Denton Little's Deathdate

by Lance Rubin

  “Best wishes,” Millie says.

  They walk off. I close my eyes, taking a moment to soak in the room and the moment. I remember how soon I will die and how little I have left to lose.

  When I open my eyes, Anuj Mehta pops into view, shimmying to the music. Bingo.

  I approach casually, say hello, and open my heart to him.

  “What?” Anuj leans in closer as his prom date, a stick-thin girl I don’t recognize, stares at me warily.

  “I just said,” I repeat, “you were really fantastic in Damn Yankees last month. You brought so much humor to the role.”

  “Oh,” Anuj says, all sheepish. “Thanks.”

  “Do you think you’ll give acting a shot?” I ask. “Like, as a career?”

  “Uh.” He looks to his date—who still isn’t feeling my purple vibe—as if she knows his dreams better than he does. “No, my parents would hate that.”

  “But it’s your life, Anuj. And you’re always, like, mind-blowingly good in all the plays and stuff. I’m not just saying that.”

  “Oh cool, thanks.” Anuj grins and combs his hand through his hair. “But I had to beg my parents to even let me do those shows.”

  “Just think about it. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “All right,” he says, in a way that suggests maybe he actually will. “Hey, you’re Denton Little, right?”

  “I am.”

  “No offense, but aren’t you supposed to die today?”

  “Any minute, man,” I say as I walk away. “Any minute!”

  I scan the room for who’s next, and it becomes clear that my presence is no longer under the radar. Heads turn in my direction, talking to each other confusedly, checking the time on their cell phones and doing the math, trying to understand how I could be here. A huge chunk of people visibly steps away from me. But others make a beeline for me, and I’m soon in a messy whirlwind of high fives, hugs, and pats on the back.

  “Dude!”

  “Denton Little’s here! Awesome!”

  “What happened to your skin?”

  “I can’t believe it, you came!”

  “When do you think you’re gonna die?”

  “Are you coming to Wildwood this weekend?”

  “Yes, yes, thank you, thank you,” I say, projecting my voice as I clear some space for myself. “I feel very fortunate to still be alive. But I’m going to die literally any minute, so I’m trying to be really efficient with my time. I have things to say to each and every one of you, important things, so continue with your dancing, and I will find you.”

  “What is he talking about?” Ben Goldstein says.

  “Liza Rondinaro!” I say, spotting her a few people deep into the crowd. “I’m so sorry about what happened with us freshman year.” We dated for two months, then I dumped her in an email.

  “Oh…It’s okay,” Liza says, pushing a ringlet of hair behind her ear and looking awkwardly at Scott Landman, who I assume is her date tonight. “You don’t have to—”

  “No, you need to know that you are not unattractive, and you have a really unique sense of style; we just didn’t have that much to talk about.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Liza says as Scott starts to pull her away. “Please, I get it—”

  “But that was no excuse for me to end it the way I did,” I call out. Liza and Scott are far off on the dance floor now, so I let it go.

  I tell Miller Bendon that his artwork is comic-book-level good.

  I tell Ratina Jacobs that she’s the only person I know who can pull off wearing overalls.

  I tell Shu-wen Tsao that I’ve always enjoyed her dry sense of humor.

  I tell DeShaun Robinson that I love his playful energy. I don’t know him that well, but one time I saw him throw a football through the window of the teachers’ lounge, and it cracked me up.

  I tell Ed Powers that he’s the most optimistic person I know and he should never lose that. Also that he has a badass superhero name.

  “Wow, seems like it’s going well,” Paolo says over my shoulder. He’s still with Millie.

  “Oh, hey,” I say. “It is.”

  “Can we talk to you for a sec, though?”

  “Okay,” I say, raising one finger to Shaina Lester, our conversation about her wonderful ability to clean lab beakers—seriously, she makes them shine—temporarily put on hold.

  “What’s up?” I ask, walking a few steps to the side with them.

  “Well—” I notice Paolo’s splotch has made its first public appearance, creeping up over his shirt collar. “Oh yeah,” he says. “It’s gotten bigger. So now Millie knows.”

