DARLINGS

Nick Rester

Occasus Press

 Darlings by Nick Rester

Published by Occasus Press

www.occasuspress.com

Copyright 2017 Nick Rester

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in

any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted
by U.S. copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,

organizations, places and events are either the product of the
authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely
coincidental.

If you know of an undiscovered Iris, please email

nickrester@gmail.com immediately.

Cover art by Diana Volkovskaya.

ISBN-10: 0692935134
ISBN-13: 978-0692935132

2
 Prologue

The flight attendant seals the door and Marcy squeezes my

hand. She doesnt take her eyes off the tarmac. I know what shes

thinking: this will be the last time I see New York.

Its going to be alright, I tell her.

Her voice is far away, Ill be dead before we land.

I touch her chin and she looks at me, but her eyes are glossy.

It will work this time, I tell her, things will turn in our

favor.

The engines fire on and whatever she said is drowned out. If

the miracle drug doesnt work, Marcy will be dead in two hours. If

the miracle drug doesnt work, Ill be dead in three weeks. And who

will be waiting for us when we land? More paparazzi?

3
 I lean on her shoulder and smell her skin. She smells like

smoke. My throat tenses and the anxiety rushes over me as I realize

this really could be our last moments together.

I squeeze her hand and know shes thinking the same thing.

When we land, who will leave this plane?

In three-weeks Ill be twenty-two and my time will be up. No

Iris has made it past their expiration date.

I could be among friends right now. I could have stayed in

Los Angeles and spent the last months with my family.

But I never would have met her. Marcy Darling. My Marcy.

Marce behind doors. Darling in public. My mentor. My alpha. My

friend. My obsession.

The only other living Iris.

The last of our kind.

We are Siberian tigers going extinct together at 600 miles an

hour.

Take a picture. We wont last long.

Just eight months ago, Marcys letter showed up in my P.O.

box.

4
I could never accept mail to my apartmenttoo many creepy Iris

stalkers sending suicide notes and love letters.

I knew it was her as soon as I saw the Darlings logo: D. A

capital D and its reflection.

As recognizable as the Nike symbol. The handmade

stationary was spritzed with Marcys perfume. It read:

Dear Fey,

The Darlings request your presence at PS 111 in one

week's time. Evening, 7:30.

- D

I dropped out of college and broke the lease on my studio

apartment. I was leaving Los Angeles, headed for a foreign city to

spend my final days with the last members of my generation.

Thinking back, I couldnt tell you why I was so impulsive.

I should have been planning my funeral. Making final

arrangements. Writing a Will for all the shit I dont have. It sounds

stupid, but all I can think of is Marcys perfume.

5
 That lingering sweetness that would fade with time.

I didnt come to New York to become famous. Obviously, I

knew who Marcy was. She and her brother Day have been household

names since their birth. Their black father and white mother created

two caramel skinned, perfect babies.

Two mixed kids with fatal diseases? Give them fashion lines!

Give them TV spots and Instagram pages and agents and fans. So

many fans. There were twenty children born with the Iris disease and

the Darlings twins were undoubtedly the most famous. I never

wanted fame.

My parents had intentionally kept me out of the lime light

and I was okay with that. But when the cheerleader asks the mathlete

to prom, he doesnt think of an excuse.

My clock is ticking, Marcy says, stirring me from my

thoughts, do you wish things had been different?

6
 Phase One

About eight months ago

7
 Chapter 1

The landing wakes me up.

Welcome to John F. Kennedy airport. The local time is

6:48pm and the temperature is a brisk 38 degrees with chance of

snow. Well be pulling into the terminal shortly. Thank you for

flying American.

By the time I get to the taxi line, Im exhausted. My cab

drivers name is Luis. The flash must have surprised him because

he's squinting in his driver photo. I give him the address of PS 111

and shut my eyes. When I open them, weve arrived.

Forty-five, he says.

8
 Where are we?

Alphabet city, he says, forty-five.

I hand him my debit card and he points to the machine on the

back of his seat. I swipe the card and nothing happens.

Its not working, I tell him.

Machines broken. Cash only.

I dont have cash.

He sighs loudly and fumbles for something under the

passenger seat. When his hand appears in the divider window, I see a

phone with a credit card attachment.

I thought it was broken I say.

He doesnt respond. It asks me how much to charge to the

card and I enter $55.00 as the amount.

Receipt? he asks, snatching the phone back.

No.

He eyes me in the rearview mirror. Most tip 18% in cash.

Im not most.

His eyes dart from my left eye, blue, to my right eye, green. I

can tell he wants to ask. They always want to ask.

9
 Before he can, I get out of the cab. In front of me stands a

three-story redbrick building with a basketball court in the front yard

and a huge cast iron gate. PS 111 is written in yellow paint above

the faded blue doors. At one point, it had been a public school. And

by the look of it, not too long ago.

I get my bag out of the trunk and the cab drives away before I

can close it. A light rain is falling and I hurry across the basketball

court and up the steps. I give a hard knock. Theres no answer. Its

unlocked so I let myself in.

Hello? I call.

While the exterior of the school has been left the same, the

inside is totally remodeled. It looks like a hotel lobby from the turn

of the century. I recognize the architecture from my Intro to Art

class. Its early 20th century French. I couldnt tell you the name of

the architect, but I know the style is Art Nouveau. The floor is dark

mahogany and the walls are white with floor to ceiling Banksy

murals. I have the same Girl with a Balloon in my apartment. Except

mine is a cheap poster and this looks like the real thing. Did they

hire Banksy? Can you hire Banksy?

10
 Twisted gold Degas ballerina statues adorn the spiral

staircase in the rooms center. There are five black doors on either

side of the hall. Franky, John, Jen, Jin-ho, Casey, Stefani, Brandon,

Marcy, Day and the last door is blank.

The door marked Franky opens and a girl steps out in

Lululemon yoga pants and Ugg boots. Shes the definition of

gamine: thin and boyish with auburn pixie hair. She isnt wearing

anything under her my dads a surgeon tank top, though there isnt

much to cover.

Franky notices me and calls, youre early! in a cute

Southern twang.

I check my watch. Its still on LA time.

What time was I supposed to get here? I reply.

She looks confused. Yall are here for tonights party?

I dont know, I tell her, the message didnt say.

She purses her lips and crosses the hall. With the hall being

so large, this takes a good awkward minute. When she finally

reaches me, she leans in far too close and looks me up and down.

11
 My heart pounds and I feel a little sick. She has freckles on

her nose. I try not to breathe. Should have gotten gum at the airport.

Hows my breath? She stops her search when she sees my eyes.

Hot damn, she gasps, youre the last one, arent ya?

I realize were looking at each others eyes. This is the first

time Ive met another Iris. Its eerie seeing the heterochromia iridis

in another person. Her left eye is brownish red, like her hair, and the

right is a lime green. Do I really look like that?

I break the silence by offering a hand, Im Fey.

Fey? She laughs. Thats a girls name! I have an Aunt

Fae. Did your mom hate you?

Its a nickname.

You kinda look like a girl, she continues, do you like

boys? Are you gay? Whats your full name?

Shes still looking from one eye to the other like they might

change colors.

I glance away and she giggles.

Franky yells, Stef, cmere and meet Aunt Fae!

Another door opens and Stefani pokes her head out.

12
 Didnt Marce say no family? she calls.

Shes in a black bikini, tall and thin. Her pale skin clashes

with her inky hair. Shes just as striking as Franky, albeit in a totally

different way. The best way I can describe the Iris girls features is

like walking through the rooms of an art gallery, seeing how

different artists interpreted female beauty. Or perhaps the same artist

in different phases of his life. Their striking features are not up for

debate. Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder in this case. It is

universal and it is true.

I realize I havent been talking.

Hey, I say, offering a hand.

Stefani, like Franky, doesnt shake it.

Whos this? Stefani asks, looking me over, partys at 9.

I lower my hand and wait for Franky to answer for me.

He aint here for the party, Franky says, hes the guy.

Aunt Fae? asks Stefani, putting a hand on her hip.

Im Fey, I say, just Fey. F-e-y. Its a nickname.

Franky scrunches her nose. Whats your full name?

13
 Its worse than the nickname I tell her, feeling my cheeks

redden.

Isnt he pretty? asks Franky, pinching my chin, Like a

girl, huh?

Can we stay on topic? asks Stefani.

Franky ignores her. Which one of your parents picked the

name?

Does she ever stop asking questions?

My dad, I tell her, then add, I think.

That explains it, says Franky, matter-of-factly, your

parents are still together?

No.

That explains that.

Explains what? asks Stefani.

Franky laughs. His name!

Stefani shakes her head. Whats his name?

Fey! I yell.

Stefani laughs. Thats a girls name.

14
 Stefani leans so close I can feel her hot breath on my face.

Havent they heard of personal space? She also has heterochromia.

The same colors as Frankys, but a little greener in the left eye.

The hell? She asks, staring into my eyes. Those are fake.

Nope, says Franky, hes the last Iris. Ive heard of him.

Stefani doesnt buy it. I remember him having a weird

name, but come on Fey?

I get it, I say, my names weird.

Frankys face lights up, were making him uncomfortable,

Stef. Want to go skinny dippin with us, Fey?

A door slams in the hall. The interruption saves me from

answering Franky. From the Casey door, a shirtless guy struts out,

tan and cut. I feel like a skeleton by comparison.

He sees his reflection in the marble ballerina statue and

casually flexes a tricep. We goin swimmin or what?

When the girls dont answer, he jogs over.

Whos this? he asks.

Fey, says Franky, hes the last Iris.

That right, guy? He asks, shaking my hand a little too hard.

15
 Casey, he says and notices my bag. These bitches didnt

even show the guy to his room? Stop pesterin him. Cmon, guy.

Im lead across the hall to the last door on the left. Franky is

still giggling.

Casey tries the doorknob. Shit he says, still locked. Youll

haveta talk to the head honcho.

Marcy?

Yup, he says, brushing nothing off his abs.

I cant help but stare at his flat stomach. How does that even

happen?

Never met her I say.

He checks to see if the girls are listening and whispers,

some advice, bro. That pussys a steel trap. Nothin you can do with

her.

Got it, I say, know where I can find her?

She and her bro are getting their NewEx done.

NewEx?

Ehh, he tilts his head and considers an explanation, better

let them tell you the rules of the house.

16
 You can hang out in my room until they get back.

Thanks.

We enter his suite. It looks like a train station depot inside.

Exposed brick, wooden benches, even a chalkboard time table that

never changes. He opens a door marked to trains and the inside

looks like an office. An old wooden desk sits in the corner with an

oscillating metal fan. Theres a bed propped up on steamer trunks.

Make yourself at home til they get back, he says, then get

the fuck out of my place.

I drop my bag and look around. Are you into trains or

something?

He shrugs. To tell ya the truth, I got no clue why the twins

made our rooms up like they did.

Does everyones room look like a train station?

Nah, says Casey, everyones place looks different.

Pretty cool, I say.

He scratches his elbow. Pretty cool, he drones. Well, time

for me to get to the pool. Girls are waiting.

Im gonna lay down for a bit, I tell him.

17
 Hes already out the door. Whatever.

I flop onto the bed, not bothering to remove my jacket. The

exhaustion hits me immediately. I havent slept well in days. Ill be

better after a nap. A terrible pokes me before I fall asleep: what the

fuck am I doing here?

My phone wakes me from a dreamless unconsciousness. Its

my mom. When she calls, her contact picture is Van Goghs self-

portrait. Her favorite painting. I consider answering, but Id have to

explain the plane ticket charged to her credit card. Ill have that

conversation once I have a good answer.

I let it go to voicemail. After a moment, the phone vibrates

again and I get a notification saying I have 12 new voicemails. Ugh

boy.

18
 It's dark in the train station. I feel my way back to the front

door. I'm blinded by the bright lights of the hall. There are rows of

tables and string lights and a full-size stage. The singer is in this

white sleeveless dress and white Ray-Bans and she keeps flicking

the mic.

There's no sign of the Irises. Only staff members, dressed in

white tie attire adjusting red pillows and adding bottles of

champagne to ice buckets. The detail is astounding. Little cocktail

napkins with the Darlings logo. A gift basket at each seat. Wrapped

inside the gold cellophane is a bottle of Hudson Valley vodka,

cigarillos, and a custom iPhone: matte black with the Darlings logo

where an apple usually goes.

"...made me do look what you made me do," booms the

singers voice over the microphone, Jason, whats up with the

lights?

The PA, this strung-out guy in a polo shirt, walkie-talkies

frantically.

I sit on a couch near the stage and rub the sleep out of my

eyes.

19
 Theres a champagne bucket at my feet and I check my

reflection in the ice bucket--bloodshot eyes, messy hair. My shirt is

wrinkled, jeans are stained, shoes are worn out. Bottom line: I look

homeless.

A voice startles me.

Sir?

It belongs to a bald man in a tuxedo. Hes looking over his

glasses at me.

His accent is English. "Your section is this way he says.

He leads me to a roped-off area in the middle of the room.

There are reserved signs for each table: Wired, People, PC

Magazine, CNET. My section, labeled VIP, has the couches facing

each other. A round love seat sits in the middle. Looking top-down,

you'd see an eyeball.

The guests flood in. They try to talk over the music. They

shake hands, exchange business cards, take pictures. Wired admires

the Banksy murals. The New York Times are having trouble opening

their champagne.

20
 An explosion and cheers as the Times cork fires into the

rafters.

YouTube takes a team selfie on their couch bed. When the

song ends, the lights dim and a spotlight moves to halls spiral

staircase. The Irises begin descending the stairs. They look

unimpressed, bored even.

Seven figures move gracefully to pose before the

photographers. The camera flashes have a strobe light effect, putting

their walk in slow motion.

The band performs "Bad Blood" and the crowd applauds.

The guys wear suits. GQ, fits-perfectly, damn-I-look-good suits.

Even Brandon, the little person, looks extravagant in his tailored

suit. I recognize him from the Iris news coverage. Hes an

unbelievable sighta strong jaw, sculpted cheekbones and well-

manicured scruff on the body of a child.

Jen and Stefani wear cocktail dresses with high heels. Jen has

an undercut, shes short and has two full tattoo sleeves. Her eyes are

two shades of green.

21
 Franky's in skinny jeans and a leather jacket, ditching the

dress entirely. The girls meet at the bottom and strike a pose. Cheers.

Cat calls. They are waifish, tall, and ethereal. They float towards me

on six inch stilettos, their graceful movement staccato in the camera

flashes.

The Irises join your hero, the hobo kid, in the VIP section.

I'm on the loveseat in the center of the eye and they don't

seem to notice me until the houselights turn back on.

"You lost?" asks John. Hes got a Scotch accent and his

features are rough. His shoulders would make any linebacker

jealous.

What? I yell over the music.

"That's Fey," says Franky, isnt he pretty?

John opens the champagne, sending the cork into the crowd.

"He your joy boy?"

"No! She squeals. He's one of us."

Jen doesnt look up from her phone. "No shit?"

"Haw haw," bellows John, picking me up off the seat. He

gives me a squeeze and sets me down.

22
 Too much touching with this group. Not good for my anxiety

disorder.

Jen notices the attention Im getting and ditches her phone.

She comes to the loveseat and shoves me down. She straddles me

and pries my eyelids open. I feel a panic attack stewing.

"Uh huh, I see, she says, examining me like a doctor,

you're the lucky boy with the blue and green peepers.

She nods at Franky. He is pretty."

I pull away and blink. My throat tightens. Dont have a panic

attack right now. Not in front of them. Fit in, Fey. For Christ sake,

do not have a panic attack right now.

Jen looks over her shoulder at the group, beaming. I see a

Tank Girl tattoo on her neck.

"Hes so confident in his looks he thinks he doesnt need to

dress she laughs.

My stomach turns. "Thats not true. I just"

She slaps me hard and I see stars. She gets off.

"Who asked you?" Jen snaps.

23
 I touch the handprint on my face. Jen tousles my hair like I'm

5. I shoot her a look of pure hatred.

This thing is Jen, says Casey, kicking her in the butt, and

that big cunt is John.

I know, I say, still rubbing the handprint. I watched you

guys on TMZ.

"Hoity-toity fan boy, laughs John, who don't you know

here?"

"Just you," I tell John, looking around the group, "not that I

stalk the rest of you

"Is he still talking?" asks Brandon kicking his feet over the

edge of the couch.

Casey passes me the champagne and flashes a smirk at

Brandon. Did you say something, Tyrion?

Brandon spits at Casey and misses. Jen looks revolted.

Nasty little shit she grumbles.

I look for a glass to pour the champagne into, but there isnt

one. The group watches to see what I'll do.

24
 I take a swig straight from the bottle. They seem impressed

and I relax a little. Casey takes the bottle back and drinks himself.

I notice Franky studying me, elbows on her knees. She hasnt

taken her eyes off me since I got here.

How old are you Fey?" she asks.

I take another drink. "21."

She shakes her head. No, I mean, how many months you got

left?"

The question catches me by surprise. "About eight," I say

quietly.

"Woo-wee," she hollers, "how bout that? Brandon's got

four.

Could you not? asks Brandon, and grabs the champagne

bottle.

Six for me," Franky continues.

"Cut that out; youre always talking about months!" Brandon

shouts.

He holds the empty bottle up and a staff member takes it.

25
 "About eight," says Franky in a little voice, "hes the baby of

the group."

I smile and feel my face redden. I wonder if Franky is like

this with everyone. I look at the floor, hoping more champagne will

come soon. The more I drink the easier it will be to stay grounded.

What do you think, Fey? Franky asks, gesturing to the

party around us.

Its amazing, I tell her, but the cover band is a little

random.

Jen is talking to Franky and shes trying to carry two

conversations at once now.

Cover band? she asks.

The Taylor Swift cover band I say, pointing at the singer.

Franky laughs, holding a finger up to Jen. That is Taylor.

I squint at the singer. She looks like a child onstage.

Seriously?

Uh huh. Marcys known her forever. Theyre, like, BFF.

The lights dim and an excitement stirs through the crowd.

My mouth is still open as I watch Taylor lower the mic to watch.

26
 Here come the beautiful people, whispers Franky.

Photographers gather at the foot of the staircase, DSLRs in

hand. The Darlings are coming.

The band plays a slow rendition of You Belong With me.

Marcy appears at the top of the stairs. She walks with the gait of a

runway model, hands in pocket, quick confident steps down the

stairs.

Day has a very different, nonchalant stride. When they reach

the bottom, the twins stop to pose. The crowd goes silent.

The song slows to a crawl and they pose. Cameras flash.

Another pose. Flash. Another pose. The music swells, the crowd

goes berserk. The house lights go on and the party tries its best to

resume.

Marcy and Day part the crowd and take their seats in our

section between John and Jen. I thought the other Iris girls were

pretty, but Marcy is aggressively beautiful. She has a layered bob,

her hair slightly wavy. Her lips are full and naturally a dark pink.

She doesnt wear makeup and her light black skin is flawless and

natural and smooth.

27
 In this light, its hard to tell if her and Day are mixed or just

perfectly tanned. Marcys dress is simple and black and shows off

her long, toned legs. Ankles together, she leans forward to take her

champagne glass. No drinking from the bottle for her.

Day drinks from a copper hip flask, savoring whatever its

filled with. His head is shaved.

His cheekbones are sharp. The twins have milky blue eyes,

though each has a bright white ring around one. Marcys left eye;

Days right. I see the resemblance. The ideal human being in two

genders.

Jen whispers something into Marcy's ear and she nods. A

staff member brings Marcy the microphone and she stands to address

the guests. The spotlight finds her and she looks directly into the

light so her eyes sparkle.

The staff circles the VIP section with hors doeuvres and I

take far too many and shove brie on toast into my mouth, entranced

by the show.

"Don't you have somewhere better to be?" she asks her

guests.

28
 Her audience laughs on cue. They do not have somewhere

better to be.

Ive never heard her voice before. She never did interviews

and never spoke during fashion shows. Until this point, Marcy and

Day have never made a public appearance.

The TMZ clip had reported the Irises gathering at PS 111, but

none of them had given interviews.

Her voice is deeper than I imagined. Her inflections are

sharp, syllables tight.

Marcy checks her watch, "in eleven minutes, the world will

change and you will be at ground zero when it happens."

She drops the mic into the ice bucket and lights a cigarette.

Her blue eyes fall on me. "Did you sign the contract?"

"Wha? I choke through a mouth of champagne.

She smokes, watching me. Expressionless. My mind races.

I swallow.

I didnt, I choke, get one.

Marcy snaps and the bald servant returns.

Miss Darling?

29
 Marcy is still watching me. Not looking at the servant.

Menthol smoke curls around her cheek. Get Fey a contract, will

you? We wouldnt want to send him home on his first night.

Of course, he says, right this way, Mr. Fey.

I follow the man, cursing myself for being so awkward. Great

first impression, Fey. A face full of food. I look emaciated, dirty, and

starving.

Im lead through a side door marked Staff Only. Its a

small, sweaty room with a water cooler and boxes piled to the

ceiling. The man searches a box and pulls out a thick contract. It

smells like gasoline in here.

Once youve read over the contract, please return it to Miss

Darling.

I hear a voice booming from the hall: "10, 9," it counts, "8,

7..."

And you may want to hurry, sir he adds.

He disappears and I begin flipping through the seemingly

endless contract. Sections and articles and legal jargon all written in

0.3 font.

30
 "4, 3," counts the voice.

Fuck this. I sign the contract and run out through the crowd. I

make it to the couch. She takes me by the arm.

"2, 1!"

The guests turn to watch as Marcy pulls me up on the

loveseat. We stand on the pupil of the VIP section's eyeball, lit by

camera flashes, and Marcy raises my hand above my head, still

holding the contract. Banners fall from the rafters.

They read: "WE'RE LIVE".

Fans cheer and Taylor quiets them with a raised fist.

She reads from a notecard, The 120,000 people who

downloaded the alpha, as well as the rest of the world, now have full

access to the Eff It List. Hoorah!

The Wired team already has their new phones out. I watch

the crowd playing with the app, posting their first NewExs.

Marcy touches my chin. Were the same height. Her eyes

flash, glittering in the spotlight.

"You came, she says, I so hoped you would.

31
 Chapter 2

The first review of the Eff It List was posted on CNET earlier

this morning. Jen reads it aloud at breakfast:

32
 Eff It List: though it has some bug issues, ex-super models

Day and Marcy Darlings debut app is worth checking out. The app

challenges its users to record and post a new experience (NewEx)

every day. Fun idea, but the delivery could use some polish. 3 out of

5 stars.

John looks more haggard than the rest of us. He angrily

spoons creatine into his orange juice. Pure shite.

Franky cuts a roasted tomato and dips it in cottage cheese.

She holds it between her thumb and forefinger like an insect then

bites and swallows, gags, and recovers. I watch her do this two more

times.

Weve got busy lives, Franky tells me, sipping mint tea,

but we haveta make time for breakfast and an after-dinner drink

together. Every day. Thats the house rule.

33
 The Mess Hall, as they call it, is designed to look like a

Parisian brasserie with marble countertops and brass finishes. The

booths are red; the floors are checkered. Theres a buffet that no one

touches and a Greek yogurt fridge that cant stay stocked. I go to the

buffet and load my plate up with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and

chorizo. When I return to the booth, Franky asks if Im worried Ill

get fat.

I cant get fat, I say, I stay the same weight no matter

what I eat.

Lucky dog, says Franky and fingers her cottage cheese.

Looking around the table at the bulky guys, I dont feel so

lucky.

Where are Marcy and Day? I ask, changing the subject.

Franky abandons her breakfast and pushes it to the middle of

the table. They dont eat with us peasants.

I take a bite of bacon and lean in. Can I ask you

something?

Franky leans in too. Were whispering. Mhm?

Why are you, like, being nice to me?

34
 She bites her lip. I dont know. Ya seem nice.

What if Im not nice?

Franky scratches her head. At least youre cute.

I dont know how to respond to that so I shovel food in my

mouth and excuse myself. A staff member stops me in the hall to say

that my suite is ready. I spent last night in Casey's guest room,

though I don't remember going to bed. Between the hours of 5am

and 12:30pm, my mind stopped recording. I thought I drank a lot

before I met the Irises, but they can just keep going.

I'm given a brass key and led to the farthest door on the

left. The key is heavy in my hand. This must be what people used

before pockets.

My name has recently been painted on the door in Parisian

Metropolitan font. The brass key clicks and I push the heavy iron

door open.

35
 The suite is ridiculously, unnecessarily large for just me. Its

even bigger than Caseys. The simple foyer opens to an industrial

style living room. Black concrete and floor-to-ceiling windows

which overlook an interior courtyard. Exposed Edison bulbs glow

orange in their sockets. Street art adorns the walls. A topless girl

with a gas mask. A Molotov cocktail throwing a flaming human.

I find the master bedroom and lay down on the king-sized

bed staring up at the exposed rafters. Whats the theme here? Warm

industrial? Post-modern chic?

I glance at the walk-in closet. They brought my luggage in

and hung my three shirts. The sight is depressing so I get up and

explore the rest of the suite. There are three rooms in all. The first is

my bedroom.

The second has a private wet-bar, fully stocked beside a hot

tub. LED lights in the hot tub change the color of the water every

few minutes.

The third is a guest room, much like Caseys.

Music plays softly from somewhere in the suite. Parov Stelar.

I think.

36
 Two thousand miles away my twin bed is empty. My 5x5

studio apartment is empty. The cheap wooden desk chair is stowed

beneath its desk. And Im here in New York City with a rainbow hot

tub. Maybe this is okay for now. I can always leave. The thought

comforts me and I feel myself relax onto the bed. My bed.

There's a knock at my door.

Its Franky. She's wearing a skirt and leggings and a scarf;

scratching the back of her right calf with her left foot.

Ready? She asks.

"For what?"

She loses her balance and I catch her. Our eyes meet.

"Klutzy me, she says.

We laugh.

Anyway, she says, a little flustered.

Is she blushing?

Were picking our NewEx for the day, she says, shake a

leg."

Out in the hall, the group has gathered around a rolling

chalkboard. Im reminded again of how tall everyone is.

37
 Marcy and Day stand side-by-side. Marcy is tapping her foot.

Day is zoned out, staring at a spot on the floor. I join the circle next

to Franky and see whats being written on the board:

John: streak through Grand Central. Approved.

You are both late, says Marcy.

Sorry, Marce, says Franky, new boy got lost.

Marcy eyes me and I nod. Day doesnt look up from his spot.

Right. Whats it going to be then, Franky?" Marcy asks,

pointing her chalk at Frankys name.

"I've never ridden a bike," says Franky, shrugging.

Marcy writes: Franky: ride a bike.

She turns to address the group, "all in favor?"

Only Franky raises her hand. She nudges me and I raise mine

too.

"Boo, says Jen.

"Cmon," pleads Franky, "I cant think of anything today."

Marcy erases Frankys NewEx with her sleeve. "Who's got

one?"

"Total a car," says John.

38
 "Have a one night stand," says Brandon.

"Base jump," says Casey.

"Kiss a stranger," says Jen.

Marcy writes: "Franky: kiss a stranger" and asks for a vote.

Everyone votes for it except for Franky and me.

Franky crosses her arms. "Thats disgusting. Im so not doing

that."

Marcy writes: "Approved" next to her NewEx.

Im not doing that Franky repeats.

Marcy checks the board for effect. It was approved she

says calmly.

She continues down the list until she reaches my name. "How

will we break your NewEx cherry, Fey?"

Franky cuts in, I said Im not doing it.

Marcy turns on her heel. Her voice is not louder, but shes

annunciating every word. You arent doing it? Do the NewEx or

piss off back to the heartland.

Franky locks eyes with Marcy. No one speaks.

Finally, she relents, alright, Marce. Jeez.

39
 Marcy returns her attention to me, totally unfazed. Ready,

Fey?

My stomach drops as the group waits for my response. I

dont want something as embarrassing given to me as Franky.

"I have a question," I say.

Day sighs. Marcy folds her arms and raises her eyebrows

inquisitively.

NewEx stands for New Experience?

Yessir, says Marcy, something youve always dreamed of

doing.

Are there any other rules besides that?

It has to not suck, Jen adds.

Casey laughs, giving up on the cigarette hes been trying to

light for the past minute.

Ive never been asked about my dreams before.

Okay, I say, feeling a rush of excitement, I have

something.

"You dont have anything," Marcy says, pointing her chalk at

the group, "they decide your first."

40
 "Sex in public," says John.

"Mug someone," says Jen.

"Jesus," I say under my breath.

"Ice skate," says Franky, giving me a wink.

I return a grateful smile.

"Boo," says Jen, go back home, Franky.

"Shoplift," says Brandon.

Marcy writes: "Fey: will shoplift" and asks for a vote.

I pray that it wont pass. Dont pass. Please dont pass.

Six votes approve it.

I have my NewEx.

Ive never stolen anything. How the hell will I do that?

Franky mutters, at least you dont have to kiss a damn

stranger.

"Then it's settled, Miss Clavel," Marcy says. She gives the

rolling chalkboard a shove and it wheels across the hall. "All the

children are accounted for."

The group starts to head out through the double doors.

What do I do now? I ask.

41
 John hits me on the back. He is way too strong to make that

playful. "This ones quick, eh?"

"Figure it out," says Marcy. She follows the group out and

pauses at the door, whatever you end up doing, get it on video."

"In the app?" I ask.

She slams the door behind her without giving an answer.

I can't tell you why I chose Tiffany's. It all boils down to the

few things I know about New York. I don't know much, but I'm very

familiar with Holly Golightly's favorite shop. I could have shoplifted

gum from Duane Reade, but I didnt want to let the group down with

a crappy first post. That, and the fact that each of these NewExs gets

rated. Id rather not be the new guy with a rating of 3.

I call an Uber and tell them to take me to the nearest

Tiffanys. Hes got to look it up on his phone.

97 Greene he says.

Sure I say.

42
 The ride over costs me $15. If Im going to navigate New

York and not go broke, Ill have to learn the subway system.

An impeccably dressed guy with manicured eyebrows holds

the door open for me. Ive never been inside a jewelry store. It looks

like everythings just been vacuumed. And there are no prices on

anything. Not like I could afford to buy something anyway.

Can I help you find something? asks eyebrows.

Just browsing, I say.

Please let me know if you need something.

Why was I thinking it would be out in the open? Of course

its going to be under glass. I need to stop imagining what jail

showers will be like. I need to think of a plan.

Plan #1: The most obvious way to steal jewelry is to ask a

sales associate to see something. Can I look at that broach? That

bracelet?

No, not the sterling silver one. The real silver one. Your

jewelry is removed from the case and laid carefully on the polished

glass countertop.

43
 You hold it up to the light and check the color. No, you say,

your girlfriend would not like this.

Perhaps the bracelet on the other side with the jade. Yes, that

will be the one. The sales associate excuses herself and steps away.

Thats when you make your move. Bracelet goes in the

pocket. Walk, dont run, but walk quickly. Let them open the door

for you. Out you go.

Plan #2: Go through the process of picking out the perfect

bracelet. Look at a bunch of themmore than ten. Be really picky.

Ask questions. When you settle on one ask to see the necklace that

pairs with the bracelet. They will step away, confident that you will

be purchasing not one, but two items. Bracelet goes in the pocket.

See end of plan one.

I go with plan 2. The sales associate is a guy so my scenario

is already thrown off. Hes a fake blonde and his name is Rick.

I take my phone out and pretend to be reading an important

text. Really, Im opening the Eff It List. Once it loads, I tap the

NewEx button and it begins recording. I place the phone face-

down on the counter.

44
 Your contacts are gorge, he tells me, where did you get

them?

Amazon, I say, looking over the bracelets.

They always give me pink eye, he continues, whats your

trick?

Must act important. Important people are rude so I ignore his

stupid question and point to the platinum diamond charm bracelet.

Hes impressed by my choice.

Would you like to try it on?

Its not for me.

He places a piece of teal cloth on the counter and displays the

bracelet.

You can change the charms, he tells me, if you dont like

crabs.

I bite my lip and try to slow my breathing. You know, I

dont like crabs. Let me see this one instead.

He returns the charm bracelet and takes out the new one.

45
 This is our Ten Chain Heart Bracelet. Would you like to

he catches himself and laughs a dry, fake laugh, right right. Its not

for you.

I send that one and the next four back. Nothing catches my

interest. I am less and less enthusiastic about each bracelet. I ask if

they have anything new in.

