valentine

Ten

There’s a piece of gum that won’t get off my shoe no matter how hard I scrape it against the sidewalk. I think it attached itself to my shoe a few blocks back.
It’s Sunday, and I’m listening to Ellie ramble like I always do whenever her brain goes too fast. As she paces back and forth, her curly ponytail whips around her face with each sharp turn. Her warm brown face is scrunched up in frustration. She’s not that tall, either—she’s like 5’3”—so it takes her a bit to go from one end of the sidewalk to the other. I could make that walk in about five steps. What’s bothering me about this rant is that she’s just rambling about the likelihood of dying of just about anything. She’s already listed the things she’s “okay” with happening. Car crash—dangerous but livable as long as its not too big of an impact. Plane crash—well, not as livable, but could be something. Heroin overdose—at least it would be peaceful? She’s not just ranting to rant, though. She’s ranting because she’s comparing them all to the likelihood of a nuclear attack.
She’s nearly hyperventilating at the speed she’s talking. “I don’t want to think about it,” she keeps saying before she prefaces the comparison, “but there’s about five physicists who have estimated that—”
“Breathe, Ellie.” I give one final hard scrape of my shoe, and the gum comes off. Finally.
She takes a shallow, shaky breath.
“A real one, c’mon,” I say. I motion for her to breathe with me.
“Penn, the news said—” She starts to actually hyperventilate.
“Do you think that they’ll actually nuke us? I mean, I wouldn’t blame them, but…”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“Okay, okay, it’s just that we don’t have the best track record as a country with making the most peaceful and diplomatic decisions. If you were them, wouldn’t you want to nuke us?”
I have no intentions to become a poli-sci major, but this was a bit of basic knowledge—the United States has never been the country to have the most sound military decisions. The fact that they, at exactly 12:33 p.m. yesterday, bombed a Dostrovska base that happened to have President Una visiting, is proof. She’s in critical condition according to CNN, but it’s not looking good. There’s no doubt that they’re angry.
“Anyway, do you really think that they’d nuke us? Probably some sort of retaliation attack, but not nuclear.”
“But no one knows how many nuclear weapons they have—”
“That means that they might not have any at all.”
“But we hit their president. Even if it’s not nuclear, it won’t be a small attack. We have to prepare. It might be the end of the world.” She starts hyperventilating again.
I roll my eyes. “It’s not going to be the end of the world. How do you jump to these conclusions?” I pull her into a hug. “You’ve gotta breathe, man.”
Within the next minute, I feel her breathing slow down.
“Can I at least show you my bucket list?” she whimpers over my shoulder.
I sigh and let go. “Go ahead.”
She pulls out a long receipt from CVS with an innumerable amount of coupons. She flips it over and starts to read off from the list.
“Well I can already cross the first two off—number one: get a fake ID and number two: smoke a carton of cigarettes.”
“With a fake, why not go to a dispensary or a liquor store? Why cigarettes? And you hate when people vape in the bathroom.”
“I gotta live a little before the world ends.” She takes out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. Putting one in her mouth, she hands over her fake. It looks nothing like her. I wonder how she actually got it to pass. Maybe the cashier at 7-Eleven felt pity for her abysmal attempt at trying to fake an identity. The ID lists someone 5’6” with black hair and lighter skin than Ellie has.
“What else is on the list?”
“Cutting a class. And don’t worry, getting crossed is on here too.”
“You’ve never cut a class?”
“Since elementary school I’ve had perfect attendance.” That doesn’t surprise me.
“Which class are you gonna cut?”
“AP Latin.”
I let out a laugh. “I thought you liked Mr. Richards?”
“I did until he gave me a B on my last test because in the section where he was having us write conversational sentences, I wrote about how I knew that it was Alice who stole his watch and sold it to Mr. Durbin in exchange for drugs. They had never figured out that piece of the puzzle during the investigation and I overheard her talking about it to her friends while they were vaping in the 4th floor bathroom. He thought I was ‘making fun’ of his ‘loss of property.’” She sighs and lights the cigarette in her mouth. The moment she takes her first inhale, she coughs it back out. “Ugh, this stuff is foul. Why’d you let me do this?”
“I didn’t let you do anything. You did this of your own accord.” It’s really funny watching her try to be a rebel. Prior to today, the most rebellious thing she did was accidentally staying out past her parents’ curfew. I take out a piece of gum from my backpack. “Here,” I say, “I’m guessing you want to get the taste of tobacco out of your mouth.”
Taking the piece of gum, she continues with her list. “I’m thinking maybe a hard drug, too, like coke or heroin.”
I freeze. “Ellie, please don’t do heroin or coke.”
“But what about—”
“You’re so intelligent, you know what will happen if you do this. You’re seventeen, you have your whole life ahead of you.”
“I’ll move that to the bottom of the list, then. Next up is getting a tattoo.”
“Stick and poke, or a real one?”
“If my fake works, then a real one.”
“I doubt it’ll work at a real tattoo parlor. You gotta be eighteen or older in the state of New York to get a tattoo, with or without parental permission. Trust me, I did my research.” I really want to get a little spaceship on my shoulder, but I can’t for another seven months.
“Hmm, how about an orgy?”
I snort. “What does Gordon think about that?”
“He doesn’t know yet. I haven’t shown him the list at all.”
“I feel like it’d be really important to tell your boyfriend that you want to go to an orgy.”
“That one’s more of an ‘end of the list’ type activity. It’s not at the forefront of my mind.”
“And yet you still chose to bring that up while listing things off to me.” I take the list from her. “Let’s go get food and you can explain the rest of this list to me.”
“Deal.”

