Denton Little's Deathdate (25 page)

I grab Paolo's hands, and he's able to lift me up onto my feet, then, with Millie's help, maneuver me backward toward the makeshift wheelchair.

“Someone needs to hold the dolly,” Paolo says as he and Millie awkwardly try to push me into the chair, causing the whole contraption to slowly roll away.

“I'll get it,” my stepmom says, jumping into position like she's manning a tank.

Paolo and Millie work together to try to get me onto the banquet chair, but it is only when Danny Delfino runs up to help that they're successful. He takes the prom king crown off his head.

“Here, man, this is yours.”

It's a sweet gesture, but the idea of sitting up here on this wheelchair throne with a plastic crown on my head is too pathetic for my dying heart to bear.

“All you, dude,” I say.

“Oh. You sure?”

“So very sure. And, Danny.”

“Yeah?”

“You're fantastic on the sax. Keep at it.”

“Oh, cool, man, cool. Thanks.” He walks off, a bounce in his step.

“That guy was so happy after you said that,” Millie says. “His eyes were, like, twinkling.”

“I'm just amazed he came over to help,” Paolo says. “Unpresidented behavior.”

“Ha,
unpresidented
,” Millie says.

“We should get this show on the road, kids,” my stepmom says. “Mr. Little is waiting for us. You good up there, Denton?”

Let's see: partially paralyzed, going to die any minute, sitting atop a weird, homemade wheelchair. I'm fantastic!

“Sure.”

As we roll toward the exit door through the slow-moving masses of my peers, my stepmom pushing the dolly as Paolo clears the way ahead, I hold on to the chair tight. It wobbles back and forth a bit, and my arms feel weak.

“You're gonna be okay,” Millie says from beside me, her hand reaching up and touching my knee.

“Thanks,” I say.

We go over the threshold from the party room to the faux-elegant hallway, and I get jostled a little bit in my chair. I almost fall off, but I'm able to hold on.

“You need to slow down a little bit, Paolo,” my stepmom says.

Paolo looks confused, like he's about to say, “You're the one pushing the cart, lady!” but Millie gives him a look.

“Hey!” I hear from way behind us. It's Phil. “You're lucky your sugar daddy showed up, Little! Come on back here!”

There's not even the sliver of a possibility that I'd be able to fight him right now. I can barely move.

All the heads in the hallway stop and turn back to look at him.

“No, you guys don't get it,” Phil says. “I was knocked unconscious.”

“Good,” Ratina Jacobs yells. “You're an asshole!”

“Denton is eight billion times the human you will ever be,” Melissa Schoenberg says.

“Just 'cause you run fast doesn't mean you're cool!” someone else says.

Phil gets lost in the crowd.

“King Denton!” Willis Ellis says, his hippie girlfriend, Jeannie, at his side. “Sweet ride, man.”

“Sorta,” I say.

“See ya around, dude.”

“Bye,” Jeannie says.

“Bye, guys,” I say. I have the instinct to wave, but I'm afraid if I let go of the chair, I'll tumble off it.

We make it outside, where it's gotten a little chilly, with a crisp night breeze. In spite of all that's happening, I try to feel the sensation of the wind on my chest, cutting through the blue fabric of my suit.

“Do you see Dad's car?” my stepmom asks.

The parking lot is a zoo, with a couple of buses that will take kids to the alcohol-free Project PROM, six or seven limos that will take kids too cool for that to beachy places
like Wildwood or Ocean City, and then a sea of cars, mainly student-driven. And—somewhere amongst all of this—my dad in the family minivan.

“Not yet,” I say.

“Well, where could he be? He's been out here for fifteen minutes.”

“I'm sure he's somewhere out there,” Paolo says. “I'll go scout it out. You coming, Millie?”

“Oh, sure,” Millie says, looking back to me for a moment as she follows Paolo into the parking jungle.

“We're gonna be home soon, sweets,” my stepmom says, standing on her tiptoes, trying to see over the long line of vehicles.

“Can I help you guys?” HorribleCop says, appearing out of nowhere. My heart and stomach leap, but the rest of me doesn't. Moving is getting harder and harder.

“Are you kidding me right now?” my stepmom says. “Absolutely not. There is nothing you can do, and I don't understand why you keep thinking there is.”

“Well, if it's your husband you're looking for, I believe I see his car right over there. Your other son's in there, too.” HorribleCop points past the parade of limos. “A minivan, right?”

“Where?” my stepmom says, staring out along the trajectory of his pointing arm.

I start rolling backward, toward the banquet hall, and I'm about to call out for help when a hand covers my mouth. “I'm sorry, Denton,” Paolo's mom says into my ear. “You have to trust me.”

No. This isn't happening. I try to pull her hand off my face, but my arms have stopped working. I look down
and my hands are red. My stepmom's too wrapped up in a parking argument with Horrible Cop to notice that I'm drifting away. I should scream. But sound won't come.