  “Probably transferred to Paolo through saliva,” Millie says. “Like mono.”

  Paolo and I stare at each other, realizing we’re morons.

  “Saliva!” I say. “Yes, of course! Millie, you’re a genius.”

  “So you think we just made out but didn’t have sex?” Paolo asks.

  I stare at him. “No, man, neither. I think we shared a bowl last night. And the same glass of water.”

  “Ohhhh…Saliva,” Paolo says. “Anyways, we wanted to let you know Phil is here.”

  “All right,” I say. “It’s a free country, I guess.”

  “Yeah, but he’s been…saying some weird stuff. About you.”

  “Sticks and stones,” I say. “Right?”

  “Not exactly,” Paolo says. “He’s been—”

  “Is everything going okay?” my stepmom says, appearing beside us. “You have so many friends, Denton. I’m so impressed.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s going great, Mom. Thanks for coming to this and being so cool about everything. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” my stepmom says, teary-eyed.

  “I think we may do some dancing now, right, guys?” I say, looking to Paolo and Millie, needing to get them alone again because, I’ll admit, I’m a little curious to hear what Phil said.

  “You know it!” Paolo says.

  “Oh, we’ll come, too!” my stepmom says. My dad puts a hand on her shoulder and gives her a look. “Okay, okay,” she says. “Maybe we’ll join you in a bit.” Second Awesome Dad Maneuver of the night.

  I step onto the dance floor, and lots of people cheer. It startles me.

  “Yeah, Denton!”

  “Denton’s gonna dance!”

  “Way to be real!”

  The three of us start to dance, each doing a poor approximation of the robot.

  “So what has Phil been saying?” I ask.

  “Millie was the one who overheard it, right?” Paolo says.

  “Yeah…He was saying that, you know, you’re a pussy, and you stole his girlfriend, and—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, he knows all this stuff, Mills, get to the—”

  “Right, okay, right, so then he was, like, saying his grandfather was a cop—which we know—and had it in for you or something. And maybe I misheard, but he started saying something about the government?”

  “What?” I say.

  “Yeah, so weird, right?” Paolo says.

  “Sounds like he’s just talking smack.”

  “Only one way to find out, though.” Paolo’s eyes gleam.

  “Ah, look, I’ve got a lot of work left to do. I haven’t even talked to Danny Delfino yet, and he needs to know how good he is at saxophone.”

  “I thought he was a drummer.”

  “He’s both, dude, that’s my point.”

  “Oh wow, that is impressive. But, okay, how about you talk to Phil first and find out why he’s saying all this crap about you.”

  Phil is low on my list of predeath priorities. He’s a mosquito buzzing at my ear.

  I look to Millie. She shrugs. Guess it could be fun to swat a mosquito.

  “All right, fine, but let’s make it quick.”

  “Yeahhhhh!” Paolo says. We move through a mass of bodies vigorously bobbing along to the music. On a couple of occasions, I catch people staring at me with full-on pity, and maybe also disgust, like I’m some
kind of leper they don’t want near them. We keep walking.

  Though I thought my right ankle was fully healed, I may be wrong, as it feels a little stiff. Actually, my ankle up through my calf has a numb, sort of rigid feeling to it. Mildly concerning.

  The jungle of people around us starts to rise and fall faster, in time with some frenetic beats. I get a glimpse of Phil across the dance floor in a green bow tie and black fedora, talking animatedly to two other dudes, just as a huge body slams into me and knocks me to the floor.

  I land on one of my scraped-up elbows, and it stings. A lot.

  “Dude!” Paolo says.

  “Wipeout,” Willis Ellis says from where he’s lying inches away. He smells like cologne and weed. “Sorry, dude. I was really feelin’ it.”

  “You again,” I say.

  Someone spastically sashays by and almost steps on my fingers.

  “Oh, heh heh, yeah. Me again.” He springs back up, surprisingly lithe for his size. “Help you up, brother?” He towers over me, this friendly ogre in a mismatched suit, his huge dreads hugged by a blue bandana.

