The Untimely Deaths of Alex Wayfare

by M. G. Buehrlen

  I let out a breath in disbelief. “You’re brilliant. All of you.”

  “No, you are. You were right. Gesh wouldn’t risk killing you. He needs you. You placed your bet, and you won.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t stop his Cause. He’s still out there with Blue somewhere, trying to find me. It’s only a matter of time before Blue remembers Annapolis.”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “And if we come to it?”

  “We’ll be ready.”

  I let my shoulders relax and lean back against my pillows.

  Micki checks her watch. “I better head out. Your family will be here any minute, and I shouldn’t let them see me.”

  “They’re coming now?” The thought makes me nervous all of a sudden. Maybe because I thought I’d never see them again, and now here we are, about to be reunited.

  “Wait,” I say as Micki reaches the door, her heels clopping. “Did Porter get the files from Cincinnati?”

  “Why don’t you wait and see for yourself?” She winks at me, then disappears, and I’m left alone, listening to the sound of my heart rate monitor, the nurses outside talking about their weekend plans, their shoes squeaking across the floor.

  My fingers brush my shoulder, but there’s no gunshot wound. I pat my face, but there’s no blood, no bruises. No painful residuals. I’m safe.

  I’m saved.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand at my dresser. The entire surface is covered with flowers and get-well-soon cards and balloons. I check the cards, finding some from Mom and Dad, from Gran and Pops, from Claire, from Levi, from Mrs. Latimer, even from Mrs. Gafferty, no doubt trying to smooth things over with Dad and me. There’s a bouquet from Mr. Pence and my entire CAD class, including Grady and Marco. There’s a small one from Tabitha. And in the front, right in the center, there’s a card from Jensen with a gift certificate to Matchbox Pizza in DC. He didn’t write anything, just signed his name.

  “Hey, time traveler.”

  I turn around, and there’s Audrey, standing in my doorway, free of tubes and IVs. Her skin bright and glowing, her eyes sparkling. Wearing jeans and sneakers, a striped beanie, and a black shirt that says PICK FLOWERS, NOT FIGHTS.

  I remember the truths I whispered in her ear when I thought she was asleep. “You heard everything I said?”

  “Of course. It was beautiful. I never knew you were such a poet.”

  “I’m not. Just occasionally delusional.”

  She shakes her head. “No, you’re a poet. A poet with an old soul.”

  I smile at her choice of words. “Maybe you’re right.”

  She smiles too. “But you’re not an orphan of the stars, you know. You’ve got all of us. You’ve got me.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “I do?”

  “That’s what the doctors are saying. Looks like I’m going to be around for a while.”

  “Good,” I say, my eyes shining with tears.

  She rushes to me, and I wrap my arms around her, not caring if I rip the tubes out of my arm. And then the whole family is there, squeezing into my room, laughing and crying and hugging. All of us together again.

  And I swear, this living is better than dying.

  So this is my team.

  I make a promise to myself to live what I have left to the fullest, to see Audrey through until the end of my days with joy. No more scowls. No more anger.

  No more missions.

  Alex Wayfare is officially retired.

  The Final Pieces

  I spend a few days recovering at home with Gran and Mom and Audrey swooping around me like mama birds, tending to my every need. I tell Audrey I don’t need her help, she can sit down, but she says she wants to take care of me for a change, so I let her. Honestly, I just like seeing her up and moving. With energy. With easy breath.

  The new treatment worked wonders right away. She went off chemo. The warrior cells only attacked her cancer cells, and she was cleared to go home after a week.

  Mom still can’t believe someone found copies of the lost data. She can’t stop talking about her luck. The day she found out, she made homemade dumplings for everyone in the house.

  She made them again the day I came home from the hospital.

  It feels like everything is right again, the puzzle finally finished, every piece where it’s supposed to be.

  Except maybe one or two.