Nine

It’s a bright and sunny Monday morning, and the light is really messing with my eyesight. Maybe before the spring’s out I’ll need glasses.
The hallways between classes are typically loud. People talk about finals, about college apps, about grades, etc., and you can always hear small bits and pieces of specific conversations.
Today’s almost the same. As I walk down the hall, I overhear everyone talking about Saturday. Everyone else seems to be taking the stance of Ellie, that this could be something catastrophic. I don’t know how I feel about this whole thing. It’s scary to think about what my family would do if this turned into something bad. My family would need to get out quick—my mom’s pregnant and my rapidly aging grandma lives with us. My grandma’s already had three back surgeries—we’d need to get her somewhere safe.
I walk into AP Gov, and I see the desks had been turned to create a circle instead of just being in rows. I see my teacher, Mr. Peters, sitting on his desk, absentmindedly biting his nails while listening to Francine and Will argue about whether or not Dostrovska will retaliate.
Francine says just as I sit down, “If anything, they’ll just attack another base. Besides, we could use a bit of ruffage right now.”
Will holds up a finger. “That won’t even things out. That’ll only escalate things even more, and it will create more conflict. Besides, the last thing the U.S. needs is to be further involved in another needless war.”
“But that’s just it,” Jack butts in, “when hasn’t the U.S. gotten itself into another needless war? This could be a perfect opportunity to create more pro-war propaganda in order to delude the people into thinking we still need to fund militaristic activities.”
“Where do you even get that from, Jack?” Francine asks him.
“It’s basic knowledge, Francine.”
“Not really,” Francine says, crossing her arms.
“It’s pretty basic knowledge that the United States uses propaganda to keep up the war effort and to justify even having a war in the first place. What do you think superhero movies are?”
“Well, what do you suggest, Jack?” Francine asks. “What would solve everything?”
“I don’t know, Francine. I’m not a politician. I’m just a junior. What do you think, Mr. Peters?”
Mr. Peters looks up from staring at the floor. “Um…” He looks down at his hand. He had bitten his nails down to as far as they could go. “I don’t know, guys. I don’t.”

