Page 48

12:00 p.m.

Twelve hours ago I tried making today my End Day. Now I’m waking up to my first Begin Day.

I turn off my alarm, which has been going off every ten minutes for the past hour. I’m still groggy, and my phone’s brightness

is hurting my eyes but lights me up inside when I read a message from Alano: To beginnings , he texted at 5:02 a.m. I’m tempted to reply with an entire text block of smiley faces, but I play it cool. To beginnings ? , I text.

As I begin my day, I’m still surprised that I’m alive. I wasn’t supposed to sleep here last night or make my bed this morning

or open my curtains to bask in the sunlight. I’m supposed to be dead at the bottom of the Hollywood Sign; I wonder if my body

would’ve been discovered yet.

The moment I open my bedroom door, Mom calls me into the living room, where she’s on the couch with Rolando, watching the

news.

“Morning,” I say.

“It’s your morning, but our afternoon,” Mom says, sipping her herbal tea.

“Then good afternoon,” I correct with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Still nauseous, but at least we know why.” Mom rests a hand on her stomach.

I’m gonna be alive one day to feel the baby kicking. To hold the baby when they’re born. To look after them as they grow up.

And everything else that leads up to the new kid becoming an old-but-younger-than-me adult at my bedside when I die at a hundred.

“Glo and I were wondering something,” Rolando says seriously. He’s definitely about to ask what I was doing out so late. “What

is the point of an alarm if you are going to ignore it for an hour?”

I laugh, not even just laughing it off, but actually laugh. “I just needed more time to get it together,” I say.

“Are you okay?” Mom asks. It’s funny how she’s more suspicious of me when I’m kinda happy versus when I’m performing happiness.

I tell the truth. “I’m good.”

“Were you up late?”

Here’s where I can fully lie about being home all night and bingeing some new show, but I wanna tell the truth—some version

of the truth, at least. I just can’t open up about my suicide attempt without causing a panic. “I was hanging out with someone

last night.”

Rolando turns away from a commercial about a new lawn mower. “Who?”

I’m torn between whether I should say, but I can’t help myself, it’s like saying his name is a serotonin rush. “Alano Rosa.”

They’re both quiet. It’s funny watching them process this.

Mom’s eyes widen. “Alano Rosa? You were hanging out with Alano Rosa? H-h-how? Why?”

This is where I gotta get creative. “We met online,” I lie.

“Online? Like a dating app?” Mom asks.

I’ve been out to her and Rolando forever, but apart from a couple crushes during freshman year, I haven’t really had a chance

to talk about any real prospects. “We were just hanging out, but he’s only in town for a few days, so we’re seeing each other

again tonight.”

I can’t wait. I already wanna fast-forward through this entire day.

“His father is a piece of work,” Rolando says, looking like he wants to spit on the floor. “Alano have a better head on his

shoulders?”

“Yeah,” I say, while thinking about Alano’s beautiful head—his long lashes that try but thankfully fail to hide his striking

green eye and brown eye, his thick brows that fan out in the inner corners, his bow-shaped lips that form the most breathtaking

smile, and his brain that knows everything, including how to save someone who is seconds away from killing himself. And then

I think about the body his head is resting on.

“ito?” Mom calls me back.

I apologize through a smile.

“You’re old enough to make your own choices, but I still wish you’d told us you were leaving the house that late.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Did you have a fun time?”

“Rough start, but we got somewhere good.”

“What did you do?”

Then, a news report comes on that might answer that question for me. The anchorwoman is speaking about Present-Time’s break-in

last night. Panic swallows my happiness like a black hole. I should distract from the news, but I’m frozen. My focus has only

led to Rolando increasing the volume, and they’re about to clearly hear my and Alano’s names.

A grainy picture of the Death Guarder attacking a grandfather clock appears alongside the anchorwoman.

“The suspect can be seen wearing a skull mask, identical to the ones worn by many violent offenders on the first End Day.

A brick with ‘Death-Cast Is Unnatural’ was found on the crime scene, which police have collected for their investigation.

Death-Cast has issued a statement cautioning everyone to be extra mindful around Decker-friendly businesses, especially after

the Death Guard attack on Alano Rosa in New York two nights ago. The Present-Time shopkeeper, Margaret Hunt, says no one was

harmed last night, but most of her property has sadly been damaged.”

I’m relieved that Alano’s name has come up only as a past incident and not because we were in the shop when this all went down, but Present-Time might still bite us in the ass. Me especially. If there’s footage of the Death Guarder, there will be some of us too. Including me with my gun. And what about the presents I was preparing for my family? Are they still being sent here? I never even got to pay for the gifts. Maybe they got destroyed. I don’t know, but if I go in person, the shopkeeper is gonna swear I’m a ghost.

“.” Rolando snaps his fingers. “You okay?”

There’s no hiding my panic behind some fake smile, they’ll see through me. “Scary times.”

“How is Alano?” Mom asks.

I’m thrown off at first, but she’s only asking about the assassination attempt. The problem is we spent so much time talking

about me that I realize I don’t know that much about him. It makes me feel stupid or even straight-up wrong over everything

I’m feeling for him, like it’s nothing but physical attraction or my BPD warping my sense of reality.

“He’s fine, just bandaged up,” I say. I remind myself that I signed his arm bandage to seal a promise that I would keep beginning,

even when it’s hard, even when I’m sinking into depressive holes like now.

“That’s good to hear he’s okay,” Mom says. She gets up from the couch.

“Mom, sit. What do you need?”

“It’s what you need.” Mom goes into her bedroom and returns with my Prozac bottle. “How are you feeling? One pill, two pills,

three pills?”

“Is that a new Dr. Seuss book?” Rolando asks.

Mom fights back her laugh. “We don’t joke about mental health.”

“Sorry, ,” Rolando says.

“Don’t be, it’s funny.”

The pills rattle around the bottle. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want any because I feel better than usual, but I wanna

be good and functioning to enjoy my time with Alano, to get to know him better without spiraling over my trauma.

“I’ll take two.”

I swallow them down with a smile.

And then I give Mom the hug I didn’t get to give her last night. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, ito.”

This Begin Day is off to a great start, but it’s only gonna get better once I see Alano.