  “Uh, sure,” I say. He’s pretty much proven himself to be my bad-luck charm, but I grab his hand. He yanks me to my feet. “Whoa.”

  “Dude can fly!” Willis says. “Heh heh.” He’s looking down at my hand and the shifting red dots. “So cool that you’re here, man. Really admirable. When my time comes, I’m just gonna sit at home, totally baked.” I extract my hand.

  “You okay?” Paolo asks.

  “Yeah, I think so. My elbow burns, but otherwise…” My right leg is very stiff, and I’m starting to feel some numbness in my left, too. “All good.”

  “How many times can you crash into the same person?” Millie asks Willis.

  “I guess a bunch,” he says.

  “I mean in terms of statistical odds. Just thinking aloud.”

  “Oh.” Willis scratches his ear. “Anyway, sorry, dude.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Did you ever think about maybe not smoking so much pot?”

  “Why, you want some?” He reaches into the inside pocket of his brown blazer.

  “No, no…Never mind.”

  “I’ll take some,” Paolo says.

  “All right, evvvverybody,” a voice says through the sound system. I glance over at the DJ stand, and, sure enough, it’s the same chubby DJ who did my funeral yesterday. Big week for this guy. “We’re gonna slow things down a bit now, so, everybody, find your prom date and hold ’em close. I wanna see all you couples on the dance floor.”

  In some alternate reality, I’d be interlacing my fingers with Taryn’s and leading the way to the center of the room. We’d stare into each other’s eyes, our bodies close, feeling the beautiful void of our entire lives ahead of us.

  “Pow, Millie, let’s go,” I say. I limp forward on my bad leg, looking down to make sure I tread carefully.

  “What the—” Paolo says.

  I look up.

  Veronica.

  She’s walking toward us in the same jeans and black hoodie she was wearing earlier. Decidedly un-prom-like.

  “Hey,” she says. She’s drunk.

  “You okay?” I say. “What are you…How did you get in here without a ticket?”

  She flops one arm in the direction of the back of the room. “I banged on that door. Then someone opened it.”

  “You are wastereeno, sis,” Paolo says, awe and confusion in his voice. I don’t know if he’s ever seen Veronica like this. I certainly haven’t.

  “You don’t know me!” Veronica says, slightly swaying back and forth. “Denton…” She leans in close, and our lips are almost touching. The alcohol smell is pretty potent. “I came here because of you.”

  I might love this girl. I kiss her.

  “Whoa!” she says, jerking her head back. “I mean…That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Harsh,” Paolo says.

  “Dent.” Veronica puts a hand on my shoulder and looks around. “You can’t be here. You have to leave here.”

  “What? Why?”

  She exerts what seems like considerable effort to steady her gaze onto mine.

  “My mom.”

  Liza Rondinaro and Scott Landman slow-dance next to us. He whispers something into her ear and she laughs.

  “Uh, what does that mean?”

  “She’s a liar.”

  “All right, easy there, V,” Paolo says.

  “She’s been lying to me!” Veronica shouts. “And she’s been lying to you,” she says to Paolo. “And especially to you,” she says to me.

  “How about to me?” Millie asks.

  “You think this is funny?” Veronica asks, turning sharply toward Millie, stone-faced. “This isn’t funny.”

  “All right, it’s okay, no one thinks it’s funny,” I say, getting an arm between her and Millie. “What do you mean, lying?”

  And then the pieces click together.

  I had it all wrong.

  Paolo’s mom never could have been my mom. But maybe her crush on my dad meant something else. What if she’s been lying to Paolo and Veronica their whole lives about the identity of the biological father who abandoned them so long ago? What if their father is actually someone they’ve known for years…?

  “Ohmigod,” I say. “It’s my dad, right?”

  “What?” Veronica says.

  “She told you that my dad is your actual father. I can’t believe this. Is that right?”

  Veronica and Paolo look at me like I just confessed to seventeen murders.

  “What the hell is this guy talking about?” Veronica says. “Our dad is our dad. Why would your dad be our dad?”