Eight

It’s lunch, and I’m eating with Ellie and Gordon. I’ve successfully gotten them to fork over their mozzarella sticks after some incessant begging.
“I can’t believe I forgot that Mr. Richards also teaches AP Global,” she keeps saying, staring at her carrots, poking them with her fork. “I skipped AP Latin, and didn’t have a note to justify it, so he was like, ‘You know what this means, right? I’m going to have to dock points from your grade.’ I don’t understand why so many teachers make attendance such a big part of their grading system! It makes no sense.” She sighs. “And then Lena, that bitch, made a big deal of the fact that she was the one who made the quiz’s scores be graded on a curve after class ended. Like, we’re in high school, not elementary school, you don’t have to rub it in that you’re doing better than the rest of us.”
I take a bite into a stolen mozzarella stick. “Just give her a death stare the next time you see her.”
“So what’s next on your bucket list?” Gordon asks.
“Still either the tattoo or orgy, I’m guessing,” I say, eating another one of my stolen mozzarella sticks.
“Orgy?” Gordon raises his eyebrows, choking on his water.
Ellie looks sheepishly at her boyfriend. “It’s an idea.”
“Wait till you hear about the heroin,” I say, watching the gooey cheese string as I take a bite.
“Heroin?”
“It’s just an idea,” she says.
“If you hated smoking, what makes you think that heroin would be better for you?”
“Maybe one final rush before it’s the end of the world as we know it,” she says, taking out her physical list, uncapping a pen from her bag.”
Everyone’s phones buzz in their pockets, hands, bags—it’s all in unison. There’s a sudden hush that settles across the cafeteria. I look over at Ellie’s phone out on the table.
“Shit,” Ellie breathes. Again, she never swears. “She died. Una died. Shit. Shit.”
“There are more curse words than shit, Ellie,” I say, not knowing how to otherwise respond to the news.
The cafeteria erupts into noise, everyone talking over each other.
“The war’s gonna get worse, isn’t it? This is worse than just being in a war or bombing the base. Isn’t this how World War I started?” Ellie starts hyperventilating.
“Relax, Ellie,” I say, taking her hand from across the table. “Things will be under control. Don’t worry.”

