Pecked in the funeral

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 tagteam-

robbed a convenience store, assaulting the owner and his twenty-yearold

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.

This is my first Decker funeral, since my family didn't care about

throwing one for themselves because we all had each other and didn't need

anyone else, not coworkers or old friends. Maybe if I'd gone to others I'd

be ready for the way Jenn Lori speaks directly to me and not the other

attendees. It makes me feel vulnerable and seen, and it gets me teary eyed,

like when someone sings "Happy Birthday" to me—seriously, every year, it

never fails.

Failed.

". . . You never cried even though you had every reason to, like you

were trying to prove something. The others . . ." Jenn Lori doesn't turn to

the Plutos, not even a little. She doesn't break eye contact, like we're in a

staring contest. Respect. "They all cried, but your eyes were so sad, Rufus.

You didn't look at any of us for a couple days. I was convinced if someone

posed as me you wouldn't have known any better. Your hollowness was

heavy until you found friends, and more."

I turn and Aimee won't take her eyes off me—same sad look she gave

me when she broke up with me.

"I always felt good when you were all together," Francis says.

He's not talking about tonight, I know that. Dying sucks, I bet, but

getting locked up in prison while life keeps going on without you has gotta

be worse.

Francis keeps staring but doesn't say anything else. "We don't have all

day." He waves Malcolm over. "Your turn."

Malcolm steps to the center of the room, his hunched back to the

kitchen. He clears his throat, and it's harsh, like he's got something stuck in

his pipes, and some spit flies out of his mouth. He's always been a mess, the

kind of dude who will unintentionally embarrass you because he has bad

table manners and no filter. But he can also tutor you in algebra and keep a

secret, and that's the stuff I would talk about if I were giving his eulogy.

"You were—you are our bro, Roof. This is bullshit. Total fucking bullshit."

His head hangs low as he picks at the cuticles on his left hand. "They

should take me instead."

"Don't say that. Seriously, shut up."

"I'm serious," he says. "I know no one's living forever, but you should

live longer than others. You matter more than other people. That's life. I'm

this big nothing who can't keep a job bagging groceries, and you're—"

"Dying!" I interrupt, standing. I'm heated and I punch him mad hard in

the arm. Not saying sorry either. "I'm dying and we can't trade lives.

You're not a big nothing, but you can step your damn game up anyway."

Tagoe stands, massaging his neck, beating back a twitch. "Roof, I'll

miss you shutting us up like this. You stop me from assassinating Malcolm

whenever he eats off our plates and doesn't flush twice. I was ready to see

your damn mug until we were old." Tagoe takes off his glasses, wiping his

tears with the back of his hand, and closes it into a tight fist. He looks up,

like he's waiting for some Death piñata to drop from the ceiling. "You're

supposed to be a lifer."

No one says anything, they just cry harder. The sound of everyone

grieving me before I'm gone gives me crazy chills. I wanna console them

and stuff, but I can't snap out of my daze. I spent a lot of time feeling guilty

for living after I lost my family, but now I can't beat this weird Decker guilt

for dying, knowing I'm leaving this crew behind.

Aimee steps up to the center and we all know this is about to get mad

real. Brutal. "Is it lame to say I think I'm stuck in a nightmare? I always

thought everyone was being so dramatic when they said that: 'This feels

like a nightmare.' Like, really, that's all you feel when tragedy happens? I

don't know how I wanted them to feel, but I can say now they hit the nail

on the head. There's another cliché for you, whatever. I want to wake up.

And if I can't wake up, I want to go to sleep forever where there's a chance

I dream everything beautiful about you, like how you looked at me for me

and not because you wanted to gawk at this fuckery on my face."

Aimee touches her heart, choking on her next words. "It hurts so much,

Rufus, to think you won't be around for me to call or hug and . . ." She

stops looking at me; she's squinting at something behind me, and her hand

drops. "Did someone call the police?"

I jump out of my seat and see the flashes of red and blue in front of the

duplex. I'm in full-on panic mode that feels insanely brief and mad long,

like eight forevers. There's only one person who isn't surprised or freaking

out. I turn to Aimee and her eyes follow mine back to Peck.

"You didn't," Aimee says, charging toward him. She snatches her phone

from him.

"He assaulted me!" Peck shouts. "I don't care if he's on his way out!"

"He's not expired meat, he's another human being!" Aimee shouts back.

Holy shit. I don't know how Peck did it because he hasn't made any

calls here, but he got the cops on me at my own funeral. I hope Death-Cast

calls that bastard in the next few minutes.

"Go out the back," Tagoe says, twitches running wild.

"You have to come with me, you guys were there."

"We'll slow them down," Malcolm says. "Talk them out of it."

There's a knock on the door.

Jenn Lori points at the kitchen. "Go."

I grab my helmet, walking backward toward the kitchen, taking in all

the Plutos. My pops once said goodbyes are "the most possible impossible"

'cause you never wanna say them, but you'd be stupid not to when given

the shot. I'm getting cheated out of mine because the wrong person showed

up at my funeral.

I shake my head and run out the back, catching my breath. I rush

through the backyard we all hated because of relentless mosquitoes and

fruit flies, then hop the fence. I sneak back around to the front of the house

to see if there's a chance I can grab my bike before having to book it on my

feet. The cop car is parked outside, but both officers must be inside, maybe

even in the backyard by now if Peck snitched. I grab my bike and run with

it down the sidewalk, hopping onto the seat once I get enough momentum.

I don't know where I'm going, but I keep going.

I lived through my funeral, but I wish I was already dead.