Something really new and he says hell check. He walks

away and I notice hes left the counter door open. Now, Fey. Do it

now.

I throw myself on the counter and reach for the nearest piece

of jewelryan 18-karat brooch. Its just out of reach so I push my

whole weight on the counter and hear something crack. Shit, its

gonna break. Alarms. Police. Jail. Showers.

I grab the brooch and turn the phone to film my prize. Proof

that I actually did it. Im certain a security guard will come out and

tackle me any moment. I run for the front door. Fuck walking.

The greeter with the eyebrows holds the door open and

beams at me as though I was their favorite customer.

Thanks for choosing Tiffanys!

46
 Im outside running down the street. I keep looking over my

shoulder, just waiting to see someone chasing me, but theres no one.

I round the corner and run down the subway steps. Im

shoving my debit card into the machine, punching it, yelling at it to

print my pass faster and it finally prints. No receipt! Im through the

turntable and on the first train, no knowing where Im going and Im

laughing like an idiot, clutching the metro pass in one hand and the

stolen jewelry in the other.

Its 4:30pm and Ive made it back to the school before

anyone else. I slip the stolen brooch into my jeans pocket and double

check that the NewEx was posted. Not only was it posted, Ive

already gotten views but no rating yet.

I get a beer from my bar. While drinking it, I reflect on how

much I like the sound of my bar.

God, am I really doing this? Last week I was Googling how

to write a Will only to realize I had nothing to give away.

47
 Im here now and that means something. It means I made a

decision by myself. Focus on that. I followed through with

something.

I nearly failed out of high school, dropped out of college, and

broke up with every girlfriend I ever had. But this, this Im following

through with.

Im in my own suite drinking my beer from my bar with

stolen Tiffany jewelry in my pocket. Yeah, I did that.

Feeling pretty damn good at this point, I give myself a tour of

the school, starting with the courtyard. From the courtyard, you can

look into the suites next door. The blinds are closed on whoever is to

the right of me. The suite on the left side is modern with a

minimalistic light wood and glass surfaces.

On the opposite side of the courtyard are classrooms. I guess

they havent gotten to renovating those yet. When Ive finished the

courtyard tour, I take myself out to the main hall and up the spiral

staircase.

48
 At the top of the stairs stretches a long hallway, ordained

with more street art. I see Dr. Devon Russel, the scientist who

discovered the Iris gene, is the subject of the mural.

Hes been drawn to look like Dr. Frankenstein in the famous

movie scene.

His rubber-gloved hands reach to the sky, praising the

lightning that brought his creature to life. The creature beneath the

sheet has an erection.

I follow the hallway to a banquet hall. The entryway is a

cartoony sun with a big grin and flushed cheeks. Luna Park shines

in bright carnival lights above it. There isnt a single booth or chair

in the banquet hall, only a disco ball in the very center with the

words no dancing in red, drippy paint.

I figure the school must end here, but I see an open window

and take the fire escape. Back on the first floor, I exit into an arcade.

It looks like the arcades you see in 80s movies. Rows and rows of

video games. Black lights on the ceiling looking purple and fuzzy.

Everything is glowing and explosion sound effects echo through the

place.

49
 I find my way through the snaking arcade back to the main

hall. I hear laughter and smell food in the Mess Hall. Inside, the

group has pushed the tables together.

Marcy sits on the edge of the table, phone in hand, reading

people's NewEx results.

Shes wearing a different outfit from this morning. Black

tights, black shirt, long khaki vest, white strappy wedges.

"Franky, you got a rating 6.3," she says, "who did you end up

kissing?"

Franky slams her head down on the table. "Ughhh this guy

from NYU."

"Coulda kissed me," says John, twirling a ringlet of her short

hair on his finger.

She pulls her hair back. "You're not a stranger, jackass."

John looks hurt. Who says?"

Marcy continues reading. "Fey? Where's Fey?"

"Right here."

"Bad news, newbie. You got a 4.2," says Marcy.

Brandon laughs.

50
 "No way! I stole from Tiffany's. That's got to afford me at

least a 7."

"Let's see what you filmed," Marcy says, tapping my NewEx

video.

The group gathers to watch. The video shows some out-of-

focus jewelry.

"Your contacts are gorge," says the muffled voice of the

Tiffany's sales assistant, "where'd you get them?"

"Amazon replies a nervous Fey.

And with that, the video ends.

"What the hell was that?" laughs Jen.

"Great video, bro," Casey says, and hits me in the shoulder,

now youre the ass end of the leaderboard.

Eff It List Leaderboard

1. Marcy

2. Stefani

3. Jen

4. John

5. Casey

51
 6. Franky

7. Brandon

8. Day

9. Jin-ho

10. Fey

I grit my teeth and re-watch the video in disbelief.

"But I filmed that whole thing, I tell them, where's the rest

of it?"

"The app is designed to take eight seconds of footage,

randomly, from your NewEx," Marcy explains, "if the whole thing

isn't worth watching, none of it will be."

"He faked it, says Stefani, move on to my rating.

I take the brooch from my pocket and toss it to her. "Look at

my clothes and tell me I could afford this."

Stefani shoots me a dirty look, dont throw shit at me

"Cheeky bastard," laughs John.

Marcy takes her phone back. "You'll do better tomorrow,

Fey," she says plainly, "if you dont, you go home."

52
 Chapter 3

I must have fallen asleep in the hot tub. I'm naked and my

clothes are nowhere in sight. These blackout party nights need to

stop.

That awful morning light fills the courtyard. Across the way,

a classroom waits for students who will never arrive.

My phone, amazingly, has no missed calls. It's 6:37am.

At 9:00am, an unknown number calls. It's a New Jersey

number and I dont answer. It calls back. I rub the sleep out of my

eyes and pick up.

"Yeah?"

53
 Whatup, Fey? Says the morning person on the line. This

is Boomer.

I must have misheard him. Still half asleep. Boomer? I ask.

Maron Boomer, did we meet yet?

I dont think so.

Oh shit, man! Im your agent.

I dont have an agent, I tell him.

Check itwe got you scheduled for noon. Can you make

that?"

Make what? I rub my eyes and try to concentrate, "I dont

have an agent!

"I'll text you the agency address. Psyched to meet you. He

tells me and hangs up.

I should have read my contract.

I set my alarm for 10:30 and go back to sleep. At 10:00am

there's a knock at the door. I put yesterday's underwear on inside out

and answer it. It's my bald English servant friend. He's clean shaven

and peppy, smelling of an alcohol-based aftershave. I now have a

special hatred for morning people.

54
 "Your car is here, sir," he says.

I smell mint on his breath. What rancidity does he smell on

mine? Vodka and cigarettes? A hint of bile? Whatever it is, he

pretends not to notice.

Thanks, I say, and close the door in his face.

Teeth brushed, pants on, hair combed. I'm out the door. I get

into the town car and find a thermos of coffee waiting for me.

"Good morning, sir," says the driver, "can I get you

anything?"

"The coffee is all I need, thanks."

The coffee helps the sleepiness. I don't have a headache or

anything--I never get a hangover no matter how much I drink. The

perks of being an Iris.

Outside, the city is an undulating mass of hipsters and

homeless, pigeons, salary men. We pass a handsome park and an

Egyptian themed caf.

"Hey, um..."

"Mark," says the driver, smiling in the rearview mirror.

"Mark, what neighborhood is this?"

55
 "It's Alphabet City."

Why do they call it that?

South of Houston street, the numbers turn into letters.

"Is it a good neighborhood?" I ask.

He hesitates. I see him glance at me in the mirror. "What do

you mean?"

"Somewhere you'd want to live?"

"I live in the Bronx," says Mark, "always have.

"I don't know much about New York" I tell him.

"The Bronx is one of the five boroughs. You got Staten

Island, Brooklyn, Manhattan: that's where you live, Queens, and the

Bronx."

"I don't live here. I'm just visiting."

"Alphabet City is in Manhattan. That's all I'm saying."

"And its a good place to live?" I ask.

"It," he hesitates again, "used to be run down before it got

gentrified."

"So, it's a hipster neighborhood?"

He laughs, "hipsters and students."

56
 "That's kind of like K-town in LA."

"Is that where you're from?"

"Yeah," I say, sipping my coffee.

"I been to LA a couple times, says Mark, too much traffic

and Mexicans."

What have we learned about Mark? Hes from the Bronx,

hes moderately racist, and dislikes traffic. Glad we had chatted. He

lets me off in front of an office building.

I lean in through the window. How do I get back?"

"Call this number," Mark says, handing me a business card.

The lobby has a two-story fountain. I find the directory,

looking for the name Boomer. No luck. Rothfuss & Ellis Talent

Agency is my best bet. Before I can get on the elevator, the security

guard calls me from the front desk. I'm given a visitor's sticker and a

Sharpie to write my name.

"Who you hear to see?" he asks.

"Maron Boomer."

"That's Rothfuss and Ellis, sixth floor."

57
 On the sixth floor, I'm greeted by a nameless hipster with an

undercut and torn shirt. I can see his nipples through the shirt. He

gets me coffee and asks me to wait in the lobby. There are signed

photos of some of the agency's more notable clients, but I don't

recognize any of them.

They all kind of look like Irises--good looking, clean cut,

youthful, and bored. I read last month's issue of Vogue while I wait.

Who puts Vogue in a waiting room? I'm used to reading

Highlights. Then again, I've never actually been in an office waiting

room. I doubt I've ever been in an office building before. Maybe I

should have borrowed some nicer clothes. Do business people wear

suits? Or is that just lawyers and stock agents?

"Faith?" asks the undercut.

"It's Fey."

"Right this way, he says, hows your day going, bro?"

"It's fine," I tell him.

"Thats great, he says, just great."

He leads me through a sea of cubicles into a corner office.

58
 There's a big oak desk thats far too large for the space with

two folding chairs and a fake plant. No pictures on the walls. No

computer on the desk. Undercut excuses himself and I wait again,

this time without a magazine. My phone rings--the same unknown

Jersey number.

"This is Fey.

"Listen, bud," says an out-of-breath Boomer, "just got called

to a meeting. We need to get your measurements. Get Lee to show

you to wardrobe."

Before I can reply hes hung up. I massage my temples and

find my way back through the cubicle maze. Undercut must be Lee.

When I make it back to the front desk, I relay Boomers message.

Lee rolls his eyes and points to the elevators. "Wardrobes

eight. You'll need a keycard."

He returns his attention to Tinder and swipes a guy to the

left.

"And where do I get a keycard?" I ask.

Undercut blows out his breath and opens his desk drawer. I'm

given a wooden spoon with a keycard duck taped to the end.

59
 "Bring that back," he tells me, weve only got one.

There's a spoon duck taped to it. I couldn't steal it if I wanted

to.

The eighth floor, unlike the one I just came from, has no

cubicles or offices. It's an open layout with rows of clothing racks.

Everything is covered in drycleaner plastic.

Come, chirps a little Asian guy in a white sports coat. His

voice is high-pitched and his chest is so oddly shaped I wonder if he

was once a woman. He leads me to a suit rack.

Who are you? he asks.

I'm Fey, I tell him, "Boomer sent me."

He eyes his clipboard, "you're one of his kids."

"I'm his client. Apparently."

"Tomato, tomat-o," he chirps and unravels a pink

tape measure. What are your measurements?

I don't know.

He wraps it around my neck. Then he tells me to stand up

straight and he measures my arm. He takes a knee and measures my

inseam.

60
 Which way do you dress?

Huh?

Which way, he tilts his head left then right, do you

dress?

"Not following."

He stands and extends the tape measure twelve inches. Then

he holds it at crotch level wags it left then right.

I laugh when it dawns on me what hes asking. He doesnt

laugh. He looks impatient.

To the left, I think." I say.

You think?

Without a warning, he grabs my crotch.

Indeed! He says, peaking his eyebrows.

He disappears into the back while I try to calm my anxiety. I

take a seat on a gold couch and when he returns he has three suits on

each arm. Pink, baby blue, purple, yellow, plaid, and red.

Do they have to be those colors? I ask.

He ignores me and takes me to a dressing room. The pink

suit is draped over the door.

61
 I try it on and wonder how many buttons to button on the

jacket. Its a horrible color but it fits. Not too tight. Light, breathable

material. Ive never worn anything thats fitted to my body. He

opens the door and looks me up and down. He unbuttons the bottom

button of the jacket and puts two fingers in-between the collar and

my neck. He gives a quick nod.

Its crazy what real clothes can do to change the way you feel

about yourself. My first thought as I turn to see my butt is that I look

older. I wonder what my mom would think seeing me in a suit. The

only suit Id worn before this was at Wills funeral. It was rented and

smelled like felt pen.

Whats your shoe size? he asks.

Huh? Oh. Its 11. 11 if you have it.

We dont, he says and gets a pair of black leather shoes

with a gold emblem.

He slips them on and checks the length of the pants with the

ruler. "Tell your dad that you're good to go."

"Boomer's not my dad."

He writes something on his clipboard.

62
 "The wardrobe arrives Thursday," he says, "will you

remember all of that?"

"Thursday," I say, can you write that down?

Youve really got it coming to you, kid he says.

A severe looking woman that could be his mirror image

whisks him away.

I call Boomer from the elevator. It goes straight to voicemail

so I leave a message: "the wardrobe guy said the clothes will be

there by Thursday. If you could call me back, I'd love to know what

the hells going on."

Back on 6, I return the spoon-keycard to Lee. I get the feeling

he doesnt remember who I am.

"When will Boomer be out of his meeting?" I ask.

He puts his phone down and gives me a blank stare. Three?"

"Are you asking me?"

He returns his attention to Tinder. "I'll tell him to call you."

"Should I leave?"

"Uhhhh, murmurs Lee, swiping right, yeah."

63
 There's no door to slam, so I mash the L button in the

elevator loud enough for Lee to hear. But he doesn't look up from his

phone and the doors close and Girl from Ipanema plays. I should

have read the contract.

64
 Chapter 4

Its 7:30am on Thursday morning and fifteen crates are

waiting for me on the front steps of the school. The staff is having a

hell of a time bringing it all inside. I leave them to it and go for

breakfast. At 9:30am, when I return to my room, I find theyve

unpacked the crates and hung everything in my walk-in closet.

Damn theyre efficient.

Sixteen pairs of shoes, four pairs of boots, four pairs of dress

shoes, eight pairs of sneakers. I count them all, running my fingers

along the cotton and wool and silk and leather. T-shirts, dress shirts,

jackets, sweaters, pull-overs, and flannels. A color spectrum of socks

and ties.

65
 Black and grey boxer-briefs. Watches and cologne and cuff-

links. Gucci, Armani, Dolce and Gabbana. Designers Ive never

heard of and cant pronounce. And way in the corner of the shirt rack

hangs my sad, worn-out clothes from home. Ratty as an orphan.

Stained and threadbare. I pull them off the rack and throw them

away and wave goodbye to the trash. Good riddance.

What a shame it would have been to go a lifetime without

knowing the feel of tailored clothes. I put on tan chinos and a blue

sweater and grey boots. I comb my hair and roll up the sleeves and

look at myself in the mirror. Gone are the skater shoes and dirty t-

shirts; the underwear that gets flipped inside out between laundry

days. I try to pose the way the Irises pose. It feels unnatural.

I join the group outside for the morning NewEx pitches. Im

on time today.

Franky looks me up and down. Have we met?

Do I look weird? I ask, feeling my throat go tight.

You look, she hesitates, like a three-dollar pistol.

Thank you?

Hot, she says.

66
 Shes still looking me over and says, somethings off, kid.

Dont know what.

Im an imposter. A kid on vacation playing fashion model.

Why did I bother?

I dont know how to dress, I say quietly.

She squints. Youre wearing the right stuff. It just just

aint right.

Franky notices Marcy waiting for silence and gives me a look

to say well talk about this later. Marcy doesn't shush us. She stands

at attention like a teacher, waiting for the class to simmer down.

Once silence has been achieved, she turns and erases our names from

the chalkboard then tosses the eraser to Day who doesnt make the

slightest attempt to catch it.

"Our users feel the Eff It List isnt communal enough, says

Marcy, holding the chalk like a lit cigarette, they don't enjoy

performing NewExs by themselves. They want shared experiences."

Marcy writes: "Casey and Brandon, Stefani and Fey, Franky

and Jin-ho, John and Jen."

67
 "To show that we're listening she shudders for effect,

we'll group up."

I glance at Stefani whos absorbed in her phone.

"Boo," complains Jen.

"Hush," says Marcy, "it's important that they think we care.

Now, discuss today's NewEx with your partner. It must be big.

Bigger than something youd do alone."

John and Jen immediately get into an argument. John is

pushing his pecs together to look bigger and Jen notices me

watching them and scowls.

Stefani folds her arms when I approach. "Great, I get the

bottom of the list. She gets in my face. Dont fuck my score up. If

youre going to get kicked out of PS 111, dont bring me with you.

Wasnt planning on it, I mutter.

Stefani notices my new clothes and her expression changes.

She raises her hand. "We want to go shopping. At Fifth Avenue."

Marcy writes: "Stefani and Fey will go shopping."

"Boo," says Jen.

"You've got a better idea?" snaps Stefani.

68
 Jen throws her hands up. "Chill Stef."

"Just because I didn't grow up rich like the rest of you," says

Stefani.

We, I say, we didnt grow up rich.

Who asked you? Stefani snaps.

Marcy gives me a hint of a smile. All in favor?" she asks.

A pitiful show of hands passes the vote.

Hold up, says Jen, John and I cant agree on anything.

Can we go? Im bored, says Stefani.

No. We need your votes, says Marcy.

By the time those two, says Stefani, jamming a finger at

John and Jen, figure out their shit, well be done with this NewEx.

Stefani storms out and I follow. Marcy watches us leave.

Today, the atmosphere of Alphabet City is loud construction,

graffiti on brick buildings, homeless men shambling under a tarp in

the park. Fire escapes that shake in the wind. Murals with the

graffiti.

The front wheel of a bike locked to the no parking sign. The

smell of dumpster juice in the street.

69
 Green with trees, some turning for fall. A wind grabs me and

I fight it.

Theres this farmers market and we stop at a croissant stand.

Stefani orders two coffees and two spinach and egg croissants and

she pronounces it quassonts. Were handed the paper cups with the

cardboard sleeves and change for Stefanis hundred-dollar bill. She

sees that I noticed what she paid with and quickly stuffs the handful

of change into her purse. We walk and eat our croissants.

I hate the East Village, Stefani says, I dont know why the

Darlings picked this dump.

I think its kinda cool. Do you know New York well?

She scoffs. I know enough to hate the East Village.

The coffee is too strong and I throw it away. Ill find a

Starbucks later. Stefanis crossing the street and tells me to keep up.

Theres a school on 11th called East Side Community High

School and it looks like PS 111. Except this one is still in use.

Stefani asks the school crossing guard where the nearest subway

entrance is and he points the way we were already headed. We find it

a few blocks down and it occurs to me weve gone in a circle.

70
 What was that about knowing New York? I ask.

She cocks her head. "You always ask this many questions?

Stefani buys a metro card and I put some money on mine.

Shes reading the subway map. The train comes and shes still

reading it so I nudge her and we get on.

How do you know this is the right one? she asks, annoyed.

One way to find out.

She rolls her eyes and we take the only two seats leftone

across from the other. The car smells like farts and Chinese food.

Stefani doesnt seem to care. Shes busy making out the subway map

on the wall behind me.

"There's no stop for 5th" she says.

We decide to get off at 8th Avenue and hope for the best. At

the 8th Avenue station, we track down a Metro employee. Her

uniform was made for a much smaller woman. Dyed bangs that

dont match her cornrows.

Youre here, says Cornrows, circling the 8th avenue stop.

You gotta walk to 14th and get on there. Take the E. Get off at 5th.

71
 The subway is proving to be much harder than taking an

Uber. Im starving by the time we get to 5th. Right outside the

subway is a French bakery called Le Pain Quotidian and we go in.

They seat us by the window and we each order a mimosa, but they

dont have a liquor license. I get an iced mocha and Stefani a mint

lemonade.

Do you have a gluten free menu? Stefani asks.

Of course, says the waitress and goes to fetch one.

I have the smoked salmon tartine, which, despite its fancy

name, is just an open-faced sandwich with lox. Stefani has a kale

Caesar salad and tells them to hold the croutons.

Is there any wheat in the dressing? she asks.

The waitress assures her there isnt.

"So," she says, having a bite of salad, "what are you getting

from 5th Avenue?"

"Nothing," I tell her, "the agency just gave me a bunch of

clothes."

She shakes her head, "This is gonna be the worst NewEx

we've done. Worse than your Tiffany's fail."

72
 "I didn't know how the app worked," I say.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.

"Anyway, I tell her, even if I needed clothes, I have no

fashion sense.

I noticed," she says.

And you do?

Shes always in black. Black leather jacket. Black boots.

Black pleather pants.

More than you, dick, she says.

Im hoping to get some ideas on how to dress. I want to I

stop myself from saying I want to fit in. I want to have a better

fashion sense.

Uh huh, she says, looking out the window.

We eat and Im not sure if I offended her. I get the check just

in case. We head up the street and I walk by a group of smokers.

Do you smoke? I ask.

Stefani already has her pack out. She puts two in her mouth

and lights both and gives me one. "You owe me."

It tastes like sugary lip gloss.

73
 Versace has a different colored light in each window and

Stefani tells me its for gay pride. We go in and this blonde guy in a

suit and tie tells us hes right here if we need anything. I take out my

phone to start recording, but Stefani grabs it.

"You'd better let me do that," she says, "we don't need

another Feyl."

Feyl? Really?

We came up with it last night.

I hate that, I say.

No one expects you to like it.

She holds down the record button and turns a full 360 to

show the store. "The trick is to make your video short. That way it

doesn't have much footage to choose from. Every time you hold

down the record button, it will add to the video. By the end of this,

it'll look like a montage."

That's why her ratings are so high. She's figured out how to

stylize her videos. Stefani repeats this slow 360 spin in each store we

go to. Armani is our next store.

74
 Its way too bright and I dont know where to start looking.

Its hard to tell which clothes are for guys.

Stefani wanders off and Im left staring at myself in the

mirror. Why did I want to go shopping? It's hot in here, there's

nowhere to sit, and the employees keep hassling me.

Im ready to leave, but Stefani wont hear of it. She drags me

to Hugo Boss where I find some wayfarers I like. We go to Prada

where there are live models. Gucci and Escada. Sergio Rossi. Nine

West. We go to H&M where Stefani finds a pair of jeggings, but it

doesnt count as a '5th Avenue store' according to her so we dont

record it. Shes about to give up on buying anything when she sees a

pencil skirt in the window of Emilio Pucci. Its a small store with a

live tree inside.

I tell her Ill wait outside and she says, youre the camera

man now, get in here.

App recording, she pulls me into the dressing room and takes

off her pleather pants. I point the phone at the ceiling.

"What are you doing?" She asks. "Get this on camera."

75
 I obey, recording her undressing down to her underwear. Be

calm. Be cool. Dont be weird. Act like strangers strip in front of me

all the time.

The skirt doesnt fit so she gets one of the girls to come in

and measure her. The girl brings skirt after skirt and finally, she

finds the perfect match in this black leather pencil skirt. It looks

good on her. Good in her own sort of Rammstein groupie way.

Ich mochte horen, wie Du darum bittes, she tells the

camera, giving a pose.

I stop the video and it posts to her page. Have a big German

following?

Jawohl mein heir.

Theres a photographer outside taking pictures. I look around

to see what hes so fascinated with, but Stefani grabs me. Deer in

the headlights, she says, pulling me down the street, where did

Marcy find you?

As were running I see the photographer is following us. An

honest-to-god paparazzi. Its a green light but we cross anyway.

76
 The paparazzi attempts to follow but gets hit by a bicyclist.

Stefani doubles over laughing and pulls out her phone to take a

picture of him splayed out on the sidewalk, his lens in pieces.

She yells at him, thats what you get, prick!

We escape into the subway.

They are the worst, I say.

Youve had them before?

When I was a kid.

He was probably hoping Marcy would be with us. A clear

Iris photo sells for a couple grand. But if you can get the twins, thats

a 20,000 check."

She stops and stairs at my eyes.

Not this again, I say, pulling back, dont you guys know

personal space?

Stand still, she looks concerned, why are you blinking so

hard?

Itll pass, I say, leaning against the wall, I just have this

anxiety thing.

Did you leave your pills at home? she asks.

77
 Ha. Ha.

Im not joking, Fey. Do you have medication for it?

She seems genuine. I tell her I dont.

How often does it happen? She asks.

You really care?

The train comes and I go to board it, but she pushes me

against the wall. Seriously, how often?

Every day, I say, pushing her off me, whats with you?

She shakes her head and takes me by the hand. Come on.

We leave the subway through a different entrance. When

shes decided the coast is clear of paparazzi, she takes out her phone

and searches something.

Are you gonna tell me where were going? I ask.

She doesnt answer. Im lead by the hand down the block like

a child. Her GPS brings us down an alley, around the corner, and

across the street where Stefani finally lets go of my hand. Shes

taken me to an urgent care.

I dont need this, I say, it always passes.

78
 She pushes me inside and to the front desk. The receptionist

asks if I have insurance.

Yeah, but no. I mean, Im on my parents insurance and

theyd get notified if I used it.

Whats wrong with that? asks Stefani.

They dont know Im in New York.

Youre all sorts of complicated, she says and turns to

address the receptionist. Can we pay out of pocket?

You can, says the receptionist.

Well do that, then.

Were told to wait and we find a spot on an orange couch.

Stefani is watching me swallowing, massaging my throat. If she

wasnt here Id have my head between my knees. Im greeted by a

friendly Indian man in blue scrubs who takes me into a small room.

He lays me down on paper and puts my legs up.

Are you experiencing anxiety now? He asks.

Yes.

Close your eyes, he says, it will help you relax.

79
 I close my eyes, but the brightness of the room prevents

relaxation. He checks my blood pressure and temperature.

Do you smoke?

I smoke, I tell him.

How many times a week?

Maybe five or six.

Do you have any problems with substance abuse? Drugs?

Alcohol?

No, I say, but I do drink.

Alright, he says and writes something down, keep your

eyes closed and relax. The doctor will be in shortly.

My throat tightens and Im having trouble breathing so I sit

up. I eye the trash can just in case I need to throw up. How would the

doctor react if I threw up on him? Is he used to that sort of thing? I

wonder if they have a clothes washer here just in case that happens.

Whose job would it be to wash the clothes?

Maybe the nurses do it. Or the receptionist. Id hate to make

her wash my barf off the doctors scrubs. The door opens and the

doctor enters.

80
 Hes older, probably in his sixties. Hes got a warm smile

and wears glasses on the top of his head.

I understand youre here because of anxiety, he says, but it

isnt a question, so I dont answer. Are you from the upper west

side?

No, Im from Los Angeles.

I only ask because everyone from the upper west side has

anxiety. Los Angeles is not much different. He smiles a warm

smile. Tell me your symptoms.

Tight throat. Shortness of breath, I feel like Im gonna throw

up all the time.

He pulls a stool over and sits, keeping eye contact the whole

time. You have a disease and Im glad you came to see me, alright?

The hardest thing about having a disease is doing something about it.

You feel like youre incurable and so you ignore it, but it doesnt go

away, does it.

I wonder which disease of mine hes talking about.

81
 This is not something you should be embarrassed about, he

says, its very common. Youll be driving and feel sick all the

sudden and pull over. Then youll spend the next fifteen minutes

retching on the side of the road, but nothing comes up. Have I

described something that has happened to you?

Yes.

He looks at my chart, Faith, I want you to know that you are

not crazy. This is not all in your head. You have a disease and you

need to treat it like any other disease. If you have depression or

asthma you would treat them wouldnt you. Im going to prescribe

one weeks worth of Klonopin. It is an anti-anxiety medication and I

want you to take one in the morning and one at night. Im trusting

that you will take this medication as Ive described.

I will, I tell him, but what happens when it runs out?

Id like you to see a psychiatrist who can prescribe long

term medication. And Id like you to see them regularly. When will

you be returning to Los Angeles?

I dont know.

82
 Then Id like you to find a psychiatrist while youre in New

York. Will you do that?

I tell him that I will.

Now, this medication will run out in one week. Do you

understand? Youll have to line up a therapist before it runs out.

I understand.

He stands. Ill be right back.

Stefani and I walk to Duane Reade and get my prescription

filled. Im given a little paper bag with my name on it. Two little

pillsone in the morning and one at night. Just like that, life

changes. You have a half hour consultation with a doctor. You tell

him whats wrong. He gives you two little pills. The daily pain. The

constant nausea. The inability to breathe, to socially interact.

Suddenly I can do everything. I can eat everything. I can go

everywhere. Suddenly Im free.

Thank you, I tell Stefani outside of the pharmacy.

Its no big deal, she says, I know what its like to be

uncomfortable every day.

83
 I want to ask her to elaborate, but I feel like were not there

yet.

Theres an old wino on the train back. Hes in a Mets jersey

and wakes up each time the train stops. Theres white wine in his

water bottle and no cap. I watch it sloshing onto his pants.

Stefani is laughing at the comments on her Instagram

paparazzi pic. She tells me Cara liked it. I don't know who that is.

The winos face tenses then relaxes. A watery brown shit leaks out

of his pants and onto his shoes. Stefani looks as though she might

puke, but I just smile.

84
 Chapter 5

The hot tub's gone cold and I wake up shivering. I've got to

stop falling asleep like this. I'll either drown or die of pneumonia.

And why am I always naked? Nights with this group are dangerous.

I thought my college parties turned up, but these guys can go all

night. John especially. How he drinks the way he does and maintains

6% body fat, Ill never know.

We went over our NewEx ratings last night before drinks.

Despite grouping for NewExs, we were still rated individually.

Stefani got an 8.1 and I got a 1.3.

The only footage we took on my phone was of Stefani

undressing.

85
 And most of that footage, thanks to my shaky hands, was the

ceiling. Id gone and proven Marcy wrongI could, in fact, do

worse. And now I was fucked. And now I was going home.

Marcy told me I was on probation. One more screw up would

send me packing. Six vodka sodas, a shot, and my anti-anxiety meds

later, I was okay with this. Ill deal with this tomorrow, I kept

thinking. Now it is tomorrow and Im naked in a freezing hot tub and

this might be my last night here.

I run back to my room naked again. It's 10:30am and I'm

dreading this morning's meeting. I throw on yesterday's clothes, take

my anxiety medication, and run out into the hall. Brandon's waiting

for me on the foot of the spiral staircase.

"Where is everyone?" I ask.

"You missed it," he says, typing on his phone, "I chose

todays NewEx for us."

God dammit what is wrong with me? Im going to be gone

by the afternoon. Theyre going to kick me out and Ill have

deserved it.

86
 Sorry, I say, wiping alcohol sweats from my brow, I slept

through my alarm."

Brandon scoffs and gets to his feet. Hes not much taller

standing than he is sitting.

You aren't afraid of heights, are you?" He asks.

"I don't love them."

He looks at his phone. "I don't love being a little person, but

that doesn't make my legs grow."

I chuckle and he looks like hell kill me. "Is that funny?"

"No," I say, "sorry."

Brandon walks past me. "Let's fucking get on with it.

I follow him outside and a camera flash blinds me.

I hear Brandon yell, "fuck off, Listers!"

When I can see again, theres a group of teens who have set

up a tent in the basketball court.

"Fey?" says a guy in a beanie. He must be 14. He and his

friends have their phones pointed at us. "Are you getting booted

from PS 111?"

87
 I shove past them and try to keep up with Brandon, who's

surprisingly fast for having such short legs. He's chuckling to

himself.

"Here we are," says Brandon, stopping in front of the

construction site across the street.

I look up at the project. A crane towers above us.

"What are we doing?"

Brandon doesnt answer. He crawls under the tarp and I

follow.

"I don't think we're supposed to go in here," I tell him.

He climbs a wooden beam to the second floor. With some

effort, I get up after him. The second floor is just cross-beams. I find

my footing on a beam and hold onto the pillar. Brandon doesnt

seem bothered by two story drop below.

"Pause," he says, and takes out his phone. He opens the app

and I do the same. "We'll need our hands, so I brought this."

From his back pocket, he produces two arm bands--the kind

runners use. We slide our phones in and strap it to our arms so the

camera faces forward.

88
 "Good idea," I tell him and he agrees. "Still not gonna tell me

what we're doing?"

He points up through the hole in the roof. "We're climbing

that."

"The crane?"

"The crane."

