This is Not the End

by Chandler Baker

  “Too bad about the lifeguard stand,” Penny says. Even in uniform she looks different from all the other girls in the class. She has an armful of gold, purple, and ruby bangles that jingle when she talks and there’s an infinity symbol drawn in black marker on the back of her hand.

  “Whatever.” Peng shrugs and sinks lower in his seat.

  Penny gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “Just wanted to say hi. We’ll catch you later.” She spins. Her ponytail is so long that it brushes between her shoulder blades.

  “If you ever decide to stop being a vegetarian, Penny, I’ve got some meat right here in my pants for you,” Harrison says.

  “Vegan, Harry,” she says without turning back around. “And thanks, I believe you’ve just committed me for life.”

  Harrison snarls and hunches over his notebook, and for the rest of the class neither one of the boys bothers me at all. After we’ve made a list of all the reasons resurrecteds should also be entitled to a resurrection choice, I pack my bag and check my schedule for the next class. I pack quickly, but when I finish, Penny has already vanished from the classroom. In the past, I haven’t done much talking to boys other than Matt. At least not in person. Instant messaging is its own thing.

  But Will is still putting his things neatly in his bag, so I decide to stand awkwardly close to him while waiting several seconds too long to say something. When he looks at me I stammer out, “Thanks.”

  He grins. His smile is friendly but not quite as warm as Penny’s. “I’d apologize for all men everywhere, but honestly, I’m not sure those two have evolved past Neanderthal.”

  “Yeah.” I shift my weight on my feet. “I’m not quite sure what all that was about, but I appreciate it.”

  He glances at the skateboard, which is tucked back under my arm, and then he’s right back to eye contact. A nice change from where Harrison and Peng had been training their stares. “Don’t worry about it,” Will says. “Penny”—he shakes his head good-naturedly—“she just can’t resist a charitable undertaking.”

  My mouth opens but no sound comes out. I don’t know what to say to that. Was I—am I a charity case?

  But if Will meant it as an insult, it doesn’t show in his body language. He extends his hand out to me and, still mute, I take it. Then we shake like we’re two businesspeople meeting at the office. “See you around, Lake.”

  And all I can think is, I hope that happens soon.

  My appointment ends promptly on the hour when Dr. McKenna scribbles something on a pink prescription slip and passes it across the desk. I look up and see the second hand hitting the five. Not even a minute over.

  Still, I emerge from the small offices of Garretson, Smith & McKenna, PhD, LPC, CRC, like a bat from a cave, half blinded from the sun. When my eyes adjust, the first thing I notice is the hunched-over figure of Ringo sitting on the curb. His checkered shirt is stretched tightly across his back and his fingers toy with the laces on his shoes.

  I hover, unsure whether to stop or pass by. Only, it’s not like I have anything else to do. I’m both best-friendless and boyfriendless. It’s amazing how quickly a fatal car crash can clear a girl’s schedule.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. My shadow crosses over his feet.

  He turns to peer up at me and I can see only the side of his face that’s unmarred by the birthmark. It’s then that I’m struck by how handsome it is. Smooth skin. Dark eyebrows. Nothing like the kid I remember from elementary school. Or maybe I’m just so desperately lonely that I am seeing him as handsome in order to fill a Will Bryan–size space in my heart. Honestly, the human mind can be a total warp. “I thought you were waiting for your appointment?”

  “Well,” he says. “My appointment was over two hours ago.”

  “Two hours ago?” I glance back at the glass door, where our reflections are distorted. “But—then what are you doing now?”

  “Now, I’m waiting. Something I’m very good at.” He leans back and gently rests his elbows on the sidewalk behind him. He closes his eyes and tilts his head up toward the sky. “Behold. One of my many talents.”

  I try not to stare at the birthmark, but with his eyes closed, I find myself lingering over it like I’m snooping through someone’s belongings. “For how long?” I turn my bulky, plastered arm over and scratch underneath the padding.

  “For however long it takes my ride to decide to come get me.”

