with some things on it and I could live vicariously through you.”
I grabbed the list and skimmed through the scribbles written over every possible inch of the worn paper. ”No way in h.e.l.l am I send- ing my bra to Zac Efron.” I gagged.
”Shut up. I was like twelve when I wrote that.”
”Did you even have b.o.o.bs?”
”I had a training bra. I think SpongeBob was on it. Anyway, you don't have to do everything, but, like, here, number thirteen.” She pointed to a line written in pink pen. ”Sleep on a beach to watch the -1- sunset and sunrise. You could defi nitely manage that.”
0- ”So could you! Come on!” I prodded. It was hard for me to
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imagine Becca being so sick, or maybe not even here to do something so simple.
”Alex, humor me. Things on this list need to start getting done, so I can feel like I accomplished something just in case I do die. And don't give me that s.h.i.+t that I'll be dead so I won't know whether or not I accomplished anything because now you will know and you'll have to live with it weighing on your lightly existing conscience.”
”Geez, fi ne. No need to bring my conscience into this. I'll sleep on a beach. I'll be a regular beach b.u.m. I'll bring you back a grain of sand and everything.”
”This is serious, Alex. You can't just do it half- a.s.sed. Do every- thing like it's your last night on Earth.”
”Are you going to quote Ke$ha again? Fine. Two grains of sand.”
Becca smacked my shoulder. ”Isn't there anything on here we could take care of now? So you can do some of it?” I scanned the page. Num- bers and sentences in various colored pens and markers were strewn every which way. ”Here! I found one. Number 8: Crank call Adam Levitz.”
”That's on the list? G.o.d, I was such a douchey nine- year- old.”
Adam Levitz was a crush gone wrong in fourth grade. He invited Becca to the Fun Fair at our elementary school, but when he didn't pick her up at her house she and I went to the school in hopes of meet- ing him there. Turned out it was all a trick masterminded by Queen b.i.t.c.h Mara Radnor. Apparently, Becca hadn't gotten over it.
”It's on the list. Let's do it.” I reached for Becca's phone and punched in *67, so her number would show up as private.