I laugh, "I'm not climbing that."

"Listen," says Brandon, "you decided not to show up this

morning, so this is what we're doing."

"It's not what I'm doing."

Brandon crosses his arms. "Do you want to fit in here? Cause

you're doing a shitty job of it."

"What are you talking about? I'm participating. Im playing

the game."

"No, he says forcefully, you're going through the motions.

You don't want to be here."

"Yes, I do" I say.

89
 "Then be present," says Brandon, "fuck Tiffany's and fuck

5th Avenue. Experience some real shit. This, he points at the crane,

"this is real shit."

Im not comfortable with this. We could get hurt.

He folds his arms. Fine. You want me to say it? Ill say it.

Marcys sick of you bringing us down, making the app look like a

joke. You arrive looking like you dont care. You get shit ratings.

Youre turning our fans off, Fey!

I look down at my phone, she said that?

Just this morning. I wasnt gonna tell you.

Im glad you did.

You wanna stay? Follow me. If not, go pack your bags. No

one will blame you. They dont expect much from Feyl.

I watch him climb the ladder to the third story.

I curse under my breath and grip the first rung. Brandon is

waiting for me at the base of the crane. When he sees Im climbing,

he purses his lips, slightly impressed. We look out over the

construction site.

90
 "We've got 20 minutes to do this," he says, checking his

watch, "actually 16 because you wasted time complaining."

"Won't they see us?"

"Not while they're on lunch break. Start recording and follow

me up."

I tap the record button, making sure it's facing Brandon and

we start the climb.

"Have you done this before?"

"Youre really into this whole talking thing arent you?" He

says.

There's a climb-proof gate just above the driver's cab and I

breathe a sigh of relief. But Brandon will not be deterred. He wedges

his foot between the gate and the beam and shimmies up.

God dammit, I mutter to myself.

My feet are bigger than his and I have some trouble

following his actions. Brandon taps his watch and I mouth shut up.

"Shh," he says, "stop talking."

I wasnt talking.

91
 The crane tower has an internal ladder, but Brandon sticks to

climbing the outer beams. I go for the ladder but he hisses, no! and

taps his phone.

The footage must be perfect.

It's cold and the wind shakes the crane. I take it slow, despite

our time limit. I'd rather get caught than fall. The slick yellow beams

are greased with the morning dew and my foot slips. I catch myself

with the crook of my arm. Brandon stops and looks down to see

what the noise was. I pull myself back up.

When he sees I'm still going, he gives me a crazed smile and

continues to climb. We reach the top of the crane where the arm

folds and Brandon stops to catch his breath. He gives me a nod and I

return it. The arm extends the length of the construction site. An

American flag hangs at the end. That must be our goal.

Before Im able to stop myself, I step past Brandon onto the

first rung of the arm. The height isn't what bothers me right now. It's

how quiet it is up here. Wind whips at us. Brandon is right behind

me. My right hand grips the upper bar.

92
 I dry my left hand on my pants. My palms sweat and I keep

drying one while the other holds on. Nearly at the flag. The app is

recording. It sees the whole thing. And then I hear Brandon make a

noise.

I turn to see what he's saying. He's lost his footing and sways,

both hands in the air, trying to regain his balance. I reach for him but

he falls. He reaches for the bottom bar and grabs it, hitting his chin

in the process. This makes a tremendous noise and shakes the arm. I

see his fingers slipping.

I quickly side-step back to him and dry a hand on my pants

and grab his wrist. My hand sweats and I feel myself losing grip. I

shift my weight and hold on with the crook of my arm. This works

better than a hand grip. Brandon doesn't panic. He looks down,

angling his body so the phone captures the view.

"Reach up and grab the bar," I tell him.

Wind shakes the arm of the crane. My grip loosens. My

fingers turn white.

Ill drop you, I say, you have to reach up.

93
 Just one more second got it! Brandon grips the bar

and I pull him up.

"Holy shit," I say breathlessly.

"Almost there," he says, and points to the flag.

We reach the flag and hold onto the pole, leaning out over

the void. Brandon taps the record button on each of our phones and

the videos post. I shiver in the cold, my shirt damp with sweat.

Construction workers gather below to watch us.

"They think we're gonna jump," Brandon says and spits over

the edge.

Tonight, we gather for drinks and NewEx ratings. I think Ive

figured the system out. Everyone does some sort of fan service.

Franky likes to cry in her videos. Shes pretty when she cries and

people like to leave comments and comfort her.

John finds an excuse to get shirtless. He spends most of his

videos sweaty and shirtless, showing a tasteful amount of pubic hair.

94
 Most of his NewExs are of him weightlifting in compression

shorts. He has the fitness industry hooked.

I haven't figured Marcy's trick out yet. She consistently gets

high votes. It could be because of her fame, but I think that's only

part of it. Her videos have a dreamlike quality. They're cut up, like

Stefani's, into little montages.

She'll have music playing on her phone while she records so

there's a soundtrack. They look like professional little movies. Today

Marcy and Jen flew a plane. I watched the video. It was taken in the

cockpit of a Cessna. In quick intervals, the plane takes off from the

Long Island runway, up over the trees, and turns over the city.

Then the camera angle changes and we see Marcy flying the

plane, Jen in the back, the instructor in the co-pilot seat. She's

wearing an Amelia Earhart scarf and salutes the camera. The

Reading Rainbow theme song is the soundtrack.

A perfect score of 10/10. Marcy curtsies to our applause.

Day's videos are quiet and minimalistic. He and John got

tattoos today. John got a Ronnie Coleman quote on his left bicep and

Day got an old horror movie character on his calf.

95
 He tells us it's Dr. Caligari's somnambulist. This video, along

with its obscure reference, gets an 8.

Brandon is the first to see our ratings. He shows me on his

phone. Brandon got an 8.3. Then he moves his thumb and shows me

my score.

I jump out of my seat. 9.2? 9 point fucking 2!

Marcy comes to look.

"Why did you get a higher score?" Brandon asks.

"Uh, because I saved your life?"

Marcy taps the video icon and watches our video. It captures

the moment when I saved Brandon and right up to the point where

we touch the flag. It's perfect. She gives my leg a squeeze under the

table and my face goes hot. The waiters bring vodka and gin and

cold champagne and we all toast. Not just to our scores, but to the

apps popularity. To me not going home. To me earning my keep

for now.

We toast and John starts to sing, so we all sing:

O Flower of Scotland,

When will we see

96
 Your like again,

That fought and died for,

Your wee bit Hill and Glen

His singing voice is terrible and the more he drinks the less

Scottish he sounds.

At some point in the night, Marcy and Day pull their

disappearing trick. I never remember them leave. I'm drunk, but not

that drunk.

Not strip naked and pass out in the hot tub drunk. Just strip

naked and get in the hot tub and stay awake drunk. It's been a good

day. A crazy, near-death experience, day, but a good day.

I like Brandon, but he's a dick and I don't like him.

When did I get in the hot tub? I dont remember coming back

to my suite. A knock on the door frame startles me. I reach for a

towel but I didnt bring one. I turn to find Marcy has let herself in.

Shes wearing blue lacy boy shorts and nothing else.

I try to sound casual. "What's up?"

She doesn't respond. She crosses the room and gets into the

hot tub. She holds her nose and goes underwater.

97
 When she comes back up shes laughing. Your turn.

I dunk my head in and when I come up shes right in front of

me. Were so close our noses are touching. She sits on my lap.

How am I? she asks, her voice breathy and hot.

My mind races.

How am I? she whispers.

None of this feels real. La Vie en Rose plays in another

room. She leans against my chest and I feel her small breasts against

me and her heartbeat going slowly in time with the song. I close my

eyes and listen.

When the song ends, she gets off. My eyes are still shut and I

hear the front door shut and Im alone.

98
 Chapter 6

After our crane climb video, Brandon and I were a team.

Marcy kept re-arranging everyone elses groups except for ours.

Each morning was a contest to see which one of us could come up

with the crazier NewEx. They got to be so outlandish that Marcy had

to come up with stricter guidelines. A NewEx that could result in:

bloodshed (ours or others), possible death, or self-brutalization

would not be approved. This only fueled our creativity.

App users went ape shit over our videos. I would get private

messages suggesting what we should do next. Go bungee jump, sky

dive, make thermite, free dive, ghost ride the whip, hood surf, BASE

jump, and so on.

99
 I didnt know what half of those things were, but Brandon

did. It was all old hat to him.

I soon realized that Brandon was the type who says yes to

everything. We would all be out having sushi and someone would

dare him to eat the groups leftover wasabi and without hesitation he

would eat every last one.

John would dare him to jump from our taxi to the other

group's taxi, and before anyone could stop him, he'd be halfway out

the window. A bottle of hot sauce? Consider it drank. Electric fence?

Consider it touched. Razor blades, dog poop, bodily fluids:

everything went in his mouth. I never saw anyone so happy to lick

clean the needle from a used syringe.

We had this plan, but we knew it would never get approved.

Pitching the NewEx: "Brandon and Fey will make an

explosive" sounded bad. So, we pitched: "Brandon and Fey will put

on a fireworks show". And, of course, we did not include the detail

that we would be making the fireworks ourselves.

Neither of us knew how to make a firework, but Brandon

knew how to make a pipe bomb.

100
 He had the Anarchists Cookbook on his tablet. The best way

to make a homemade firework would be to construct a pipe bomb

and add 20 ounces of glitter to it. Its not a bomb if theres glitter.

We got the pipe from CHP Hardware. The shotgun shells

were a little harder to find. Brandon had the idea to make two

different videos. The first video would show us making the bomb

and the second would be the explosion.

It took two buses, a metro stop, and a 15-minute walk to get

to the Walmart Supercenter. We could have saved time and taken a

cab. Now that I was represented by the agency, I was getting a

biweekly paycheck of $1,200. Plus, I had the company card. This

Amex was exclusively for Eff It List production only. Cab rides and

shotgun shells fell under this category, but I wasnt about to abuse

my new card-carrying power. Marcy could still change her mind

about letting me stick around.

Brandon and I found our way to the gun section of Walmart

and asked for two boxes of shotgun shells.

"What kind you need?" squeaked the little clerk with the blue

vest.

101
 Brandon knew exactly.

"Buckshot" he said.

I nodded confidently as the clerk placed the boxes on the

counter.

"Will you need a firearm with this?"

The question tickled me. He had asked it as casually as if we

were buying a lighter and might want cigarettes as an afterthought.

"What's the waiting period on shotguns?" asked Brandon.

"We don't need a shotgun," I said.

"Three weeks," said the clerk.

"And how do you get a license for that?"

The clerk eyed the shotgun shells. "What do you need this

ammunition for if you dont have a firearm?"

We hesitated too long and the clerk moved the boxes back

behind the counter. Ammunition is for licensed firearm users

only."

"Sorry," I said, "I'm licensed. My friend isn't."

He tapped the countertop. "Can I see your license?"

102
 When I produced no license, he repeated himself.

"Ammunition is for licensed firearm users only.

Brandon and I left Walmart empty-handed. I searched for the

nearest gun store and found one in Hempstead. It was good we

hadnt filmed our project thus far.

Not only did we look like kids trying to do something stupid,

it would have made for a crappy NewEx. Instead of figuring out the

bus system, we hailed a cab and gave him the address. Time to use

the company card. The gun store was called Hunting Supplies and

Accessories. I told Brandon to let me handle it this time.

"But I want a shotgun," he whined.

"What the hell do you need a shotgun for?"

"I've always wanted one," he said.

"Let me buy the ammo first, then ask about the shotgun."

He agreed. At the ammunition counter, I asked for four boxes

of buckshot shells. I was informed that there was a two box limit.

This wouldn't be enough for the pipe bomb, so I gave Brandon a

nudge and he got the other two boxes. After the purchase had been

made, and the shells were bagged, I gave Brandon another nudge.

103
 "How long's the waiting period for a shotgun?" He asked.

"There's a waiting period for handguns, not shotguns. Do you

already have a permit?"

"Yeah, but I'm registered in New Jersey," Brandon lied, "is it

still good here?"

The man stroked his beard, "I wouldn't risk it. Just apply

online. It's $160 right now and the background check doesn't take

too long."

"I'll do that," said Brandon, a little too excitedly.

"You boys going back to Jersey to hunt?"

"We're headed there today," I told him.

"What're you hunting?" he asked.

I glanced at the buckshot in my hand. Buck, I told him.

He continued to stroke his beard. "Come back when you got

that license."

"We will," Brandon said and he meant it.

Back at PS 111, Brandon and I took our pipe and shotgun

shells and glitter to the roof. He filmed me as I carefully broke the

seal of the shell and dug out the ball bearings.

104
 Then I poured the gun powder into the metal pipe. Four

boxes of shotgun shells only made about a cup of gunpowder and by

the end of the process, I'd stabbed myself so many times, there was

blood all over the boxes and the video looked great.

Brandon referred to the Anarchist's Cookbook and read off

the recipe: "gunpowder."

"Check."

"Newspaper."

I stuffed newspaper into the pipe.

"Glitter."

I poured the entire bottle of pink glitter in.

"Fuse."

"You didn't tell me we needed a fuse" I said, wiping the

blood on the excess newspaper.

"How else will we light it?"

"What if we used a candle wick instead?"

"Do we have those?"

"The Mess Hall does," I said, "be right back."

105
 I found a staff member downstairs and asked for the biggest

candle they had. He took me to the third floor, a part of the school I

hadnt seen.

They hadn't gotten to renovating the floor. It still looked like

the original school like the classroom across the courtyard. He

produced a skeleton key and opened a closet labeled 'no entry'.

We pulled box after box, searching for the candle, until

finally he clicked his tongue and tore open one labeled 'funeral'. I

took three large white candles, thanked the man, and ran back to the

roof.

Brandon resumed filming as I stripped the wax from the

candle, which proved to be an arduous task. Blood soaked the wicks

as I tied three together and stuffed them through the pipe hole. Once

the bomb, or firework, was finished, we leaned it against the railing

and admired our work. It didnt look like much.

"When should we set it off?"

"Tonight," said Brandon, "itll look marvelous in the dark."

106
 It's 8:45pm and freezing on the roof. Brandon told everyone

that the firework show would be at 9:00pm sharp. This wasn't

enough to excite the group, so I suggested we have a rooftop drink

and watch the firework and maybe that could count for someone

else's NewEx too. If they hadnt seen fireworks before.

Jin-ho was the lucky one.

It's wonderful how explosives can bring people together.

They join us on the roof in their blankets and sweaters and

the twins in their pea coats. Marcy is drinking something hot and

huddles over the steam. Her chunky blanket engulfs her and she sits

on the ledge and sips her drink. I want to sit next to her and get

under her blanket, but Franky sits on one side and Jen sits on the

other. So, I sit with Brandon all alone and cold near the pipe bomb.

I start recording and Brandon tells everyone to count down

from ten.

"Ten!"

Brandon has some trouble lighting the wick, but it eventually

burns. He runs.

"Nine!"

107
 The wick burns down into the pipe and glows from

within. Im holding my breath.

"Eight!"

Brandon joins me on the roof's vent, about 30 meters from

the bomb.

"Seven!"

There's a long silence and I see everyone is covering their

ears and I do the same.

"Six!" They count. "Five! Four!"

Fire erupts from the pipe, blowing the bottom off. A fireball

shoots out the end, turning it into a rocket. It propels off the roof,

across the street, bouncing off the side of a street lamp, and

disappearing into a tree. Brandon looks at me, wide-eyed. For a

moment, theres nothing and I think its gone out. Then the tree

ignites.

The pipe bomb has lodged itself between two branches and

the rocket end continues to burn a little flaming hole in the tree top. I

know its made it through the newspaper when the second round of

gunpowder ignites.

108
 The bomb explodes with a crisp pop. The shockwave shatters

a window in the trees apartment building. I can feel the concussion.

Its so powerful, it knocks the cigarette from Brandons mouth.

Too much gunpowder?

The look on Brandons face tells me hes thinking the same.

Smoke is carried on the breeze over the buildings and into

the sky. A huge towering pillar of smoke. From where Im standing,

it looks like the whole city is on fire. A woman is screaming "fuego,

fuego!" And a baby howls. Every dog on the block is going apeshit.

None of us move. I turn to see the Iriss reaction, but find

theyre unaffected. Marcy blows the steam from her hot chocolate.

Casey takes a picture. Jin-ho has recorded all of this. I realize I'm

still recording too. I release the button.

We wait until the firetrucks come. Three stories down, the

whole neighborhood is out on the street watching, trying to figure

out what happened. A terrorist attack? In an unspoken agreement,

the group retreats inside. Everyone except for Marcy, who joins

Brandon and me, still blowing on her drink.

"This will make the news," she says in her calm monotone.

109
 "I'll pay for the damages," I tell her.

"You will not," says Marcy, "whatever it costs is worth the

publicity.

We say nothing and watch the people huddled in the street.

Some of them are in pajamas. Someone is crying. The firefighters

turn the tree into a smoldering stick. Marcy finally takes a drink of

her hot chocolate and makes a face.

She tosses the cocoa with its mug over the ledge and heads

back inside. "Come, boys."

Marcy knows the media. Its 9:40am and we gather around

the TV in the Mess Hall. ABC7 mentions that a celebrity has

committed a crime in the opening teasers. I sit on the edge of the

bench and wait anxiously for the report. It doesn't come until the

very end.

A pretty blonde reporter begins the report: "Former fashion

models, Day and Marceline Darling are responsible for endangering

the lives of their neighbors in the Lower East Side, Manhattan.

110
 Just after 9pm last night, video footage from the Darling's

app the Eff It List..."

"Boo," says Jen.

"Will you stop that?" barks Brandon.

Hush, says Marcy.

"...two of the school's inhabitants creating a homemade

explosive. The following footage was submitted to the Darlings

social media app, continues the reporter.

Grainy footage shows the pipe bomb rocketing off the roof

and into the tree.

"The explosive makers have been identified as Brandon Ucif

and Faith Davis."

18 eyes turn on me. My face goes flush. It was just a matter

of time before they found out my name.

Frankys face lights up. Thats your full name!

Just watch, I tell them, pointing at the TV.

Casey chuckles into his coffee.

The reporter continues, "...currently refused to make a

statement.

111
 It is unclear at this point whether the app has breached the

Apple store's terms and conditions. The firework broke two windows

and there were no injuries. The 186-year-old oak tree, however, was

destroyed."

Idnt that a tragedy says John.

Marcy turns off the TV and walks to the chalkboard paint

wall. Among Jen's recipe ideas and Casey's cock sketches is written:

"Brandon and Fey".

"These two," Marcy looks around the room, pausing at me,

"are killing it."

"What?" John exclaims, "theyre gonna get us banned from

the app store!"

"What about the school?" Asks Franky, "will it close?"

Marcy holds her phone up to silence the group. "Look at their

scores."

I check my NewEx rating. My video, purchasing the pipe

bomb ingredients, got an 8.3 rating. Brandon's got a 10. The

Leaderboard has been updated. Im not last anymore. Jin-ho is now

the feyl! Though I doubt he cares.

112
 Eff It List Leaderboard

1. Marcy

2. Jen

3. John

4. Brandon

5. Casey

6. Day

7. Franky

8. Stefani

9. Fey

10. Jin-ho

"That's not fair," I complain, "I made the bomb."

Firework, corrects Marcy, you say firework.

"Ten," whispers Brandon, dumbstruck.

Jen pushes Brandons plate off the table and it smashes on

the floor.

Whoops, she says, feigning surprise.

Brandon glares at her.

113
 Jen mouths the word ten and holds up ten fingers. Ten

little Indians, emphasis on the little.

Brandon itches his eyebrow with a middle finger.

Marcy ignores the two. "And 3,400 have joined since the

news report," she says.

"What if the school shuts down? Why is no one freaking

out?" says Franky.

"What if it does?" asks Marcy.

"It's our home," Franky says softly.

Marcy isn't worried. Im not worried. She's proud.

I killed it.

I smile at her and she returns it. I think I finally figured this

Eff It List thing out.

I was just overthinking it. Just gotta blow shit up.

After our fireworks, everything changed. Marcy stopped

posting NewExs after that.

114
 Her profile name was changed to 'Marcy [Head Honcho]"

and she went offline eternally. She also stopped partying with us.

She didn't have breakfast with us. She didnt have dinner. When I

would stay up all night partying with the guys, I'd see her dressed

and leaving as I was stumbling to bed. When she did have a moment

to sit with us at breakfast, she'd be pulled away by a phone call or a

staff member every time.

"Poor Marcy, shes too busy," Franky would say and shake

her head, "tsk, tsk, tsk."

While his sister was out taking care of business, Day

remained emotionally checked out. We swapped NewEx stories at

night, and Day would sit in the corner nursing his scotch. If we

called him over, he'd give a quick shake of the head and raise his

glass. As if to say, I have all the company I need right here.

I asked the others if he was just shy. Jen said he was

extroverted when Marcy needed him to be, though the exertion

drained him.

"He's a textbook INTP," Franky chipped in, "just like

everyone else here, cept Marcy."

115
 "What's an INTP?" I asked.

My naivety made her giddy. She whipped out her phone and

went to her bookmarks. When she gave it to me, the website's header

said, "Personality Type Test".

"I bet you a million dollars you'll be an INTP too," she said,

"it means we can't connect with others because of our intelligence

and perception. Our ideals don't blend in with other people's

assessments of what should be true or their own understanding of

people. An INTP comes in and shakes the boat a little bit when it

comes to normality and culture."

I'd already started the test and tuned her out. She waited

excitedly the entire twenty minutes it took to finish the damn thing.

When I was done, I gave the phone back. I was an INFJ.

"No way," she said, checking the results.

Jen, who had been partially listening to our conversation,

peeked at the phone. Isnt that what Marcy got too?

Yall have similar personality types. Marcys an ENFJ.

That's why she's good at leading people. She's marches to the beat of

her own drum. Are you religious, Fey?"

116
 "Not in the slightest."

"I just thought you might be," she hesitated, "cause of your

full name."

Casey laughed, "I forgot about that shit. Your name is really

Faith?"

I noticed Day looking up from his scotch.

"My parents are super liberal," I explained, "Christian

liberals."

Thats new, said Casey.

"And you're not Christian?" Franky asked.

"Im not anything."

You must be something, Franky said.

Im nothing. They know that.

"That must piss your parents off," said Casey.

"They were too focused on my brother too care," I said.

Is he the favorite? asked Franky.

He was sick for a long time, I said and drained the glass,

they gave up religion after he died. We dont talk much now."

117
 There was a silence and then Franky said, "I don't talk to my

parents either, ya know. I hated my mom. But I was a daddy's girl.

My dad had hypertrophy of the heart so he died when I was in high

school. Then it was my momma and me and I had this horse nose.

Impossible, said Jen.

Not even kidding. I begged her for rhinoplasty, but she'd get

so mad when I brought it up. One time she flat out slapped me. Since

she wouldn't give me any of the money, I did a Sears commercial.

My mom tried to take my money away so I couldnt use it for

surgery. I had to hire a lawyer to get emancipated. Damn it was

messy after that. Took most of a year, but it happened. I got it at age

16 after I proved she hit me and how she stole money. Now I get

monthly checks.

First thing I did when I was free was fix my nose, she

laughs, I still get the checks, but they're made out to 'cunt' or

whore most of the time. The bank still takes em. I don't care

anymore, but I used to."

She blew out her breath, exhausted from the monologue, and

rested her head on my shoulder.

118
 I ran my fingers through her short hair.

Brandon picked up where Franky left off. "Since we're

having a shit-stacking contest... I havent exactly been an exemplary

son. He counts his sins on two hands. Dropped out of high school.

Moved into a commune. Started pushing. Hitchhiked around.

Assault chargesacquitted. Pushing again. Heroin. Broke my

therapists nose. Moved back homeran away. Rehabwalked

out. When the last finger went up, his glass fell to the table. Ran

out of fingers.

John gave him a pat on the back and we sat for a while, just

drinking.

"I don't know how old I am," blurted Jin-ho.

Jen hugged her knees.

"I was born in Chinese orphanage, he said, didn't have

birth certificate. When my parents adopted me, they said I was 3.

But I went to the dentist as a baby, my molars show I was older than

3. I could have been up to 4. A whole year and half older!"

Casey asked the question that was on all our minds, "when

do you turn 22?"

119
 Jin-ho drank his whisky. "Im blessed to not know."

"You may not be the youngest after all," Franky said to me.

"I hope I'm not."

"Bull," said Jen.

"Why would I want that? I asked, clenching my jaw.

Who wouldnt want that? asked Jen. You like the

attention.

You dont have to watch your friends die, I snapped.

Were your friends now? She asked coldly.

I didnt answer.

Day snapped from his booth. We all looked.

Have a drink with me, Fey, he said. I almost didnt hear

him because of how quietly he speaks. He hardly ever spoke.

I joined him at his table and he poured Laphroaig 18 into my

glass and we tapped glasses.

Its remarkable, I said.

He drank too and closed his eyes to taste the whiskey. When

he opened them, I saw they were misty. His milky blue eyes were

suddenly bluer. I thought of Marcy.

120
 It is remarkable he said.

"Can I share?" Stefani asked.

We turned our attention to her and she began. "I've never said

this to anyone, and I'm a little drunk, and I trust you assholes, so I'm

gonna say it."

"Say it, bitch," demanded Jen.

Stefani balled her hands into fists. It looked like she might

explode. "I'm having an affair with a married professor!" She

shouted.

Jen let out a wolf whistle.

"I'm in love with the German professor from my college and

he has kids and a wife and a house and stuff."

"Gross, said Jen.

Stefani opened her eyes and seemed shocked to find she was

still there. "Damn, that felt good That cannot get to the public.

"How old is he?" asked John.

Stefani took out her phone and showed us a picture. He was

middle-aged, balding, and lumpy. The man looked like someones

creepy uncle.

121
 As the phone was passed around, each of us regarded the

man and gave some form of acknowledgment.

"I don't care if you guys think he's ugly. He is ugly, but I love

him."

Why do fat guys always have little pee pees? Franky

slurred.

He isnt fat, said Stefani.

Brandon laughed into his beer.

He is fat, said John. Now answer Frankys question.

Whats his dick like?

Its fine, said Stefani, but it doesnt always work.

Is it small? repeated Franky. Fat guys are always small.

How do you know? I asked.

Why so defensive? Franky asked, poking my crotch. Got

a fat guy dick?

Fuck all of you. Stefani said, her fists balled again.

Were just messin said Franky.

Stefani threw a wine bottle at her. It just missed her head and

shattered on the wall.

122
 John was on his feet. Casey got between the girls.

You nearly killed me! Shouted Franky, cupping her mouth.

Who fucking cares? Yelled Stefani, tears streaming down

her cheeks. Whats it fucking matter? Were all dead soon

anyway!

Franky lucked murderous.

Chill I said.

Dont tell me to chill, said Franky. Now she was crying

too. Dont ever tell me to chill.

Franky left the Mess Hall and Stefani went to the wine fridge

to replace her bottle. Two staff members appeared with a broom and

dust pan. We watched as they cleaned the floor.

123
 Chapter 7

If you had the time and money, you could do everything on

your bucket list in three months. I know this because at the three-

month mark, Brandon and I had completely exhausted our NewEx

ideas. Three months in, the Eff It List had 4.8 million users. The top

non-Iris posters followed Brandon and my example and sought to

post the craziest videos possible. Videos of people having sex in

statue gardens, climbing cranes, train surfing, roof tipping, more

amateur fireworks, a treasure trove of drugs, and so on.

Most of the really crazy stuff came from Russia. Russians

fucking love the Eff It List. These extreme NewExs put the app

under further scrutiny, saying the Irises were encouraging dangerous

and illegal behavior.

124
 Marcy's continued denial to make any public statement only

stoked the fire.

One morning Marcy joined us for breakfast. She hadn't eaten

with us in weeks. When she came into the Mess Hall, everyone shut

up. She joined us, totally absorbed in her iPad.

Franky looked concerned. Marce?

Wait, Marcy said, not looking up from the tablet.

She got a staff members attention and ordered coffee, a bran

muffin, and a Cliff bar. When her food came, she only ate the

bar. Once her email was finished, she looked up to find 18 color-

mismatched eyes on her.

She swallowed. Good morning, crew.

Her cloudy blue eyes searched the ceiling, trying to

remember which action item was next. When it came to her, she

snapped twice and reached in her bag and passed around invitations.

Black, shiny cards with the inscription: Rooftop Romance:

Masque of the Red Death. Masks required. Dont wear red.

The back of the invitation was a quote from Edgar Allen

Poes short story.

125
 And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable

dominion over all.

"Whats the party about?" asked Jen.

"Phase 2," said Marcy.

Jen fidgeted impatiently. "What was phase 1?

The app, said Marcy.

And whats phase 2?

Youll just have to find out, wont you?

Jen frowned at her. When will we get to make decisions

around here?

Marcy checked her watch. "Not. Ever.

She left her untouched plate and hurried out with a quick

goodbye.

I followed and caught her in the hallway.

Yo! I said.

She turned. Yo?

What a stupid fucking thing to say. I dug my nails into my

palm and tried to act cool. Want to be my date for the party?

126
 She took my invitation and tapped the bottom. Your date

has to be a stranger. Plus, she traced a frown on my lips, the Red

Death doesnt make good company.

Before I could think of something to say, she was down the

dark hallway, her boots clicking on the wooden floor, glowing in the

light of the tablet.

Can we talk about that one weird night? I said quietly to an

empty hall.

She paused and called Yo!

My heart leapt. Had she heard me?

Yeah, Marcy?

Do you like it here? she asked.

I yeah, I do.

And the other Irises; do you like them?

Sure, I said, why?

Dont get too attached, she said, it will be easier if you

dont.

I dont understand I said.

127
 Her phone rang. She glanced at the number and rolled her

eyes.

Ill make time for you, she said, and answered the call.

The girls planned a weekend getaway.

Things I used to stress about, like packing a bag, are now a

thing of the past. Its Sunday morning and Marcy greets us on the

school steps.

My bag waits for me in the front yard along with the others. I

hope no one finds out the crappy old suitcase is mine. Everyone else

has designer bags. Leather Louis Vuitton carry-ons, Prada trolleys,

Gucci Duffels. And then theres my fire-engine-red nylon Target

specialbuy two suitcases get the toiletry bag free.

Never been to Connecticut, I hear Stefani say.

It's lovely, says Marcy, "just like your custom wedges."

She's in high spirits this morning. Probably because she can

get away from all this work. Im still wondering what she meant by

making time for me.

128
 I watch the girls giggling and talking about clothes as I have

a cigarette on the steps. Brandon comes out and taps one of his own

out and we smoke.

"I don't get it," I say, "why do they care so much about

shoes?"

Brandon nudges my boot. "Says the queer in Saint Laurents."

"Is that what these are called? Boomer sent them."

"They gave you clothes? I had to buy my own. Marcy didnt

let me shop cheap either."

I want to ask where a little person shops, but I decide to let

the question go. Jin-ho runs across the yard to open the taxi door for

his girlfriend. He's been talking about her coming to visit. Her name

is Kim or something. They're going on their own trip up north to the

Hudson valley. Franky isn't coming either because shes got a

friend's wedding at home in Tennessee.

Casey is taking the time off to visit family in Boston. John is

heading back to Scotland to begin training for an amateur

bodybuilding competition in December. It isnt for another month,

but he said it takes that long to cut.

129
 We say our goodbyes before we leave and he tells us he'll be

back with a trophy.

The twins rented a Senior Citizen Brigade bus. We get

aboard, smelling the diesel fumes and Febrezed seats. Its just Jen,

Stefani, Brandon, the twins, and me. I sit in the back and take out my

phone. Marcy and Day sit together at the front and Marcy chats with

the driver.

The buildings and taxis and crowds melt into countryside

through the bus window.

Im comforted by the trees. The sea of red leaves make me

think of my mom. It's November now and I wonder what my mom

and dad will be doing for Thanksgiving. When is Thanksgiving? The

last Thursday of the month or the first?

I havent been on many trips in my life. The one that sticks

out is when my family drove to San Diego one summer. My brother

and I were in the back, playing our Gameboy. We only had one so

we had to take turns. Pass each time you die. It was Wills turn and

our dad asked the question he always asked when we made it out of

the city and onto the country highway: Dylan, Simon, or Taylor?