  I swing by school to clean out my locker so I can finish the semester at home. I fill a box with stupid things I wouldn’t have missed, like tattered, filled notebooks and the history textbook I never used.

  On my way to the AV lab, where I left a few more things, I pass by the lunchroom and see Tabitha stirring strawberries into her Greek yogurt. There’s no one at her table yet, so I slide into the seat across from her. She looks up.

  “I just wanted to say thanks for the flowers, and for telling Mrs. Gafferty what you saw.”

  She shrugs, swallowing a spoonful of yogurt. “Well. Robbie’s grabbed my ass more times than I can count. Thanks for breaking his nose.”

  “What the hell?” Camilla says, walking up behind me with the rest of Tabitha’s crew. “That’s my seat, Wayspaz.”

  “It’s Alex’s seat today,” Tabitha snaps, her eyes sharp, daring Camilla to defy her.

  “It’s OK,” I say, standing up before I cause a shift in the Mean Girl Universe. “I have to go. Thanks anyway.”

  “Anytime, Wayfare,” Tabitha says with a nod. “I mean that.”

  In the AV lab, I look through drawers for anything I might’ve left behind. I find a sweater and a hair tie and tuck them into my box. When I look up, Levi’s standing at the counter.

  “Hey, you,” I say, smiling. “Thanks for saving my life.”

  “Well,” he says, “we couldn’t let you die, could we?”

  “I’m dying anyway.”

  “Yes, but at least now we can reincarnate you.”

  “Ah,” I say, nodding. Same old Levi. Always looking on the bright side. Saving me because I’m a useful tool in the fight against Gesh.

  “Have you given any more thought about taking some time for yourself the next few months?”

  “Actually, I have. I’ve decided I’m officially retired.”

  “Good,” he says.

  “I’m going to Scotland with my family this summer, and I’m going to enjoy myself until the bitter end.” I grab the wire splitter I brought from home and toss it into the box.

  “And what about Peters?”

  “What about Peters?”

  Levi frowns. “You know what. I’ve seen you two together here. You like each other. It’s obvious.”

  I shrug and dump my backpack into the box on top of all my other junk. “It wouldn’t be fair to him. You know it wouldn’t. And I’m way too messed up to be anyone’s girlfriend.”

  “How so?”

  I give him a look. “Besides currently talking about dating with a guy I used to date in a previous life?”

  “Besides that.”

  “My ex just shot me. I’m not exactly handing out trust very easily right now.”

  “You could learn. ‘To cheat oneself out of love is the most terrible deception; it is an eternal loss for which there is no reparation, either in time or in eternity.’”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “Heidegger again?”

  “Kierkegaard.”

  I sigh, frowning down at my box. “What’s the point? I won’t remember any of this in a few months. I won’t remember him.”

  “You’re right,” Levi says, turning to leave. “What’s the point of doing anything? What was the point of saving your sister?”

  I look up, but he’s already gone, and I want to kick him for being all philosophical again. For making me rethink things. I hadn’t until now. I tried to convince myself that Jensen didn’t want anything to do with me, even if he did send me a get-well card. It was easier that way. Easier to move on.


  Isn’t it cruel of me to want to date him? Even if that’s what he wants? Lead him on, knowing I won’t be around much longer?

  But then again, would I deny Audrey a chance at love and happiness just because someone placed an expiration date on her life?

  At the very least, I want to tell Jensen I’m sorry, so I walk through the halls, peeking in each classroom, but he’s nowhere. And I wonder if maybe he didn’t come to school at all.

  Then, out in the parking lot, I understand why he was MIA. The basketball buses are lined up out front. He’s got an away game, and the team is leaving early for the long drive. I catch a glimpse of his black-and-white duffle bag in line for the last bus, and I sprint over to him before I can talk myself out of it.

  “Hey, Peters.”

  He turns around and lifts his eyebrows. “Wayfare? What are you doing here?” He steps out of line and guides me aside so I don’t get trampled by Athletic Types.