  “We’ve talked with our dad on the phone,” Paolo says. “His voice sounds nothing like your dad’s.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “And there’s, like, videos of him holding V when she was a baby. He’s totally Hispanic. With a mustache.”

  Eh, it was worth a shot. I’m oh for two.

  “Still,” I say, “isn’t it possible that my dad—”

  “Just shut up,” Veronica says, a rarely heard layer of emotion creeping into her voice. “I heard her, okay? At your house, I heard my mom on the phone, and she…she actually works for some secret government thing.”

  Come again?

  “Dent,” Veronica says. “She’s been, like, watching you. Your whole life.”

  “You on mushrooms or something, babe?” Paolo says.

  “This is serious shit, Pow!” Veronica says. “Stop with the jokes and listen to me, okay?”

  “I’m all ears,” Paolo says. “It just sounds insane. And you’re blasted.”

  “Okay, okay.” Veronica moves her head back and forth as if to establish credibility. “I know I’m in poor form right now. I got freaked out, and I started throwing back liquids in an attempt to self-soothe. But you have to believe me, okay?”

  The slow song ends, and the dance floor bounces back to life with a pop song about the club being ours tonight.

  “Dent,” Veronica says, putting her hands on my face. “You cannot stay here.” What she’s just told us is so crazy that I know it’s probably true. I don’t know what to do with the information, though. “You cannot…Oh…” Veronica moves her hands to my shoulders and takes a deep breath.

  “You all right?” I say.

  She vomits onto the dance floor. And onto my shoes.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Sorry,” Veronica says. She looks up at me. “Now we’re even.”

  I slide my feet back. “Fair enough.” I put her arm over my shoulder. “We gotta get you off the dance floor.”

  “Maybe,” Veronica says, barely audible.

  “I’ll come with you,” Millie says. “I’ll take her to the ladies’ room.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Yeah, way to step up, babe,” Paolo says.

  Everyone dancing around us has taken notice of Veronica’s spew and moved slightly awa
y from where we’re standing, inadvertently giving us our own private circle.

  “Wait, dude, what about Phil?” Paolo says. “Want me to talk to him?”

  “Screw it,” I say.

  “Cool. In the meantime, sweet dance circle going on over here,” Paolo says, doing some sort of frenetic hip-hop jig.

  “Dude,” I say, “watch out for the—”

  Paolo slips on Veronica’s vomit and lands on his back.

  “Holy crap!” I shout as everyone around simultaneously gasps.

  “I’m okay,” he says. “However, I am lying in my sister’s puke. Help V to the powder room, bro,” Paolo grunts, waving me off. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Be careful,” I say.

  “I’ll try to get a spontaneous, unrehearsed dance number going,” Paolo shouts from the floor as Millie and I limp away with Veronica.

  “Just let her take me,” Veronica mumbles. “You gots to go, Dent.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her.

  “I’m not flowing fanywhere,” she says.

  Millie takes careful and deliberate steps, trying to give Veronica the smoothest journey possible. In the past day, I’ve remembered why she and I used to be so close when we were little. She’s strange, but sometimes she’s awesome. And for some reason, she’s chosen to see my life out to its very end.

  “Hey, Millie,” I say. “Thanks.”

  She looks over Veronica’s head at me. “You don’t have to thank me.”

  “Okay, but I appreciate this.”

  “Today’s the first deathdate I’ve experienced. I’m glad it was yours.”

  I’m reminded again of Millie’s undated status. “Does it make you wish you knew yours?” I ask.

  She thinks for a moment as we approach the bathrooms.

  “Nah,” she says. “Days are more fun when any one could be the day you die.”

  As I wonder if that could possibly be true, the slight distraction gives my stiffer-by-the-minute legs the opportunity to get tangled. I almost fall to the ground, taking Veronica and Millie with me, but I catch myself.

  “Whoa,” Veronica says.

  “Sorry about that,” I say.

  The men’s room and ladies’ room are next to each other. Millie takes Veronica in one, and I detour toward the other, more relieved to take a breather from the prom than I realized.