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2:12 p.m.
I slow down as we turn in to Althea Park. Mateo’s hands slip off my shoulders and my bike is immediately lighter. I brake. I turn to see if he’s broken his face or busted his head open despite the helmet, but he’s jogging toward me and a smile cracks on his face; he’s all good. “Did you jump off?”
“I did!” Mateo takes off the helmet.
“You didn’t want me riding the bike, and now you’re going ahead and throwing yourself off one?”
“I was in the moment.”
I wanna take full credit, but he’s had this in him all along, always wanting to do someth
ing exciting, just being too scared to go out and do it.
“You feeling better?” Mateo asks.
“A little,” I admit. I get off the bike. I limp toward the deserted playground as some college-age-looking dudes play handball in a nearby court, splashing in the puddles as they chase after the ball whenever someone misses. My basketball shorts are damp and dirty from the cemetery, same for Mateo’s jeans, so the wet bench doesn’t bother us when we sit. “I hate that we were there for that.”
“I know. You never want to see someone die, even if you never knew them.”
“It pulled me out of my bullshit zone. My whole I’m-ready-for-whatever-is-gonna-hit-us thing is bullshit, and I’m scared shitless. We could legit die in the next thirty seconds from rogue bullets or something, and I hate that. Whenever I get into this freaking-out headspace, I end up here. Never fails.”
“But good times brought you here, too,” he says. “Like finishing your first marathon.” He takes a deep breath. “And having your first kiss with some girl.”
“Yeah.” That kiss bothers him, huh. I guess my gut was right. I stay shut for a solid stretch of time, only staring at squirrels climbing trees and birds chasing each other on foot. “Have you ever played Gladiator?”
“I know the game,” he says.
“Good. Have you ever played?”
“I’ve seen others play.”
“So no.”
“No.”
I stand, pull Mateo by his wrists, and lead him to the monkey bars. “I challenge you to a Gladiator match.”
“I can’t refuse, can I?”
“Definitely not.”
“We just survived an explosion.”
“What’s a little more pain?”
Jungle gym Gladiator isn’t crazy like an age-old coliseum match, but I’ve seen schoolmates get hurt before. Hell, I’m the reason some of them got hurt. Two players—gladiators—swing from the monkey bars into each other to try and knock their opponent down. It’s the most barbaric childhood game, mad fun. We’re both fairly tall, so we could just tiptoe and grab hold of the monkey bars, but I mini-hop and lift myself up, like I’m doing pull-ups. Mateo hops and takes hold but has zero upper-body strength, so he falls back on his feet ten seconds later. He jumps again and holds himself up this time. I count down from three as we swing toward each other, closing the small distance between us. I kick at him and he swerves to the side, almost falling. I lift my legs higher, throwing my legs around his midriff. He tries breaking out of my grapple as I rattle him, but no dice. My hands are kind of aching, so when he lets go, laughing, I fall with him onto the mat. I bang against the mat, shocks chasing each other around my body, but the pain doesn’t kill me. We’re side by side with each other, laughing while we massage our aching elbows and legs. Our backs are wetter and we keep slipping while trying to get up. Idiots. Mateo gets it together and helps me up.
“I won, right?” I say.
“I think it’s a tie,” he says.
“Rematch?”
“I’m good. I’m pretty sure I saw my life flash before my eyes when we were falling.”
I smile. “Let me get real with you, Mateo.” I say his name a lot, even though I’m obviously talking to him, because it’s just cool, seriously—Mateo. “Past few months have been brutal. My life always felt over even without the alert. There were days I believed I could prove Death-Cast wrong and ride my bike into the river. But on top of being scared now, I’m pissed off because there’s so much I’ll never get to have. Time . . . other stuff, like—”
“You’re not going to off yourself today, right?” Mateo asks.