  “Came to get my stuff.” I nod at the box in my arms. “I’m finishing the semester at home.”

  “I heard. How are you doing? Are you OK?” His eyes search my face, truly concerned about me. The cold, wintry wind gently tosses his hair.

  “I’d be better if you’d come to visit me.”

  He frowns. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

  “I always want to see you.”

  He looks confused, like he’s wondering why I’m being nice to him. “I feel terrible, Wayfare. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry I accused you of making that guy up. It was really ass of me. I thought maybe you were doing it because of the rumors about us. Robbie was spreading a ton. You know, before you flattened him. But I never thought for a second you couldn’t get a date. I’ve been so jealous of this guy, and I guess when Audrey said you didn’t have a boyfriend, I jumped at my chance. I’m just…I’m sorry about all of it.” He looks down at his shoes.

  “I’m not sorry.”

  He looks up, eyes wide.

  “You were right,” I say. “I never had a boyfriend. Not really. I cared about him, and I know he cared about me, but it wasn’t ever going to work. We’re just too different. Too far apart.”

  “You’re not together anymore?”

  “We never were, if I’m totally honest with myself.”

  He glances over his shoulder again at the rest of the team boarding the bus. “I have to go.” He frowns, shifts his weight.

  “Wait,” I say, touching his arm. “I have something to say, and I need to say it before I chicken out.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “OK.”

  The words come tumbling out in a rush, these words I’m no good at, and stick to his jacket like snow. “Your timing sucks, Peters, and I know a thing or two about time. And I’ve got issues. Lifetimes worth of baggage, and I don’t know if you want to deal with it all. But I do know you’re one of the good ones. One of the best friends I could ask for. And I know I want to kiss you again. I want to kiss you a lot more than just ‘again.’ I want to do everything”—I swallow, my mouth going dry—“and try everything with you.”

  All the thoughts I’ve had about him over the years resurface—all the thoughts I’d pushed aside and buried when I was with Blue. I let them all come flooding back. I want him to kiss me, take my hand. I’ve wanted it for so long.

  He has no idea.

  He watches me, blinking, letting what I said sink in. Then slowly, all the hurt and confusion on his face melts away. A smile tugs at his lips, and he stifles a laugh.

  “What?” I say, a smile tugging at my own. His grin is too damn infectious. It’s not fair. My cheeks burn, and I worry I said too much, too soon.

  He tries to compose himself and look serious, but his mouth keeps twitching in this insanely adorable way. “I’m trying really hard not to smile right now.”

  “Why?”

  He gives me a mischievous look, half hidden under his hair. “Because I want to try everything with you, too.” He reaches out and tugs one of the drawstrings on my parka.

  We stand there, moony-eyed, each trying not to beam at the other, looking like complete idiots, because we know the moment we let ourselves smile, we won’t be able to stop.

  He hitches his duffle higher on his shoulder. “You want to start trying everything tonight?”

  I try to act cool, like my knees didn’t wobble when he said that. “Sure. After the game?”

  He nods, still suppressing his grin. “Pick me up here? I’ll text you when the game’s over?”

  “OK.”

  “Oh, and Wayfare?” He steps closer, reaches up and brushes the hair from my cheek with his thumb. “Think we could get a head start right now?”

  I nod, holding my breath.

  He leans in, but hesitates. “Are you sure? You don’t have a squirt gun in your pocket, do you?”

  I laugh. “No.”

  “A snowball?”

  “No.”

  He smiles his lopsided smile.

  I drop my box at my feet, grab his jacket, and pull him close. “Come here.”

  We kiss in front of his entire team. His coach. The sophomore English class sitting inside the building, gaping at us through the windows.

  What the hell, right? You only live fifty-seven times.

  There’s no hesitation, no warring in my mind. We’re free until Coach Caswell yells out the bus door, “Get a move on, Peters.”