  I shift my weight, wondering if I should have passed by after all. The heat has begun to snake up around my ankles again. A real scorcher. “You’re older than sixteen,” I say.

  He opens one eye, squinting up at me, and I quickly glance away from the mark on his face. “Nineteen.”

  “Then how come you don’t drive?”

  “Oh, I do. I just don’t have anything to drive in. And I’ve found that’s an important part of the equation.” He shuts both eyes again, and his hair falls away from his forehead.

  I stand awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. My car is one of only a few in the lot. “Do you…I don’t know…want a ride?” I ask.

  He pushes himself upright and dusts off his elbows, which are now red and dimpled from the pavement. “You’re going to give me a ride?”

  I wince. I’m guessing I didn’t talk to him much back in our third-grade class. I shrug. “I’m offering. Yeah.”

  He thinks for a second and then heaves himself onto his feet. “Okay, then. Sure, that’d be great. I’ll just text my ride and tell them not to come.”

  I’m still not sure whether he ever really had a ride as I lead him to my car and unlock the doors. The inside of the cabin is stuffy with the kind of heat that could kill a dog left inside it in under an hour. When I turn on the air conditioner, it blasts us with a desert wind that only dries the sweat without cooling anything off.

  “Um, so…” I drum the steering wheel. “Where to, Ringo?” I buckle my seatbelt and wait to make sure that he does the same.

  “Southshores. Do you know the neighborhood? Right near the Conch Burger and the old boatyard.”

  I nod. Our town’s not exactly large. We have two big high schools and my private one and a whole bunch of tourists.

  He settles his head back on the headrest and lets out a long, charged breath.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  I feel my neck tense the way it does when I have to speak to Matt. Why had I agreed to drive Ringo clear across town? As if I don’t have enough on my plate already, this is hardly the time for charity projects. I blame Penny for this. Or maybe it’s Will. All I know is that before them, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to talk to anyone. I pull out onto the main road and, at the first stoplight, begin chewing on my thumbnail.

  “You can’t just breathe like that and then tell me it’s nothing,” I say at last.

  “I can’t breathe?”

  “No.” My glance flits sideways. “I said you can’t breathe like that.”

  He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Okay, then. Your car, your rules.” He starts taking short, shallow breaths like he’s beginning to hyperventilate. I snap my chin in his direction, feeling my eyes bug.

  “Jesus, are you all right?”

  “Is this a better way to breathe? I want…” He continues to heave. “To make sure…my breathing…is pleasing…to you.”

  I relax. If I knew him better, if he’d been Will, I would have punched him in the arm. But I feel the corners of my mouth inch upward. “Is this always how you make a first impression?”

  “Ah, but you’re forgetting. It’s not a first impression.”

  It sure feels like one, I want to say. But instead I say, “You know what I mean.”

  “It depends, then,” he says, thoughtfully. “What kind of impression do you have?”

  “One of a smart-ass.”

  “Then no. Mostly people just notice my face.”

  I stare straight out the windshield, not sure of how to respond. So I decide to say something noncommittal
, which turns out to be “Oh?” I think it sounds stupid.

  “You did too. Notice my face. First, I mean. Back in elementary. Now. It’s okay, though. Everybody does.”

  “That’s not—”

  “It is.” He cuts me short. “It’s just a birthmark. In case you were wondering. No real tragedy behind it.” He puts air quotes around the word tragedy and I wonder what that’s supposed to mean. Like, does he think it should be considered a tragedy? “I was born a healthy eight-pound, six-ounce baby boy. No crippling diseases. Ten fingers, ten toes. I just happened to have this big blotch around my eye, so…” He trails off as if I should know how to finish that sentence. “No need for it to be the ugly elephant in the room or the car or wherever.”

  I actually do relax and feel a tiny bit less fearful to look at him for longer than a split second. Ringo is so completely changed from when I first met him. If therapy is to thank for his newfound confidence, then Dr. McKenna must be one hell of a good therapist.

