Wendy Mae G. (2:03 a.m.): scorpius hawthorne 4 life . . . how r u doing?

Mateo T. (2:03 a.m.): Not great. I don’t want to leave my room, but I know I have to get out of here.

Wendy Mae G. (2:03 a.m.): what was the call like? were you scared?

Mateo T. (2:04 a.m.): I freaked out a little bit—a lot of bit, actually.

Wendy Mae G. (2:04 a.m.): lol. ur funny. n really cute. ur mom n dad must be losing their heads 2 rite?

Mateo T. (2:05 a.m.): I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to go now. Have a nice night, Wendy Mae.

Wendy Mae G. (2:05 a.m.): wat did i say? y do u dead guys always stop talking 2 me?

Mateo T. (2:05 a.m.): It’s no big deal, really. It’s hard for my parents to lose their heads when my mom is out of the picture and my dad is in a coma.

Wendy Mae G. (2:05 a.m.): how was i supposed 2 kno that?

Mateo T. (2:05 a.m.): It’s in my profile.

Wendy Mae G. (2:05 a.m.): fine, watevr. do u have an open house then? i’m supposed to lose my virginity to my bf but i want to practice first and maybe u can help me out.

I click out while she’s typing another message and block her for good measure. I get her insecurities, I guess, and I feel bad for her and her boyfriend if she manages to cheat on him, but I’m not some miracle worker. I receive some more messages, these with subject lines:

Subject: 420?

Kevin and Kelly. 21 years old. Male.

Bronx, New York (4 miles away).

Decker? No.

Subject: My condolences, Mateo (great name)

Philly Buiser. 24 years old. Male.

Manhattan, New York (3 miles away).

Decker? No.

Subject: u selling a couch? good condition?

J. Marc. 26 years old. Male.

Manhattan, New York (1 mile away).

Decker? No.

Subject: Dying sucks, huh?

Elle R. 20 years old. Female.

Manhattan, New York (3 miles away).

Decker? Yes.

I ignore Kevin and Kelly’s message; not interested in pot. I delete J. Marc’s message because I’m not selling the couch Dad will need again for his weekend naps. I’m going to answer Philly’s message—because it came first.

Philly B. (2:06 a.m.): Hey, Mateo. How’s it going?

Mateo T. (2:08 a.m.): Hey, Philly. Is it too lame to say I’m hanging in there?

Philly B. (2:08 a.m.): Nah, I’m sure it’s rough. Not looking forward to the day Death-Cast calls me. Are you sick or something? Pretty young to be dying.

Mateo T. (2:09 a.m.): I’m healthy, yeah. I’m terrified of how it’s going to happen, but I’m nervous I’ll somehow disappoint myself if I don’t get out there. I definitely don’t want to stink up the apartment by dying in here.

Philly B. (2:09 a.m.): I can help with that, Mateo.

Mateo T. (2:09 a.m.): Help with what?

Philly B. (2:09 a.m.): Making sure you don’t die.

Mateo T. (2:09 a.m.): That’s not a thing anyone can promise.

Philly B. (2:10 a.m.): I can. You seem like a cool guy who doesn’t deserve to die so you should come over to my apartment. It’ll have to be a secret, though, but I have the cure to death in my pants.

I block Philly and open up Elle’s message. Maybe the third time will be the charm.

RUFUS

2:21 a.m.

Aimee gets in my face and pushes me against the fridge. She doesn’t play when it comes to violence because her parents got real extra when they tag-team-robbed a convenience store, assaulting the owner and his twenty-year-old son. Shoving me around isn’t gonna get her locked up like them, though.

“Look at him, Rufus. What the fuck were you thinking?”

I refuse to look at Peck, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter. I already saw the damage I did when he walked in—one eye shut, a cut on his lip, spots of dried blood on his swollen forehead. Jenn Lori is right next to him, pressing ice against his forehead. I can’t look at her either, she’s so disappointed in me, End Day or not. Tagoe and Malcolm flank me, quiet too since she and Francis already gave them shit for hitting the streets with me way past bedtime to rough Peck up.

“Not feeling so brave now, right?” Peck asks.

“Shut up.” Aimee whips around, slamming her phone against the counter, startling everyone. “Don’t follow us.” She pushes open the kitchen door and Francis is not-so-casually hanging out by the staircase, trying to stay in the know but also keep back so he doesn’t have to shame or punish a Decker.

Aimee drags me into the living room by my wrist. “So, what? Death-Cast calls and so you’re free to lay into whoever the fuck you want?”

I guess Peck didn’t tell her I was beating his ass before I got the alert. “I . . .”

“What?”

“There’s no point lying. I was coming for him.”

Aimee takes a step back, like I’m some monster who might lash out at her next, which kills me.

“Look, Ames, I was freaking out. I already felt like I didn’t have a future before Death-Cast dropped that grenade in my lap. My grades have always been shit, I’m almost eighteen, I lost you, and I was wilding out because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. I felt like a straight-up nobody and Peck pretty much said the same damn thing.”

“You’re not a nobody,” Aimee says, shaking a little as she comes toward me, no longer scared. She takes my hand and we sit on the couch where she first told me she was leaving Pluto because her aunt on her mom’s side had enough dough to take her in. A minute later, she also broke up with me because she wanted a clean slate, some cheap-ass tip from her elementary school classmate—Peck. “We didn’t make sense anymore. And there’s no point lying, like you said, even on your last day.” She holds my hand while she cries, which I was doubting she’d even do because she was so pissed when she got here. “I read our love wrong, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You were there for me when I needed to act out and be angry, and you made me happy when I was tired of hating everything. Nobodies can’t make someone feel all of that.” She hugs me, resting her chin on my shoulder the same way she would relax on my chest whenever she was about to watch one of her historical documentaries.

I hold her because I don’t have anything new to say. I wanna kiss her, but I don’t need some fakeness from her. She’s mad close though, and I pull back so I can see her face because maybe one last kiss might be real for her too. She’s staring at me and I lean in—

Tagoe comes into the living room and covers his eyes. “Oh! Sorry.”

I back up. “Nah, you good.”

“We should do the funeral,” Tagoe says. “But take your time. It’s your day. Sorry, it’s not your day, it’s not like a birthday, it’s the opposite.” He twitches. “I’m gonna get everyone in here.” He steps.

“I don’t want to hog you,” Aimee says. She doesn’t let me go, not until everyone comes in.

I needed that hug. I’m looking forward to hugging the Plutos for a final Pluto Solar System group hug after the funeral.

I stay seated in the center of the couch. I’m battling my lungs for my next breath, hard-core. Malcolm sits to my left, Aimee to my right, and Tagoe at my feet. Peck keeps his distance, playing around on Aimee’s phone. I hate that he’s on her phone, but I broke his so I gotta stay shut.