Seven

Things have spiraled since the death of Una. Late last night, there was a statement from congress celebrating the death of a “tyrant” who really posed no danger—we were the ones who started the war. Early this morning, there was an attack on a U.S. army base stationed in Dostrovska, and now, walking the halls, all I can hear are whispers. They’re more doom and gloom than the ones from the other day, and they’re quieter, almost as if everyone’s afraid to say what they think out loud. I don’t blame them.
Ellie’s walking next to me—we took the train together this morning—and she’s forgoing the whispers for actual loud conversation. And, again, hyperventilating.
“Jamie doesn’t know what we’re gonna do if we get bombed—we don’t have any close relatives that would take us in. After our parents died, all of our other relatives sort of abandoned us—on both sides of our family.”
“I’m sorry Ellie, my family would be glad to take you with us to our family in Wisconsin—we can’t really go anywhere outside of the border right now since I’m the only one without a passport. If need be, though, we would be able to pack you into our car with us on the ride up there. The both of you. Granted, that’s sort of dependent on whether or not my mom has the baby before it happens—if it happens.”
Her breathing returns to normal. I keep telling her that she should go get her anxiety checked out.
“Okay, thanks, thanks. I needed that reassurance.”
We regroup at lunch after the first four periods of the day. Gordon joins us at our table, and we start talking about this morning’s attack.
“There is a lot of speculation that the government is going to retaliate, but also that Dostrovska might send another attack before that happens,” Gordon says as he takes a bite from his pizza.
I raise an eyebrow. “And the speculation is from where?”
“Jack, Francine, and Will have started a podcast called The End of the World (we think). “It’s actually really interesting, even though there’s only one episode and was recorded today.”
“When did you have time to listen to it?”
Gordon replies sheepishly, “I did the audio for it.”
“Why do they think that there’ll be another attack first before the U.S. retaliates?”
“The attack on the naval base was just so small and inconsequential, it doesn’t equate to the murder of the president of Dostrovska.”
“What are you saying?”
“That a country as big and as powerful and intimidating and domineering as the U.S. wouldn’t let this go unpunished.”
“So—”
Just like yesterday, a group notification goes out across the cafeteria, and everyone’s phones let out a text tone, buzz, light up.
I look down and check my phone.
“Shit.” Ellie still hasn’t learned any new curse words apparently.
But that doesn’t really matter. California’s been hit. LA to be specific. The city has been leveled with a nuclear bomb.
Gordon lets out a breath of disbelief. “I didn’t know they had nukes.”
“According to the article, no one did,” I reply. “I guess Jack and Will and Francine were right.”
For the rest of the day, people in the hallways move away from whispering and speak loudly about relatives they have in LA, their plans to move out of the country, and what they would do in the event of the apocalypse.
When I get home at around 9, I see my apartment in a frenzy. My three little brothers are packing up their stuff—or, rather, two of my brothers are helping the youngest one pack—and my parents and grandma are picking things off the walls to throw into boxes and suitcases.
“So, are we going to Wisconsin already?” I ask, walking through the door. “I told Ellie that her and Jamie would be able to come with us if we went—”
My mom looks up at me and says, “The west coast doesn’t seem safe anymore. The country doesn’t seem safe to stay in.”
“It’s in the midwest, mom.”
She shakes her head. “We’re going to Nunavut.”
I blink. “Where?”
“Canada, honey,” my mother says, not really looking at me but looking past me. “We’re going to try to take you to the airport, and we’ll see if you can get on the plane with us without your passport, but if you can’t, you’re going to have to stay behind.”
“What the fuck?”
My mother rushes over to me. “But, but, but, everything might be okay, so we can come back home and you’ll be fine and we’ll be fine. Everyone will be fine, okay?” She rubs her pregnant belly. “We’re doing this for the baby and your grandma and your brothers. Please, go pack. We’re leaving in an hour.”
On the way to the airport, I frantically text Ellie to tell her that I’m leaving and that I’ll call her when we land in wherever the fuck my mother said we’re going. She responds, “Why Canada?”
I wish I had an answer.
LaGuardia Airport is frantic when we get there. It’s always a mess, but today especially it’s the worst. There are so many people who apparently got the same idea that my parents did, and bought their tickets just as quickly. We get through the airport fine, passing every other terrified flier as we go, until we get to where they check passports. My brothers, my grandma, and my parents get through fine. But I’m stuck. Your birth certificate won’t work alone as a substitute past the age of 15. Fuck.
I turn to my mom, and she has tears in her eyes. “Mom?”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
My dad hands me cab fare. “I’m sorry, Penelope. We love you.”
“Honey, you’ll be okay,” she says as I grab my carryon and the TSA officer motions for me to follow her to where I can collect my checked bag. “Ellie and her brother will take good care of you before we get back, and we will be back. I promise.”
“What if it’s not okay?” I ask her, tears welling up in my eyes. “You saw what happened to Los Angeles—what if that happens here? And who’s to say that Jamie and Ellie will take me in? You didn’t even give me a chance to ask!”
“We’ve got to get the baby out, honey, and grandma, and then we’ll come back for you once you get your passport. Besides, who knows what’ll happen,” she says, her eyes frantic as she speaks. “Things could end up turning out okay!”
“Mom, none of this makes sense,” I plead.
“Of course it does, honey.” Her eyes are unfocused.
“Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry, but please don’t leave me alone here!”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, honey, we’ve just got to make sure the baby and grandma are okay just in case.” She plasters a pity-filled smile on her face. I wish she’d hug me. “You’ll be fine. Your father and I will come back with your brothers and grandma and the new baby if it takes that long, although I doubt we’ll be gone for two whole months, so she’ll be born when we’re back.” She’s listing plans as if it makes a difference. I’m still frightened of being alone.
“Mom—”
“Ma’am, come with us, please,” the TSA officer tells me.
“I’m sorry sweetie,” my mom says, still looking at me with eyes unfocused and a broken smile on her face. She passes a hand over her belly. “We don’t have a choice.”
I call Ellie after I collect my bag. She tells me that she and Jamie will be right over to pick me up, and that I can stay with them for as long as I need.
In the car, I’m silent. I don’t know What to think of my family being gone, my mother looking me in the eye as she left me. Part of me wants New York to get hit so I could be taken out of my misery. But I know that would mean that my family wouldn’t have a home to come back to. They wouldn’t be able to come back to me.
Jamie has the radio on, and I wasn’t paying attention to it until the person on the radio said, “…and the capital city of Dostrovska, Malatrovia, has been bombed earlier tonight. It is larger than Los Angeles, with an even larger population, yet the damage from this nuclear blast has been nearly the same. The United Nations is calling for the two countries to come to a ceasefire, but neither President Hatchet of the United States or the former Vice President and now President of Dostrovska, Opal Xavier-Bingen, are willing to come to an agreement. The war has escalated past logic, according to many political analysts, and many worry that there will no longer be either country left to bomb if each attack continues to be retaliated like what we have seen just today.”