Paolo's mom carefully threads me backward through the crowd, and I'm thinking someone will notice, someone will stop this from happening, but everyone's too caught up in their own postprom excitement. We move around the side of the building, then turn so that Paolo's mom is behind the dolly and chair, pushing me forward.

I should have listened to Veronica and left when I had the chance.

I crane my neck sideways to see if my stepmom has noticed we've gone, but she's still trying desperately to get permission for my dad to drive up closer so it's easier to get me into the car.

I finally attempt a scream, but it barely registers. The muscles of my mouth feel slack and marbly.

My stepmom fades into the distance. I can only see part of her face.

Then nothing.

That might be the last time I see her.

Paolo's mom steers me down the narrow side alley of the building, farther and farther from the cacophony of voices in front.

“Here we are,” she says as we turn the corner of the building. Her station wagon is parked next to two big Dumpsters, its engine running.

She takes her hand off my mouth. “Please don't shout, sweetie, okay? Honestly, trust me.” I couldn't shout if I wanted to.

She stands in front of the dolly chair, sizing me up.
“What's the easiest, safest way to get you into the car?” She puts her arms around me and tries to heft me off the chair. My useless arms flop at my sides.

“Oof, sorry, hon,” Paolo's mom says, lowering me back into the chair. “Better call in the troops.” She scampers over to the car and taps on the passenger-side window. “Gonna need your help.”

The door opens, and Veronica comes out, still drunk. “I told you to leave,” she says to me. “Why didn't you leave?”

“I don't know,” I try to say, but it comes out a soft “Iuhohhh.”

“Denton! DENTON!” I hear from the front of the building, sounding far away but still piercing through all the other noise. My stepmom. She'll come get me.

“Ohmigod,” Paolo's mom says, putting a hand over her eyes. “This is heartbreaking.” She gathers herself and crouches over me. “Denton, I promise this is for your own good. I'm sorry it has to happen like this, but I'll explain everything in the car. Come on, Ron. Help me here.”

Millie and Paolo start shouting my name, too.

“Mom, I just—” Veronica says.

“Veronica,”
Paolo's mom says. “Please, sweetheart, you have to trust me, too. I need your help. Denton needs your help.”

Veronica looks to me with bleary eyes. I look back at her. She helps get me down from the chair, wrapping her arms under my pits and around my chest as Paolo's mom grabs my legs. I feel Veronica breathing hard into my ear as she struggles to get a good grip.

I know my stepmom will find me. Paolo will find me. Felix will find me. Any second now.

After a protracted sequence of awkward maneuvers, I am more or less stuffed into the backseat of the car. I slowly topple over onto my side, but Paolo's mom picks me up and gently balances me against the back cushion.

Paolo's mom gets into the driver's seat, Veronica beside her. She shifts the car into drive, and we move forward, around the other side of Haventown Gardens.

As we move through the parking lot, I spot my parents' minivan. I grunt uselessly as we speed by. Paolo is standing near it, eyes searching, and I think he notices his mom's car pulling away. At least I hope he does.

Paolo's mom stares forward, driving with purpose. Veronica looks back at me. As we pull out of the parking lot, it finally sinks in. No one has found me. I've been kidnapped by Paolo's mom.

“The hard part is over, Dent,” Paolo's mom says into the rearview mirror. “Thank you for cooperating. I know how confusing and scary this must be.”

Like I had a choice.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

My head and neck are the last things left I can move, so I can nod or shake my head if I want to. But I don't.

“Believe me when I say I hate that it had to happen like this. I would have wanted you to say goodbye to your family. To Pow. But they never would have understood.”

The town rushes by outside my window.

“Mom, I don't even understand,” Veronica says, pulling her hood down.

“Denton, I'm an agent working for the DIA. That's the Death Investigation Agency. Have you heard of it?”

I haven't. I grunt.

“I think Veronica told you that I've been watching you
most of your life. Since you were five. I was the perfect candidate for your case. Not only is Paolo the same age as you, but he also has nearly the same deathdate. It was, like, fate. My son could be your best friend. What better cover for getting to spend a lot of time with you?”

I don't know what to do with these words.

“Not that Paolo knows about any of this. And I can't stress enough, Denton, how much I truly came to care about you. To love you like one of my own kids.” I stare at the back of Paolo's mom's head as she speaks. “I don't want you to think all of our interactions were a lie. None of them were.”

“You are full of such shit!” Veronica says.

“Please don't, V.”

“Why shouldn't I? Do you even hear yourself? You just kidnapped him—and me—and you're saying it's out of love?”

“There was no other way.”

“Oh, so when you were in our kitchen shoveling your pills down Denton's throat, that was out of love? What are those, actually?”

I don't want to know.

Paolo's mom looks at Veronica, then back at the road. “Those really were homeopathic pills! To deal with anxiety. I knew how difficult today would be for Dent; I was trying to help.”

“Really,” Veronica says.

“Yes.”

“What about when you lied to him and convinced him that his girlfriend had dumped him?”

