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I look down at where my seahorse tattoo should be.
In the future, Rufus is a travel blogger and I’m an architect. We have tattoos we got together. We’ve gone to so many concerts he can’t keep them straight in his head. I almost wish we weren’t so creative in this moment, because these fake memories of friendship feel incredible. Imagine that—reliving something you never lived.
“We have to leave our mark,” I say, getting up from my seat.
“We going outside to piss on fire hydrants?”
I put the blind-date book on the seat. “I don’t know who will find this. But isn’t it cool knowing someone will if we leave it here?”
“It’s true. This is prime seating,” Rufus says, getting up from the bench.
The train stops and the doors open. There has to be more to life tha
n imagining a future for yourself. I can’t just wish for the future; I have to take risks to create it.
“There’s something I really want to do,” I say.
“We out,” Rufus says, smiling.
We get off the train before the doors close, almost bumping into two girls, and we take off out of the subway.
ZOE LANDON
2:57 p.m.
Death-Cast called Zoe Landon at 12:34 a.m. to tell her she’s going to die today. Zoe was lonely, having only moved to New York eight days ago to begin classes at NYU today. She’s barely unpacked her boxes, let alone made friends yet. But thankfully the Last Friend app was one click away. Her first message went to this boy Mateo, but he never responded. Maybe he died. Maybe he ignored her message. Maybe he found a Last Friend.
Like Zoe ultimately did.
Zoe and Gabriella get on the train right before the doors close, dodging two boys to do so. They rush to the bench in the corner, halting when they see a paper-wrapped object sitting there. Rectangular. Every time Zoe enters the subway, there are all these signs encouraging her to say something if she sees something—she’s seeing something.
“This is bad,” Zoe says. “You should get off at the next stop.”
Gabriella, fearless because she didn’t receive the alert today, picks up the object.
Zoe flinches.
“It’s a book,” Gabriella says. “Ooh! It’s a surprise book!” She sits and eyes the illustration of a fleeing criminal. “I love this art.”
Zoe sits next to her. She thinks the drawing is cute but respects Gabriella’s opinion.
“It’s my turn to tell you a secret,” Gabriella says. “If you want.”
Zoe shared all her secrets today with Gabriella. All the secrets she made her childhood best friends pinkie swear to never tell another soul. All the heartbreaking ones she always kept to herself because speaking up was too hard. Together, the two have laughed and cried, as if they’ve been best friends their entire lives. “Your secret dies with me,” Zoe says. She doesn’t laugh and neither does Gabriella, but she squeezes her hand to let her know she’s going to be okay. A promise based on nothing but a gut instinct. Screw evidence of the afterlife.
“It’s not a huge secret, but I’m Batman . . . of the Manhattan graffiti world,” Gabriella says.
“Aw, you had me really excited, Batman . . . of the Manhattan graffiti world,” Zoe says.
“I specialize in graffiti pushing Last Friends. In some places I’ll draw with marker, like on menus and train posters, but my true love is graffiti. I’ve done tags for the Last Friends I’ve met. Anywhere I can. In the past week, I’ve covered walls with the cute silhouettes from the app by McDonald’s, two hospitals, and a soup spot. I hope everyone uses it.” Gabriella taps her fingers against the book. At first look, Zoe thought the colors around her nails was a polish job gone terribly wrong, but she knows the truth now. “Anyway. I love art and I will tag a mailbox or something with your name.”
“Maybe somewhere on the Broadway strip? I won’t ever have my name in lights, but it’ll be there,” Zoe says. She pictures her request now. Her heart is full and empty at the thought.
Passengers look up from their newspapers and phone games and stare at Zoe. Indifference on one’s face, pity on another’s. Pure sadness from a black woman with this gorgeous afro. “Sorry to lose you,” the woman says.
“Thank you,” Zoe says.
The woman returns to her phone.
