“You guys can’t sleep here.” The man’s voice is too loud. I squint up at him, confused. Sunlight sears my skull. The man has a too-tan face the color and texture of leather, with black patches of balding hair plastered to the sides of a melon-shaped head. “Can’t. Sleep. Here.” He taps on the glass. The gold chain around his neck glints in the sun. “Do you hear me? You’ve got to leave.”
I groan and push up on my elbow.
“Oof!” The thing I push up on grunts. “Watch it.”
Rubbing my head, I see that the thing I’ve been curled up on isn’t a thing at all, but a person. Ringo to be exact. He has one eye pinched closed and is using a hand to block some of the light.
I pry myself from the nook between his arm and chest, realizing as I do that it was surprisingly comfortable and I want to go back to that cozy nest because right now my brain is swelling and contracting and in grave danger of busting out of my eye sockets.
“We’re going, we’re going.” I get myself to a fully upright position and wave the man away. “Just give us a second.”
He grumbles and shakes his head at us before lumbering back toward his gas station.
I don’t think I’ve digested even an ounce of last night’s liquor, considering I can feel it all sloshing around in the pit of my stomach and at least a portion of it crawling up my throat. I take a deep breath and try to think of things other than the dumpster overflowing with beer cans and discarded cheese nachos and anything else that may make me want to hurl.
“Hi,” I say, patting my head.
Ringo has a red, splotchy imprint of the car door pressed into the unmarked side of his face. “Morning.” He stretches his neck and I can tell that his sleeping position wasn’t nearly as snug as mine, but I’m too hungover to feel bad.
“I thought the plan was to drive me home?” I try not to sound annoyed.
“It was, but by the time I took a cab and got here, you were passed out in the backseat.” I must look confused, because he adds, “I don’t know where you live.” His left cheek dimples in an apologetic smile.
“Right.” I rub my palms into my cheeks, hoping to wipe away any runny makeup. “The details got a little fuzzy last night.”
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on or am I supposed to guess?”
I spot the puddle of my drool on his shirt. “I’ll tell you,” I say. “But do you think I could have coffee first?” The headache still pounds at my temples.
Ringo lets me wait in the car while he runs into the gas station. He comes back with two extra-large cups of coffee—of questionable quality—bottles of water, and a bag full of cookies, chips, crackers, and beef jerky sticks. I take careful sips of the water and sniff at the coffee before taking a small bite of cracker. He waits, patiently.
I wipe crumbs from my face and stare into the bag of snacks. “I know you don’t want anything to do with me,” I say.
He sighs and drops his head into his hand and rubs at his temple. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” I say. “Against your will.”
He holds out his wrists. “Do you see cuffs?”
“Do you think we could take a walk? I could probably use some fresh air.”
There’s nothing scenic to look at as we stroll side by side along the shoulder of the road. “Thank you for coming to get me,” I say, watching our shadows cross into each other as we walk. “I know you’re expecting me to say I’m sorry.” I sip the coffee in my hand. Neville’s is so much better.
“It probably couldn’t hurt.”
“But I’m not really sure I can say that, at least not exactly in the way that you want me to.”
“Oh,” he says.
“What I mean is, I’m sorry for using you for my own comfort without really being there for yours. That was…crappy of me.” I let another sip of coffee burn the roof of my mouth. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought. But jerking you around wasn’t fair.”
When we’re approaching an orange road sign that marks a dead end, I sit on a curb and am pleased when he sits next to me, close enough so our shirts are touching.
“Not a bad start,” he says.
My knees are bent up high and I rest the cup on my right one. “But then there’s the next thing. And this is the hard part because I don’t want you to hate me,” I say. “But I found out something yesterday.” I take a deep breath and blow it out. It reminds me of Penny. “The accident that turned Matt into a quadriplegic. I…died in it. He brought me back. I’m resurrected.”
Ringo turns and stares at me. He stares and stares and stares. My cheeks turn pink, like his stare is the sun. “No wonder you’re so hot.”
