Page 50

4:12 p.m.

Later, when Alano asks how my first Begin Day has been, I’m gonna make him so proud.

First, I treated myself with a lot of love, even when I got undressed to shower and felt bad that my body didn’t look like

Alano’s. I took a nice cool shower, never switching to the hot water that I use to burn myself. I cleansed and moisturized

my face and lotioned myself from neck to toe. I applied petroleum jelly to the scars on my thighs to help them heal. I made

a quinoa salad with toasted tofu and veggies. And when I was done caring for myself, the house was next. I not only cleaned

my room, I mowed the backyard so Mom can have her garden again. I thought it would give her some peace during her pregnancy

so she can read outside or plant seeds for more flowers that can grow with her. Last night the idea of tending to a mental

garden felt exhausting, but there I was, getting my ass kicked by the very real sun for a very real garden that made my mom

cry very real happy tears.

While Mom and Rolando are enjoying their iced teas in the backyard, I call Present-Time to tell Margie to cancel my order

since I never died and am trying not to anytime soon, but the call goes straight to voice mail:

“Hi, you’ve reached Present-Time on Hollywood Boulevard. The shop will be closed for the next few days as we undergo repairs after tragic vandalism. For local Present-Time needs, please visit our locations in Malibu and Los Feliz. Thank you.”

The call drops, so I can’t even leave a message.

I’m exhausted after all that work and sun, so I lie down in my bed, itching to text Alano again, maybe send him a selfie so

he can send one back until we see each other, but I’m trying to play it cool. That doesn’t mean I can’t go look at his face

online.

I go on Instagram and find his verified profile—@AlanoRosa—and even though he has only thirty posts, he has 3.4 million followers.

There are Scorpius Hawthorne cast members who were in all eight movies and don’t even have half of Alano’s following. I scroll

through his most recent posts: Alano inside a museum gift shop while holding a print of a sunflower field painted by Van Gogh

(caption: Plant something. Paint something. Create something. Just make it say something. ); Alano’s shadow interlocked with two others (caption: A.A.R.: Alano + Ariana + Rio ); and Alano holding a beautiful rust-orange memorial urn at Urn Your Keep, a pottery studio and spiritual experience where

those choosing cremation can craft the final resting place for their ashes (caption: Knowing I’ll live on in my own art after my End Day made this a true labor of love. EDITED TO ADD: Today is not my End Day!

I decided to be proactive. I’m sorry to those I alarmed. ). I scroll through more posts, aching to ask Alano what it was like skydiving in Dubai and how he even heard about climbing frozen waterfalls because that’s news to me and why he risked his life or at least limbs to swim with sharks.

Before I can go any further, I exit out of his profile. I don’t wanna learn about Alano from @AlanoRosa. I want him to tell

me about his life himself.

I can’t hold off from texting him any longer:

What time do we begin tonight? ?