Part 7 (1/2)

41.

105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 41 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 41 4/17/13 8:57 PM.

4/17/13 8:57 PM.

”Yes, we should, and we will.” Becca worked herself out of the bed and wrapped her arms around me. That did it. My hard candy sh.e.l.l melted into a puddle of chocolate in her arms. ”I always knew you were a softy.”

”Careful what you say. I've got a s.h.i.+v in my pocket.” I sniff ed.

”I love you, Alex. You and your s.h.i.+v.”

”Love you, too, Becca. Even if I have to sleep on a beach to prove it.”

”I hope you get sand in your undies,” Becca whispered in my ear.

-1- 0-

1-

42.

105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 42 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 42 4/17/13 8:57 PM.

4/17/13 8:57 PM.

CHAPTER.

8.

When I parked my dad's car in our empty garage, I knew I'd be home alone. But I didn't want to be. A note on the kitchen table read, ”The boys have soccer. Be home by 8. Pizza in the freezer. Hope you had a good fi rst day. Love you, Mom.” The thought crossed my mind to actually watch my brothers' soccer game, but that momentary lapse of sport dementia quickly pa.s.sed. I could've studied Becca's list, started my game plan, created a schedule. But maybe I didn't want to think about it, about anything. Instead, I opted for a pint of Cherry Garcia and a viewing of my comfort fi lm Dead Alive. Most people know Peter Jackson as the director of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit, and rightly so because they're brilliant. I would argue even more brilliant is his fi rst, and fi nest, fi lm about a man in New Zealand whose mom gets bitten by a plague- infested monkey at the zoo. As a result, she turns into a festering, hungry horndog along with other not- so- upstanding members of town, and her son does his --1 best to take care of them. Possibly one of the goriest fi lms ever made, -0 -+1 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 43 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 43 4/17/13 8:57 PM.

4/17/13 8:57 PM.

there is even a sweet love story, a hilarious running zombie baby, and a priest who yells, ”I kick a.s.s for the lord!” Could there be anything better?

As much ice cream as I consumed from the too- tiny pint, and as mind- bogglingly sublime as Dead Alive was, I couldn't kick Becca out of my head. What was she doing at that moment? Was there any way to stop her from remembering that she had cancer? Was it com- pletely unfair that I was using food and fi lm to try to forget? How could I let myself forget when she had no choice?

I stirred the last of the ice cream into a nice soup, then tipped the cup back and chugged it. I had to get out of my quiet house. With the f.u.c.k- It List folded in my back pocket, I got into my car.

I found some extreme metal on my MP3 player, someone scream- ing punis.h.i.+ngly into my ears. I felt I deserved it, that here I was in my dad's car, alive when he was dead, healthy when my best friend had cancer. Who was I to be alive? Who decided? I cranked the music even louder to drown my thoughts. Admittedly, my head hurt, but I enjoyed the annoyed looks from the people pulled up next to me at stoplights. What did they know? Their lives were probably so simple.

I glared at the back of a bald man's head in the car in front of me. You deserve to be bald, b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Becca does not.

My car led me to the parking lot of my old elementary school, Irving. The same school Becca and I attended together, where our friends.h.i.+p grew. Maybe if I sat there long enough, time would move backward and none of this cancer stuff would exist. Maybe even my dad would still be here. I closed my eyes and let the music consume me. My lips pursed tightly, willing my eyes not to cry.

-1- BAM!.

0- A loud pound on the gla.s.s shocked my eyes open, and I squinted

1-

4 4.

105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 44 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 44 4/17/13 8:57 PM.

4/17/13 8:57 PM.

at a fi gure hovering around my car window. The glare of the sun made him diffi cult to see, but I knew that military jacket from one too many hallway stares at Leo Dietz. He tried speaking to me, his straight lips moving but the sound drowned by my music. I switched off the ignition, and he tried again.

”Rough day?” he asked, as he leaned slightly into my window.

”Why would you ask that? Do I look like s.h.i.+t or something?” I don't know why I said that, except that I was worried I did look like s.h.i.+t. Then I felt guilty for worrying about how I looked when Becca was awaiting her fate. I wondered if I'd ever have a guiltless thought again.

”Nah. You don't look like s.h.i.+t. I only listen to Lamb of G.o.d when I hate someone. Or myself.” That's when I noticed a basketball tucked under his arm.

”You play basketball?” I asked with a hint of disgust in my voice.

There was nothing less appealing to me than an a.s.s- smacking mem- ber of a high school sports team.

”If you mean I know how to manipulate a basketball, then yes.

But I'm not on a team or anything.” His jacket smelled stale of cigarettes.

”Well, that's good. 'Cause I was about to ask you to leave if you said yes.”

He smiled at me, a smile I'd never been that close to. His teeth weren't perfect. They weren't snaggletooth or stained, but his canine teeth stuck out a little farther than his front two. I chuckled to myself at the notion of him being a vampire, something Becca and I would have had a fi eld day with.