But when I dare to look over at him, he has the same sly smile on as when I first saw him in the waiting room at Dr. McKenna’s. “Hey!” I say. “I wasn’t exactly a monster before, if I recall.”
Ringo goes serious. “This doesn’t change anything, Lake.”
Now it’s my turn to say, “Oh.” My heart pounds in my chest, something it wouldn’t be doing if it weren’t for Matt, Matt whose body gave up hours ago at the bottom of a pool. The wave of queasiness hits me hard and fast. I sway and clutch my hand to my clammy forehead.
Ringo catches my elbow. “I still think resurrections ruined my family. I still think they’re twisted. And that people are people, not gods. I still think all of that stuff.”
I listen, but as I do I pull myself up to sit taller, because I’m glad to be alive. Sure, my head is throbbing, my heart has broken a thousand times, and I’ve drowned in the ocean and in my own tears, but I’ve also made blood promises and laughed on rooftops and jumped off cliffs. In the last few weeks alone I’ve met Margaret, Simone, Kai, Vance, and Duke Ellington and become friends with Harrison Vines. “I understand that’s how you feel,” I say, trying to speak his language by borrowing from Dr. McKenna. “When I first found out yesterday, I hated myself. I didn’t want it to be true. Especially not after visiting the commune. I was sure I had changed and that there was something fundamental about me that made Will love Penny, Matt hate me, and you want to have nothing to do with me.” I train my eyes on the ground to say that last part. “But, I don’t know, I’ve been resurrected for five years now, and the more I think about it the more I think it’s people’s reactions to being resurrected that can change a person. Your mom’s. Coyote Blue’s. Mine even. I know it’s hard to extract one from the other. Impossible for most people probably but—”
“But…I don’t wish you were dead.” Ringo wraps his fingers around my hand. I don’t dare breathe. “At all.” He holds up a finger to keep me from talking. “And, well, if I don’t wish you were dead, then that means that I must be grateful to Matt.”
“Matt’s dead,” I say. “He had a death party last night and he’s dead.” My extremities go numb as soon as I say it. It doesn’t feel real. The only thing that feels real is the pounding in my temples.
Ringo’s head droops for an instant, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. “I get it,” he says. “You need to do what you need to do.”
“And then what?”
“And then I’ll be right here waiting.” I feel my pulse in my throat. “I mean, not right here,” he says, “but like, figuratively speaking, you get what I mean, right?” But we’re moving closer and my lips fit easily into his. And finally the kiss seems to loosen the ties to Penny and Will that had been tightening painfully around my heart for nearly a month. I’m able to breathe for the first time in days, and what I breathe in is Ringo.
“Hello?” I drop my keys on the foyer table after having dropped off Ringo. I’ve finally fully recovered from my hangover. “Hello?” There’s no answer. I turn left down the hall. I pass Matt’s room. Empty. My heart tugs, but I don’t cry. It’s real now. “Mom? Dad?” I call. I push the doors open to the study. No one’s there. “You don’t have to worry,” I shout. My voice echoes against the walls. “It’s all going to be fine now.” My new resolve doesn’t stop my nerves from sending tre
mors rippling through my hands. I’d hoped it would be easier once I’d made my decision to resurrect Matt, but it’s not. I think all I can hope for now is that this resurrection will be better for our family now that we’re all being honest about it. The world feels too empty without Matt in it.
I pick up the pace, checking rooms left and right, until soon I’m jogging through the hallways. The sound of the ocean is gentle outside. “Anybody home? Where are you guys?”
They aren’t in their bedrooms. Or on the patio. What if they were worried when I didn’t come home last night? What if they’re out looking for me? I feel a surge of guilt for putting them through more than they already have been.
It’s only when I enter the kitchen for the second time that I spot the note. I slow down. My blood thunders against my eardrums, a sense of dread building as I approach the letter cautiously.