130
 These were the three tapes in his cassette arsenal. Being the

oldest, I got to pick first. Simon. Always Paul Simon. The first song

on the tape was 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover and my dad would

hum to it and I would daydream. Its so weird to think back on those

family trips before Will died. After that, vacations became

Disneyland only. No more road trips. No long drives. No Dylan,

Simon, or Taylor. One full 8 to midnight day at Disneyland.

Anaheim was only a two-hour drive from our house. When my mom

fell asleep on the ride home, I promised my dad Id stay up with him

but I never could.

We come to a rest stop. Its a food court gas station combo

totally packed. The driver tells us well be here for 30 minutes so we

should stretch our legs and get a bite to eat. Theres no Starbucks

inside and Stefani tells me to stop whining and get McDonalds

coffee like everyone else. Its not the same. Jen and Stefani get in the

McDonalds line and I see Marcy outside on a bench having a

cigarette. I should sit with her.

131
 John has the guys of the group eating clean. He preaches

endlessly on the benefits of clean eating and lifting and minimal

cardio. I've been feeling fatigued lately, maybe because of the

drinking, maybe because of the anti-anxiety medication, so I agreed

to get on his nutrition thing. I spot Brandon in the convenience

store. Hes looking at the trail mix.

Good idea, I tell him.

I already looked, he says, no chocolate covered pretzels.

I call him a fat ass and get a bag of antioxidant trail mix.

Cranberries and dried acai berries and shit.

"You're not doing John's challenge?" I ask.

"I'm doing my own challenge. It's called DYIB: Do You

Even Binge?"

"Aren't you worried about getting fat?"

He raises an eyebrow. You sound like Franky. Can Irises

gain weight?

Wouldnt Franky have a field day if she heard that? Do I

really sound like her? She must be rubbing off on me.

132
 You wish, dude. Anyway, thats my new goal, says

Brandon, taking the carton of M&Ms from the shelf. Ill be the first

fat Iris. The smallest and fattest. What do I have to be afraid of?

Diabetes? Ive got a month left.

I smile but he doesnt. Hes not kidding.

He gets the M&Ms and a carton of cigarettes. Im shocked by

the price of cigarettes in New York. I guess Ive been bumming

them since I got here. He sees me eyeing his box.

Wait till we cross the state line. It's cheaper in Connecticut,

he says.

Why dont you wait?

Aint got the time.

We go outside and find a table. Brandon takes one of the

packs from the cartoon and flips a cigarette upside down. Then he

gives it to me.

Whats this for?

Your lucky cigarette.

I know, I say, but why the whole pack?

As a congrats, he says, giving a wink.

133
 For?

For having the balls to ask Marcy to the party.

I tap a cigarette out. I didnt think anyone saw.

No secrets in PS 111."

"She's out of my league," I tell him.

He laughs. "Leagues dont apply to her. But, Ill tell you this:

if anyone could make a move on her, itd be you."

I let the smoke curl around my cheek. "Don't patronize me."

"Youre the youngest, best looking guy of a generation of

young, best looking guys. At this moment, you're the

most eligible bachelor for the most wanted girl in New York."

I take another drag from the cigarette. We watch Marcy talk

to the bus driver. I see Jen and Stefani approaching and brace myself

for the inevitable fight with Brandon. As they join us and unwrap

their fast food, I drool over the sticky yellow paper. Ive never been

so jealous of a cheeseburger and fries.

Been forever since I had Donnie, says Jen.

Their fries suck, says Stefani, stuffing three fries into her

mouth.

134
 Jen turns her attention to Brandon. Here it comes.

Whyre you eating candy little fella? Didn't you listen to

your Oompa Loompa friends' song? She starts singing, What are

you at getting terribly fat?

"I'm trying to get fat," says Brandon, opening another box of

M&Ms, "it's my project. For the videos."

We cant get fat, sie dumm fuhrt, says Stefani, flashing her

eyes.

What do you think will come of that? Jen continues. She

stops singing to take a bite of a McNugget. If you get fat I wont be

seen in public with you. You already make us look like a freak

show.

Listen bitch, says Brandon, I deserve to be here just as

much as you.

Jen puts a finger in Brandons face. Freak. Show.

Brandon knocks her food on the ground.

See? Says Jen. This is why no one like you. Youre an

unstable little git.

135
 Brandon is standing on his seat now, looking down at her.

Always saying it like it is, arent you dyke?

Everyone else is too worried theyll hurt your wee feelings.

Youre a fucking cunt! Brandon shouts, throwing soda in

Jens face.

Jen recoils. Her mascara runs. You horrible little she

says, wiping her shirt with her face. Ice falls from her hair and

cracks on the ground.

Brandon is nonplused. He waddles towards the bus.

Stefani gives Jen her napkins and I put the tray back on the

table.

You okay? asks Stefani.

Ugly little wanker curses Jen, snatching the napkins from

Stefani, youve got one month! She shouts after him, one month

and youre gone and forgotten!

Its 4:10pm and were sunbathing on the balcony.

136
 Marcy is talking so boisterously in the basement that we can

hear her conversation all the way up here.

Melissa said thered be bikes.

Day sounds exhausted by the effort. There are bikes.

But no key, they say at the same time.

Twin moment, whispers Stefani.

There are 3 floors, 8 rooms, 8 bathrooms, 1 elevator, 3

balconies, 2 living rooms, and no key to the bicycle locks.

Should we leave? asks Day.

Leave a bad review? Leave a bad taste in my mouth?

Theres a pause, then, Hi, Melissa. Marcy Darling here with

todays nastygram. Your Airbnb ad clearly stated there would be

bicycles. Four in all.

And I found the four, but theyre in bicycle jail. If you would

like to make a jailbreak with me, call within the hour. If not, I have

my eye on these gorgeous red lock cutters in the hardware store

window.

We heard Marcys phone ring just minutes later.

137
 One ros and some hushed gossip later, Melissa is knocking

on the door with the key and an apology.

The twins lug the bicycles up the stairs to the balcony and

Marcy announces were going on a bike ride.

Boo, I hate exercise, says Jen, trying to lower the deck

chair.

Day takes out his phone and goes inside.

Stefani and Marcy and I take the bikes into town. Theyre the

old-fashioned kind where you have to back pedal to break. We cross

a bridge into town and I stop to look at the river, wondering which

river it is. Suddenly, it feels really important that I know, so I ask a

couple on Segways. The woman is pale with bad teeth and an, I ate

at Mystic Pizza tank top. Fat spills from her underarms.

Ive been around the Irises too long; normal people look

monstrous. I look at the river as not to stare. She doesnt answer my

question.

Instead, out of the corner of my eye I see her point to a sign

above me.

Mystic River.

138
 Im an idiot. The couple Segway away and I notice Stefani

and Marcy are gone. So, I ride down Main Street to see whats what.

The wind and crisp air confirm its fall. In California, you

have to take the calendars word for it. Its eerie how every store is

called Mystic this or Mystic that. Mystic Florist. Mystic Music.

Mystical Toys. I stop at a pub and hope no one steals my bike. So

what if they do? Itd serve Melissa right, not providing the bike key

with the mansion.

"Have a seat anywhere," says the bartender.

Are you from Ireland? I ask.

Dublin. You're very welcome.

For what?

Just a saying. Means, welcome to my pub.

Thank you.

What can I get you?

I get a pint of Guinness and sit by the window and watch for

the girls. I wish I had visited Ireland in my lifetime. I should be in a

pub in Dublin right now.

139
 But whats stopping me? Unlike Brandon, I have 5 months

left. Brandon couldnt go to Ireland if he wanted.

I ask the bartender for a piece of paper and pen. He tosses me

a beer mat and pen. I write:

Things you need to travel:

1. Money check

2. Time check

3. Passport no check

So close. How do I get a passport?

I go back to the bar and wait for the bartender to finish

helping a customer.

Need somethin else? he asks.

I have a dumb question.

I love dumb questions.

Do you know how to get a passport?

He scratches his head. An American passport? Ah, no. Irish

passport? Course. Doubt its much different. You can do it online

like everythin else. Just Google it.

Thats it? I thought itd be more complicated.

140
 Ah, no.

I thank him and get another Guinness and return to my table

and Google it. It takes me twenty minutes to apply. I choose

expedited service at the completion page. Theyll mail it to me in 3

weeks. And thats how easy it can be to accomplish something on

your bucket list. Just Google it. Damn.

3. Passport - almost check

I ride my bike back to the house. Day is shirtless lugging a

bundle of wood out the front door. He gives me a nod as he passes.

Im going to burn this, he says and kicks open the gate to

our private beach.

We start a bonfire. The wind keeps blowing the blankets

away and Jen and Stefani chase them into the dark. They dont

return for the lighting of the bonfire or the first bottle of wine.

Brandon is next to me and Jen and Stefanis spot is reserved

with an empty wine bottle. Brandon and Jen are still not talking.

141
 Marcy is sitting across from me, the fire between us. Why

cant I muster the courage to sit with her? Why do I feel used from

the night in the hot tub? She probably does it all the time. Guys are

supposed to want one night stands. If youd call it that.

Marcy sees me watching her.

We cant get started without them, says Marcy, tilting her

head at me, we just cant.

Ill find them, says Day.

Ill go, I say, I want to walk anyway.

Marcy raises an eyebrow.

Im walking along the dark beach. A hazy blue front porch

light glows, giving the night a dreamy feel. Theres a row of sticks

near the beach wall and two umbrellas still standing from summer.

The light's house looks empty and a film of dust cakes the windows

inside.

I hear a soft moan carried on the wind.

I follow it to a grassy sand dune and carefully climb it and

peer over the edge.

142
 I see the silhouette of Stefani, her mouth open, and Jen going

down on her. Stefani has Jens hair, pulling, pulling, and a letting out

a sharp gasp. At least someones getting it tonight.

When I return, Marcy perks up. Find them?

I shrug. Nope.

She gives me a skeptical look and opens a bottle of wine.

Well, we cant get started without them.

The light of the bonfire dances on their faces. Jen and Stefani

jump out of the dark and scare Brandon who shrieks like a girl.

Mother of god he says, clutching his heart.

You can call me Jen.

Youre in a good mood, Brandon says accusatorily.

We got lost, says Stefani.

Dont care, says Marcy, raising her hand. Now that were

all here, we can get started.

What are we doing? I ask.

Its time to make a promise, Marcy says coolly, a

mandatory promise.

143
 My favorite kind of promise, Jen says, pulling at a wine

cork. It breaks off in her hand, leaving half the cork in the neck of

the bottle. Shitballs.

Marcy still has her hand up. If youre going to continue at

PS 111, you have to ride it out until the end. Theres no shortcut. No

get out of jail free card. From now on we will be each others suicide

hotline should you feel the need to kill yourselves.

Jen stops trying to open the wine. Whats this about? She

asks.

"Youve no doubt heard of the Iris suicides in the news. The

unfortunate few who did not answer my invitation to PS 111 are

killing themselves left and right. I don't want that happening here.

"Whos suicidal? Asks Brandon, searching the group.

"Thats not my problem. But, if you won't promise here and

now, I'll have you banned from PS 111," Marcy says.

Brandon blows out his breath. Didnt answer my question.

"All of you," she raises her hand, I promise.

We raise our right hands and repeat after her: I promise

She shakes her head slowly, not to kill myself."

144
 not to kill myself.

Brandon takes Jens bottle and thumbs the cork in and takes

the first swig. I dont weigh enough to hang myself anyway.

If at first you dont succeed, says Jen, grabbing the bottle

back.

Brandon closes his fingers. She didnt make me promise not

to kill you, bitch.

He mumbles something about a shotgun which Im glad Jen

doesnt hear.

Marcy, pleased by the promises, makes smores. I'm not

interested and pass the bag of marshmallows to Brandon.

Stefani breaks the silence by asking Jen, truth or dare?

I hate this game, Jen protests.

Brandon, truth or dare?

Truth, says Brandon.

Stefani rolls her eyes. Fine. Have you ever been with

another you know?

Little person? No.

145
 Jen laughs. Brandon takes the bottle back and turns to me.

Fey, truth or dare?

I pick dare. He finishes the wine and drops the bottle in the

sand at my feet. He has this devilish grin and I wish I had picked

Truth.

"I dare you to play spin the bottle, he says, glancing at

Marcy.

His bottle doesnt spin so he builds a makeshift table out of

firewood.

What is this, high school? Asks Stefani.

Shut up, says Brandon.

I give the bottle a spin. It nearly stops on Marcy, but it turns a

little too far to the right and stops on Day. He feels everyones stare

and looks up from his phone.

Im... not playing, he says.

You gotta play, urges Jen, her elbows on her knees.

Now you like this game? Brandon asks.

I look at Day. His look is pleading as he shakes his head.

"Let's spin it again," I say.

146
 "You can't," says Jen giddy with excitement, the game

doesnt work that way.

Day stands erect as a soldier and marches to me. Before I can

protest, he lifts me up and kisses me, tongue and all. Marcys

marshmallow catches on fire.

"How's it feel to kiss a male model?" Swoons Stefani.

Ex, says Day and returns to his spot.

I light a cigarette to get the taste of Day out of my mouth. I

cant help but think he smells like Marcy.

Marcy, I say, truth or dare?

She returns her attention to the flaming marshmallow and

taps it into the fire. Dare.

Brandon goes into a coughing fit.

I dare you to dance for one minute I say.

"To what music?" she asks.

"No music."

The group chuckles and Marcy stands to compose herself.

She closes her eyes and runs her hands down her hips and sways

softly. Her dance is slow and melodic. Her audience doesn't laugh.

147
 I'm entranced. Everyone watches her, then me, then her. The

shadow of the fire plays on her face. After the minute has passed,

she curtsies and they applaud. My heart is beating so hard Im sure

she can hear it.

"My turn," she says, "Fey, dare or dare?"

"It doesn't work like that," says Jen.

Our eyes are locked and I say, "dare".

"Since you're so quick with a kiss, I dare you to kiss every

girl around the bonfire. And dont half-ass it. I want to see your

best."

I take a drag of my cigarette, glad I took my meds.

"Fine," I say, tossing the butt into the fire. I look for the

wine, but it's gone. Day tosses me his flask. I drink until I cant drink

anymore.

I look at Stefani who crosses her arms, then at Jen. Jen sees

my hesitation and jumps on me, knocking me to the ground. Me on

my back, her straddling me, we kiss.

Despite being into girls, she really is sexy. Like unicorns, I

didn't think lipstick lesbians existed.

148
 We kiss for a long time and theres a familiar taste in my

mouth. Sweet and heavy like the aftertaste of warm champagne. Im

tasting Stefani.

As the thought plays in my mind, Stefani breaks it up. Jen

gets off me, helps me back up, and gives me one more kiss. She

fixes her hair and glances at Stefani who proceeds to knock me down

again, straddling me as Jen did.

Now its a competition.

There's a pause once she's on top of me.

"Are you hard?" she asks.

"No," I lie.

Stefani rolls her eyes and shifts her hips to position herself

and kisses me. All I can see is her dark eyeliner, doe-eyed and

intense. I run my fingers through her hair as she had done to Jen

behind the sand dune. I pull softly and her whole body tenses and

she kisses me harder.

"That'll do," says Marcy.

"If I didn't have a contract" says Stefani, getting off me.

Not sure what that means.

149
 "Finish your dare," Marcy says, skewering another

marshmallow to be roasted.

"I'm not watching this," says Day, and leaves.

I notice Brandon watching intently. He gives me a little 'go

do it' look. I walk around the fire. Marcy does not knock me to the

ground, nor does she straddle me. I sit next to her on the blanket and

we look into each others eyes. I expect her to look from my left eye

to the right like everyone else, but she doesnt. She looks into me.

Through me. Theres something missing from her eyes. Theyre

beautiful, but distant, unreal. A shade of blue Id only seen in

paintings.

"How am I?" she whispers.

And were back in the hot tub.

She searches my expression for something. I lean forward

and our lips meet. Her lips are thick and she smells like smoke and

caramel. Her hand moves to my cheek. It's warm and her thin fingers

wrap around the curve of my chin. Unlike Jen's erotic kiss, Marcys

kiss is delicate and makes me feel like I'm the only man alive.

150
 There's nothing else in the world except for us. The sounds of

the waves and popping firewood fade away.

"Time," says Stefani.

No. Just one more minute.

Time!

Marcy pulls away.

Give us more time. Anything for more time. Please god,

more time. Make time stand still just this once.

Her eyes are still closed. Did she get lost too? They open and

her expression fades back to apathy.

"Fey, you just went, so it should pass on to Brandon," Marcy

says.

"Uhh right," I say, gathering myself.

Can I have my blanket back? Marcy asks.

I didnt realize I was still sitting on it.

Yeah ha ha.

My knees are weak so I crawl back to my spot. I light another

cigarette and do my damnedest not to make a big deal out of the kiss.

Do not fall in love.

151
 But I still taste her and my hands shake so I dig them into the

sand and leave the cigarette on my lips.

Do not fall in love.

Like all bonfire parties, the group eventually goes quiet,

entranced in the dying fire. We stay out until the fire has all-but gone

and the cold is too intense. They gather their towels and the empty

bottles.

Stefani makes her way back to the house, yawning as she

speaks. "You coming, Fey?"

Brandon and Day and I bring blankets out to the balcony and

have a nightcap. The girls go to bed. I only hear two doors close.

None of us talk. We drink our cold wine and smoke. Brandon and I

clink glasses. Day sits by the railing, looking out at the sea. At some

point, he heads back inside with a faint nod.

I want to talk about Marcy. I want to tell him about the kiss.

But he yawns and says well talk tomorrow and Im left alone

outside. The cold gets to me and I take my blanket and quietly take

the stairs down to my room.

152
 Everyone wanted a room with a beach view, but I didnt care.

I got enough of that in California. My room looks out on the

driveway. My eyes are already adjusted to the dark, so I leave the

lights off and get naked and wipe the sand from my feet. I brush my

teeth and crawl into bed.

The first thing I notice is the warmth. My bed feels like

someones been sleeping in it. I throw the blankets to the side and

see Marcy curled up in the middle of the bed, nude. She reaches a

sleepy hand out and takes the comforter back and covers herself. I

hear her shiver and her teeth rattle.

Am I in the right room?

Im freezing, she murmurs.

My heart is the only thing moving. I hesitate then get into

bed. She pushes up against me until Im spooning her. My erection

presses into her. Her skin is smooth and warm and I put my arm

around her. Her hair smells like salt and smoke and I take greedy

breaths of it. This isnt real.

Dont fall in love.

153
 I stay awake as long as I can, listening to her breath, thanking

every deity I can name. I feel her heartbeat. Our heartbeats. At some

point, they sync and Im instantly asleep.

Its the bus horn that wakes me up. Im alone in bed. Marcys

pillow still shows the outline of her head.

Marcy chats with the bus driver all the way back to PS 111.

Theres frost on the bus windows. When we pull up, Day is the first

one off. It's snowing outside. I hug myself and exhale a cloud.

Franky is smoking on the steps and welcomes us back.

Hey, I say, giving her a hug.

How was it?

Interesting, I tell her, very interesting.

I missed you, she says. I mean, I missed all you guys.

Yeah, we missed you too.

The basketball court is a bed of snow. Its quiet outside. Its

never quiet outside.

154
 I lie down in the snow and do what I imagine every kid does

on the first day of winter: I make a snow angel. Franky is watching

me just as interested in me as I am in the snow. She goes inside and

returns with John and Casey.

Brandon takes out with his phone: "Thats called snow, Fey

he explains like Im slow, have you ever been in snow before,

Fey?"

"Nope."

Give me your phone, he says, Ill record your NewEx.

It has to be a group thing, I say.

Dont talk, just do it.

I give him my phone and he records. Stefani and Jen throw

snowballs at each other.

Dont freeze, Fey, Marcy says, and goes inside.

Hey, says someone, breaking the silence. I look to see a

girl standing at the gates of the school yard, a duffel bag in her hand.

She's eloquently dressed in a skirt and matching jacket, leggings, and

boots. Her hair is platinum blonde and her features are striking. She

shifts her weight awkwardly. Im back.

155
 I brush the snow off. "Who's that?"

"That's Parisa LeDour," says Jen, "she was there for our first

meeting, but she didn't wanna come live with us."

"She's a UWS JAP," says Brandon.

"What the fuck is that?" I ask.

"Upper West Side Jewish American Princess," says Brandon.

Parisa pushes the gate open and crosses the yard. Her duffel

bag is Louis Vuitton. Is Marcy here? she asks.

Jen stops shoving snow down the back of Stefanis shirt.

Marcy doesnt want to see you.

How do you know that?

Jen helps Stefani up. You dont remember what she said? If

you leave, stay gone.

I needed time to think, says Parisa.

Jen doesnt miss a beat. And now that were a thing, youre

done thinking? What a coincidence.

Brandon is still filming. Snow freckles Parisas hair. She says

something but none of us hear it.

What? asks Jen.

156
 I have a week left, says Parisa.

Parisa takes her phone out. It looks like shes texting. I look

around to find the rest of the group as bewildered as I am.

Then Parisa starts reading, I know you probably dont care

and you wont want to hear this, but I couldnt live with myself if I

didnt tell you. She scrolls down to continue reading. When you

are born with a silver spoon, friends come easily. I have always had

friends, but never best friends and I never knew why until now. I

realized that they could not understand me the way my own kind

would.

Parisa pauses for effect. Judging from the lack of reaction,

Id say it has very little.

When Marcy Darling sent me an invitation, I didnt accept. I

was scared. I dont know why I was scared, but I think it was

because I had never been around my own kind. You are all a little

scary.

How flattering, says Stefani.

No offense, Parisa adds. But you are. And I needed time

to think. Like I said before.

157
 And I wish I had come sooner. I really do. But I had so many

loose ends to tie up before I came.

Jen scoffs. You think we didnt?

I didnt say that.

Jen rolls her eyes. You implied it, bitch.

Parisa lowers her phone, her face pink against the falling

snow. This is not going how she had planned. Stefani goes inside

while Jen stares Parisa down. When Stefani returns, shes with

Marcy.

Marcy looks Parisa's outfit over. Youre back.

There are tears on her cheeks. It looks like shes thinking

about reprising the note. "Can I come in?" She asks.

Marcy stretches and looks up at the falling snow.

We wait.

Marcy catches a snowflake on her tongue.

Whatever, she says, and goes back in.

158
Phase Two

159
 Chapter 8

Today we try something new, says Marcy at our morning

pitch meeting.

Shes wearing flats. Ive never seen her wear flats. Come to

think of it, I havent seen her wear jeans either.

Well pair up for todays NewEx, she continues, but your

NewEx will be chosen out of a jar.

She passes a mason jar and some pieces of paper around.

Write the craziest thing you can think of and dont sign your name.

Its got to be anonymous. Whatever your group pulls from the jar is

what you do. No votes. No withdrawals.

160
 Dang, Im nervous says Franky.

Itll be fine, I say, but Im nervous too.

We can write anything? asks Casey.

Anything, says Marcy.

Within reason, says Franky, cmon.

Day leans in and I hear him whisper: we didnt discuss

this.

And? Marcy asks.

Day folds his arms and returns to the wall he was previously

leaning on.

We can write anything? repeats Casey.

She said anything, douche, says Brandon, stop asking.

Once everyone has written a NewEx, Marcy takes the jar and

shakes it. Then she writes the group names on the board:

Casey/Stefani, John/Brandon, Jen/Franky, Day/Jin-ho, Marcy/Fey.

I suppress a smile.

I dont see my name, says Parisa.

Why would you? Asks Marcy.

Parisa folds her arms. I just thought

161
 Marcy places a hand on Parisas cheek. You thought what?

You thought you could play?

Yes, says Parisa sheepishly.

Because you have a week left to live? Marcy asks sweetly.

Parisa doesnt say anything.

Youre welcome to post a NewEx like everyone else who

uses my app, Marcy says.

Parisa looks to our group for help, but finds none.

Marcy turns to me, ready partner?

She lets me do the honors. I take a folded scrap of paper from

the jar and read it: it says we have to

Dont say it out loud, Marcy says, cutting me off. Just get

to it.

Mark is waiting for us outside. We hop in his car and Marcy

tells him were going to Brooklyn.

Where in Brooklyn, Ms. Darling? asks Mark.

Ill tell you when I see it. Drive fast.

He obeys and floors it down the street.

162
 You sure you want to do this NewEx? I ask, re-reading the

paper.

We dont have a choice, Fey.

I guess we dont.

She rolls down the window and lights a cigarette. One hand

rests in her lap while the other dangles the thin cigarette out the

window. Her legs are crossed. It smells of menthol. She looks so

approachable right now. Like a regular girl in the back of a regular

limo.

We havent done one of these together yet, I say.

Hmm? asks Marcy, still looking out the window.

Oh, I was just saying its cool we get to partner up.

Cool, says Marcy, playing with the word. Cool, coooool,

coooooool.

She takes a quick drag and blows smoke out the window. She

turns and looks me up and down. Your look has improved.

Im glad I wore one of the agencys pre-chosen outfits today.

With my new wardrobe, came outfit cards that detailed which pieces

go together.

163
 Its called the Rothfuss & Ellis Style Playbook. You follow it

like a recipe. It even says what cologne to pair with each outfit.

Todays recipe started with a red and white checkered Canali button-

up with a plaid tie.

Plaid is in right now, apparently. Then you add Ralph Lauren

Black Label Jeans (white) and Jordan kicks (white and black) with

no socks. No belt. Garnish with a Billionaire Boys Club tweed puffer

jacket.

Thanks, I say, adjusting the tie.

She reaches over and re-adjusts my tie. Did they give you a

tie clip?

No, I dont think so.

She cringes at my tie. Mark, are you wearing a tie clip?

Mark reaches through the slot in the partition, tie clip in

hand. Here you are, Ms. Darling.

She clips it below the third button on my shirt and runs the

tie through. After another scan of my outfit, she gives her approval.

Marcy flutters her eyelashes at me. My fair lady she coos.

164
 She tells Mark to stop shortly after we get across the

Brooklyn Bridge. He lets us off on John Street in front of a gated

yard. A sign reads Electrical Sub-station.

This the place? I ask.

This the place, Marcy echoes. Lets go.

The fence is topped with barb wire and its far too tall to

climb. We casually walk down the block, checking for breaks in the

fence and find none. When we reach the end of the block, Marcy

rattles the fence and calls to a security guard.

Hey bud! She yells.

Bud is an impressively built black guy reading a copy of

Wood magazine. He leans out of the security booth. Yeah?

Can you open this gate? Marcy asks.

Thats not gonna work, I whisper.

She snaps at me behind her back.

You got a badge? Asks Bud.

Of course I dont! Marcy says.

Bud lets out a sigh, puts down his magazine, and walks over

to us. Cant let you in less youre supposed to be in here.

165
 My dad works here, says Marcy.

Hold on, says Bud and returns to his booth. When he

comes back hes holding a clipboard. Name?

Louis, says Marcy.

That his last name? asks Bud.

First name, she says.

Last name? he asks.

I steal a glance at his list and say, Jefferson.

Aint no Louis Jefferson on the list, says Bud.

It wouldnt be. Thats our dads nickname, I say, frowning

at Marcy. His first name is Eric.

You Eric Jeffersons kids? asks Bud.

Yup, I say.

Hes eyeing us trying to figure out why Im white and Marcy

is half-black. Which ones adopted? Then hes looking at our eyes

and I know we have to act fast.

Hell be waiting for us, I say.

Hold on, says Bud suspiciously, Ill give em a call.

166
 Bud gets on his walkie-talkie, yeah, this is Darren. Is an Eric

Jefferson working today?

Bud, whos apparently Darren, gives us a doubtful look.

Marcy rattles the fence. Were so late. Dad will be worried sick.

Why are you taking so long? Stop looking at me like that.

Hes on the floor, responds the walkie-talkie.

See? Were not lying. Can we go now? Open this damned

gate.

Darren opens the gate and tells us to sign in. Marcy signs her

name as Sally Jefferson and I sign Billy Jefferson. He tells us to

walk straight down the road and take a right at the curve. Well have

to wait in the break area and we are not allowed on the floor under

any circumstances.

Ill be watching you on here, Darren says tapping the

security monitor.

Marcy curtsies and leads me down the service street. She

shushes me before I can ask what her plan is. We follow Darrens

instructions and turn right at the bend of the road and enter the break

room.

167
 Its a trailer with a couple folding tables and a burbling

coffee maker. It smells like Folgers and motor oil in here. Marcy

checks to see that the break rooms empty and heads over to the

lockers.

Give me that, she says, pointing to a screwdriver on the

counter.

I get it for her and she tries to pry a lock off. It doesnt

budge. She wipes her forehead, look for a crowbar.

I search the kitchen drawers and find some plastic cutlery, a

spatula, and paper plates. No crowbar.

What now? I ask, returning empty handed.

Marcy rolls her eyes, we have to get into a locker.

Why?

She doesnt answer. An idea has just hit her and she runs

across to the room to get a chair.

Move! She shouts, and throws the chair at a locker. It

crashes to the floor and the locker remains closed.

I notice the trailer wall has that 70s-wood paneling and its

badly water damaged. Bring the chair over here.

168
 I use it to look at the top of the locker. I can see a small space

between the locker and the wall. I wedge my fingers between it and

pull. The wood paneling begins to crack.

Pull me, I tell Marcy.

She gets me by the waist and pulls. The metal groans and the

whole set of lockers falls to the floor, nearly crushing us. Before I

can process my near-death experience, Marcy is already up, prying

at the back of the lockers with her screwdriver. The backside is

rusted from where the rain leaked through the wall.

Gimme gimme gimme! She says, thrusting an arm into a

freshly gouged hole. She bites her lip, fishing around inside the

locker.

Her face lights up and she raises a keycard above her head. I

capture all of this in the Eff It List.

The girls got a key, I say.

The girls got a key, she echoes.

We run out of the now-decimated trailer. Darren is nowhere

to be seen and I wonder if he was bluffing about the security

monitors.

169
 The generators hum from their gated pens. Electrodes snap

somewhere. Id ask Marcy where were going, but Im sure she

doesnt know either. We find a door on the backside of an

unassuming shack. She slides the keycard and the door opens.

After you, she says.

I swear I can see her fighting a smile. Down a flight of stairs,

through another security door, down a partially lit hallway and into a

large server room. Its freezing down here and the air conditioning

keeps messing up Marcys hair, but shes too focused to fix it. I like

it messed up and I tell her it looks great.

Focus, she says, snapping at me. Get ready to film the

money shot.

We walk the rows of blinking server racks. The walls hum.

The lights look like tiny windows in a metal city.

Im still nervous, but the darkness and the cold comfort me.

Marcy is searching for something. Something that will

complete our NewEx. What does she know about servers? She stops

at a console and taps a key. An administrator login screen pops up.

Drat, she says.

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 What now?

Well have to be creative, wont we?

She gets on her knees and looks under the console. With a

steady hand, she reaches between the racks and grabs something. Its

a thick black chord. She follows the chord, crawling on her hands

and knees, to a wall breaker. She pries it open with the screwdriver.

Ok, she says, start recording.

I start recording with both of our phones.

Were in the server room of an electrical substation, I tell

the camera, and Marcy is about to cut power to Brooklyn.

I point the cameras to face Marcy. She gives a wink and flips

every breaker to the off position. Nothing happens. The air

conditioning blows. The servers continue to hum.

Stop recording, she says.

They must be on a backup battery.

An alarm begins to sound down the hall.

Whatever we do, we gotta do it now, I say.

Look for a generator! Marcy says.

I run down the aisle, whats it look like?

171
 Like a generator!

Very helpful I say.

Here! she yells.

Shes found a large black box with a single LCD screen. It

looks like another computer, but Marcy assures me its a generator.

What do we do with it? I ask.

We break it, she says and doesnt fight the smile this time.

She looks insane.

I press record and Marcy jams her screwdriver into the LCD

screen. The glass breaks, but the generator stays on.

Your turn, she says, taking the phones to film me.

She offers the screwdriver but I shake my head. Start

filming, I tell her.

With every ounce of upper body strength that I have, I

manage to lift the generator and topple it to the ground. A series of

wires pull out of the back and I get on top of it and jump up and

down until the side caves in. Marcy gets on with me and we hold

hands and jump and kick and she records the madness.

172
 Finally, after a minute of bashing, the generator dies. The

servers shut off one by one and the alarm gets louder. Emergency

lights flood the server room and Marcy and I make for the hallway.

Up the stairs, Marcy swipes her card again and before the

door shuts behind us, she tosses the card inside.