Six

Not many people showed up to class today. I think that people are starting to realize how unimportant going on with normal functions is, at least when it comes to high schoolers needing an education. Everything else is still going. I doubt that any big corporation in the city will stop just because there is a big impending threat of death looming over the city. There is still money to be made, I guess.
Ellie skipped school today to get a lead on her bucket list. She took Gordon with her because I refused to help her be morbid on purpose. However, I found someone who could do stick-and-pokes for us for cheap, so I’m waiting for her at Bethesda Fountain to go to their house. Their name’s Jimmy and they’re in my AP Calc class. They’ve been doing them on themself for about a year now, and honestly, they look kinda rad.
Ellie said that today she wanted to get crossed, so hopefully she’ll be at least a little sober when she meets me here.
I’m feeling a bit better than I did last night. I cried myself to sleep on Ellie’s couch, and I had hoped that she wouldn’t hear me, but she did, and she brought me a cup of tea and we talked it out. I can’t believe my family would just leave me like that. But deep down, I understand. I know that they saw me as an adult and that I could take care of myself to some extent, and they needed to ensure the safety of their younger children since they weren’t at a point where they could be self-sufficient. It doesn’t hurt any less. I’m scared that I’ll never see them again.
Ellie’s voice breaks my train of thought. “Penn!”
“Hey! How was getting crossed for the first time?”
She breaks out into a grin. “Fan-fucking-tastic!” So she has learned new curse words. “I wrote some poetry, and I also painted a picture.” She pulls a canvas out of her tote bag. It’s an ugly picture of a cow, but I smile and nod like it’s pretty.
“Ready to go to Jimmy’s?”
“Yep!”
At Jimmy’s place—which is a surprisingly gorgeous and elegant penthouse on the Upper West Side, which doesn’t fit their aesthetic of grunge and un-elegance—they hug the both of us when they open the door.
“So what do y’all want as your tatts?”
“Could we get matching ones?” Ellie turns to me, eyes pleading.
“Uh, sure, what do you want to get that matches?”
“Ooo, could we get half a heart? It’s simple but cute!”
I smile at my best friend. It was indeed cute, and I could honestly say that I would love to have that on me for the rest of my life. “Sure!”
The stick-and-pokes didn’t take that long to do. It took about half an hour each for the both of us. Jimmy charged us $40, which is much cheaper than typical tattoo places charge. We both get ours on the same part of our arms—our inner wrist, right next to the vein. Afterwards, we’re hanging out at Jimmy’s and getting to know them—I hadn’t spoken to them much since class started, and they seem much cooler than I thought they were.
Today is a good day.