  I adjust the dial on the air-conditioning. The knots in my shoulders unwind. “It’s not ugly,” I say. “It’s unique. My mom once told me”—I smile at the memory of my mom when she used to be more my mom and not just Matt’s—“that birthmarks are what’s left over from angel kisses.”

  And I hope this sounds like a compliment, but worry that what it actually sounds like is a motivational poster that would be taped up in a school nurse’s office. Worse, when my eyes accidentally flit over to his face, all I can see is the marred skin.

  He rolls his eyes. “Great, guess an angel decided to make out with my face then.”

  “I only meant—”

  “I’m kidding. Chill.”

  The untouched side of his face is invisible to me. Light catches the blue iris of his eye, turning it glassy and translucent. The curve of his skin from nose to lip forms a small, perfect ski slope. His profile is much more boyish than Will’s square-jawed, salt-sprayed surfer look. In the moment that I’m caught staring, I feel a pool of sadness rise and take shape: that his birthmark had to destroy something so lovely.

  My cheeks flush with warmth. What a mean thought to have. Jesus, what’s wrong with me?

  I settle back into my seat. “How long have you been seeing Dr. McKenna?” I ask, changing the subject to shared ground.

  “About a year.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Wow, you must be really messed up.” But I allow a crack to split my voice so that he knows I’m joking.

  He laughs. “I wouldn’t throw stones in glass houses.”

  There’s a long pause that I don’t know how to fill. We’re cutting through our town’s main drag now. Through a wall of condominiums I can catch glimpses of the ocean. The water looks more green than blue today and not at all gray. There are virtually no whitecaps dancing along the surface. The ocean, I’ve found, has moods. Today it’s turned calm. Serene. And I wonder if it’s doing that to mock me.

  Ringo breaks the silence for me. “So…cut the crap. Who are you going to pick?”

  I lose the patches of ocean as the balconies of the cheap, non-sea-facing rooms take their place, building after building. Mostly unoccupied this time of year. The summer is the off-season. June through September are too swelteringly hot. It’ll be another few months until the northerners flock to our city for the winter.

  “Your boyfriend, right?” Ringo jumps in again. “You’re just going through this whole therapy shtick so that it looks like you actually considered your best friend?”

  A lump grows in my throat. “No.”

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he says. “I respect it. Go through the motions. Pretend like your best friend actually has a shot at resurrection. But let’s face it. You’re a seventeen-year-old girl with a boyfriend. You’ve probably been practicing your signature with your first name and his last since before you had your first date.” He pauses and glances over and I feel the heat spread all the way up to my hairline.

  “That’s so not true.” Except that a part of what he said echoes the feelings that have already been parading through my chest for the past twenty-four hours. I love Will. How could I not bring him back?

  My mind conjures an image of the cowlick on the right side of his forehead and how he hated the way I licked my palm and tried to flatten it down.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ringo says triumphantly.

  And now I’m stuck with him, traveling inside a sixteen-square-foot box, and I’m really, truly starting to loathe my big mouth. “Can we please talk about something else?”

  “Sure,” Ringo replies a little flatly. Only he doesn’t volunteer a change of topic and neither do I.

  Instead, he eventually begins to hum and I’m tempted to turn on the radio to make him stop, if that wouldn’t seem overtly rude.

  I sigh. “What’s that?”

  The melody stops. “What’s what?”

  “That song that you’re humming. What is it?”

  He hums another bar. The melody isn’t familiar. I’m not much of a music buff, though. My selections are basically limited to what plays on the radio.

  “Oh, that?” He hums a little louder. “‘Across the Universe.’” I furrow my eyebrows. “Seriously?” he asks. “The Beatles.” I scratch my temple. “You don’t know who the Beatles are?”

  “I know who they are! Well, I’ve heard of them, anyway.”

  Ringo shakes his head. “Tragic.”

  I cock my head, annoyed. “Okay, so what? We don’t share a taste in music. Knock that off the topic of conversation list.”

  “As though the Beatles are a matter of taste.”

  The condominiums have become too thick and they now hide the ocean completely. Patches of sand creep up through the parking lots, though, and skirt the blacktop.