Darren is waiting for us by the gate. Marcy hesitates, but I

charge him, tackling him to the ground. He fiddles for his belt. Its a

gun. Hes probably going for his gun. What am I doing? Im going

to die five months early.

Hes writhing beneath me, trying to flip me over. It should be

easy for such a big guy. He seems to be in shock. He cant get to his

feet. Marcy is yelling at me to get up. To move. She has the gate

open and Mark is waiting for us on the street.

Darren throws me off him. I hit my chin on the pavement and

my vision blurs.

I touch my chin and see blood. Darren is on his feet and I see

what he was trying to get off his belt. Its a Taserthe kind that fires

hooks into your skin.

173
 Shit! Hes saying, rubbing his arm. His hand is starting to

swell. It looks broken.

He aims the Taser at my chest and his eyes go wide. I brace

for the hooks.

Fey, get up, I hear Marcy say. Her voice is calm.

Darren drops the Taser. Marcy puts a hand on my shoulder

and calmly tells me to go to the car. I see Marcy is holding a gun.

Darren kneels. Marcy doesnt take the gun off him until were in the

car.

She tells Mark to drive quickly, but carefully. I cant catch

my breath. Marcy takes a handkerchief from her bag and holds it to

my chin.

You never said you had a gun, I tell her.

This little thing? She asks, putting a cigarette to her lips

and pulling the trigger. A tiny flame pops out of the guns barrel and

lights her cigarette.

174
 Its 3:30am and the group has a nightcap, but I stick to my

vape. Ive started going shirtless in photoshoots and the alcohol

bloats me. Im trying to stay under 2,366 calories a day. 200 grams

of protein. 245 grams of carbs.

Franky drinks coffee at night and swears it puts her to bed.

65 grams of fat.

Stefani is being extra clingy with Jen tonight. Guess theyre

not keeping it a secret anymore. Theyre under this Ace Hotel

military blanket and Casey starts the conversation by calling them

out.

Whys she sad? He asks, pointing a lit cigarette at Stefani.

Weve started smoking in the house. We dont even use ash

trays anymore. Little ash piles cover the Mess Hall floors. Ash is

swept up every morning along with the nights trash. Everything

smells like smoke and cologne.

I said goodbye to my mom today, Stefani says.

Franky, who picked the seat furthest from me, looks up from

beneath her sweatshirt hood. How much time do you have left,

Stef?

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 We agreed to stop asking that fucking question! Snaps Jen.

Franky doesnt say anything.

I wish I could do that, says Casey.

Im surprised he doesnt follow that up with some snide

remark. I pull my blanket over my nose and peer out at him.

Will he stops himself, screw it.

What? Asks Franky.

Will one of you tell her?

No one volunteers.

I will, I say.

Casey smiles an emotionless grin. I tell him to leave her

number.

Yeah, he says, okay.

What do you want me to say? I ask.

I dont know. Say something nice. Shes got a weak heart.

Ill make it nice, I assure him.

Fey? Asks Franky.

Yeah?

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 Can you call my parents too? After, you know it

happens.

Of course.

I dont want anyone else to do it.

I smile at her, but she doesnt return the smile. She pulls her

hood over her face.

Me too, says Jen, since youre offering.

You all want me to do it?

They nod.

I will, I tell them. Put their numbers in my phone.

I give my phone to Franky and she types her moms number.

The rest hold their drinks up and I hold the vaporizer up and we say

nothing. I notice Day in the corner. He didnt raise his drink. I glance

at him, but he shakes his head. I dont press him.

Can I ask you guys a favor? I say.

Yeah, man, says Casey.

Will you help me call my mom? She doesnt even know Im

here.

177
 You still havent told her? Asks Franky from beneath her

hood.

We dont really talk.

Shell be asleep right now, says Casey, checking his phone.

I just want to leave a voicemail. I dont think I can talk to

her. I say.

Call her, says Franky.

My hands are shaking when I take out my phone. Ill do it

tomorrow, I say.

Do it now, says Stefani, were here for you.

Franky comes and sits next to me. She puts her head on my

shoulder.

Be a man and do it, says Casey.

Youre not man enough to do it, says Jen.

Whatever.

I have my contacts open to Mom. Franky reaches over and

taps her name. It starts ringing. My hands are shaking so badly I

have to put the phone on the table. Its on speaker and the phone

rings and rings and rings.

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 You have reached the voicemail box of Leslie Davis

please leave a message after the tone.

The tone sounds and I cant speak. The call time counts

forward on my phone screen: 0:10, 0:11, 0:12. Dead air.

Mom, its Fey, Franky whispers in my ear.

Mom I stutter, its Fey.

I know youre asleep right now, but I wanted to call

I repeat Frankys words.

to say that I love you

I cant say that, I whisper back.

She pinches my thigh hard, say it.

I I force myself to say, I love you.

Im in New York City living with my friends, continues

Franky.

I echo her words.

And Im okay.

And Im okay.

No matter what happens, says Franky.

No matter what happens

179
Ill be okay and I love you.

Ill be okay and I love you.

She wipes away my tears and I swallow and say: goodbye.

Franky taps the end call button.

180
 Chapter 9

The rooftop masquerade is tonight. Boomer says my mask

will get here by 7 and I tell him its got to be 6 in case I dont like it.

Im looking through my tuxedos and Kanye blasts in the next room.

Its his new album and no one likes it but me and Casey.

There are only three colognes Im torn between for tonight:

Nevermore by Frapin, Intenso by Dolce & Gabbana, and Malin +

Goetzs Moroccan Fig. I go with Intenso. I light a cigarette and go

out into the courtyard and smoke it wearing nothing but my Armani

boxer briefs. Casey, whose suite is next to mine, taps on the glass

and flashes me. All I see is a mane of hair. Guy needs to shave. Who

likes that?

181
 At six, I get a knock on my door. Its one of the staff and hes

got my mask.

Its a pale white Venetian mask with three faces. The faces

on the left and right side share the eyes of the middle. The left face is

crying, the middle has no expression, and the right is laughing. I take

a picture with it on and send it to Boomer.

His texts are written like a telegram. Good, he writes,

midnight blue tux. DKNY. Be fierce. DO NOT GET TOO

DRUNK.

I write piss off but delete it. Instead I send:

O.K.A.Y.I.G.O.T.I.T.

I put the tux on and stand before the mirror. I dont recognize

myself. Thats a good start. I make myself a martini. Casey has

gotten me into gin. I swirl the cold vermouth around the glass and

pour it out. The Hendricks goes in and I garnish it with an olive and

put some of the olive juice in it. Stefani hates this martini.

Only me and Casey like it dirty. Theres a knock at my door.

Its Franky and she wants to know if I hate her dress.

182
 I invite her in and make her a martini and she begs me to

hold the olive juice. I dont and she cringes when she tastes it.

Please Fey, she says, make it again.

You have no taste, I tell her.

I do and thats the damn problem. What do y'all think of this

dress? You hate it?

Its a white gown with a black trim and Franky tells me

Reese Witherspoon wore it to the Oscars.

Its, I pause, weird seeing you in a dress.

Weird bad or weird good?

I make her a new martinitwo parts vodka, one part sweet

vermouth.

How can something be weird good? I ask. Do you have a

date?

No, she says and throws herself onto the couch, its

stressing me out.

Wanna find one with me?

Noooo. I dont want to get up, she takes out her phone and

opens the Eff It List, cmere.

183
 I join her on the couch. She cocks her head, do you hate this

dress?

I like it, I tell her.

Like it as much as you like me?

Much, much less.

Franky smiles and crinkles her nose and I watch her freckles

dance. Her smile is painfully cute. When I see it, I want to take her

face in my hands and kiss her. Shed be so surprised. Then shed

relent and close her eyes and kiss me back. Ive been watching her

too long and things have gotten weird. Weird bad.

She records a video message and sends it to her followers.

Who wants to be our dates tonight? She taps send. Done and

done.

My phone begins to vibrate from the bar. Her phone follows

and theyre both buzzing from non-stop replies.

That idea was dumb, I say, youre dumb.

She shows me her inbox. 400 replies.

"To make it easy, well pick the first post," she says and taps

the top reply. Its a video fat guy masturbating.

184
 The next one, she says, rubbing the image out of her eyes.

The next ten replies are no good.

Ugly. I get my phone, which is still vibrating with new

messages, and tap the most recent reply. Its another fat guy

masturbating.

God dammit! I say.

Stop your complainin and find a date.

We go through the list. Then I see a pretty black girl. She

smiles at the camera then flips it to her computer screen. Shes in a

class. The professor is lecturing in the background. Shes typed take

me in big pink letters on her laptop screen.

I double tap her username and record my response, whats

your name?

You found one? Franky gasps, trying to grab my phone.

The girl responds with another video. She smiles again and

puts a finger to her lips, then she flips the camera to the laptop

screen. It reads: Kathryn.

Meet me on the roof by the bar, I reply with a whisper,

see you tonight.

185
 Frankys managed to crawl on top of me, still reaching for

the phone.

I let her have it after the message is sent. That was easy, I

say with a smile.

She sighs loudly and rolls off and onto the floor losing a shoe

in the process.

Wow.

Shut up.

No really, I say, giving her a golf clap, wow.

No really, shut up, she says, crawling under my coffee

table to retrieve the shoe.

Are you wearing underwear?

Course not. I was getting dressed.

How does that make any sense?

She holds the shoe up like a trophy. Who asked you?

I take a drink of my martini. Lemme see.

186
 Youd like that, wouldnt you? she says, pulling the dress

down between her legs as she gets the shoe on. When I dont say

anything, she sighs and flashes me. A quick flash of pale skin and

landing strip beneath the equally pale dress.

I didnt see. Do it again.

She laughs. Sucks for you!

Im watching tonights band do a Dixieland jazz version of

Seven Nation Army. The singer wears a leopard print dress and

leopard mask with feathers. The band members are all skeletons. My

date hasnt shown up yet and Im on my third martini.

Jin-ho cheated. He brought his girlfriend instead of a

stranger. The two of them are playing corn hole and his girlfriend's

bean bag flies over the edge of the roof. Jin-ho runs to the ledge and

looks over. It must have hit someone below because hes laughing

and laughing.

Marcy steps onto the rooftop wearing a red ball gown, red

diamond earrings, red stilettos. Her mask is the top half of a skull.

187
 And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable

dominion over all.

The smooth sway of the runway model. One foot waits as the

other glides and steps. Glides and steps. I take her hand and kiss the

red silk glove.

Marcy curtsies and the skull gives me a wink. I return to the

bar and order another drink. Tonights house cocktail is a peartini, so

I go for that.

I spot Kathryn on the other side of the bar. Her dark hair is

curled and her dress is yellow and she wears a flaming yellow sun

mask. Im guessing the dress is from Buffalo Exchange. It shows off

her hips, good lord does it show off her hips. And her butt. Not so

much her boobs, but who gives a damn? Her butt. Dont look at her

butt. Thats not gonna be a good first impression. I never knew I

liked black girls so much. Thank god for black girls.

She looks awkward at the bar by herself. She probably thinks

people are watching her, wondering if she came alone. I wait a little

longer just to see if shell leave. She doesnt.

188
 She rests her elbows on the bar and takes a deep breath and

lets it out and tries to look casual. Im late and she knows it. Im late

and she hasnt left yet. I like her.

I come up behind her and touch her arm. She spins around

and her mask nearly stabs me. When she realizes its me, she offers a

hand and I kiss it.

Im Fey.

I know, she says and she giggles, even with your mask

on; I knew it would be you. Im Kathryn.

Thanks for being my date, Kathryn.

Shes cute, but her teeth arent great. Shes got a gap between

her front teeth. Maybe its endearing. I could learn to love it.

I see all your videos on FIL, shes saying all in one breath,

I cant believe you picked me. I really need a drink.

Eyes dart around as she speaks. Shes so nervous. Why is she

so nervous? Ill get her a drink. Thatll calm her nerves.

I get the bartenders attention and order her a peartini.

Is the peartini good? She asks.

Huh? I guess. Try mine.

189
 She tries it and I see her cringe a little. Wowee zowee. So

strong. Is it real pear?

Is it real pear? I ask the bartender.

Hes dressed as a skeleton like the rest of the staff.

O may I join the choir invisible of those immortal dead who

live again, he says in a low, creepy voice.

The fuck?

The bartender gives us the drink and motions for the next

person in line.

Ill take that as a yes, laughs Kathryn.

Marcy must have given them lines.

Marcy Darling?

Yeah.

Kathryn covers her mouth. Is she here?

I point to the Red Death.

She snaps a picture. Chem is gonna be so jealous, she says

to herself.

190
 And now shes texting. I sigh loudly and drink. Ill just get

drunk. She bites her bottom lip as she texts. Thats definitely

endearing. I can see the gap when she bites her lip and that kind of

makes her look like a hillbilly. She notices me watching her and puts

her phone away.

Sorry, she says, her face reddening.

Its cool, I say, searching for conversation. So, you're a

student?

I go to NYU, says Kathryn, stirring the martini with the

pear garnish.

"What are you studying?

I want to be an entomologist, she says.

Jesus Christ.

Marcys date is dressed as a prince. I vaguely recall the

prince in the Masque of the Red Death. I cant remember if he dies. I

hope he dies. Parisa is standing with them in a little black cocktail

dress and a peacock mask. Of the three, shes the only one talking.

Whats an edimologist? I ask, trying to sound interested.

191
 Entomologist, she corrects, a scientist who studies insects.

My dad is an entomologist. He has a beard and crawls around

sucking bugs up with a vacuum. Ive always loved bugs." She

notices I'm distracted and rubs the back of her neck. "Why am I

talking about bugs?

I force a chuckle. Its endearing.

She takes a big gulp of her martini and coughs and coughs

and coughs. What do you do?

I point a thumb over my shoulder. This.

Duh, she scolds herself, of course. What's that like?

What do you mean?

Having so many fans.

"This is the first time Ive met them, I say, usually we just

see their ratings."

When I heard PS 111 was opening its doors for the first

time, I freaked. I actually went on the FIL forum, which I never do,

and started a thread telling everyone I was going with you.

What did they say? I ask, glaring at Marcys date.

192
 "We all started talking about you. Youre a lot of peoples

favorite Iris."

I am?

I take her by the hand. "What did they say about me?" I ask,

trying not to sound too invested in the question.

She blushes, "that you're handsome and shy," she runs her

fingers up my arm.

Her hands are cold. She smells like a perfume I recognize,

but cant place. Chance? Whatever it is, its Chanel.

Shes not making eye contact and I think about taking her

chin and making her look at me, but I dont. I think of her teeth.

Dont be shallow. Its endearing. Shes endearing.

My eyes wander to Johns date. Shes stocky and short. She

kinda looks like a dude. Maybe shes a weightlifter too. Shes got a

cape on and John is having her feel his thigh. Then she takes his

hand and makes him feel hers. Yech.

A photographer, or pap, cant tell from here, gets their

picture.

Do you think I'm shy? I ask.

193
 "I don't really know," she admits, "you don't seem shy."

She shifts her weight uncomfortably.

Want to dance? I ask.

Can I get another first?

Franky found a date among the masturbators. His outfit is

surprisingly intricate. Hes dressed like a renaissance noble with the

high pants and coat and everything.

Shes laughing at his jokes. Thats probably all hes got

going for himjokes. I can be funny.

I make her laugh all the time. Have I made Kathryn laugh

yet? Who cares. Im not a fucking comedian.

The quiet, brooding type, like Day. Franky is really laughing.

And the guy is laughing too, I think. Cant tell with the mask. Hes

probably hideous underneath. I let Kathryn finish another drink and

she makes nervous small talk.

I like your dress, I tell her.

Ha. Yeah? I like yours too. I mean, your outfit, not your

dress. Ha ha.

Ha. Ha.

194
 Franky sees me watching and waves and when her date looks

away, she puts a finger to her temple and blows her brains out. I

knew it. Hes a total loser.

My phone vibrates. Its a group text from Jen, Everyone to

the bar.

We gather around a high table. Kathryn is hyperventilating

while I introduce her.

Isn't she the cutest thing? Says Franky, touching Kathryn's

hair.

Theyre gonna see her teeth. I hope she keeps her mouth

closed. Whos your date? I ask.

This is Erin, says Franky.

Her date bows dramatically.

Jen cracks up. Charming, she says.

Wheres John? Asks Casey.

He ran off with his new toy, says Jen.

Great, scoffs Casey, everyones getting fucked and I dont

have a date.

195
 Kathryn blushes and stares at the ground. Shes wondering if

Ill pressure her into sex. Or maybe she wants it? Nah, she seems too

sheepish.

Now Parisa is chatting up Marcys prince. She keeps

laughing at everything he says, her hand jumping to her breast each

time.

Hey, uh, will someone take our picture? Kathryn asks,

holding her phone out.

Youre both wearin' masks, says Franky, wait till you take

em off.

Well get a before and after, Kathryn says, if thats okay.

Jen grins, this bird thinks shes sleeping over.

I didn't mean that says Kathryn.

So, you dont want to stay over? Asks Jen.

Kathryn puts her phone away.

Want to suck an Iris cock? Jen asks, nudging Kathryn.

I pull Kathryn to the dance floor.

I dont think they like me she whispers.

196
 In For The Kill is playing and Im wondering how this fits

the masquerade theme. All of the lights turn off and neon laser lights

flood the dance floor. Strung above us and lining the floor,

everything is neon and someone gets on a loud mic and yells to

remove the masks.

Now take your costumes off, they say, this is a laser

bath!

People strip down and Kathryn is looking at the floor. She

removes her mask and I take mine off too.

The lights dance on us and La Roux plays and Kathryn

finishes her drink and begins to take her clothes off. I follow.

Shes in her bra and panties and Im in my underwear and

were dancing.

This is crayyy! She yells.

The next song is an acoustic cover of Space Oddity. As

Major Toms rocket takes off, a pipe bomb fires into the sky and I

spot Brandon far away from the crowd, stamping out the smoking

roof. That crazy bitch made another one.

197
 It shakes in its ascent and explodes high above us. I can feel

the explosion and I know Kathryn feels it too. Brandon is just full of

surprises.

Im stepping through the door. And Im floating in the most

peculiar way.

I spot Parisa having a one-sided conversation with Marcy.

They sit on the ledge watching sparks rain from the firework. And

for a second I cant tell the difference between the sparks and the

stars.

And the stars look very different today.

Kathryn is looking into my eyes. Left to right. Right to left.

Someone screams.

A high-pitched guttural scream. Something reserved for

hospital rooms. People are gathering at the roofs ledge.

Someone jumped!

I push through the crowd and look for Marcy but she isnt

there. Three stories down, I see her. Parisa on the front steps. I leap

onto the fire escape and slide down the ladder. Casey follows me and

were the first ones at the scene. No one wants to get close to her.

198
 Parisa must have landed on her legs because the left foot is

missing. In its place is this thick purple rope. Wheres the foot? I

scan the ground. Shell need it. The right leg is bent the wrong

direction, pinned beneath her. Her head is turned and shes looking

at usthrough usmouthing something. I lean close, but I can only

hear her breaths. Theyre staggered and I hear the lungs stick

together at the inhale. Her left arm is trying to lift her body. She tries

two more times, raising and lowering. Then the arm stops moving.

Amazingly, her mask stayed on. I take it off and set it beside

her.

Casey steps back. Is she dead?

Parisas eyes look past me.

They roll from left to right and she smiles. Her smile fades

like shes waiting for the punchline. And she smiles again. A thin

squeal emits from her lips, a squeaky wheel where her voice box

was. But I cant make any words out.

She stops trying to speak and her eyes bulge and I hear this

raspy gargling sound even though her mouth is closed.

199
 At first, I think she's choking. Should I do CPR? Should I tilt

her head to clear her windpipe? But her breathing returns to those

gasping pulls.

What do we do? I ask Casey, but he doesnt know. No one

knows.

I called 911, says a girl in the crowd.

She called 911 and now shes got her phone out to record.

Parisas mangled leg twitches and it startles me. Her body

convulses for half a minute while we watch, pitifully. Someone is

crying. Casey squats and watches. Then the convulsions stop. The

rasping gets louder, more violent. People in the crowd are pushing to

the front. They want to see her die.

They take pictures. I tell Casey to keep them back. He grabs

someones phone and smashes it on the ground.

Ill do this with every phone I can fucking get! He yells.

The crowd moves back.

People go into comas. Shes probably in a coma. I watch her

eyes. Theyre glazed over. I ask her to blink. I say it out loud.

Blink, Parisa.

200
 Casey looks at me like Im crazy.

Blink! I tell her.

But she doesnt blink. She doesnt move or make any more

noises. So thats what it looks like to die.

Police arrive and rope off the area and begin their

questioning. I go inside before they can question me. Ive got to find

Marcy first. The panicking crowd prevents me from going up the

stairs. They descend the spiral staircase in a constant flow. I wait for

them to clear out go up to the roof. No one is up there except for the

staff who drive guest traffic with flashlights. The kind they use to

direct airplanes.

I return to the hall and check Marcy's door--it's locked and no

one answers when I knock. I finally find Day in the indoor pool. He's

in the Jacuzzi alone with his Scotch.

Wheres Marcy? I ask.

The panic in my voice doesnt seem to bother him. He looks

around. Not here.

Did you see what happened?

Nah, he says, swirling the drink.

201
 Parisa is dead. She fell off the roof.

He furrows his brow and gets out of the Jacuzzi. His clothes

are hanging on a wall hook and he takes the phone from his pants

and dials Marcy. As it rings, he returns to the hot tub.

Yeah, he says, oh yeah? Nah, dont worry about it. He

hangs up.

Where is she?

Shes in her room, he says, saw the whole thing. Now

shes upset.

I run to her room and bang on the door. Marcy, its Fey!

Hey, kid! Yells a cop.

A group of guests push past him and out the door. Hes

holding a notepad and wants to know what I saw.

I didnt see her fall, I tell him.

Whats your name?

Im Fey Davis, I say, handing him my ID. I heard a

scream and when I looked over the edge she was down there. So, I

went down and, I realize Im crying, and I went down and she was

down there on the, on the

202
 On the ground, he says.

On the ground and I couldnt hear what she said.

He writes something down. She was conscious when you

found her?

Yes, but I couldnt hear what she said.

He makes a note of this. What happened next?

She stopped talking. Is she dead?

You didnt hear any commotion upstairs? Any fights?

The music was really loud.

Have you taken anything tonight? He asks.

No, I say indignantly. Why would he ask me that? Do I

look messed up?

He shines a flashlight in my eyes. You got freaky eyes.

Im an Iris.

The cop puts the flashlight away.

Huh? Then it dawns on him. You make that cell phone

game my daughter won't shut up about?

Sure, I say flatly.

Do you live here?

203
 I point across the hall. Thats my room.

Did that girl live here?

No.

Who owns this place? He asks.

Im not sure, I lie.

Why am I lying? I should just tell him.

He writes something. You sure about that?

I dont know who owns it.

And you sure you didnt take anything? He asks.

Im sure.

Then why are you in your underwear?

I forgot I was. It must have been freezing outside. I didnt

even notice.

It was one of those parties, I say as if hes ever been to one

of those parties.

Oh, he says, nodding to himself. He reads his notes. Was

the girl one of you? A Titus?

Iris, yes.

204
 He puts his notepad away and talks into his radio. Looks

like a 10-56.

Copy, replies the radio.

Heres what happens next, he says, an ambulance is going

to bring that little girls corpse to the morgue where her family will

identify the body. Then theyll cut her open and do an autopsy. If the

coroner finds anything suspiciousdrugs, internal bleeding,

whatever; well be back with more questions. You want to say

anything before we come back?

I feel sick now and need to sit down. No.

Lets hope I dont come back here, Jay, says the cop and

leaves.

I hear Marcys door opens.

Come! She calls.

Her suite looks like an Egyptian tomb. Stone walls. High

ceilings. Dramatic LED torch lighting. Its dark inside and it calms

my stomach to sit.

Where were you? I say.

Marcy smiles. I heard what you said out there. Thank you.

205
 For what? I put my head between my knees. Did I take my

anxiety meds? I cant remember.

For lying, she says.

Theres a wading pool in the center of the room and a canal

in the floor that brings warm water to the pool. There are no

windows, only the stone walls and hieroglyphs of pharaohs and

gods. Sanskrit on the ceiling.

Im in a daze, watching the water run through the canal.

Where did you go, Marcy?

I came to my tomb.

Day said you saw her fall. But you don't seem messed up at

all."

I show it differently, she says, pouring red wine into two

gold cups.

While youre here, you will see things like this. In Parisas

situation, suicide is a solution. Why do you think I made everyone

promise not to kill themselves?

I know why Irises commit suicide! I snap.

Then why are you surprised?

206
 I, I try to collect my thoughts, havent seen someone die

before.

Marcy processes this. You should get more comfortable

with death, she says, you will die in five months.

No shit.

Its a reality and you need to face it. We all do. Ill die in

three months.

I didnt want to know that, I say angrily.

Why?

I dont answer. She gives me the wine and takes me to the

wading pool.

I dont want to, I tell her, but she shushes me.

I continue to protest as she takes my underwear off and leads

me to the pool.

The water is hot and relaxing. She strips too and gets in

across from me. Her body takes me out of the numbness for just a

moment as I watch her dip gingerly into the water.

What are you thinking? She asks once settled beneath the

water.

207
 Parisa was trying to tell me something. I wish I'd been able

to understand.

No, Marcy says firmly, she wasnt. Her brain was dead

and her body was catching up. They were not words.

This is oddly comforting. "How do you know?"

"Ive seen it." She says this way too calmly and it gives me a

chill. Drink your wine, she says and I do.

We finish the cask of wine and Marcy gets out to find

another one. Her mocha skin is pinkened by the hot water. The

Sanskrit on the ceiling forms an Ankh.

It looks like a science book diagram of a womb. The water is

soothing and everything is quiet and I feel like Im in a womb. Its

comforting in an otherworldly sense and the real world feels a

universe away. I get why she came here first.

Marcy returns with a full cask. She fills my glass and helps

me out of the pool. I look for a towel but there is none. Being nude

in front of her doesn't make me feel uneasy. It's probably the

exhaustion or the drunkenness, but everything is serene.

208
 We leave a water trail to her bedroom. Its a simple room

with stone pillars and a tile mosaic of an ankh on the floor. We get

into her bed, still wet, and Marcy gets in with me and puts her head

on my chest.

Youre calm now, she says, listening to my heart.

My mind is empty.

How am I? She asks.

I dont answer.

How am I?

Im not doing this right now.

How am I?

Youre fine I tell her.

How am I?

My blood boils and I shout, youre fucking crazy! And cold

and distant all the time! You fuck with my mind, sleeping in my bed,

getting on top of me in the hot tub, then the next day its like it never

happened! And where do you go every day? Why are you never

here? Why cant you just be here with me?

209
 Marcy returns her head to my chest and after a moment I hear

shes crying.

"Is that real? Is anything you do real?"

"Do you know how hard it is to be me? Her voice is

shaking, to be responsible for so many people? Do you know how

much pressure it is to run PS 111?"

No, because you dont tell me!

Her hand runs down my leg. Its so impossible, Fey.

You need help, I tell her.

Her thin fingers touch me. "I need so much help."

You need me, I say, taking a handful of her wet hair.

I dont need anyone, she says.

I pull on her hair and she fights back, pushing me against the

headrest.

I try to kiss her, but she pulls away. I take her by the arms

and get on top of her and kiss her, biting her lip, and pull a little too

hard.

She sucks in breath and I kiss her neck. The taste of her skin

is insatiable.

210
 Say it. Say you fucking need me.

Her hard little body writhes. I kiss her again.

She pulls away. I dont need you.

I force her to kiss me again. She scratches my back until I

bleed.

Say it. I look into her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed. Say

it.

I need you.

I'm inside her and her eyes shut tight and this pain comes

over her. This real, unfiltered pain, and when I look, I see theres

blood.

"Are you?" I ask, but she grabs my butt and pulls me in.

I kiss her again and she tries to pull away again but I dont let

her. And in that stone tomb in the middle of the night she gives up.

For just a moment, maybe the last time, shes presentright

here with me vulnerable and flushed and she kisses me back.

211
 Chapter 10

There were three funerals this week. The first was held in the

Congregation Bnai Jeshurun synagogue. Parisas big Jewish family

didnt invite us to that. No surprise there. A lawsuit was filed against

the members of PS 111. That might be why we werent invited. She

had committed suicide one day before her 22nd birthday. The second

funeral was for Ally Bishopan Iris who jumped from a Vegas

hotel room. And the last was Jin-ho.

At first, they thought his death was suicide. The autopsy

showed a mixture of drugs in Jin-ho's blood, but that proved to be a

red herring. He had died of natural causesthe Iris way. A blood

vessel swells in our brains and pops.

212
 The medical term is subarachnoid hemorrhage and it usually

causes a stroke. But for us, it's lethal. Every time. Perfect genes.

Perfect skin. Perfect faces. One screwed blood vessel.

He hadnt known his actual birthday. Instead, he'd celebrated

the day his parents adopted him: February 22, 1994. His actual

birthday was November 9, 1993.

A taxi driver called his death in. Jin-ho turned 22 in the back

of a taxi and never even knew it.

Its 9:30pm and we gather in the courtyard for the funeral.

The stairs are still roped off with police tape and there are candles

and pictures people have left of Parisa on the steps. Someone keeps

leaving flowers, but they get crushed.

Stefani records the funeral in the Eff It List. Were worried

the app will be taken offline any day now, so we've started recording

everything and anything. This is more for the fans than for us.

We take turns pouring lighter fluid on the Jin-hos drug box

and Day lights a match and drops it in.

We think Jin-ho was Buddhist, but none of us know what

Buddhist funeral rituals look like.

213
 I doubt he practiced anyway. I can't imagine a devout

Buddhist doing that much blow.

I always thought hed die of an OD, says Jen with a shrug.

Always? You knew him for, like, two months, says

Stefani.

So? Asks Jen.

Franky cuts off their banter. "Does anyone know a Chinese

prayer?"

Stefani bows her head, Jen holds her from behind. Brandon

warms his hands by the toolbox fire.

Stop that, Franky tells Brandon. Someone say something

in Chinese, dammit.

I dont know Chinese, he says.

"I know how to say 'its nice to meet you'," says Stefani with

a shrug.

Franky gives her the go-ahead and Stefani says, "xng hu".

Xing hui, we echo.

214
 Fans line the sidewalk, looking in through the bars of the

front gate. This will be me in a few months. Except no one will be

left to give the funeral.

Will the staff do it? Will the fans? What will they say about

me?

A girl at the gate turns, raises a phone and takes a selfie. Id

trade a hundred of you normies for one of us. Were worth the lot of

you. Why cant selfie girl get Marcys death sentence? She looks 16.

What will she accomplish by her 22nd birthday? A college degree?

An unwanted pregnancy? Nothing close to what Marcy did in half

the time.

Before I can stop myself, Im marching to the gate yelling at

her. What are you doing?

She hasnt noticed me, about to take another selfie. Then she

sees me approaching on the screen. She turns around and jumps

backwards as I reach through the gate to grab her.

You son of a come here! I shout.

Her friend gets between us.

Im gonna cram that phone in your ass!

215
 I feel a hand grip my shoulder. I whirl around, thinking its

Casey, but I see Franky an inch from my face, concern in her

swollen eyes.

What? I say, pushing her off me.

Franky falls into the snow. My anger fades as I look at her all

pink faced and bulky in a NYFD jacket. I try to help her up but she

doesnt take my hand. I fall into the snow beside her. Even between

layers of jacket I can feel her warmth. Shes doing that shaky breath

thing and she wipes her nose on my sleeve. Beyond the gate a crowd

fights for position to take the best picture of us. Shutters snap and I

dont care.

Marcy's disappeared again. I hear she's working on phase 2. I

should have asked for her number and I don't want to ask anyone

else. I wrote her a note. A simple, "where'd you go?" and slipped it

under her door.

When it's really late and I'm sure everyone's gone to bed, I'll

crouch down and look. The notes still there.

216
 "I saw her on the roof last night," Franky told me.

Everyone's started smoking on the roof instead of the steps.

They say it's bad luck to smoke where someone died. I wonder

whats the worst that can happen at this point.

"Did she say anything?" I ask.

"Nah, says Franky, she was screamin' at someone on the

phone. Must not have known I was there. "

I get up later than everyone and Im stuck eating breakfast

alone. Theres no NewEx pitch meeting to get up for, so I havent

even been setting an alarm. I eat my Greek yogurt and play on my

phone. Ive had my phone on do not disturb, even though my mom

stopped calling a month ago. I guess I dont need to text anyone now

that all my friends live under the same roof.