  Jensen backs away, gives me one last nonsmile, then turns and heads for the bus. I watch him go, admiring the view like always. He shakes his head and, for the first time ever, I swear Jensen Peters’s ears flush red as a grin spreads across his face. He rubs his jaw, trying to cover it up.

  As for me, I’m dazed, and smitten, and wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. Whatever it is, or turns out to be, I’m pretty sure I’m going to like it.

  Another Breath

  Remember when I said this story was about death? I suppose it’s about life too. All the tiny moments throughout each day that remind us we’re alive, that we have breath, that we have worth. Taking a leap of faith. Learning something new. Stepping outside our comfort zones. Lifting our palms from the handlebars and stretching them to the sky. The little things that show us we’re meant to be here, taking up this tiny bit of space on earth. Our life has meaning. We have meaning. And we can see proof of it every day, if we choose to look.

  All these years I’ve turned away from it, ignoring it, letting the shadow of doubt consume me like dark clouds. I truly believed I was The Worst. That the world would be better off without me because of all the mistakes I’ve made.

  But now I’m learning to keep my eyes wide open, to see the crocuses in the snow, the tiny slivers of light that glint through the storm. To count my blessings, gather them up in my arms and never let go. I won’t let anyone take them from me, not without a fight.

  Because the most beautiful things in life are unseen, unheard. They must be lived, felt, like the soul on fire.

  And mine, I swear, it blazes within me.

  Acknowledgments

  This little, obscure sequel wouldn’t be possible without my agent, Holly Root, and the lovely, hardworking people at Diversion Books, especially Mary, Eliza, and Sarah. I’m so proud to have you all in my corner.

  A huge thank you to Two Brothers Coffee and Brewery Becker for keeping me fueled and letting me occupy your tables for hours on end.

  Thank you Rob and Penny at Blue Frog Books and David at the Rochester Hills B&N for believing in this series.

  Thank you, Kelsey, for taming Hiccup. I would have never finished this book without you.

  As always, thank you Myra and CJ for talking me down from the ledge and sending All The Love, All The Time.

  Thank you, Nashville-Area Authors of Awesome, for kindly letting this Michigander into your group and making me feel welcome. You know who you are.

  Thank you, Lauren, for being my beta, my cheerleader, when you could’ve been writing your next novel. Thank you for your
insight and steadfast belief in Team Jensen.

  To Chris and April, thank you for your inspiration and your books. I’m still your biggest fan.

  Hay, thank you, thank you, for your Blessing Boxes and for letting me dedicate this book to you. You make me stronger, Soul Sister.

  Special thanks to Dan M. and Mark R. for letting me interrogate you. Audrey’s story wouldn’t be authentic without your expertise. Thank you, Andye at Reading Teen, for recommending Matchbox Pizza.

  To all the bloggers and web editors who spread the word about ALEX over the years, thank you. I owe this sequel to you.

  Thank you, Malena, for making me feel like the best author in the world, and letting me use your name.

  Thank you, Enduro Binders, for making me a bestseller within your four walls.

  To the Beaufort Girls, thank you for your unforgettable and unmatched support. I don’t know who I’d be today if I hadn’t met you (probably an evil villain).

  To Nicholette, thank you for always wanting to read my words. It’s the best gift you can give a writer.

  To my huge, supportive family, thank you for letting me be my weird little self, and for cheering me on.

  To my dear, sweet Hiccup, you are crying as I write this and refusing to sleep, just like the night I wrote my acknowledgements for The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare. Some things never change, I suppose, but some things do. I wish you could stay my little one forever, tears or no tears, but then you’d never get a chance to read this book. (Did you like it? I hope you liked it.)

  To Joel, my safe place, my adventurer. Will you search the lonely earth for me? Climb through the briar and bramble? I will be your treasure.

  And finally, thank you, dear reader, for holding this book in your hands. Thank you for telling your family and friends about it. Thank you for requesting it at your library and bookstores. Thank you for making this series a reality.