  I’ve only looked away for a second, but when I glance back at the road in front of me, my eyes catch silver. A dark windshield. A Lexus emblem. My whole body goes rigid. The silver barrels toward us on the opposite side of the median. The borders of my vision creep inward, narrowing my focus. I feel my teeth begin to chatter. Then my breaths begin catching painfully in my chest, as if they’re rubbing up against a nail.

  “Lake?” The voice is distant.

  It’s replaced with the sound of crunching metal. Glass that explodes and rains down like glitter. I know that I’m screaming. Blond hair streaks in front of me. I want to reach for it. To pull it back. But my seatbelt strangles me.

  I feel myself wrenched sideways. The steering wheel is stripped from my hand.

  “Brakes! Hit the brakes!” The voice smashes through the grate of twisting steel. My eyes fly open and my heart comes to a full stop for one single moment. I slam my foot into the brake.

  I lurch forward. My hands stop my forehead from hitting the steering wheel. My car jerks short and I’m slammed back into the headrest. My heartbeat has resumed and it’s now thundering in my chest like hooves in the Kentucky Derby. I stare up at the rustling fronds of a palm tree, inches from the front emblem on my car.

  “What…” Ringo pants beside me. His hand slips from the steering wheel. “Was…that?”

  “I—” I blink, bewildered by the easy sound of traffic behind us. “I’m sorry,” I stammer, open the car door and stumble out. “I just have to—I have to get out of here.”

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  I kick off my shoes and begin following the narrow path of sand to where I know it will broaden. I trace the smell of the ocean, let the salt fill my lungs. When I hear the other door slam, I don’t look back. I cut between two white condos and the sea comes into view.

  Walking on thick sand is more challenging than any other kind of walking. My feet start going more sideways than forward and I’m forced to concentrate, to engage my thighs and my torso muscles to continue pressing onward at the same pace. When I’m firmly on the beach, halfway between the condominiums and the ocean, I give up and plop onto the sand. It’s hot and I bury my feet up to the ankles and wrap my arm
s around my knees.

  Tears run over my lips, mixing with the salt already starting to gather on my skin from where the wind has touched it. A few minutes later, I feel grains of sand being kicked up nearby and look up to find Ringo beside me.

  “I thought I was okay.” I sniffle. “I hadn’t expected—”

  He sits quietly, still wearing his sneakers. His knees fall to the side and he swirls his finger in the diamond-shaped window of beach between his legs, drawing spiral after spiral.

  “It was a silver Lexus,” I offer. “The car that Penny hit. It was a silver Lexus and we hit it and then they were both dead.” I drop my chin and shake my head. Something about the way I phrased this feels final. Like the period at the end of a sentence at the end of a paragraph at the end of a page at the end of a novel. And when I reach the end, I feel as though my insides have been turned upside down and emptied out. “I don’t know. I guess when I saw that car on the road coming toward us, I just sort of…lost it.” The driver of the Lexus died too, I’d later found out. Her daughter was in the backseat. The little girl survived.

  “Hmmm.” Ringo murmurs. He’s sitting on my right side, which means that when I look over, all I can see is the red blotch blighting that side of his face. The skin looks so damaged, it hurts me to look at.

  I fake a laugh and wipe away the smear of tears spreading down my cheeks. “Bet you’re wishing you didn’t take that ride now, huh?” I flick sand over my toes. A shudder runs down my back and I’m able to release the final shreds of the accident memory. “You know I didn’t, like, plan to almost kill us. Sorry.”

  He shrugs. “It’s not like I had anything else on the schedule.” His voice is a little too sad, as though he’s saying that dying today wouldn’t be more traumatic than anything else that could occur on a given day. He pulls his knees back up together and lays his cheek on one to look at me. “It blows, you know.”

  “Yeah…I know.”

  “No, I mean, like it really, truly sucks. Like I’m talking the world’s largest Hoover-vac suckage. No, wait, the universe’s biggest black hole. That kind of suckitude.” He pauses. “Anyway, sometimes I think you just need someone else to recognize it too. How cosmically unfair life is.”