I get my wool coat. Its snowing outside and theres a heavy

wind. I walk briskly down the street, past the park, and into the

subway. I wonder where Marcy is right now. Why am I meeting

Boomer instead of her?

217
 This will be the first time I meet him in person. All our other

correspondence has been on the phone.

The metro is delayed and I arrive at the restaurant 15 minutes

late. Its called The Modern in MOMA and I tell the hostess who Im

here to meet. Shes leads me down a row of red high-backed chairs

to the corner table in front of a forest mural.

In Boomers place sits the intern. She is in a conservative

pants-suit. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun. Her horn-

rimmed glasses make her look older than she is. She gives me a firm

handshake. Web-to-web, three seconds, direct eye contact. Practiced

and perfect.

Mr. Boomer had to miss this meeting, she says mater-of-

factly, Christina Everland.

Why am I not surprised?

I sit and she orders an iced tea and I get a vodka tonic. She

holds up a finger and tells the server to change her order to the same

thing. I dont want you drinking alone.

Thoughtful of you, I tell her.

It wouldnt be good PR.

218
 Oh? Thought you were just being friendly.

She studies the menu and when shes made her choice, its

placed back on the TV tray sized table. How are you?

"Alright," I say, "it's been a weird couple of weeks."

"I heard about your friends," she says, placing a hand on

mine. She waits three seconds and removes it, "I'm so sorry."

The vodka tonics are delivered and we order. Christina has

the green zucchini gnocchi with black truffles and I get the sea bass

succotash.

If there's anything we can do for you, don't hesitate to call,"

she unfolds her napkin, "now if you're ready, lets talk about next

steps."

I drink my vodka tonic and listen.

The Darlings have taken careful steps to make phase 2 a

success. You are familiar with phase 2?

"I know theyre working on it, but I don't know what it is."

"Right," she says, flashing a smile, "you and the rest of the

world will find out soon enough. Let's discuss your role in the

process."

219
 I drink more of my vodka tonic.

Have the Darlings discussed final arrangements with you?

Final arrangements?

Ill have their lawyer contact you. In the meantime, Id like

to go over the finer points of your contract.

She produces a photocopy of the contract. Red arrow post-it

flags provide bookmarks.

Hold on, tell me more about the final arrangement thing.

Like I said, the lawyer will discuss the finer points with you.

Now look here at section 3a. After Mr. Ucif passes away...

"Brandon?"

"Yes, Brandon Ucif. After he passes away, his ashes will be

returned to the house. Has Ms. Darling shown you the viewing

room?"

"They haven't I say hesitantly.

"Did you read the contract?"

"Of course," I lie.

"Then you'll remember section 3a, she taps the contract with

the back of her pen, Mr. Gais ashes should be arriving next week.

220
 Those will be placed in the viewing room. Then Mr. Ucif's

ashes will be placed as well. Andy, the building manager, can show

you how to do it.

"Why do I have to do it?"

She purses her lips. "Are you sure you read the contract? Mr.

and Ms. Darling outlined your role with the ashes of the PS 111

members in the viewing room."

Yeah, in the viewing room, I got it. I massage my temples.

"Lets make sure I'm hearing you right."

Christina smiles and folds her hands on the table.

"All of my friends will be cremated and their urn will be

returned to the school?"

She glances at the contract. The other Irises.

My friends, I say.

"Right. Yes. Correct," says Christina.

"And it's my job to place their urns in the viewing room."

"That's also correct."

"Because I'm the last one to die?" I ask.

221
 "I cant speak for them, says Christina, but I believe that

was their incentive."

What about their parents? Dont they want their kids

remains?

She taps the contract with her pen. I cant speak for the

parents either, but each of you did sign the contract.

Thus, signing away our remains.

"Will I be cremated like the rest of them?"

Christina flips to a page in the contract and points. She waits

patiently as I read the section:

Upon acceptance, you are signing over your body to the

premises. After your death, arrangements will be made to have your

corpse cremated and placed in a custom urn with your epitaph. The

epitaph can be chosen by your family.

Note: epitaph must be 250 characters or less.

I blink hard and drink my cocktail. "If I'm the last to go, who

places my urn?"

"Andy will take care of that."

"And what happens to the school after we're gone?" I ask.

222
 "You really read the contract? She asks.

Just tell me! I snap.

The restaurant is listening now.

Christina smiles at the onlookers to show everything is

peachy keen. PS 111 will become a publicly owned museum upon

the passing of its occupants."

This is too weird.

I didnt agree to any of this.

You did actually, she says and points to my photocopied

signature. Mr. Boomer wanted to touch base with you before Jin-

hos urn arrived. To avoid confusion.

Well, Im confused.

She purses her lips. Do you want to go over the contract

again?

No, I dont want to go over the god damn contract.

Her therapist tone returns. Is everything alright, Fey?

She isnt drinking her cocktail so I take it. Will you order

another?

Christina gets the servers attention.

223
 This is un-profession-al, she sing-songs.

What about Parisa? Does her urn go in the trophy cabinet or

whatever?

No, says Christina, Parisa forfeited her right to PS 111

when she refused to sign the contract.

Smart girl.

What else was in that contract?" I ask.

She gives me a look to say knew you didnt read it and flips

to the front.

I cut her off. Just fucking summarize it.

Were working to get you a photo-shoot with GQ. They're

doing a 'who's who among young entrepreneurs' issue, though, they

are waiting to see the success of phase 2.

She turns the page and I see notes have been made in the

margin. And we have some interest from Anthony Cumia to get you

on his podcast. Oh, lets talk about your Tweets.

I dont have a Twitter account.

You do, actually. We have a social media manager working

on your new account.

224
 Hes great at writing in your voice, she says, finding a print-

out of some Tweets, Freddy sent samples earlier this week.

I dont read my fake tweets. The cocktails come and I drink

mine and she asks me not to get drunk. Neither of us eat the food and

I drink and she goes over the agenda that will roll out over the course

of my final months.

Then we arrive at month 7," she says, quieting her tone to

sound reverent, "all members of PS 111, excluding present company,

will be deceased.

Your final duties will include Marcys urn placement, as she

will be last, and several interviews. Depending on the success of

phase 3, of course. Well schedule those closer to April so dont

worry now.

Do I look worried? The school will be empty in April. I will

place Marcys urn. She notices me blinking hard.

Can we discuss preparation for the interview? She asks.

"Go for it," I say, looking at the forest mural.

If this isnt a good time we can discuss the details later.

225
 I chew an ice cube. Christina gets the servers attention and

asks for the bill.

You did not like the food? Asks the server.

It was wonderful, she says and checks her calendar.

Hows the first of March?"

"Sure."

"Same time?"

"Sure."

Great, she says and adds an event. A notification pops up

on my phone: Contract Review 2 of 2. 12:30pm. March 1st.

The server returns with the bill. Christina pays with her

company card. 18% tip. Neat signature. Another perfect handshake.

This is a lot to take in, she says, briefly touching my arm,

if you ever need anything, dont hesitate to call the agency.

Uh huh.

Im glad we finally met, Fey.

I watch her leave down the stairs, her heels click click

clicking all the way.

226
 Ill need a moment. A moment to finish my cocktail and hers.

Then Ill walk through MOMA and scowl at the art.

Id feel better about all of this if I could talk to Marcy. I have

a lot of questions, come to think of it. First, you tell me to come and

stop by. Stay for a week. No obligations. Then you have me sign a

novel-sized contract.

Marcy can give me answers. I'm sure it's not as terrible as I'm

making it out to be. Everything is worse in my head. I saw

something in her that night. She let me see the real her. I know that

was real.

Does Marcy like flowers? All girls like flowers. I'll get her

flowers.

Tonight is movie night. Franky and I bring blankets to the

roof. Its freezing and snow falls in the light of the projector. The

staff, now in Ushankas and overcoats, passes out hot chocolate.

Were huddled next to the air vent and the staircase entrance

is the makeshift projector.

227
 The movies about to start when the roof entrance opens and

Marcy steps out. She gives a wave to the group sits down next to Jen

and Stefani and I feel Franky snuggle up against me.

Youre warm, she says.

I rub her legs under the blanket. "Why are you wearing

shorts?"

"Cause I like em."

She grabs her bare foot and pulls it contortionist style to her

nose and sniffs. Franky offers her foot, wriggling her toes and asks

do my feet smell?

I smell them. Yes.

She releases the foot and stuffs it back under the blanket. Her

toes are ice cubes.

Brandon passes around a bottle of rum and we add it to our

hot chocolate. After the rum, Casey passes around Jin-ho's little

silver bullets. These were once lipstick cases. Now they're full of

coke.

Franky takes a little and rubs it on her gums. "Fey?"

228
 I look over at Marcy. Shes into the movie. Franky smiles

wide, urging me to do the same. I do and she rubs the powder on my

gums. It has a bitter taste and I drink the hot chocolate to get it out of

my mouth.

"It didn't do anything," I whisper.

I have never enjoyed a movie quite so much. I can't even tell

you what it was. Something about a fox thats trying to get his tiny

fox family out of a hole. I didn't hear one line, because I was talking

the whole time. Poor Franky missed the movie too.

Tonight, everyone seems restless. Cabin fever is catching.

We need to get out. I'm not a club guy. Never have been. But

everyone is going and they promise I'll have fun.

I rub some more of the coke on my gums and get a jacket. It

has a pleasant numbing feeling that starts in the mouth and moves up

the nose and into the brain and floats your head like a balloon.

Extreme Violence is an up-and-coming speakeasy on

Houston Street. They won't let you in if you don't know the

password.

229
 Jen takes us to the front of the line, thinking the bouncer

might recognize us. He sends us away. Jen curses and lights a

cigarette and says this club sucks ass anyway and we should go to

Element.

"Im not up for dancin," complains Franky.

Jen glares at the bouncer, then gets an idea. "NUBLU then?

she asks the group, NUBLU?"

Casey shrugs and I say I don't care. Brandon says he hates

jazz.

"Everyone's in, then?"

"I hate jazz," repeats Brandon.

"Onward," Jen commands, stomping down the street like a

marching band director.

Boom, boom, boom goes NUBLU. There's a ten dollar cover

and I don't have any cash. Thats what I forgot to ask Christina about

todaymy fucking paycheck.

Luckily, Jen bankrolls us. It's dive bar red inside and we

shoulder our way through the crowd to yell our drinks at the

bartender.

230
 They take card, thank god. I give them the PS 111 company

card and tell them to leave it open.

I have a gin and tonic just to mix things up and Casey gets

the boilermaker--a shot of bourbon and a Mama's Little Yella Pils.

Jen and Stefani go to dance and Franky and Brandon and I find a

place to stand near the stage. It's a 90's cover band and we know the

songs and sing along. Casey is chatting up this dog at the bar. I

mean, really a dog. A desperate, plain hipster without makeup and a

worn pair of Toms.

"The fuck is he doing with that mess?" I ask.

Brandon's surprised by my question and sees who Im

looking at. "He's addicted to pussy, man."

"No shit?"

"Perma-blue balls if he doesn't."

Casey does a shot with the girl. A song passes and he's

making out with her. Another passes and theyve gone to the

bathroom together.

"I'll give it to him," says Brandon, "he's got a winning

formula."

231
 Things would be easier if I didnt care who I fucked, I say.

"Boo hoo, says Brandon, how bout helping get laid?"

"How do you suppose I do that?"

"You'll be my wingman, slurs Brandon.

"I'm no good at that."

Jen and Stefani are making out and Franky is waving to get

our attention. She points at the girls, mouthing, "fuuuuuuuck".

How did she not know?

Brandon tells me to follow him and we order another drink.

There," he says, motioning to a girl sitting alone at the

bar, shes been watching us.

"Go talk to her."

"Come with me," he says.

She's wearing skinny jeans, a white blouse with black stripes

and a navy-blue jacket. Her scarf, tied in a French knot, pools in her

lap. I think she's in her thirties. She looks wasted. When I see that

her glass is empty, I ask if she'd like another.

The girl smiles, not looking at us, and nods. Brandon elbows

my side and I ask what her name is.

232
 "Sam," she says.

"I'm Fey. This is my friend Brandon."

He shakes her hand. Sam doesn't seem off-put by his height.

She orders another whiskey sour.

"Do you want to keep the tab open?" Asks the bartender.

"This one's on them," says Sam.

We clink glasses.

"To us," she says.

"To us, we say.

"What do you do?" I ask.

"Self-employed," Sam says.

"Us too," Brandon says quickly.

She swings her head down to acknowledge him. They clink

glasses again.

"To self-employment" says Sam.

Brandon laughs a little too loudly. Sam doesn't seem to

notice. The song ends and she finishes the drink with some effort.

With a graceful stumble, she gets to her feet and heads to the

bathroom.

233
 "You coming?" She asks.

Brandon's expression tells me we are.

What about Marcy? I slur.

Fuck her, says Brandon, shes over you.

Nah. Shes just busy.

Then you be busy, says Brandon, you be busy too.

I curse and finish my drink and get off my bar stool with a

three-point turn. We follow her to the back. In the men's bathroom,

Brandon and Sam start kissing. She has him up on the sink and he's

taking her jacket off. I go to leave, but she grabs me.

He's got her topless and she's taking his pants off. I'm

suddenly interested in my phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see

her go down on him. No new texts. No new emails. No missed calls.

Sam crosses the bathroom and takes my phone. Then she kisses me

and I reel back, but she pulls me in. I try not to puke in her mouth.

The door vibrates from the sub-woofer. I close my eyes and

disconnect. I'm not drunk enough for this. A hand unbuttons my

jeans and unzips me. When I open my eyes, I see Brandon's got his

phone out, pointed at us.

234
 "Don't record this!" I tell him.

He must not have heard me.

I cant get hard and she leaves me hanging and returns her

attention to Brandon. I find an 8 ball in the jeans, now around my

ankles. This is a good a time as any to try the real thing. I put a little

on my wrist and snort it. It makes me cough and when Sam sees

what I'm doing, she wants some. So does Brandon. And before long,

both of them have it on my wrist, breathing the stuff in. Sam licks

the spot free of residue and takes her pants down.

"You on the sink," she says, pointing to Brandon, "and you

behind."

"I don't have a condom," I say.

"So? She says, your people are sterile."

Fuck. Shes a fan. Did she follow us here? This is a bad idea.

Someone bangs on the door and all three of us tell them to

fuck off. The coke helps me get into the right mindset. Im thrusting

into her. Soon shes dead weight and I have to hold her hips up.

"Fey?" Says Brandon.

"Don't talk," I say.

235
 "Fey, look, he says.

"I don't want to."

"God dammit, Fey, will you look?"

I open my eyes and see the girl has passed out. She's in a

kneeling position, her cheek on the edge of the sink. Her eyes are

rolled back and she's drooling. Brandon drops down off the sink, still

bottomless. His penis is slightly bigger than a baby carrot.

I get my pants on and check her breathing. Shes

unconscious.

"Bitch," curses Brandon, "I didn't even finish." He stands

over her scowling, then says, "give me a minute with her."

"No, dude."

"Come on," he pleads, "I just need a minute."

"She's done."

"And I'm not, he says, why are you helping this bitch?"

I can't think of an answer.

"Do what you want," I say, "I don't fucking care."

I leave the bathroom and hear the door lock behind me.

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 Chapter 11

I dont hate amusement parks, I hate the train to Brooklyn.

Frankys nearly bouncing off the walls of the F train. F train as in

fuck this train. Fuck this hour and twelve-minute ride to a fucking

carnival. I am a ball of yarn tied to Manhattan, being unraveled by

the F train.

Youre lookin fit to be tied, says Franky, crossing her

legs. Shes in ripped jeans, a black beanie, oversized Yeezy shirt,

and different colored Converse.

What the fuck does that mean?

237
 Its a colloquialism. Means youre pissy. Whyre you

pissy?

She stretches and I see shes shaved her armpits. Some days

theres stubble. How can someone be so relaxed in an elbow-to-

elbow subway car? Her bubbly chirps gather attention and two high

school girls weed through the crowd to get to her.

Oh, my god, says a brace-faced teen, youre an IG, right?

Franky cocks her head, IG?

It means Iris Generation, I say. Its a colloquialism.

Thats not a colloquialism, its an acronym.

Fine, idiot.

Youre the idiot.

Oh, my god, theyre fighting! Squeals Braceface.

Can we get a pic with you guys? Asks Bracefaces friend.

Her friend is prettier, blonde, with a bright smile and blue eyes. The

word Aryan comes to mind.

Before I can answer, the girls make their way to me. They

shove their asses into the seat on either side of me, pissing off the

entire row.

238
 The Aryan girl strikes a duckface and holds her phone out at

arms length at an obtuse anglethe perfect selfie angle that all

girls use.

You smell good, says Braceface.

Aryan takes her selfie and Braceface follows.

Do one more where youre kissing me, I tell them.

Franky raises an eyebrow.

They agree, kissing each cheek. Right before Aryan snaps

her selfie I turn and kiss her on the lips. Braceface gasps and Aryan,

who must be in familiar territory, kisses me back without hesitation,

and gets another selfie. Franky is in shock.

Oh, my god! Says Braceface.

Go get a pic with Franky, I tell Aryan who has found my

hand and worked her fingers under the fingerless gloves.

She smiles and kisses me one more time and goes to repeat

the selfie process with Franky. When its their stop, they get off, and

I tell them to add us on the Eff It List.

We already did, Braceface laughs.

239
 Aryan smiles one more time and blows a kiss and gets off at

York Street.

The train slowly empties. By the time were at Coney, theres

just Franky and me and a group of kids down at the far end of the

train. Were let off at the horrid old Coney Island terminal, reeking

of trash and fish.

Youre creepy, says Franky, shoving me into a rail.

I made her day.

Franky puts her pink Wayfarers on. She was too young,

Fey.

I ignore her and put my sunglasses on. Lets get a hot dog.

Since when do you eat hot dogs? She asks.

Its my cheat day, I say.

Youre bein weird.

We wait in line at Nathans and its a long line despite it

being a weekday. Franky is charmed by the sheer Americana of this

hot dog stand.

Draped in American flags with big ridiculous neon signs

claiming Clam Bar, Delicatessen, Take Home Food.

240
 What a spectacle this must have been back in the era of one-

piece bathing suits.

I get an all-beef hot dog and crinkle cut fries and drink my

diet Coke and imagine a hurricane tearing this place apart. Franky

finds my table and sets her tray down. Shes got fish and chips. Who

orders fish and chips at Nathans hot dogs?

What do we do first? She asks.

Up to you, I say, eating a fry, youre the one whos never

been to a carnival. Though I find that hard to believe.

I didnt say Id never been to a carnival. Therere all sorts of

county fairs that come to Memphis.

Alright, alright, youve been to a carnival. Why are we

here?

She points at the colossal Wonder Wheel, towering over the

grounds. Ive never been on one of those.

A Ferris wheel?

I she shakes her head, nevermind.

What?

Its stupid.

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 Tell me.

Ive never been on a Ferris wheel cause Im afraid of

heights.

I finish my hot dog, is that right?

She wipes her mouth and chipmunks her food, couldnt

even watch your crane climb video.

Cause you were worried about me?

She rolls her eyes.

What makes you think youll conquer your fear today? I

ask.

I gotta, dont I? For the NewEx. Who knows how much

longer the app will be up?

And you picked the day we were partnered together to do it.

Whys that?

I dont know, she says, drinking my soda, I guess I trust

you and stuff.

I smile at her, just dont barf on me.

You shoulda thought of that before stuffing me with fried

food.

242
 Seriously, I hate puke. Ill never forgive you.

She tips her French fry tray upside down. Ill bring this just

in case.

Thatll be big enough.

We head into Denos Wonder Wheel Amusement Park. Its

getting dark now and you can look down the line of red and yellow

tents to the old-fashioned boardwalk where people gather their

towels and toss their beers and make their way home. We pass a

carousel that glows and spouts a tinny old rendition of The Sailors

Hornpipe. The crowds and the music and the screaming roller

coaster are overstimulating and Im glad I took my anxiety

medication.

Fey, Franky calls, lets try this one.

Land a ring, get a prize. Step right up and try your luck.

I join her at one of the booths. A middle-aged barker with

dyed red hair and a cigarette eternally hanging from the corner of her

lip tells us to step up. Its a ring toss game. Looks simple enough.

The carnie tells us to watch her. Without even looking, she tosses

three rings in succession over her shoulder and they all land on pegs.

243
 One ring gets you this, she says, pointing a yellow hangnail

at the small prize shelf, two rings, the medium prize shelf, and

three rings, the giant prize shelf. Win your lady a prize.

Nuh uh, says Franky, putting her hands on her hip, Im

winning my lady a prize.

The lady wants the giant gorilla, I say.

The carnie coughs at my expense. Franky slaps down a five-

dollar bill and takes her three rings. The first two land perfectly over

pegs. The third bounces off and the carnie catches it.

How bout a medium monkey? Asks Franky.

Better than nothing.

Im given the medium monkey. Hes got an I Heart NY

shirt on. In his left hand is an erect banana. I put him on my shoulder

and he falls off.

Damn, I say, I forgot to get that for the NewEx.

Screw that, says Franky, well get it over with on the

Ferris wheel.

We get in line for the Wonder Wheel. There are four people

ahead of us.

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 Ooh, Fey, lets get one of those after the Ferris wheel.

Shes pointing at the ice cream stand.

Nah, Ive hit my calories for the day. Im cutting. Listen,

my NewEx is gonna be sneaking onto the Wonder Wheel.

You didnt tell me that. Howre we gonna do that?

Just follow my lead.

Stop saying that, she says, crossing her arms, let me in on

the plan.

Well, I dont really have one, I admit, I was just gonna

run past the guy and get on the Ferris wheel.

Hell stop the ride, dumbass.

Shes got a point. Then how are we gonna make this video

worth watching?

Why are boys so stupid? Franky asks. You wouldve

gotten up there and run onto the ride and hed have pulled you off

and thrown your ass out. I shouldve let it happen.

It would have made a good video! 8.5 rating. At least!

Bullshit it would have. Heres what well doIll tell him

we dont have money but still want to ride the Ferris wheel.

245
 And you think hell take pity on us?

Let me do the thinkin. Its not your forte.

Its our turn in line and the ticket taker, a thick, leather slab

of a man, asks for our tickets.

Its so embarrassing, Franky starts.

I take out my phone and discreetly film the exchange.

We got in line without buyin a ticket.

Ticket booth is over there, says the guy.

Franky looks to where hes pointing and lets out a dramatic

sigh, isnt there any way we could get on? Wed have to get back in

line and everythin.

No can do, he says, gotta have a ticket.

Franky looks back at me and winks. My idea was better.

Then she lifts her shirt and flashes the guy. The carnie stares blankly

at her tits. Her nipples are hard and red in the cold. I think hes

gonna tell us to get out of line, but he unlocks the gate.

Swinging? Asks the guy with a smirk.

Not swinging, says Franky, pulling her shirt down.

246
 I end the recording and join Franky in the car. Once inside I

give her much deserved applause.

Whats with you? She asks.

Nothing. What do you mean? Nothings wrong.

Youre still actin weird. You jealous or somethin?

I am not.

The Ferris wheel begins to move and she jumps. Can I sit

closer? She asks.

Come here.

She scoots over and I put my arm around her and start

recording.

Act natural.

Were on. Franky, whats your stress level?

Four, she says.

Out of what?

Five.

I lean forward and throw myself backwards. The car begins

to rock.

Stop it! Yells Franky, covering her ears.

247
 I laugh and stop the video. Okay okay.

Shes taking deep panicked breaths. Im not kidding, Fey.

Please.

I stopped.

Cant, she says, putting a hand to her chest. I cant.

Breathe.

Stress level? I ask.

Shut, she gasps, up.

I resume the video when were at the top of the wheel.

Franky is shutting her eyes so tight her eyelashes rest on her

cheekbones.

Just look, Franky. Its not scary.

Im not looking, she says.

Look or Ill kiss you.

Do I look like a high schooler to you?

She doesnt open her eyes so I kiss her.

She lurches back. I stop recording.

Message received, I say.

Now her eyes are open. You startled me. Thats all.

248
 Its super awkward all the sudden. Ugh. Say something, Fey.

Why isnt she say anything? One of us needs to say something.

Sorry, I say.

Let it go, she says, and realizes she can see over the edge.

She looks out through the blue wire mesh and over the ocean. Im

take her phone and record the view and I turn it on Franky whose

eyes are full of tears. Its usually a gimmick to get more votes, but

this time I think its real.

Dang, she breathes.

After taking in the view she says, Im closing my eyes

again.

She covers her eyes with one hand and her lips with the

other.

249
 Chapter 12

Marcy made the announcement on Good Morning America.

We watched it during breakfast. Boomer pulled through and got her

on. She came on in a spring-yellow dress. I hadn't seen Marcy in

days. Just the sight of her gave me goose bumps.

The first question seemed to catch her off guard.

Do you see yourself as a voice for the black community?

George Stephanopoulos asked.

Im not a voice for anyone, Marcy replied.

George continued unabashed, your father is African

American, correct?

Yes, but Im not here to talk about my parents.

250
 Dont you feel that you are setting a bad example for the

black community?

Clearly you do, Marcy said sweetly, but Im not here to

talk about my community. Im here to talk about my next

entrepreneurial venture.

I could hear the agencys copywriters through Marcy's

words. George began again on the community issue, but Marcy cut

him off. She would not let him get another word in until she was

finished.

"I break my ventures into phases," Marcy said, legs crossed,

hands in her lap, "phase 1 was my social media app."

"Your app has been under a lot of scrutiny, correct?" Asked

George.

"Dangerous things often are," Marcy said.

George pressed her on the topic, but got no reaction.

She decided to respond, though her answers were short and

rehearsed, No, we never intended for people to put themselves in

danger. No, I don't think the people who abused the social network

are setting a good example.

251
 "Are you setting a good example for your fans?" Robin

asked.

Marcy took a moment to consider this, though I knew she

had a prepared answer. "If we inspired just one person to live today

like its their last, then we succeeded. Because for us at PS 111, it

might be."

You are referring to the Iris generation? Asked Lara.

Obviously, said Marcy.

The anchors were satisfied with this conclusion, so Marcy

continued, "I'd like to tell you about phase 2 now. We don't have

much longer to live. Some of us only have a month. I'm sure you've

heard about Jin-ho Gai, and Parisa LeDour."

The anchors had heard of them.

"With each tragic passing, our numbers shrink. While Im

here, I want to give our fans the Iris Experience. The 'Eff It List' was

the appetizer. We're skipping dinner and giving you dessert. PS 111

was once a school, now its the Iris home. On December 1st, PS 111

will open its doors to the world and it will make history once again.

252
On December 1st, PS 111 will be the most exclusive night club in

New York City."

"How do you think this new project will contribute to the

city?" Lara asks.

"My brother and I wanted to give our community a place to

experience new things. The only rule at PS 111 is: when you're here,

you can't be yourself."

The Mess Hall filled with applause.

Shes a genius whispers Franky.

We raised our glasses and toasted the next phase. Mimosas

all around. They high five and shake hands and hug and I wish I

could match their enthusiasm.

Georges next question silenced the group: Marcy, can we

touch on the incident surrounding Parisa LeDours death? You have

refused to make comment on this issue.

Marcys lip twitched.

You are involved in a class action lawsuit with the LeDour

family, correct?

253
 Marcy nodded slowly, I am representing the members of the

Iris Generation in this issue.

I understand that you may not be able to discuss the details

of the lawsuit, George continued, but could you make a statement

to those who might look up to you as a role model?

Parisas family, Marcy said carefully, is looking for

someone to blame for their daughters suicide.

Alleged suicide, George corrected.

To a special few, the Holocaust is also alleged, Marcy

replied. Are they entitled to their opinion?

Youre avoiding the question.

Marcy kept on. Parisas family is angry. Understandably so.

They turn their anger towards my home and my friends. They attack

me the only way old money knows howwith lawyers. You keep

using the words role model and community but you havent

asked anything about my personal experience.

Youre not answering my question.

They did a close-up of Marcy. She was sweating. I must

have misunderstood your question. Could you rephrase it?

254
 You are happy to speak publicly about your app and

business endeavors, but you have never discussed the incident that

ended your modeling career, and now you dance around the topic of

Parisas death. Im asking if you will make a statement to explain

your closed-mouth attitude.

Day leaned forward in his seat. His hand was trembling, the

scotch rippling in its glass.

Marcy smiled to herself, this is why I dont do interviews.

Want a statement about Parisa, whose real name was Brittany, I

might add? Heres your statement.

Careful, whispered Day.

Keep suicidal bitches off the roof.

Day downed his scotch and vacated the Mess Hall. Everyone

else had been caught up in their mimosas, gossiping, puzzling over

Phase 2. No one heard Marcys statement except for Day and me.

Theyd been happy not talking about Parisa since the incident. Shed

been cleaned off the steps and out of the groups collective memory.

After breakfast, I took a walk to the flower shop down the

street. I got Marcy a simple bouquet of Billy Balls.

255
 Little yellow orbs at the end of a green stem. They were

unusual and pretty. Marcy isn't the type of girl you get roses for. Id

surprise her when she got home.

"Do you want a note with the flowers?" Asked the florist.

"I'll stop by your stupid disco clubor whatever it is if I

have time."

Part of the endless contract required me to become a

renaissance man. First spoke of that wheel was the speech lessons. I

would be given prewritten speeches to perform before an audience of

agency employees.

My speeches were their lunch break entertainment whether

they liked it or not. They were famous historical speeches: Martin

Luther King Jrs, I Have a Dream, and The Gettysburg Address,

and Reagans speech at Brandenburg Gate. I got so familiar with

JFKs Inaugural Address, Id say it to myself while getting ready in

the morning.

256
 The world is very different now. For man holds in his mortal

hands the power to abolish all forms of human poverty and all forms

of human life.

The second spoke was the fitness program. This was done in

a gym in Alphabet City. It came with a workout plan and posture

training. My trainer was glad to hear that I was already on John's

nutrition plan. I had to balance a kettle bell on my head and walk

across the gym. It fell twiceonce on my foot. That didnt stop my

trainer from yelling at me to try again.

I hated the first few weeks of training sessions. They were

back-to-back: Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. They would

continue each week until I had the physique of a model. GQ

wouldnt photograph me otherwise. After the first week of lessons

had finished, I woke up so sore I couldnt get out of bed. It gave me

a new appreciation for Marcy's work. I always thought models had it

easy, but this shit sucks.

The third spoke was fashion. Knowing nothing about

clothing, even the clothing I wore, was not an option. I shadowed the

agencys tailor.

257
 I attended Urban Shopping tours, Gilded New York, Textile

seminars. The Museum at FIT had an exhibit on Marcel Proust. I

was heartily quizzed by Marcys fashionistas. Fashion show after

fashion show. Third row from the runway. Marcy would join me

sometimes. Shed sit runway side and meet me at the afterparty.

Shed introduce me to the designers:

Fey, this is Dan Liu.

Fey, you know Bibhu Mohapatra, dont you?

Calvin, sweetheart. This is Fey.

The fourth spoke was working with a modeling couch. It

wasnt what Id expected. First was pose. Acting versus reacting. Id

get tutorsreally well known models to come in and work with me

on acting versus reacting. I assumed they were doing this as a favor

to Marcy. Tall, shockingly thin up close. They were pleasant. Some,

like Karlie, were bouncy. I liked her the most. Pretty and smart were

not qualities the other models shared.

Sometimes theyd come and work out with me before the

pose coaching sessions.

258
 They were delicately constructed, flawless in a human way,

and when it got hot they could really sweat. Pools of sweat.

Shamelessly gleaming, red faced and focused. Even the worst of my

tutors was more dedicated and sensational than anyone else I knew.

Aside from Marcy.

On top of completing the spokes, I started seeing a

psychiatrist to get anxiety med refills.

College students think their lives are hard. Try being a

model.

One morning after my fitness class Marcy called me.

Hey Marce, I started, but she cuts me off.

You arent at the top of your game she said.

I thought about Karlie berating me for blinking too much.

So

Shut up. You arent at the top and you never will be. No

matter how hard you work, no matter how talented you are, no

matter how much time you put into becoming the renaissance man,

you will never be the best.

259
 There is someone out there smarter and more creative and

more talented than you will ever be. Theyre out there killing it. As

we speak. I could name twenty elites who make your effort look

passive.

