Hope not.
I tour the living room. Not gonna front, I got myself a little nervous, like some old family-friend-turned-enemy is about to pop out because they figured the place was vulnerable with Mateo’s dad in a coma. Everything seems good. I look at Mateo’s class photos. There’s a bunch of photos of him without glasses.
“When’d you have to get glasses?” I ask.
“Fourth grade. I was only teased for about a week, so I was lucky.” Mateo stares at his senior photo, cap and gown, and it’s like he’s looking at a mirror and finding some sci-fi alternate-universe version of himself. I should capture it on camera because it’s dope, but the look on his face only makes me wanna hug him again. “I bet I disappointed my dad by signing up for online classes. He was so proud of me when I graduated, and I’m sure he was hoping I would change my mind, get off the internet, and have the typical college experience.”
“You’ll get to tell him everything you’ve done,” I say. We won’t hang around here long. It’ll mean a lot to Mateo if we see his dad again.
Mateo nods. “Follow me.”
We go down a short hall and into his room.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding from me,” I say. There are books all over the floor, like someone tried robbing the place. Mateo doesn’t seem freaked by it.
“I wasn’t hiding from you.” Mateo crouches and puts the books into piles. “I had a panic attack earlier. I don’t want my dad knowing I was scared when he comes home. I want him to believe I was brave all the way through.”
I get down on my knees and pick up a book. “Is there a system here?”
“Not anymore,” Mateo says.
We put the books back on his shelves and pick up some little trinkets off the floor.
“I don’t like the idea of you being scared either.”
“It wasn’t that bad. Don’t worry about old me.”
I look around his room. There’s an Xbox Infinity, a piano, some speakers, a map I pick up off the floor for him. I’m flattening it out with my fist, thinking about all the dope places Mateo and I have been together, when I spot a Luigi hat on the floor between his dresser and bed. I grab the hat and he grins as I put it on his head.
“There’s the guy who hit me up this morning,” I say.
“Luigi?” Mateo asks.
I laugh and pull out my phone. He doesn’t smile for the camera, he’s legit just smiling at me. I haven’t felt this good about myself since Aimee.
“Photo-shoot time. Go jump on your bed or something.”
Mateo rushes to the bed and leaps, falling face-first. He gets up and jumps and jumps, turning to the window quickly as if some freak bounce accident will launch him out there like a catapult.
I don’t stop taking photos of this awesome, unrecognizable Mateo.
MATEO
7:34 p.m.
I’m out of character and Rufus is loving it. I’m loving it too.
I stop bouncing and stay seated at the edge of the bed, trying to catch my breath. Rufus sits beside me and grabs my hand. “I’m going to sing something for you,” I say. I don’t want to let go of his hand but I promise myself I’ll put both of mine to good use.
I sit in front of my keyboard. “Get ready. This is a once-in-a-lifetime performance.” I look over my shoulder. “Feeling special yet?”
Rufus fakes being unimpressed. “I’m feeling okay. A little tired, actually.”
“Well, wake up and feel special. My dad used to sing this for my mother, though his voice is much better than mine.”
I play the keys for Elton John’s “Your Song” with a pounding heart, though my face isn’t as hot as it was back at Clint’s Graveyard. I’m not kidding when I tell Rufus to feel special. I’m off-key and I don’t care because of him.
I sing about a man making potions in a traveling show, how my gift is my song, sitting on the roof, keeping the sun turned on, the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen, and so much more. I turn during a quick break and catch Rufus filming me on his phone. I smile his way. He comes over and kisses me on my forehead while I sing with him by my side: “I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words . . . how wonderful life is now you’re in the world. . . .”
I finish and Rufus’s smile is a victory. He’s tearing up. “You were hiding from me, Mateo. I always wanted to stumble into someone like you and it sucks that I had to find you through a stupid app.”
“I like the Last Friend app,” I say. I get his sentiment, but I wouldn’t change how I met Rufus. “There I was, looking for some company, and I found you and you found me, and we chose to meet up because of gut instinct. What would’ve been the alternative? I can’t guarantee I would’ve ever left here, or that our paths would’ve crossed. Not with one day left. It would make for a great story, yeah, but I think the app puts you out there more than anything else. For me, it meant admitting I was lonely and wanted to connect with someone. I just wasn’t counting on what I have with you.”
“You’re right, Mateo Torrez.”
“It happens every now and again, Rufus Emeterio.” It’s the first time I’ve said his last name out loud and I hope I’ve pronounced it right.
I go to the kitchen and return with some snacks. It’s childish, but we play house. I smear peanut butter on crackers for him—after confirming he’s not allergic—and serve them with a glass of iced tea. “How was your day, Rufus?”
“The best,” he says.
“Me too,” I say.
Rufus pats the edge of the bed. “Get over here.” I sit down beside him and we get comfortable, linking our arms and legs together. We talk more about our histories, like how whenever he was acting out his parents would force him to sit in the middle of the room with them, kind of like how my dad would tell me to go take a shower and calm down. He tells me about Olivia and I tell him about Lidia.
Until it stops being about the past.
“This is our safe space, our little island.” Rufus traces an invisible circle around us. “We aren’t moving from here. We can’t die if we don’t move. You got me?”
“Maybe we’ll smother each other to death,” I say.
“Better that than whatever the hell is off our island.”
I take a deep breath. “But if for some reason this plan doesn’t work, we need to promise to find each other in the afterlife. There has to be an afterlife, Roof, because it’s the only thing that makes dying this young fair.”
Rufus nods. “I will make it so easy for you to find me. Neon signs. Marching bands.”
“Good, because I might not have my glasses,” I say. “Not sure if they’ll ascend with me.”
“You’re positive about a movie theater in the afterlife but not if you’ll have your glasses? Seems like an oversight in your heavenly blueprint.” Rufus removes my glasses and puts them on. “Wow. Your eyes suck.”
“You taking my glasses isn’t helping my case here.” My vision is hazy and I can only make out his skin tone, but none of his features. “I bet you look stupid.”