Pluto

Rufus

1:18 a.m.

We're riding to Pluto in the dead of night.

"Pluto" is the name we came up with for the foster home we're all

staying at since our families died or turned their backs on us. Pluto got

demoted from planet to dwarf planet, but we'd never treat each other as

something lesser.

It's been four months that I've been without my people, but Tagoe and

Malcolm have been getting cozy with each other a lot longer. Malcolm's

parents died in a house fire caused by some unidentified arsonist, and

whoever it was, Malcolm hopes he's burning in hell for taking away his

parents when he was a thirteen-year-old troublemaker no one else wanted

except the system, and barely even them. Tagoe's mom bounced when he

was a kid, and his pops ran off three years ago when he couldn't keep up

with the bills. A month later Tagoe found out his pops had committed

suicide, and homeboy still hasn't shed a tear over the guy, never even asked

how or where he died.

Even before I found out I was dying, I knew home, Pluto, wasn't gonna

be home for me much longer. My eighteenth birthday is coming up—same

for Tagoe and Malcolm, who both hit eighteen in November. I was college

bound like Tagoe, and we'd figured Malcolm would crash with us as he gets

his shit together. Who knows what's what now, and I hate that I already

have an out to these problems. But right now, all that matters is we're still

together. I got Malcolm and Tagoe by my side, like they've been from day

one when I got to the home. Whether it was for family time or bitching

sessions, they were always at my left and right.

I wasn't planning on stopping, but I pull over when I see the church I

came to a month after the big accident—my first weekend out with Aimee.

The building is massive, with off-white bricks and maroon steeples. I'd love

to take a picture of the stained-glass windows, but the flash might not catch

it right. Doesn't matter anyway. If a picture is Instagram worthy, I slap on

the Moon filter for that classic black-and-white effect. The real problem is I

don't think a photo of a church taken by my nonbelieving ass is the best last

thing to leave behind for my seventy followers. (Hashtag not happening.)

"What's good, Roof?"

"This is the church where Aimee played piano for me," I say. Aimee is

pretty Catholic, but she wasn't pushing any of that on me. We'd been

talking about music, and I mentioned digging some of the classical stuff

Olivia used to put on when she was studying, and Aimee wanted me to hear

it live—and she wanted to be the one who played it for me. "I have to tell

her I got the alert."

Tagoe twitches. I'm sure he's itching to remind me that Aimee said she

needs space from me, but those kinds of requests get tossed out the window

on End Days.

I climb off the bike, throwing down the kickstand. I don't go far from

them, just closer to the entrance right as a priest is escorting a crying

woman out the church. She's knocking her rings together, topaz, I think,

like the kind my mom once pawned when she wanted to buy Olivia concert

tickets for her thirteenth birthday. This woman has gotta be a Decker, or

know one. The graveyard shift here is no joke. Malcolm and Tagoe are

always mocking the churches that shun Death-Cast and their "unholy

visions from Satan," but it's dope how some nuns and priests keep busy

way past midnight for Deckers trying to repent, get baptized, and all that

good stuff.

If there's a God guy out there like my mom believed, I hope he's got my

back right now.

I call Aimee. It rings six times before going to voice mail. I call again

and it's the same thing. I try again, and it only rings three times before

going to voice mail. She's ignoring me.

I type out a text: Death-Cast called me. Maybe you can too.

Nah, I can't be a dick and send that.

I correct myself: Death-Cast called me. Can you call me back?

My phone goes off before a minute can pass, a regular ring and not that

heart-stopping Death-Cast alert. It's Aimee.

"Hey."

"Are you serious?" Aimee asks.

If I weren't serious, she'd certainly kill me for crying wolf. Tagoe once

played that game for attention and Aimee shut that down real fast.

"Yeah. I gotta see you."

"Where are you?" There's no edge to her, and she's not trying to hang

up on me like she has on recent calls.

"I'm by the church you took me to, actually," I say. It's mad peaceful,

like I could stay here all day and make it to tomorrow. "I'm with Malcolm

and Tagoe."

"Why aren't you at Pluto? What are you guys doing out on a Monday

night?"

I need more time before answering this. Maybe another eighty years,

but I don't have that and I don't wanna man up to it right now. "We're

headed back to Pluto now. Can you meet us there?"

"What? No. Stay at the church and I'll come to you."

"I'm not dying before I can make it back to you, trust—"

"You're not invincible, dumbass!" Aimee is crying now, and her voice

is shaking like that time we got caught in the rain without jackets. "Ugh,

god, I'm sorry, but you know how many Deckers make those promises and

then pianos fall on their heads?"

"I'm gonna guess not many," I say. "Death by piano doesn't seem like a

high probability."

"This is not funny, Rufus. I'm getting dressed, do not move. I'll be

thirty minutes, tops."

I hope she's gonna be able to forgive me for everything, tonight

included. I'll get to her before Peck can, and I'll tell my side. I'm sure Peck

is gonna go home, clean himself up, and call Aimee off his brother's phone

to tell her what a monster I am. He better not call the cops though, or I'll be

spending my End Day behind bars, or maybe find myself on the wrong end

of some officer's club. I don't wanna think about any of that, I just wanna

get to Aimee and say goodbye to the Plutos as the friend they know I am,

not the monster I was tonight.

"Meet me at home. Just . . . get to me. Bye, Aimee."

I hang up before she can protest. I get my bike, climbing on it as she

calls nonstop.

"What's the plan?" Malcolm asks.

"We're going back to Pluto," I tell them. "You guys are gonna throw me

a funeral."

I check the time: 1:30.

There's still time for the other Plutos to get the alert. I'm not wishing it

on them, but maybe I won't have to die alone.

Or maybe that's how it has to be.