The euphoria Id been feeling after the workout was gone.

Okay

Keep that in mind as you move forward in your work. Use it

as fuel. But it should not be your driving force. Your driving force is

the knowledge that no matter how many people are out there who are

better than you, none of them are Irises. And none of them are as

beautiful as you.

My stomach drops. What?

You, right now, are the most beautiful man in the world.

You are the rarest, most physically flawless man, and everyone

knows it except for you. Thats the only thing your instructors will

not be able to teach. Get wise and learn it or were done.

Then Marcy hung up.

260
 Its December 1st and PS 111 opens its doors tonight. Al, our

newly hired bouncer, moonlights as a casting director. Or maybe its

the other way around.

Each night will be a different theme, picked from a catalogue

of pop culture references.

Its Al the bouncers job to cast the party the way he would

cast a movie. Only people who fit the theme will be admitted. How

do they know the theme? Word of mouth only. For tonights theme

of Ferris Buellers Day Off you wont be stepping foot inside PS

111 without dressing the part.

The main hall has been stripped of its title.

Day reads the new PS 111 guidelines before the club opens:

We will refer to the main hall as the Gold Ballroom. The New Luna

Park is now the Club. The arcade is The Dungeon. The bath house is

the Baths of Manhattan. And the roof is the Moon Room. Got it?

We got it.

Palm trees have been added to the Gold Ballroom along with

three bars. These only sell juice, because the clubs liquor license is

pending.

261
 This makes PS 111 an 18+ nightclub. The couches from the

announcement party have been brought back along with the VIP

area. This is for Irises and their close friends only.

I peer out the open crack of the front door. Al the bouncer

stands at attention. The yard is filled with people, single file and I

can see the line wraps around the side of the school.

Our DJ is setting up at the far corner of the Gold Ballroom.

Marcy provided a strict Ferris Bueller-only track list for the first part

of the evening. After those songs have been played, he is to play

only 80s and 80s remixes and nothing past 1986. This is done for

authenticity.

The clock hits 7 and we hear Al the bouncer start casting.

Hes a giant, coming in at 611 and speaks with a hard Brooklyn

accent. He turns the first hundred people away.

There aint no freaking way you getting in here, I hear Al

the bouncer say. Whatd you say? Get the fuck outta here fore I get

passionate. Not you either. Whats your name? Linus? Nice name,

faggot. Get outta here.

262
 It only takes 15 minutes for tonights theme to get around.

People call friends and have them bring clothes. Military berets and

leather varsity jackets, white oxfords, and printed sweater vests. The

Camerons wear Red Wings hockey jerseys. The Sloanes get silver

fringe jackets and blue tanks and shorts. People strip naked in the

courtyard and put on the new clothes to get in. Everyone wears Ray-

Bans.

How could I possibly be expected to handle school on a day

like this? asks a Ferris.

What does that mean, grumbles Al the bouncer, get

inside, dummy.

The Ferrises and Camerons and Sloanes enter. Theyre the

first club guests and they know it. They surround our VIP section. A

Cameron puts an arm around Casey and snaps a selfie.

Casey smashes the phone on the ground. Get the fuck off

me, yuppie douche!

The staff cleans the phone pieces and ropes off the VIP

section and we watch the ballroom fill to capacity. They crowd the

juice bar.

263
 Looks like everyone got the memo to BYOB. The 18+ crowd

spikes their drinks with hidden flasks. The DJ slows the track and

the lights dim. A neon sign lowers from the ceiling and flickers on:

Drop! When it lights up, they drop Molly.

Its 9:30pm and most everyone is rolling except for me.

"You alright man?" Casey asks.

"Yeah, I say, putting my arm over the back of the couch.

"Who you keep lookin for?"

"No one, I lie.

Casey wrings his hands. Well youre making me anxious.

Stop it."

Casey lets a Sloane into the VIP area and dances with her.

Then Jen and Stefani dance and it becomes contagious. There's no

way I'm dancing tonight, so I leave the VIP area and go upstairs.

Theres a huge line to the bar in the Club, but I walk to the front. The

crowd boos me until I turn around and flip them off.

Hes not even in costume, someone says.

He doesnt need to be. Its an Iris.

Which Iris is that?

264
 A Ferris pulls out his phone to check our roster. John?

The bartender is making a cocktail so I hop over the bar and

start making a drink. Hes dressed as Ben Stein from the movie with

his sleeves rolled up. He looks pissed until he recognizes who I am.

Need some help? I ask.

Know how to make a vodka gimlet minus the vodka?

Tell me the ingredients and Ill give it a try, I say.

Get the simple syrup and lime juice from the fridge.

I uncork the simple syrup bottle with my teeth. Someone

snaps a picture of that. The bartender tosses me a lime wedge and I

put all of the ingredients into a tumbler and shake it with ice.

How am I doing? I ask.

Not bad, says Ben Stein, shake it to the fox trot.

I dont know the fox trot.

He hums it for me and I try to keep tempo, then pour it into a

glass.

Lime peel garnish, he says.

How do I do that?

265
 He takes the used lime wedge and quickly shaves the peel

off. It falls into the glass in a corkscrew shape. I give the drink to a

Sloane and she pays me.

I get a text from Franky, have you seen my cat?

What cat? I dont reply.

Its even more fun when you add alcohol, says the

bartender.

I get really into making the drinks and Im talking endlessly

at the bartender who tries to keep up. Whats your name again? I

ask, Im sure you told me but I cant remember.

When I look up hes not there. How long have I been talking

to myself?

I take a Camerons drink order. He leans over the counter and

in his most suave tone asks, have you got any booze back there?

Fuck no, I yell and throw the money in his face. A quarter

bounces off his nose and I can tell it hurt.

Next! I yell.

He calls me an asshole and Im still yelling, I dont care

over and over even after hes out of earshot. Ugly plebe, I laugh.

266
 A Sloane comes up and orders a drink. I give her an

unopened bottle of margarita mix.

I didnt order this, she says.

Next! I yell.

The bartender pushes me aside and takes the next order

before I can. Im laughing and he wants to know why I said Id

cover him if Im just gonna be a dick to the customers.

Youre fired, plebe. I annunciate each syllable, Fi-red.

He looks at me in disbelief.

I get in his face. See ya!

He pulls his apron off and throws it on the counter.

I eventually get bored playing bartender and tell them the

bars closed. I head up to the Moon Room and have a cigarette and

ignore everyone. But I cant ignore this old hag dancing in knee-high

boots and tights and this awful long-sleeve eggplant colored thing.

She must be 50 or older dancing in the middle of a group of college

aged guys and theyre god, theyre into it.

One guys got his hands in the air and grinding on her and his

friend is watching.

267
 Her hair has grey in it. Flat out grey, not even dyed. Shes

shameless. Some nerve she has to come here. I should say

something.

I walk over to the group and step between the guy and the

woman and they both stop dancing, the guy just looks confused. A

few of his friends stop and theyre watching and the woman has

crows feet and wears too much makeup.

What do you think youre doing? I ask her.

She laughs, what do you mean?

How does she not get this?

Youre not supposed to be here, I tell her, yelling over the

music.

Now the guy has his hand on my shoulder and hes telling me

to get lost, mind my own business. I ignore him.

Youre gross, I tell the woman.

She looks as if she hasnt heard me but then her expression

changes and I know she has. You rotten little shit, she says and

pushes me.

268
 Now a group is gathering around us. Bring it on. Bring your

friends. Watch me kick this old bitch out of my club.

Theres an age limit! I yell, pointing to my face. My

young, viral, energetic face. Does she not get the picture?

She doesnt. She throws a drink in my face along with the

glass which hits me right above the eye and an overwhelming pain

shoots through my forehead.

I told you to get out. Now I have to do this. Unbelievable,

Im laughing now, youre going to make me do this.

I look for a staff member and get his attention. Hes already

watching, waiting for an order. I point at the woman and drag the

finger across my throat. He nods and approaches.

Is there a problem? He asks, leaning in so only I hear.

This old cunt assaulted me.

He rests a meaty palm on her shoulder.

You have no reason, she starts, but the staff member is

already escorting her out. I hear her protesting the whole way,

cursing me, outraged. I see her weird little boyfriend staring me

down.

269
 Do something! I tell him. Defend your grandmas honor,

you pussy.

His pulls him away and they disappear into the crowd. Gone

like so many guests who fade in and out of my consciousness. Were

they ever here? Im sure that old woman was. I can still taste her

nerve in my mouth.

The paramedics show up at 3am. They make their way

through the crowd and into the girls restroom. I shove my way in

and when I see what theyre working on I gag. It looks inhuman. The

girl must have been 16. Shes bloated and one eye is swelled shut.

Her face is so fat and rounded that the lips have disappeared into the

cheeks. Someone snaps a picture.

The EMT charges the defibrillator and presses it to her

exposed chest. The body jumpspulled towards the ceiling by an

invisible string. Then it relaxes, motionless. He attempts CPR on the

lipless mouth. They use the defibrillator once more then resume the

CPR. At 3:34am shes pronounced dead. A whole lot of work for

something I could have told them ten minutes ago.

A body bag is wheeled in on a stretcher.

270
 Jen finds me in the crowd. Shes drunk and has to steady

herself on my shoulder. You catch that?

I did catch that. I caught it before. I caught it tonight. I will

catch it again. I saw and I felt nothing.

Yeah, and? I say.

Looks like were making the news after all, she says.

Boomer calls the next morning. GQ is moving forward with

the photoshoot. He tells me not to eat. Drink room temp water. Not

cold. Get shoulder, triceps, and abs in before the shoot. Trainer will

meet me at the gym. One last thing: Don't get hopes up. Photoshoot

might not end up in final issue.

Why are you telling me this?

Just giving you a hard time, champ.

I dont need a hard time.

Boomer clears his throat. Right. Anywho. Stay frosty.

Click.

271
 I throw on clothes and walk three blocks to the gym. What is

wrong with me this morning?

Its not double vision its tracking problems.

On the street I see the ghost image of people replicated

nanoseconds after the live version, slightly off position. My video is

corrupt. I stuff my hands into my pocket and curse everything. Why

does error and corruption follow me? Everything around me turns to

shit and dies.

My trainer is fifteen minutes late. I tell him hes fired if he

shows up late again. Im kinda dizzy after the workout because I

have no food in me. I take a shower at the gym and as Im getting

my clothes on I get a text from Marcy. Im sure its going to be

something bad. Another talk on how Im not good enough. I read it.

Youve got this.

My heart skips. Youve got this. I sit watching this guy wash

his hands in the locker room sink. Is he ghosting? No. His image is

clear. Im alright. Three words made me alright? No, I was just

anxious earlier. I just needed a new perspective. Perspective is life.

Three words of life perspective.

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 Youve got this.

Im still smiling as I leave the gym. I hold the door open for

this old guy he sneezes on me. My mood is still tip-top.

I call Mark and have him take me to GQs office in Lower

Manhattan.

GQs receptionist is this really young guy with jet black hair

and piercings. His shirt says: Free Miley and he asks me to sit.

Do you need anything? He asks. Coffee?

A coffee would be great.

He doesnt move, nor does he call anyone, but within a

minute a door opens and an intern brings me a cup. Magic.

Im about to drink it when someone says, Fey, no drinks.

I apologize and tell him I forgot and he says his name is

John. John brings me to wardrobe and has me try on a three-piece

suit. He says Ill be working with the other John today, hes the

photographer. Two Johns.

The suit fits well and I ask if I need to try anything else on.

I got your measurements, says John, go ahead upstairs.

273
 John, the photographer, is shorter with a head full of

cowlicks.

Hes wearing a shirt with little pizzas on it. We shake hands

and he tells me to lie down on this old leather couch, but keep my

chin up.

John kneels and adjusts the color temperature.

Stoked to check out your club. Read about the death. Crazy

stuff.

Flash.

Its pretty cool, I say, trying not to emote. We have fun.

Flash.

Lets get the couch out of there, John says.

Interns drag the couch off the set and replace it with a wall of

TVsa giant eye on each screen.

Flash.

Jump for a freeze frame.

Flash.

An intern hands me two oversized glass eyes. One blue, one

green.

274
 Have fun with it, John tells me.

I hold the glass eyes to my own and stick out my tongue. Its

a blast.

Great, says John, lets pop off that shirt.

The interns take my shirt, vest, and jacket off. They replace

my suit pants with light pink shorts and fit me with loafers and no

socks.

Flash.

Lets get him a shirt, says John.

I must be too skinny still. I curse myself and make a mental

note to be bigger for the next photoshoot. If there is a next

photoshoot.

They give me a Grim Reaper scythe. Its ridiculously heavy

and John tells me to keep holding. Keep holding.

Flash.

Lets take this to the roof, says John, tossing the camera to

an intern.

On the elevator, the makeup artist touches me up and brushes

my chest with powder.

275
 The rooftop set looks like a New Years party just happened.

There are smashed beer bottles and empty champagne bottles

at every table. Extras are passed out on the floor and this giant clock

hangs on a pole where the wall would be and its set to 11:59.

They give me a glass of champagne, which is actually

champagne. I heard they used ginger ale on set. I drink it and John

tells me not to drink it. The intern pours more in my glass.

Whats your perfect date? Ask John.

Huh?

Makeup messes my hair and sprays it.

We do these how to date me segments, John says. Just

have fun.

I think quickly. Im from California so I like driving along

the coast. Here in New York you could take me on a boat around

Manhattan, I guess. Then wed go to a good deli. I might just be

saying that because Im hungry, though.

Flash.

John lets the interns know were ready for models. Wardrobe

changes my clothes.

276
 Two girls join me. Theyre both in bikinis, tan, and plastic.

Who were you in high school? John asks, directing one of

the girls to pull on my collar with her teeth.

Flash.

I was quiet, I say.

Flash.

I find that hard to believe, says John. Whered you go?

Flash.

A small high school in Oxnard. Its this farmsville, nowhere

north of LA.

Flash.

John calls over his shoulder, can we get a sound bite here?

One of the interns brings a notepad. He flips to the third page

and says, I was the nerd dating the captain of the cheerleading

team.

No, says John, cheesy.

The intern flips the page. Id rather be on the bleachers

making fun of the jocks than in the game, he reads.

277
 John nods and the intern lets me read it. I tell him its fine to

use.

Flash.

The model kisses me on the cheek.

Look surprised, says John.

Flash.

We finish the shoot and we're riding the elevator back down

when John asks, "what really happened over there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Two dead girls," John says coyly. Got a serial killer in the

house?

I laugh dryly. "I can't say anything about that."

He gives me a wry smile and checks his phone.

I walk back to the school and crash. While I nap, the staff

cleans the sea of bottles and vomit and cocktail napkins. Their

industrial vacuums arent loud enough to keep me awake.

278
 I get up at 7am and shower and go out to the courtyard for a

cigarette. I go on my phone and Google PS 111. Its trending in

the local news today. TMZ has exclusive photos of Tairas death.

That must be the name of the girl who ODd.

I open the article and look for myself in the pictures. You can

see the side of my head in one of them. Turns out she hit a speedball

and ODd within minutes. She was 25, but looked younger with all

that swelling.

The Eff It List notifies me that it has an update. I let it

download in the background as I read through other articles about

Taira.

Once its updated the app launches and I see the color

scheme has changed. Its gone from a dark black and yellow theme

to a bright flat design with a blurry background of unfocused

Christmas lights.

A video goes full screen and plays clips from last night. A

Matthew Broderick lookalike is on stage singing Twist and Shout.

279
 People in costume are dancing. The DJ mixes. The New

Luna Park entranceway. A tracking shot rolls through the arcade.

Marcy, Jen, Stefani, and Franky in the Baths of Manhattan. So thats

where Marcy was all night.

The video cuts to black with the question: Who will you be

tonight?

When the video ends, Im redirected to the new app home

screen. The button NewEx has been altered to say PS 111

NewEx. Theres also an About Us page which features updated

bios. Its been a while since I checked the leaderboard. I wonder if

thats been updated too.

Eff It List Leaderboard

[No high scores yet.]

Its 3:40am and we gather for our nightcap. Maybe its the

crossfading, or mix of uppers and downers, but our late-night

conversations have been getting philosophical lately.

280
 This nights conversation starts out simple enough: who did

Casey bed tonight, what combination of opiates did you try and what

were the results, how many views did your PS 111 NewEx get, and

so on. Then theres a lull in the conversation as we begin to drift. We

wait for someone to get up and say something like, Im going to

crash, but it never happens. We hit our second wind all at once and

the real discussion begins.

He left, Stefani says.

Whos he? Asks Casey.

My Dom, Stefani says into her gin and juice.

Jen is preoccupied on her phone.

Arent you screwing Jen, anyway? Asks Casey.

Jen looks up. Stay out of our shit.

Does no one care that this asshole hurt me? Asks Stefani.

He was gross. We all saw his picture. You could do way

better. Like Jen. Jens a good lay, says Casey, raising his glass.

Stay out of our shit! Jen says again.

Whatever, says Casey.

Stefani starts crying.

281
 Stop it, says Jen, this isnt a fucking pity party.

He left his wife to be with me. Hes got hes got two dogs

and a house and hes still living with his wife, but theyre not even

together, Stefani says.

No one asked, says Jen, returning her attention to her

phone.

Stefani drinks her gin and juice, crying to herself.

You know how damn depressing yall are? Asks Franky. I

was having a good night. A good night. And you gotta talk about

depressing shit.

Yup, agrees Casey, raising his drink.

Franky gets out of the booth with some struggle, climbing

over me in the process and dousing me in her wine, just to cheers

Casey.

Were here to have fun, says Franky, when youre here,

you cant be yourself!

Day looks up from his whiskey. Who brought that cat

home?

282
 Everyone turns to Day. Hes sitting at the booth on the other

side of the room. The light above his table has gone out and I

wonder if he noticed.

Cat? Asks Casey.

You saw Benji? Asks Franky, swaying with excitement.

Yup, says Day, swirling the scotch in his glass, its dead.

I look at Day, then at Franky.

Casey starts laughing.

Bullshit, says Franky, dont laugh, Casey. It isnt funny.

Day just shrugs. Casey continues to laugh.

Tell me youre joking, Day.

Im joking, he monotones.

Franky frowns at him. What happened to Benji?

He died, says Day, I found him in the pool.

How did that happen? She asks. Her big eyes well up with

tears.

Day shrugs.

Thought we were supposed to have fun, Stefani says under

her breath.

283
 Franky puts her head on my shoulder and I rub her back.

You could have said it nicer, I tell Day.

Day shrugs.

I walk Franky back to her room. Shes still talking about her

cat. They found Benji in the basketball court. Saved him from the

snow. Franky named her Ariel, found out she was a he, and on the

ranting goes. At her suite door I give her a hug and tell her well

have a funeral for the cat.

Benji, she corrects, dont call him cat.

Well have a funeral for Benji.

You promise? Dont lie, Fey.

I promise.

Tomorrow?

Alright.

She leans into my chest and sniffles. When she looks up I see

her eyes are so much clearer after tears. Its easy to tell their

opposing colors. I see flecks of gold in her left eye and teal with

flecks of blue in the right. Her nose is red from rubbing at it and I

brush the hair out of her face and kiss her.

284
 Sorry, I say after the kiss.

She laughs and snorts and rubs her nose. Why?

I touch my neck, Im drunk.

Thats why you kissed me?

Well, no. I wanted to.

She smiles at the floor and gets her brass key from the back

pocket of her Daisy Dukes and unlocks her suite. The doorstop trips

her and I try to catch her but we both fall.

Franky snorts again, we are a freakin mess, kid.

I help her up and into her suite which is decorated like a

French palacerenaissance paintings adorn the walls with gold leaf

frames. Frescoes on the ceiling. Marble reliefs and busts on the

polished shelves.

Its so gold in here.

I hate it, says Franky, stumbling over my foot, hurts my

eyes.

I get her to the bed and part a purple canopy. She kicks off

her sandals and unbuttons her shorts and falls backwards onto the

mattress.

285
 Little help, stranger? She asks, sticking her legs straight up.

I oblige her, pulling off her shorts.

No funny stuff, she says.

Wouldnt dream of it.

I toss the shorts onto a chair. Shes wearing a baby blue

thong from Pink. I go to take her top off but she stops me. I can do

that. Turn around.

I face the wall and listen as she struggles to get her bra off.

Youre a perrrrrrfect gentleman, she says. Fey, will we

really have a funeral for Benji tomorrow?

I promised didnt I?

Promise again.

I promise, promise, promise.

She gets under the comforter and claps, but the lights stay on.

I get the light switch.

Night, Franky.

Her voice comes through the darkness, felt good when you

rubbed my back earlier.

Want me to rub your back?

286
 If youre offerin.

Just until you fall asleep.

Wouldnt get much out of it after.

I sigh, fiiiiine.

I find the bed and briefly get stuck in the stupid canopy. She

rolls over and I sit on top of the covers and rub her bare back.

Your hands are cold, she complains.

Shut up.

Dont talk to a lady like that.

What lady?

Hey, she says, sitting up, I am a lady.

Fine. Fine. Youre a lady. Lay down.

She does and I rub her bare back.

Your suite is so quiet, I say.

Hmm?

Nothing.

Fey?

Yeah?

Whyd you kiss me?

287
 I already told you.

Tell me again.

It felt right.

What felt right about it?

You looked so innocent all teary eyed and stuff.

I have to be crying to get kissed?

It doesnt hurt.

She tries to hit me but just swats the air.

I rub her back and after a while I think shes fallen sleep.

I cant sleep, says Franky.

Cause you keep talking.

Will you hold me?

I think of Marcy and hesitate. Brandons words echo in my

mind: you be busy too.

No ones gonna force you, she says.

I take my shoes and socks and jeans off and get in bed with

her.

Are you naked? I ask.

That alright?

288
 Whats with you girls sleeping naked?

Who else sleeps naked?

Marcy.

How do you know?

I just know.

She rolls over to face me. How do you know?

We kiss and she runs her hand down my stomach and into

my boxers. She lightly strokes me and I kiss her, biting her lip.

We shouldnt, she says.

You dont want to?

Franky runs her fingers through my hair and around my neck.

I do its just, she says, itll change things. It always

changes things.

She pulls me forward and I kiss up her stomach and to her

sharp little chin. I thrust into her and she sucks in a breath, holding

my butt.

Go slow, she says.

289
 I slow down and she releases her grip and guides me up and

in and back out in a smooth motion. I feel her stomach tense. For a

moment were frozen in that position, out of breath, cold with sweat.

Then, gradually, we release and I fall next to her on the bed. She

rolls over and puts her back to me.

I try to hold her, but she pulls away.

Youre too hot, she says, like a damn space heater.

I get out of her bed and clumsily find my clothes in the dark.

She pretends to be asleep. Im thankful for that. No need to explain

my departure.

With one sock on, the other abandoned, I tip-toe to the door,

shoes under my arm and Frankys voice startles me.

Stay?

My hand squeezes the doorknob. I turn to glance at Franky

who hasnt moved, her back still to me.

In the dark, she could be anybody.

I step out into the bright lights of the Gold Ballroom and shut

the door behind me.

290
 Chapter 13

Its 10:10pm and the DJ has switched the music to Parov

Stelar. After that After that, what? More music from the 20s.

Music they would have played if they had DJs and Jay-Z remixes

back then. Its fun to pretend.

I make a vodka soda.

Oh my goooooood your room is amazeballs, Kathryn calls

from the living room.

I tell her to make herself a drink while I get ready. She asked

to be my date again and I had no reason to say no. Its not like Im

taken. So why do I feel guilty about Franky? I drink my vodka soda

in three gulps and make another.

291
 I check to see if Kathryn is watching and tap some coke out

onto the bar and do a line.

Tonights movie theme is Swing Time, an old movie from

the 30s. The staff is wearing tuxedos. I dont want to look like a

member of the staff so I put on white cotton pants and a grey jacket.

My tie is what GQ called the Must Have Tie of the Year. Its

hand-knit and squared at the bottom. Id like some wing-tipped

shoes. They wear those in old movies. I text Boomer and tell him I

need them for tonight. Hell let Christina know to get them here

within the hour.

Not waiting an hour, I reply.

He takes a long time to text back. I can see him writing and

re-writing the message.

C wut I can do, he says.

Kathryn wanders into my room and ogles at my king-sized

bed with the canopy and silk sheets. She leaps on it and rolls herself

into a burrito of blankets. Ill just live here from now on, okay?

How long will my shoes take? It cant be that hard to find

wing-tipped shoes.

292
 How do you ever leave this place? Asks Kathryn, content

in her bedding cocoon.

If it doesnt come in 20-minutes Ill fire him. Ill fire Boomer

and get a new agent.

Fey?

I light a cigarette and go out into the courtyard. She follows

me.

Youre sweating, she says, touching my forehead.

Im fine.

Should I tell her about the shoes? If she doesnt know what

wing-tips are, I may have to explain it, and I dont want to explain

anything. The courtyard feels small and for a moment I forget where

the door to my suite is. What if I got lost out here? How fucking

embarrassing. Ill wear my Raf Simons Adidas until they come.

Theyre two-tone. No one will notice. Maybe itll look like a

statement.

I put the cigarette out and usher Kathryn inside. Having

fun? Ready to meet everyone?

She looks confused. I already met them, remember?

293
 Ha. Right. Cmon.

We find most of the group on the roof. Theyre having a pre-

party smoke.

Casey charges the vape and when he breathes out smoke I

can smell his hash.

Guys, I say, you remember Kathryn.

Whats up? Says Kathryn.

Franky pushes past us.

Kathryn drinks her martini and cringes.

Hang on, I tell Kathryn and follow Franky.

I prop the roof door open and tell her to wait, but she says

something about freshening up and keeps walking. I massage my

temples and go back outside.

Marcy has appeared and now she and Kathryn are talking. I

swallow hard and wipe the sweat from my brow.

Marcys in a pink flapper dress and her hair is shorter and

brushed back. Shes got these diamond earrings and a headband with

a peacock feather. Next to Marcy, Kathryn looks like hammered shit.

294
 She takes Kathryns hand. Leave the boys to their devices,

she says, come with me.

Kathryn, red faced from meeting her idol, gives me an

excited fan girl smile. The girls go with Marcy. Jen grabs her drink

and starts to follow them but Marcy points at her, not you.

I dont count as one of the girls? Asks Jen.

Casey looks up from his phone. Youre a girl?

The roof door slams shut and Jen folds her arms. The vape

reaches me and I take a hit. Its harsh and I cough a little. Hash?

Casey pats me on the back. Virgin lungs. Well prime em

yet.

Jen finishes her drink and turns her attention to me: Whats

the story with you and that normie?

Were just friends, I say.

Jen pokes me in the forehead a little too hard, stupid. Ass.

Whats that for? I say, rubbing my forehead.

Youre a girl? Casey asks again.

Jen tackles him. They roll around on the asphalt, knocking a

table of drinks over. I leave before one of them kills the other.

295
 Marcy and Kathryn are inseparable for the rest of the night.

Because they like to torture me, they sit together in the VIP section,

giggling like old friends. Every so often theyll steal a glance at me

and when I look, they laugh.

Franky sees me sulking, watching them alone on my couch.

She gets me up and we go to the dance floor.

Why are you acting weird? She asks.

Weird how?

Youve been avoiding me since that night we hooked up.

My hands are sweating. I rub them on my pants. Ive just

been, you know, busy.

Whatever, Fey.

An impeccable Fred Astaire impersonator tap dances with a

less convincing Ginger Rogers. Hand on her back, he leads her

through the number. The famous number that reserved their spot in

film history. The faux-Ginger is light on her feet, keeping up with

Fred at every turn.

But her cheekbones are not high enough to be Gingers. She

isnt doe-eyed like Ginger.

296
 Her lips arent full enough. Her smile not bright enough. But

she still smiles and still dances and for that moment in front of the

whole crowd she is Ginger. Back from the dead for one last dance.

A voice in my ear startles me. Can I cut in?

Franky gestures for Kathryn to take her place, please. Save

me.

Franky tries to smile, but it doesnt work. She leaves us to

dance. I want to go after her, but I dont know what to say.

Kathryn reluctantly takes her place as my dance partner. Did

I upset her?

I ignore her question, watching Fred and Ginger. You and

Marcy sure are hitting it off, I say.

Ha. I dunno about that, she says sheepishly, shes really

nice.

Never heard Marcy called really nice.

I notice the space between Kathryns eyebrows is red. She

must have recently plucked them. Her lips are a little too pink. Too

much lip-gloss. Her breath smells like vodka and when she touches

my arm I feel the sweat on her palm.

297
 I pull away from her touch. Im gonna get a drink, I say,

want something?

No you alright?

Fine, I say and leave for the bar.

She follows me. Gingers song finishes. I cut the bar line and

Im snapping to get the bartenders attention. I swear hes ignoring

me. I remember its a dry bar and give up and head to my room.

Where did I put my key?

Where are you going? Asks Kathryn.

Why wont she just leave me alone?

Wait in the VIP area, I tell her, remember where that is?

She furrows her brow, should I leave?

I dont care what you do! I say, and leave her in the crowd.

Back in my suite I make a martini and drink it, watching the

oak tree in our courtyard. So many people behind me; no one out

here. I take off my bowtie and unbutton my collar and breathe.

I make another martini and steel myself for whats next. I dont have

time to string Kathryn along. Shes a normie. She will not, no matter

how much I try, understand me.

298
 Back outside, I weed through the audience and to the VIP

section. Kathryn is sitting by herself. Jen and Stefani are making out

across from her. I sit down next to her.

Are you having fun? I ask.

Not really, she says.

Uh huh. Heres the thing. Youre really cool, but Im kind

of into this other girl.

Oh, she says, thats why youre acting weird all of the

sudden?

Yup.

The bass vibrates our couch.

Whyd you agree to be my date?

It doesnt mean anything. Nothing in PS 111 counts, I say.

Her lip curls into a grimace. Youre being really mean. I

hope you know that.

Maybe you should go.

Her mouth opens and closes. I never break eye contact.

It was nice meeting you all, she tells the group, and leaves.

Brutal, says Stefani.

299
 They must have been watching the whole thing. Who cares.

Everyone in the lower east side is here having a drunken blast in the

most exclusive club in town and I dont care. Kathryn hates me and

Franky hates me and Marcy doesnt give a shit about me and I dont

care. Parisa is dead and Jin-ho is dead and nothing matters because

in four months well all be dead and this club will be a fucking ghost

town.

UFO-green laser lights create a false horizon on the fog

machines cloud and for a moment I feel like Im floating and the

music slows and the beat drops and Im back in my body. The DJ

cuts the track short and the lights dim.

When the lights return, the DJ is gone and in his place is

Count Basies band. Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr.,

Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop impersonators take the stage.

The hipsters who know the Rat Pack go crazy. Dean Martin

holds the mic. Im sick of these games. Its not cool. Its not fun.

Good to be here in the big apple Dean says, scratching his

head, good to be here, but boy are my arms tired from the flight.

Fuck you! I yell.

300
 Dean doesnt hear me. Everyone on stage is smoking and

Sammy David Jr. is imitating Dean while he speaks. Dean turns to

catch him in the act, but Sammy just smiles.

Marilyn was called away tonight, says Dean, something

about catching a bus. In her place, wed like to welcome Marcy

Darling to the stage. Shell be our Marilyn tonight.

I lean forward in my seat.

The spotlight moves to Marcy. She waves them off. She

couldnt go on stage. She just couldnt. Dean asks for a round of

applause to convince the lady. The lady is convinced. Marcy takes

the stage and kisses Dean on both cheeks. She curtseys to the rest of

the Rat Pack. Sammy Davis mock-faints and Frank catches him.

Peter fans Sammy with his handkerchief.

Will the lady choose a lucky fellow for a dance? Asks

Dean.

The houselights go on and every guy in the audience raises

their hand. She leans over the edge of the stage, shading her eyes.

Marcy could have any guy in New York right now.

301
 Her search pans left, then right. She gives an over-

exaggerated sigh. This is hard work! Then she stops and points at the

VIP section. The spotlight moves to me.

Come on up! Says Dean.

Stefani leans over and kicks me. What are you waiting for?

The crowd parts and I get on stage and Marcy gives me her

hand. I feel numb and wonder how real any of this is.

Frank takes the mic and begins the song.

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Hand on her lower back, Marcy puts her chin on my shoulder

and we slow dance. The audience follows suit. Projectors in the

ceiling display stars on the dance floor.