It’s instinct that makes human beings afraid of snakes. And it’s the same impulse that leads me to fear the letter. Because I’ve already spent time dealing with the world as I believed it to be. There shouldn’t be a note lying there on the counter beside the refrigerator. There shouldn’t be. But there is.
And when I pick it up to read it, this is what it says:
Hi Lakey Loo,
Mom’s agreed to do the physical writing here, but trust me, otherwise it’s all me. Got it? Just pretend she’s not here. (Sorry, Mom—see, I actually made her write that! And this!) Okay, I’m done now. We can continue.
I think I should begin by saying, I’m not dead.
Yeah, I’ll let that soak in for a second.
A few more seconds.
Has it soaked in yet? I hope so, because I think we need to keep going. Time is of the essence, after all.
Before you think I’m speaking metaphorically in some weirdly cryptic and annoying Matt-like “joke,” I’m not. I don’t blame you for thinking it, though. But for real, I’m actually alive. I have a pulse and everything. Yes, Mom cried. Dad pretended not to cry. We’ll all meet up and talk about it soon enough. For now, I’m at an undisclosed location with both of them, which means, unfortunately, you’re on your own, sis. But more on that later.
Because the second thing I think we need to address is why.
So, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but for the last couple of years I’ve been a huge dick.
That was a joke. In case you couldn’t tell. Mom has very serious handwriting. I’m just now noticing.
Right. Back to me being a dick. Some of this is understandable. I mean, I’m a quadriplegic for god’s sake! But the parts that were directed at you aren’t. Lake, in no way was my getting paralyzed your fault. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to slip. You were only thirteen. And, well, the rest was just bad luck.
But I was and am honored to be your big brother and I wanted nothing more than to deserve that title. That’s why I jumped in. That’s why I was so grateful to be able to bring you back. It’s too bad that ever since that moment I’ve been doing everything in my power to lose the privilege of knowing you.
My life is hard now. I can’t deny that. But I made it harder and worse, not just for me, but for everyone. Which, when you think about it, is ridiculous considering that was the exact opposite of what I was originally trying to accomplish.
Back to the why. I don’t deserve to be called your big brother right now. And I don’t deserve your resurrection choice. Two other people have spent the last four years earning your affection. I know you. I’ve watched you grow up. There’s a reason you loved Will and Penny so deeply. Choose the person you need the most. That’s not me anymore.
All right, now for where I am.
I can’t tell you. I know, I know, forgive us one more secret, will you? See, I have no doubt that you would have used your resurrection choice on me because you’re a way better person than I’ve ever been and if you knew where I was I worry that you’d try to convince me to allow you to choose me. No can do, Lakey Loo.
I’m taking the first step on a journey to find a little redemption in this body. I found a place that’s going to give me more opportunities. Mom and Dad are on board and I’m actually a little excited. I may even be a writer or a professor after all this.
So here’s where we are: I can promise you that I’m going to try hard to be a better brother. You can think of this as my grand opening. Big Brother! Open for Business! What I can’t promise is that I’ll be around forever. But I will make the most of whatever time here that I do have.
That’s all. I’m done. We’ll talk very soon. For now, you have an important decision to make. Good luck!
With love, Matt
I stand gaping at my brother’s words, sure that I’ve misread them, that this is some kind of trick. But they’re here in black and white. Maybe that’s why he chose a letter instead of calling me. If I hung up the phone after this conversation, I could convince myself that it hadn’t happened. That my brother had died at the bottom of a pool watched by dozens of people.
But he hadn’t.
He’s alive. My palms are slick with sweat. Nothing feels like it’s where it’s supposed to be. Up is down and down is up. I’m not sure if I’m standing on the floor or on the ceiling. I don’t even know how to feel.
A few hours ago, I let Penny and Will go forever. No graduation. No going off to college together. I watched their futures whiz past me like a zooming car.
But here I am again with only one night between me and my resurrection appointment and the power to choose has been returned to me. Whether I want it or not.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes. I glance down to see that a calendar invite from Will Bryan has arrived at noon sharp. The final clue.