Five

Ellie isn’t at school again, and it was because after the tattoo, we got drunk together at Jimmy’s, and this morning she woke up hungover. She’s going to spend the day completing a lot more of her other stuff on the bucket list; which ones she won’t tell me. Jamie saw the tattoos last night and didn’t really care, but did care more that Ellie was drinking, but only because it was a school night. He doesn’t know that she’s been skipping. He always leaves for work earlier than she leaves for school.
After school, I wait with Gordon for her outside of the building.
“Do you know what her plan for today was?” he asks me.
“Nah,” I say, “she didn’t tell me. I’m guessing she didn’t tell you either.”
“If we’re gonna die, we’ve gotta go out in an epic way!” Ellie runs up to us, clearly still hungover but pushing past it as if it were just a minor headache. She’s also limping, which worries me. Her eyes look frenzied, and her hair is disheveled.
“Ellie,” I start, slowly, “what did you do today?”
“Well, last night, after you went to sleep, I went to Coney Island and went skinny dipping, so that was the start of my day—”
“By yourself that late? What time did you get back? That’s so fucking dangerous—”
“—and then I cut my foot on some glass, which is why I’m limping. I also stole some makeup from Sephora because I’ve always heard that that’s a rush, although I nearly got caught by the security guard—”
“Ellie, slow down,” Gordon says, “why are you doing all of this?”
“Because it’s the end of the world, Gordon! Didn’t you hear? Ten minutes ago they got Chicago. Not a nuke, but a regular bomb. They’re inching closer and closer to the east coast. We could be dead by morning.”
“Ellie,” I say, sighing, “we’re not going to die. Please, stop all this.” I gesture to her state. “We’re worried about you.”
“We’ve gotta finish the stuff on my list together, buys. It’s a must.” She’s got a smile on her face, one that’s bright and wide, but her eyes are somehow just as unfocused as my mother’s were when she said goodbye to me at the airport—looking through us, not at us.
Gordon takes out his water bottle from his book bag and gives it to her. “C’mon, drink something. Other than alcohol or coffee, because you’re only this hyper with coffee.”
She shakes her head, refusing the water.
“I found someone to get heroin from,” she says. Gordon and I freeze and look at each other.
“Ellie, don’t you fucking dare do heroin. Smoke all the weed you want, but don’t do heroin,” I say, my tone cold and sharp.
“I’m just saying that if we wanted to, I know where to get some.”
“You know what it does. Please, please, please don’t try it.”
For whatever reason, she grins. “I make no promises. Besides, we could really live a little in case we’re the ones hit next, y’know?”
I turn to Gordon. “I’ll take her home.”
At her apartment, while she takes a nap, I wait for Jamie to get home on the couch. The moment he walks in the door, I stand up and whisper-hiss to him, “Ellie wants to do heroin and I’m not sure if I can stop her.”
His eyes widen and he drops his stuff and walks down the hallway. The next thing I hear is a screaming match between brother and sister, which results in Ellie limping out of the apartment and Jamie calling after her, pleading to her to stop. “I don’t want to lose you,” he keeps saying.
“We’re all going to die,” she calls back, tears in her eyes and voice. “I don’t want to go out like a little bitch, I want to go out like a star. I don’t want to go out helplessly like mom and dad. If I die, I want to be doing something incredible.”
“Heroin is not incredible,” Jamie says as she gets on the elevator.
“But it’s better than a nuclear bomb.” The elevator doors close.
I’ve never heard her speak like that before.

Four

Jamie makes good breakfast food. He’s making waffles for us, and they smell really good. I’m drinking vanilla tea for the first time—I didn’t know vanilla bean tea existed, it’s really good. Gordon texted me that Ellie went to his place last night, so she’s okay.
“Don’t worry, I’m saving some for her later,” he tells me. “She can’t resist a good waffle.”
Someone pounds at the door. Jamie and I look at each other. “Who is that?” he asks.
“I’ll get it,” I say. I get up from the table and go to the living room. I open the door.
Gordon’s in the doorway, panting, wordlessly pointing down the hallway. Jamie comes to the door, holding a cup of coffee.
“Use your words, Gordon.”
“She’s—she’s—” He can’t say anything. He grabs our hands and pulls us down the hallway. Ellie is at the end, her face sweaty and greyish with crusts of vomit on either end of her mouth. She is limp and barely conscious, slumping against the wall.
Jamie drops his cup of coffee, running to his sister’s side. The metal cup clatters on the ground, the coffee spilling out. He looks just like her, except his just as curly hair is kept short and his eyes are a bit rounder than hers are. “What fucking happened?”
“She—she—”
My eyes narrow. “Gordon, don’t tell me—”
“I tried to stop her, Penn, I really did—”
“What?” Jamie demands.
“The heroin, Jamie,” I spit, looking at Gordon.
Jamie’s eyes bulge out of his head. “You let her do heroin?”
“I tried to stop her! I leave and come back and this is what she looks like—”
“You didn’t take her to a hospital?”
“I didn’t think they’d be able to do anything!”
“They have naloxone, you fucking dipshit!” Jamie turns to me. “Call an ambulance!”
I call, but dear God, we’re too late. The paramedics zip up the body bag, first giving us all of Ellie’s valuables and her bucket list. She finished it. The whole thing. I saw the half heart tattoo on her arm before they put it in the bag. The thing on the list she replaced having the orgy with was spending a good day with her boyfriend.
I’m sobbing on the couch in Ellie’s apartment, staring down at the list.
“How could you let her even buy heroin?” Jamie asks Gordon, who is sitting next to me.
“I didn’t know she bought it.”
“Where did you go that you were gone long enough for her to take such a high dosage?”
“I—”
“Why did you leave her for so long?”
“I—”
“Answer me, goddammit!”
“I went to get her a gift, okay? I went to get her a gift. My family is finally moving us out of here in two days so I wanted to give her a final gift before I left.”
Jamie’s demeanor softens, only a little bit. “Oh.”
“I got her this,” he says, pulling out a bracelet box from his back pocket. It’s beautiful. He hands it to Jamie, who’s standing, on the brink of tears. “Here.”
Jamie points to the door. “Get out,” he says.
“What?”
“Get. Out.” He looks at Gordon, eyes red and trembling. Gordon looks at the two of us, tears welling up in his own eyes, and leaves. He takes one last look at us and closes the door. I stand up wordlessly, go to my best friend’s room, and get in her bed. I fall asleep.