“Look, I'm not proud of that, but there was no other way to get Dent to stay over,” Paolo's mom says. “And I
needed a sample of his blood and hair as close to midnight as possible on the day before his deathdate, when the virus was activated. I feel terrible, but I had no choice.”

Me and Veronica. All part of the setup.

“I did not think, however, that the two of you would…”

Okay, phew. At least us hooking up wasn't part of the plan. Because if my best friend's mom were the wingman responsible for getting me laid for the first time, that would be pretty embarrassing.

“I. Can. Not. Believe. This. Shit!” Veronica shouts into her window.

“Shhh. Please, V.”

“What about lying about having a crush on Dent's dad? Your lies are all over the place. It's disgusting.”

“I did once have a crush on Lyle! I always wished you kids had a father figure around.”

“You're completely nuts,” Veronica says.

“Is any of this making sense?” Paolo's mom looks into the mirror, waiting for me to give some sign of affirmation. I don't give her any. Almost none of it's making sense.

“Put it this way. It's”—she glances at the digital clock on the dashboard—“eleven-twelve p.m. on your deathdate, and you're still alive.”

I'm also purple, mute, and immobile.

“I'm saying you might live, Denton. You might live through your deathdate.”

Sound drops out. My breath catches in my chest. My head rolls back and forth on my neck. I might live. What?

“Mom, why are you saying this?” Veronica asks. “You're being insane!”

“It's true. Denton. The purple-red thing you've taken
to calling the splotch? It's a virus. Your mother injected it into you before you were born.”

My mother.

“As far as we know, there's only been a couple of people injected. And you're one of them. And you're the first one to reach your deathdate.” I look at the clock: 11:14. Forty-six minutes to go. “So what happens to you is obviously of considerable interest to certain people.”

“But…,” Veronica says. “I have it, too…and Paolo. I mean, what does that mean?”

Paolo's mom turns to look at Veronica, then turns her gaze forward. “We don't know. Maybe nothing.”

I stare out the window and try and figure out where we're going.

“DC,” Paolo's mom says, like she's reading my mind. “We're headed down to DC, if you're wondering. The DIA will take good care of you.”

I find it hard to believe any organization with
death
in its name prioritizes care.

“That is, assuming you do actually make it through your deathdate. If not, then I turn this car around, and the government and I come up with a believable story for why you were in the car with me when you died.”

Paolo's mom looks into her mirror. “Oh shit.”

The engine makes a revving sound as we speed up.

“This is exactly what I didn't want,” she says. “Your parents have caught up to us. Not sure how, but they have.”

They found me!

“Looks like your brother's behind the wheel,” Paolo's mom says. “I just don't want any of them to get hurt. This has gotten so out of hand!”

We run a red light.

“Mom,” Veronica says, gripping on to the armrest. “Can't we just pull over and talk with them?”

“Doesn't work like that,” Paolo's mom says.

She executes a crazy, skidding U-turn, and I'm knocked onto my side. My view is limited to the gray fabric of the passenger seat in front of me.

I can hear the family minivan doing a similar screechy turn behind us, though. We take another quick turn, which swings me back up into a sitting position. My seat belt was never buckled. Paolo's mom looks in her mirror, and I can tell my family's still behind us. The sound of a police siren tears through the air.

Veronica looks past me. “Um, Mom, there's a cop.”

“Yeah.” Paolo's mom sighs. “He's with us. Unfortunately.” She talks to me through the rearview. “I'm so sorry you had that idiot on your ass all week, Dent. Usually, I'd have another agent giving me backup, but that guy's the brother of my boss's boss, so I had no choice.”

She's connected to HorribleCop.

“The power went to his head a bit. It's unfortunate.”

“Is he gonna arrest Denton's parents?” Veronica asks.

“No, he's just gonna stall them.”

We jolt forward, all three of our heads snapping back simultaneously. Felix must have rammed the minivan's bumper into us.

“What the hell!” Paolo's mom says. “I'm doing this to help your brother!” she shouts into the rearview.

“Mom, you're really scaring me,” Veronica says. “Can we please slow down? Or just stop or something?”

“V,” Paolo's mom says, looking right at her. “Please
keep it together. I didn't force you to go home and drink all that alcohol; that was your decision. And now I need you to—”

I see the car ahead of us before Paolo's mom does and only a fraction of a second before Veronica. But it's as if I can see not only the car but everything else that is about to unfold. I feel strangely at peace.

“WhoaMomMomMOMMM!” Veronica shouts.

Technically, I can't feel anything. But I am aware of everything.

Paolo's mom's eyes snap forward, just in time to see the stopped car ahead of us, patiently waiting at a traffic light. Heads up. If I could move my arms, this is the part where I'd attempt to buckle my seat belt.

Paolo's mom slams on the brakes. Too little. Too late. The brakes screech.

Then: A spine-rattling crunch. The whoosh of air bags.

As I'm propelled toward and through the windshield, I get a glimpse of the sporty yellow car we've collided with, and I know instantly who the driver is.