There are few sounds as comforting as the laughter of your best friends. Especially at midnight. Especially out on the beach with the ocean as a background soundtrack.
We’re on our backs in the sand, heads together, feet out, arranged like a three-pointed star. Milky clouds drift by in the navy sky above us. We listen to white waves crash into the shore a few yards away.
I’m holding hands with Will and Penny, grinning even though neither one of them can see me.
“On three,” Penny says. Her voice sounds thick and partially trapped inside her since she’s lying down. “One, two…three!”
We each raise our linked arms and swish them in a big arc at the same time as our legs. Our feet bump into each other, making us giggle harder.
“Ow, Will, your toenails are sharp,” I yelp.
“Seriously, William!” Penny shrieks. “You’re like a three-toed sloth over there.”
Will spreads his feet even wider and runs his toenails up my shin. “Come closer, my pretty!” Will says in a creepy old-lady voice.
My back thumps against the sand, shaking from silent laughter. “Stop! Stop!” I say, clutching my sides and curling into a ball.
“Quick! Everybody up!” Penny shouts.
We scramble to our feet, brushing granules from the back of our legs and shoulders. Together, we step back to admire our handiwork. Three matching sand angels have been traced together on the beach. The glowing embers of our campfire light our silhouettes in the sand.
“Pretty,” I say. Because of course this was Penny’s idea.
“Not bad,” Will agrees. “Except for that one in the center.” He points to the angel that he made. “It looks a little chunky.”
I shove his arm. The remnants of our night are scattered around. Chocolate. Marshmallows. Graham crackers. Penny’s weird bottles of kombucha.
There’s nothing particularly special about this moment, but it feels perfect. There’s a swell of emotion inside me. Will’s the first one to break away. “Last one in has to lick Harrison Vines’s face.” Shoot. I do not want to lick Harrison’s face.
So I take off sprinting after Will. Penny and I run neck and neck, our elbows jostling each other, screaming all the way. Will plunges into the surf. Penny’s long gazelle legs hit the water first.
“No!�
�� I tumble into the water with such feigned tragedy, I should win an award. And I should actually be way more disappointed than I am, given that I am now going to have to beg my two best friends to please, please, please not make me lick Harrison, which I will absolutely hate doing. But while I wash the sand out from between my toes and under my armpits and around my neck, I can’t help but think instead that I’m very lucky.
The sky is clear and coated with starry glitter. I stare up at the full moon and push my bike toward it. My dad’s road bicycle zips along much faster than Penny’s Huffy bike did and I’m wearing sensible sneakers this time, another plus, but my cast is clumsy on the handles and makes me swerve back and forth across the yellow line painted on the blacktop’s shoulder.
The clock on my phone reads just after 11:30 p.m. Ringo’s breathing is heavy and shallow behind me and I listen to the spin of our wheels.
Even going uphill, I don’t have to stop and walk beside my bike. I press on, letting my lungs burn for oxygen. The farther we go, the less the air smells like the salt of the sea and the more it smells like rain-starved farmland.
Too much has happened for me to believe in magic any longer.
For instance, I know why I don’t need my inhaler anymore. It’s not an unexplained miracle, I was just dead.
And I’ve accepted that when Will, Penny, and I wrote down our wishes, we weren’t doing it so that by some strange twist of fate I would one day have answers to impossible questions. We were just three kids who loved each other. And that counts for plenty, as Ringo has convinced me.
After all, it’s Ringo who has pushed me to finish the hunt, to find the wishes, no matter what he had said to begin with about how I’ve been hanging on to the possibility of those tiny, hidden scraps too hard.
I hop off my bike while the wheels are still moving and drop it with a bang-crash on the side of the road. Ringo skids to a stop behind me. It’s so dark beneath his helmet that his face looks one color and it makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. I’m glad when he removes the helmet and I see that it’s still him there underneath.
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