Three

I sleep all day. I can’t bring myself to get out. Halfway through the day, 2:30 according to Ellie’s clock, I wake up. Jamie put food on Ellie’s nightstand, my guess just in case I woke up. I eat half a waffle and go back to sleep. There’s no longer a point. My family’s gone, my friends are gone, soon I will be, too. I hope I will be, too.

Two

Jamie wakes me up. “You’ve gotta see this,” he says, pulling me out of bed to the living room. My food is still on the nightstand.
The T.V. is on, blaring. There was a retaliatory attack on Dostrovska for what happened in Chicago. God, we’re gonna die.

One

I’m finally able to get out of bed.
The city isn’t empty. I thought it would be. Just because a lot of people left doesn’t mean that the city fully stopped. This makes me happy.
The trains are running, bodegas are still open, coffee shops are still pumping out coffee to people who need it to survive.
Jamie and I are sitting on a park bench in Central Park, right near the “Imagine.”
“Who’s your favorite Beatle?” I ask him.
“George.”
“Only makes sense.”
“Who’s your least favorite?”
“John.”
“Why?”
“Have you not heard of his infamous song?”
He laughs. “Yeah, that’s fair.” This is the first time I’ve heard him laugh in the past few days. I’m glad he’s able to laugh. We watch the city we love pass by as people sit in the park with us. As per usual—and I’m glad there can still be a usual—there’s a musician playing in the center of the “Imagine” tiles. And, of course, he decides to play “Imagine,” because what else would someone play? For once, I’m not annoyed, and I stand up and give him a dollar.
“Let’s get lunch,” I tell Jamie, and we walk down the park towards 59th, looking up places to eat on our phones.

Zero.
I’m on the roof of the apartment building, staring down at the playground outside. The kids are playing as if there wasn’t a war going on. They’re playing like there isn’t something terrible going on that is changing the very course of how their futures are going. I hope to God that they’ll be okay.
It’s 8:37 in the morning, according to my phone, and I’m up earlier than I thought I’d be. I needed to get out but I didn’t feel like going to the actual outside, where I would have to interact with everyone. Jamie took the day off, so he’s standing next to me, and I think we’re keeping each other from jumping off the roof. Ellie was right. I’d rather go out like a star than going out so passively. But I’m not sure that I have a choice. I wonder what Ellie’s last words were. I know what I don’t want them to be. I don’t want them to be something ridiculous.
“You know, I’ve always hated how the trains ran. Ever since I was a little kid, they’ve been terrible,” I say, wanting to clear my mind of something ridiculous.
Jamie laughs. “Any particular reason you said that?”
“Nah.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something bright and flashing. I look back at Jamie. He’s wearing the bracelet Gordon gave him that was supposed to be Ellie’s. He’s looking past me, at the bright and flashing thing in the sky that’s getting closer and closer to where we are. So many thoughts run through my head. Of course it would be Manhattan. Where else? Staten Island? I gotta say my last words, but I can’t think about what they should be. Think, think, think, what should they be? Fuck, I wanted to go out like a star, just like Ellie. A bright bright st—