Glitter falls from the rafters. I smell her perfume. The same

perfume from the lettersBond Number 9, Signature: Marcys

scent. The Rat Pack smokes and snaps and we circle the stage in our

dance.

Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

302
 All I worship and adore

Marcy whispers in my ear. Did you send her back to

earth?"

In other words, please be true

In other words, I love you

She had to go, I tell her.

Shame, says Marcy, I was starting to like her.

I love you.

Youre full of shit.

I love you.

She isnt who I would have picked for you.

I love you.

I blow my breath out. And who would you pick for me?

I dip Marcy, leaning her over the edge of the stage. The

drummer silences his symbol. No one in the audience speaks. The

hall is, for the first time, silent. Marcy never takes her eyes off me.

She knows I wont drop her.

Me, she says.

I bring her back up, and in front of 3,500 people, kiss her.

303
 The crowd explodes with applause. I swear I can hear the

Irises cheering.

304
 Chapter 14

Its 3:00pm and I was woken up by an orchestra of vacuums.

I check my bed, but Marcys not there.

Why does the staff have to vacuum while I'm sleeping? Why

even clean at all? It's just going to get trashed again tonight. I'll write

a letter to their manager protesting their endless vacuuming. I don't

have any envelopes. Or stamps. I'll send an email. He'll get it faster

that way.

It's 9pm when I wake up again. This time its because of

music. I managed to sleep all day. Why am I still tired?

305
 This wretched smell from Brandons room has made its way

into my room.

I pull the blankets over my head and the smell is gone.

At 3:00am I awake to a knock on my suite door. Knock,

knock, knock, knock. I fall back asleep.

At 4:30am someone knocks on my bedroom door. Now Im

awake. I get out of bed and walk to the door and unlock it.

"Marcy?" I call into the dark living room.

No answer. I hear something tip over in the next room and

shatter. I grab a bottle of wine from my dresser and when it tips

upside-down it pours on me. I'm too scared to care. I step quietly

into the living room.

There's a man in a filthy coat rummaging through the bar.

"Who the fuck are you?" I yell.

The guy spins around, knocking a tray of rotten

charcuterie to the ground with a crash.

"Hey buddy. You live here?" He asks through a throat of

phlegm.

His beard is matted where a bloody nose left its trail.

306
 Both of his canine teeth are missing. I can see one of his

hands, but the other is in his coat pocket. I raise the bottle.

"You live here?" He asks again, coming closer.

The hand grabs my face and throws me against the wall. I hit

my head and see stars. The other hand comes out of the coat with a

sharpened wire.

"I know you," he says. I can smell his putrid breath and he

gets so close, his beard hairs brush my face.

I try to raise the bottle, but he elbows me in the side and I

drop it. He slams my head against the wall. His eyes keep darting

back to the front door to see if anyone is coming.

"You got cash? he asks, spittle hitting my face, can I have

some?"

An explosion deafens me.

The mans grip loosens and he collapses on top of me,

coughing filth onto my crotch. I scramble out from under him. A

mercurial pool forms beneath him. It shines in the moonlight.

Brandon is watching with a shotgun in his hands.

"I'm going to throw up," he says, and does.

307
 The burglar lets out a banshee wail and curls into a ball,

holding his stomach. I can see the stain forming on his side. His

body convulses and he screams again, his fingers searching the

wound, pinching at the pellets. His lifeblood drains and drains on the

marble floor. Brandon sits down and watches. All we can do is

watch.

"Is it loaded?" I ask.

Brandon doesn't answer. He just watches.

I crawl to him and take the gun.

"Brandon? Is it loaded?"

He shakes his head, holding a red cartridge in his hand. I see

the slot in the side of the gun where the ammunition goes and try to

push the cartridge in, but it doesn't go.

"I need help" I tell him.

"It's over," he says, gesturing to the man.

I see that the burglar has gone still. Cautiously, I shove the

body with my toe. When he doesn't make a noise, I press the barrel

of the shotgun against his wound and push. Theres no response.

"What happens now?" Asks Brandon.

308
 "Get the others."

"I killed him, Fey."

"I know. Get the others."

He follows my order. When he returns, Marcy and Day are

quick on his heel. Day flips the lights on. Now we can see the holes

on the wall where the pellets hit. The man is much younger than I

thought. He's probably in his 30s. His nose is pierced. Day surveys

the scene, walking back and forth in his Abercrombie and Fitch

sweats and thermal long sleeve.

Marcy is in a light blue nightie.

Is he dead? Marcy asks.

Brandon nods.

"What shall we do about this?" Asks Day easily.

Marcy checks her watch, takes three steps to the body and

regards it without expression. Then she squats on the floor near the

blood pool. We wait restlessly for her to talk. Brandon runs his hand

through his hair, half-crazed.

"What's that?" Asks Day, pointing to another pool of fluid.

"I barfed," says Brandon.

309
 "Ah," says Day.

"Hush," says Marcy, and returns to her contemplation. When

she's thought it through, she turns to address us. "Brandon, you're

out."

He starts to speak, but Marcy brings a finger to her lips. He

obeys. "I will call the police now and tell them weve had a robbery.

You, with your violent history, were quick to kill. We can't have a

murderer under our roof. It's bad PR. If we're lucky, and I mean we,

not you, Parisa's fall will be attributed to you. And once you're gone,

your violent behavior will leave with you."

Marcy goes to the bar and gets a piece of cocktail napkin.

She writes something and gives it to Brandon.

"You're buying me out?"

"No," says Marcy, "its the number of a good lawyer."

Brandon rips it up and throws the pieces in her face.

"This is bullshit! He screams, I had to do it. He would have

killed Fey!"

Marcy squints at him. "When did I say you could kill

someone in my house?"

310
 "It was self-defense," yells Brandon, looking to Day and me

for support, "I had to. Tell her, Fey."

"You could have disarmed the man instead of using lethal

force," says Marcy.

Brandon yells louder. "Tell her, Fey! You were being

attacked. He would have hurt you."

Marcy looks to me for an answer. I lower my head and say

nothing.

"Day," she says, "call the police.

Day steps into another room. Brandon moves towards Marcy

and I take him by the arms.

"No, I say, that's not gonna help anything."

He pulls free and spits in my face. "You fucking traitor. I

saved your life!"

Brandon storms out and slams the door behind him.

Marcys expression changes and she touches my cheek. "Are

you alright?"

"I'm fine," I say, squeezing my fists at my side.

311
 She runs her hands down my arms. She unballs my fists and

holds my hands.

"You did the right thing," she says.

Marcy leads me to a chair and sits me down. She kneels and

puts her chin on my knee. "They're going to question you. Tell them

exactly what happened. They'll turn your room into a crime scene.

You can stay in mine from now on."

My voice is weak and shaky. I keep hoping the burglar will

magically get up. "What will happen to Brandon?"

"He won't live to see his trial," she says. "He doesnt have

bail and he'll die in jail."

"Jesus."

"Shh," she coos, petting my knee, "why don't you get some

rest?"

"I slept all god damn day! I snap. I don't need any more

rest."

"How about a drink?" She asks.

I tell her I will have a drink and she goes to the bar, gingerly

stepping over the blood pool, and makes me one.

312
 "They're on their way," Day says, "25 minutes."

"Fine," says Marcy, shaking the martini, just fine.

She tells him that we'll take care of this. Day wishes us a

good night.

The GQ photographer echoes through my thoughts: got a

serial killer in the house?

313
 Chapter 15

The plan went just as Marcy said. Brandon was taken out of

the house in handcuffs. Franky tried to say goodbye, but was held

back by officers. Jen and Casey watched from the front steps. This

was all hearsay. I didnt watch. I stayed in Marcys room.

His trial date was expedited due to his rare circumstance of

having only a month left to live. We watched the report on CNN

each morning of the trial. For such an unknown Iris, Brandons trial

garnered a lot of attention. Whenever they showed clips of him on

the bench, I had to leave the room. He looked so small on camera.

When the plaintiff brought a stool to the bench, the group laughed.

314
 One morning Jen asked, "will he need a booster seat for the

electric chair?"

Brandon didn't have the money to hire Marcys

recommended lawyer. His contract didn't include any photoshoots or

PR events like mine. He'd been living off the Darlings, and when his

time at PS 111 ended, so did his cash flow. The city appointed him a

lawyer. A newly practicing attorney named Carmine Miller. He had

Brandon plead guilty to third degree manslaughter. In the end, he

was given 3 years in prison with a bail set to $2,000,000. Having lost

contact with his parents so many years ago, no one posted his bail.

Hed been kind to the cops in the county jail. They had him

on good behavior. No one considered suicide watch. Thats what the

police chief said after they found him.

In a final defiant message, Brandon broke his promise to

Marcy and hung himself with a towel. It was the night before his

22nd birthday.

I had the weirdest reaction to the news; I felt relieved. The

news report called his death common for the Iris Generation. They

made it sound expected.

315
 I kept the door to his guest room closed, locked, and the

curtains over the French windows drawn. That horrible smell left

with him.

The one thing that did not go according to Marcy's plan was

the PR. The press did not chalk up all the violence to Brandon. They

called him a 'product of the hedonism and debaucherythe values

that fund and run PS 111'.

PS 111 soon became known as The School of the Dead.

Wed see it parallel trend with #Iris. The club became a hotspot for

fans of the macabre.

When the first groupie suicide happened, we thought it was

just a one-off. Then the next two occurred--all women, all with

towels, all in the girl's bathroom.

Marcy had the staff post signs around the school offering

suicide hotline numbers and notes of encouragement. One sign was

posted on the girl's bathroom door:

"Should you kill yourself in our club, the paramedics will

find you with a tennis racket up your ass."

316
 These signs did not deter guests. One guy, fresh off the plane

from Kyoto, flung himself off the roof and onto Parisas steps. He

didn't die that night. It took two more days in the I.C.U. for him to

pass. PS 111 was like Disneyland in that respectif it doesnt

happen on the premises, your death didnt happen here.

One morning at breakfast, Jen showed us a top 10 list where

PS 111 fell under World's Top Suicide Destinations. Of course, there

was the Aokigahara forest and Golden Gate Bridge and then way

down at number 12: The School of the Dead.

"We would have made 11 if that Jap succeeded," I heard

Casey say.

They start toasting and I leave. I hear them laughing all the

way down the hall.

It's December 20th and the theme for the New Year is

mythos. Tonight, once theme gets out, guests start showing up in

togas. As the night progresses, we get more elaborate costumes:

centaurs, nymphs, and demons to name a few.

317
 Girls come as sirens, topless, their faces painted to look like

gaping fanged mouths. Its perfectly legal to be topless in New York.

The men who can pull it off, show up as Hercules or Perseus.

If they don't have the muscles, or the girls don't have the tits,

Al the bouncer kicks them to the curb. Marcy dresses as Athena and

Day as Ares. They even have a chariot, which the staff, god bless

em, pull in horse costumes. Marcy assigned us each a god or

goddess to dress as. No gods are permitted entry.

I am Hermes, messenger of the gods, and I wear ankle wings.

These arent temporary tattoos, these are permanent. My first and

only tattoos.

Casey gets to be Dionysus with a goatskin of wine sloshing

at the hip. Lucky bastard. Franky is Hypnos, Jen is Janus, Stefani is

Demeter.

Frankys little wings bounce when she laughs. I wish we

werent being weird right now. Id tell her how cute she looks. I

wave to her and she waves back.

Maybe things arent weird. Maybe were just drunk.

318
 Parisa, Jin-ho, and Brandon's group shrine gets stomped on

by the crowds of Greek creatures. Parisa's lilies stick to the bottom

of their shoes. We find them all the way in the Moon Room.

Oranges taken from Jin-ho's shrine are peeled and eaten, the

remains scattered throughout the Gold Ballroom. I found a Polaroid

of Brandon in the men's bathroom. It was an old photo of him while

he was living in the commune. It was lodged in a urinal cake. People

had been pissing on it all night.

We gods and goddesses look down on our subjects from the

VIP section. It is to be called Mount Olympus until the first of

January. We drink only wine these nights. Ive relaxed on my no-

alcohol rule. My next photoshoot isnt until the end of January. The

staff was able to find us some stone goblets. Mine is heavy and

makes the wine taste better.

I slip off with Casey to the bathroom. Someone spray painted

a tree on the mirror. It has human eyes for leaves and above it are the

words: "Arbol de Ojos". I don't want to look at it so we go into a

stall. Casey coughs and rubs his nose with the back of his hand.

He says he's gonna go find the girl he was talking to.

319
 Make sure shes 18, I tell him, and do a line, check her

ID. Seriously.

Coke is like the strongest espresso youve ever had. It

overclocks your brain, and for people with the metabolism of a

jackrabbit like me, it's a speedy laxative. This insures that I won't

make any gains in the gym. The laxative takes full effect and I lock

the stall door.

I'm on my phone, checking the Eff It List. Now that the

NewExs are club-only, a new feature shows how far away the poster

is. A NewEx was just posted by a girl 5 feet from me. She must be

on the other side of the wall. The video starts showing the womens

bathroom. Yup, other side of the wall. Then it pans up to show the

postera chubby Asian girl in a toga. She's sitting on the diaper

changing table in the handicap stall. She's saying something, but the

flush of a toilet drowns her out. After a deep breath, she pours a

bottle of pills into her mouth and with some effort, dry swallows.

She opens her mouth to show that it's empty. The video ends.

I run out of the men's and into the women's bathroom. Girls

scream at me, tell me to get out.

320
 This girl at the sink is putting on her makeup and she says

Im in the wrong bathroom. I ignore them and throw open the door

to the handicap stall. It's empty.

"Did you see a girl in here? A big Asian girl?" I ask, out of

breath.

They shake their heads. They look at me like Im crazy.

She was just here. I know she was.

I go to re-watch the video, but it's expired. The poster,

EezyBreezy, is offline.

Outside, I find Franky chatting up her date, "INTPs are all

logic, but it's the right kind of logic, hon. When we colonize Mars,

it'll be the INTPs that pave the way. No one on earth thinks like an

INTP."

"I like your accent," says her date with a plush dog head on

each shoulder.

Franky blushes and pats one of his Cerberus dogs, "cute and

sweet. Y'all know what your personality type is?" He says that he

doesn't and Franky pulls out her phone. Got thirty minutes to

spare?

321
 I want to tell Franky what Ive seen, but I decide to let her be.

She doesnt need more bad news from me.

Casey found the girl he was talking to before. They're up

near the DJ, making out.

"Why the long face?" Marcy asks, coming out of the crowd.

"Everythings fine," I tell her.

I know what shes asking. She's asking if I'm gonna look

crazy in pictures tonight. But I've got my pose down. Jaw clenched,

lips slightly apart, distant look. This makes the perfect pose. I put the

Asian girl out of my mind and drink my wine. It didnt happen. Just

bad coke.

Right on cue, a paparazzi circles the VIP area.

Flash, flash, flash.

He's escorted out by the staff. A scrawny Hercules tries to

jump the velvet rope and catches his toe, face-planting into Jen's

table. By the time Jen notices what's happened, Hercules has already

been kicked out. She must have taken her Vicodin shake because

she's a happy floaty sugar bubble with the response time of a sloth.

"Woo... hoo..." she slurs minutes after it happened.

322
 Stefani has taken her own Vicodin shake. Her head's in Jen's

lap and she's watching the lights sparkle on the ceiling, talking to no

one. Seeing this tickles me and I chuckle to myself. I look around to

see if anyone else finds this funny, but no one seems to notice.

Brandon would have.

Marcy is having an intense conversation with Day about the

quality of tonight's h'orderves and I leave them to it.

Up the spiral staircase, through the hall, to The Club I go,

wandering down another flight of stairs into The Dungeon. The

games are all on free play except for the claw machine. I save my

dollars and play when I have time. It's filled with Marcy's favorite

Beanie Babies. She collected them as a child.

There's a fox and the Princess Diana bear. A ghost, two

different monkeys, a golden retriever, and a dragon. They make me

think of childhood. My brother had some.

I've wasted so many friggin dollars on this machine and

never won anything. I like The Dungeon because its usually empty,

save for a few wallflowers.

323
 Neo-goth kids or rollers or guests who forgot to bring alcohol

come down here. They'll play a few games of Time Crisis and leave.

Brandon and I would come down here sometimes. He liked House of

the Dead 3 because its co-op. Marcy had that machine taken out

after PS 111 got its nickname.

Upstairs, Marcy and Day plan PS 111's next move. Casey

works on tonight's hookup. Jen and Stefani surrender to their slothy

love coma. Franky is eagerly awaiting a personality tests results.

Across the ocean, John spits into a cup to get the excess

water out before the natty bodybuilder competition.

Brandon and Jin-ho and Parisa are gone, along with the

countless Iris around the world who have died by natural causes or

suicide. And the youngest of the bunch, the guy with the most time

left, wanders an empty arcade in the most popular club in

Manhattan.

I use my last dollar on the claw machine. It lowers over a

smiling ghost and closes. For a moment, the ghost is suspended in

air, then the claw loosens and the toy drops.

324
 I step back and kick the glass. Nothing happens so I kick it

again and again until a spider web crack forms. One more kick

shatters it. An alarm wails and I reach in, snagging my elbow on a

jagged edge, and grab as many Beanie Babies as my bleeding arms

can hold.

325
 Chapter 16

We lay beneath the stars and snow and patio heaters. The

club is alive, bumping two floors below us. Its either Tuesday or

Thursday but definitely not Wednesday. Wednesday I have boxing

with Pete. That didnt happen today.

Marcy had the roof closed off tonight just for the Irises. It's

Stefani's turn to ask, "truth or dare?"

"Truth," I say.

She doesn't have to think of her question. "What do you

consider 'making it'?"

326
 I was asked the same question in my freshman 'Intro to

University' course. Our teacher, Mr. Cromwell, was a defeated

looking Russian ex-pat. He wore elbow pads and smoked on the

classroom steps. We went in a circle, answering ice breaker

questions: "name, major, and, what do you consider making it?"

I had the feeling Cromwell had once answered this question

himself, but since abandoned the dream. He rubbed his patchy beard,

waiting for my answer. Mind you, this was before I knew Irises died

at 22. I thought I had a good sixty years to 'make it'.

"A girl that makes me want to be better for her."

"Use the question in the answer," interrupted Cromwell.

"Making it, for me, means having a girl who makes me earn

her. Then, I guess, a job that's challenging, but also something I love

to do. And a kid. Two kids who are the best in their class. I guess I

want to always feel like I'm two steps away from my goals."

Cromwell studied the beard oil on his fingers. "And what's

your name and major?"

"Oh, right," I said, "Fey Davis. Poli-sci."

327
 "Well?" asks Stefani.

Im back on the roof. A light snow falls, sizzling on the patio

heaters.

"I want to be remembered," I say.

I'm up at 4:00am the next morning. I silence my alarm,

careful not to wake Marcy up. Im in her guest room, but shes a

light sleeper. My new morning routine begins at 4. I go back to my

suite to shower, shave, and put on my workout clothes. Im not

sleeping there until we get an industrial cleanup crew to get the

blood off the floor.

I drink my pre-workout and usually eat an English muffin or

some plane oatmeal. At 5:30 I jog the two blocks to my gym. Today

is cardio and shoulders. I started going earlier to avoid the coffee and

cigarette that comes when I walk with Stefani.

She leaves at 6:30 when shes visiting her lit agent.

The cigarette ruins my lung capacity and I've all but quit

them, save for the occasional drunken night.

328
 It's still dark when I get to the gym, and after the workout

when I've showered and changed, it's light outside. The smell of the

winter cold covers up the dumpster juice stench of the street.

I read a chapter of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People on

the train to my speech coachs office. Today were working on

difficult conversations. Then he'll try to talk me into getting 6 Sigma

certified, but I don't see the point.

After our class, he gives me more books. How to Win

Friends & Influence People is the only one Ive heard of. The others

are Thinking Fast and Slow, Pitch Anything, The Boron Letters, and

The Entrepreneur's Guide to Getting Your Shit Together. He has to

give me a canvas bag to carry them.

Before I leave, he says, "and take this. Put it on your desk."

It's an iron paperweight engraved with the quote:

"If you die today what ideas, what dreams, what abilities,

what talents, what gifts, would die with you? Les Brown"

I thank him and he tells me to have 7 Habits finished by next

week.

And start Pitch Anything if you finish them, he adds.

329
 Marcy is out on business for the weekend. Shes in Kansas

City but I cant remember why. I log onto Skype to see if shes

online. When shes back in her room well video chat. She likes to

talk about the networking and investments and backers. Whos

invested in the app, whos bought stock in the company.

I dont understand the financial stuff, but I like to watch her

talk. Funny, we talk more while shes away than when shes a room

across from me.

Shes been offline for 12 hours.

I see a new friend request from someone named Allen. Hes

sent this long message:

Dear Fey,

Ive been trying to get in touch with you. My name is Allen

Harvey and Im getting my PHD with the UCLA medical

department. Im a research assistant under Dr. Devon Russell. I

believe you already know of him. My thesis project is finding a cure

for the Iris genetic disorder.

330
 Im contacting you because Id (hypothetically) have the

most time with you. He asked me to reach out personally.

Please contact me at your soonest convenience.

Allen Harvey, M.S.

I accept his friend request and receive a message:

Allen: Fey? Hello, this is Allen.

Fey: Hi Allen.

Allen: Thank you for adding me. Did you receive my

message?

Fey: Yup. All 30 missed calls. Thanks for that.

Allen: Im sorry, Fey. I wouldnt have called so many times

if time wasnt such a fleeting resource. Can I video call you? All of

this will be hard to type.

When his video feed loads, I see hes an Indian man with salt

and pepper hair thats parted on the left side. He must be in his 40s.

Hes wearing a blue shirt with no tie.

Hello Fey, he says with a broad smile.

Hello.

331
 Hes sitting in a cafeteria. People in lab coats walk by

holding food trays.

I have someone here who would like to meet you, he says,

is that alright?

Sure, I say.

He turns the laptop to face Dr. Devon. I recognize him from

the Dr. Frankenstein mural in the hall upstairs. His eyes are faintly

cloudy and his expression makes me think hes never smiled in his

life.

Fey, Im Devon Russel. Its a pleasure to talk to you.

Ive heard about you, I tell him. We all have.

He takes a bite of orange chicken. Excuse me for eating, but

we have a short lunch today. I understand you are the youngest Iris.

Ive never heard someone say the word Iris quite like he

does. Its sterile when he says it. I imagine the word holds a different

meaning for him. Its not a word that holds the connotation of a fatal

disease; it was the name of his little girl.

I am, I say.

332
 And how much time do you have left? We estimated four

months.

Something like that. Theres a site with countdown timers if

you want to check.

I type 22club.org into the message window and when they

click it, I see his serious expression grow sullen.

You made this? asks Dr. Devon.

We found out about it a couple weeks ago. The work of a

fan.

I see, he says, and I see him lean in to the screen to read.

He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. Thank

you, Fey. This will help us. Now, I understand Allen prepped you on

the experiment?

He told me the gist, but I havent accepted the offer.

Ah, says Dr. Devon, and why not?

I dont know that I want to spend my last four months in a

lab.

That is the risk, he says, but you must understand the

potential reward.

333
 The cure? I ask.

Correct.

Let me get this straight, I say, I spend my last months

being your lab rat, and if you find a cure, I get to live the rest of my

life. But who else does it benefit? There are no more Irises after me.

Whos to say there arent? Asks Dr. Devon.

I think wed know about them.

There hadnt been an outbreak of smallpox since 1921, Dr.

Devon says, matter-of-factly, but that resurfaced in 2010.

Its different, isnt it? I have a genetic disorder. Smallpox is

a virus.

Hes quick, Dr. Devon says to Allen. Our current research

has hinted that the Iris disease is not purely genetic, but a genetic

mutation caused by a virus. A DNA virus has DNA as its genetic

material. It replicates using a DNA-dependent polymerase. Herpes is

a good example of this. There are eight forms of the Herpes virus

and one of them is smallpox. I believe the ninth is the Iris disease.

How would you treat it? I ask.

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 If we target the mutated DNA that affects the blood vessels

of your brain, we may be able to stave off the time bomb. We have

theories, but nothing concrete. Thats what wed need your help

with.

The aneurysm?

Yes, he says.

How long do I have to decide?

We need as much time as we can get with you. Id like your

decision by the end of the week. If we cant get your help, we need

to focus our attention on contacting the next youngest Iris, he

pauses, reading 22club, though, I dont believe Marceline Darling

will help.

No, I tell him, I think youre right about that.

Think it over and call Allen with your answer. Well keep

this Skype account online until we hear from you. Call any time.

Day or night.

I tell him I will and the call ends.

I go to my bar and make a cocktail. Lemon juice and vodka.

Ive run out of other mixers.

335
 I take off my shoes and put my feet in the Jacuzzi. Its

glowing red and the water looks too inviting. I missed this Jacuzzi.

I start to get undressed when I see Ive left the light on in the

guest room. The smell hits me when I enter. That pungent, awful

smell that left when Brendon died. Its back now and even stronger

than before. I go to shut the light off, and a voice startles me.

Please dont.

I jump and hit my head on the doorframe. My fingers shoot

to the throbbing pain. Brandon sits before me, alive and well on the

bed.

He's wearing pinstriped pajamas and no shoes. Theres a dark

yellow imprint around his neck. Hes looking through the courtyard

window, watching the tree.

I wait for my heart to slow down. I take deep breaths. The

smell begs me to wretch.

"Brandon I stutter, I heard..."

His short legs dangle over the side of the bed, kicking up and

down. I shut my eyes from the pain in my head.

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 When I open them, he's gone. The smell is gone and the light

is off. I check the lamp's bulb and its cool to the touch.

I stumble, shaking to the Jacuzzi and sit on the edge.

That settles it: Ive lost my mind.

My head feels heavy and I drink the cocktail in two gulps and

dial Marcy.

She answers on the second ring. Always on the second ring.

Im tied up at the moment, Fey.

Will you be back at school on Monday?

Yes, she says, whats wrong? You sound weird.

Im taking you out.

Pause.

You there?

Pause.

Out?

On a date, I tell her.

Is that right? She asks. I cant tell if she sounds surprised

or annoyed.

Wear flats, I tell her.

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She laughs. And what else?

Comfortable clothes.

Be reasonable, she says.

7pm. Dont be late, I tell her and hang up.

338
 Chapter 17

Tonight, were ghosting the town.

Can I shower first? Marcy asks.

Marcys in one of her famous travel outfits, fresh from the

airport. Shes wearing a ruffle-sleeve pale white dress with a black

ribbon belt and pink Louboutin pumps. Her bag, I think, is Michael

Kors.

I check my watch, can you be ready in an hour?

She waits for an explanation but I give her none.

Yes, she says lightly, I believe I can. Comfortable clothes,

you said? Could you define comfortable?

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 Dress like a normal 21-year-old, non-celeb.

I dont like that word, Marcy says.

Dress like a normie.

Where are you taking me on this date?

I tap my watch, youll find out in an hour.

She puts a hand on her hip and watches me leave.

It feels weird wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I had to go to H&M

to get a non-designer shirt for this date. I picked up some slip-on

Vans too, despite the cringe factor. Marcys ready in 45 minutes. Im

waiting in the hall for her and when she steps out, she looks

embarrassed. Shes in flats, yoga pants, and a Forever 21 tank with

the sparkly words Oui, Oui, Oui in sequins.

I dont often say this, but I do not like my outfit right now,

Marcy says.

Its perfect, I tell her.

Perfect for what?

Ill show you.

Outside its snowing and Marcy goes to call Mark, but I tell

her were taking a cab.

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 Strike two, she mutters.

On the street, she spots a paparazzi and tells me to make this

quick. He snaps our photo as I hail a cab. I flip him off and he gets

that too.

Dont humor them, Marcy tells me.

Where to? Asks the driver.

I give him the address and Marcy asks why were going to

Chelsea.

Were doing something different.

She lets out a breath, youre all sorts of surprises.

Were let out at Kilkenny Pub. Marcy eyes the street. No

paparazzi, no fans. She sees the pub and shakes her head, no can

do.

Just wait till you see the inside, I tell her.

Why are we here?

I take her by the hand and we go inside. Its stuffy and smells

like beer carpet. Marcy is not impressed. We get a sticky high-top

near the shuffleboard.

Ill ask again, she says impatiently.

341
 The waitress interrupts us. Shes wearing Kilkenny Pubs

black and green shirt with the pubs logo and Slinte on the back.

What can I get you guys?

A pint of Guinness for me. Do you have shepherds pie?

Yeah, says the waitress, writing it down, and for you?

I havent had a chance to look at the menu, says Marcy

through gritted teeth.

The waitress takes one from the table next to us. Take your

time.

Theyre playing Dropkick Murphys and Marcy studies the

menu. When the waitress returns, she orders a Pinot Gris with a side

of fresh fruit.

Were out of Pinot Gris, says the waitress.

Sauvignon Blanc then, says Marcy.

Weve got Chardonnay.

Fine, says Marcy

When the waitress leaves, Marcy folds her hands on the

table. This is your idea of a date?

I check my watch. You dont know why were here yet.

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 No, she admits, I certainly dont.

Our drinks come and I take a big gulp of my beer and Marcy

checks the glasss cleanliness.

She tries the Chardonnay and purses her lips. Warm, she

says, just how I like it.

At 8:30, right on the dot, a voice comes through the

microphone, whos ready for pub trivia?

Marcy gives me a look of disbelief, pub trivia?

You excited?

She drinks her warm wine.

I figure you get taken to a lot of nice restaurants. 5 star,

quadruple dollar sign, Michelin star places.

Marcy raises an eyebrow. Oh yeah?

Yeah, I say, and then those guys probably take you on a

diamond-lined yacht to Dubai.

All on the same date?

All on the same date. And, since Im broke

Christine is working on that, Marcy says quickly.

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 The hell with Christine. Since Im broke, Im taking you

somewhere different. Something youd look back on and say,

remember that guy who took me to trivia night in a shitty pub?

Fuck that guy.

Ill admit, says Marcy, you got the last part right.

I didnt get your usual dates, right?

I dont usually date.

You dont date at all?

When I do its for business, she says, and Im usually the

one trying to win their approval.

I cant imagine you fighting for someones approval.

Sweet of you, she says and drinks her Chardonnay. Now

then, if Im going to take part in your stupid pub trivia, lets at least

make it interesting. Fancy a wager?

Depends on the wager.

No, she says, sucking her teeth, hold on, this is rancid.

She goes to the bar and immediately gets served. The perks

of being beautiful.

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 She returns with a vodka soda in hand. She drinks it and

grimaces a little less, at least its strong. Right then, as I started

saying, no you cannot hear the wager before you agree to it. Its all

or nothing.

Then I agree.

If I win, Franky leaves PS 111.

Im surprised by her name. Franky?

Her Eff It List account will be deleted, her followers will be

dissolved, and her contract voided. Shell be blacklisted from PS

111.

She sips her drink.

Why Franky?

Because thats the deal.

Okay And if I win?

You get to take me on a real date. Not diamond-lined yacht,

or whatever. I want a well-planned, elegant New York City date.

And I will have a chat with Christine about your bank account in the

meantime.

345
 Well, I say, taking another big gulp of beer, Id better not

lose.

She finishes her drink and smiles at the bartender who starts

to make her another.

You will, she says.

Tonights category is movies, says the announcer, fill out

your group cards and leave them with me. Game starts in five

minutes.

Im relieved to hear the questions will be about movies.

Growing up, my grandma would take Will and me to see a movie

every weekend. She didnt skip a weekend until she died when I was

13. After Will passed, I continued seeing a movie every weekend. I

did it all the way up until I left for New York.

My team name is Fey Beats Marcy and Marcys team name

is Bye Bye Birdy. When she drops her card on the announcers

table, she waves to me and mouths bye bye Franky.

On the way back to the table, she picks up her drink and the

bartender says something, touching her hand. Drinks on him.

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 Marcy smiles her patented smile and I see him melt just like

everyone else. Sucker.

Question 1: What Kurosawa film did Lucas pay homage to

in A New Hope?

Easy. Hidden Fortress. I write my answer down and cover the

card with my hand. Theres no way in hell Marcy knows that. She

writes her answer and eyes my card.

No cheating, I tell her.

She finishes writing and folds her hands on the table.

Question 2: What was the size of the special lens made for

Omar Sharifs entrance shot in Lawrence of Arabia?

Oh come on. I close my eyes and try to picture the scene.

Omar Sharif rides his camel through the waves of desert heat. Its a

massive wide-angle shotbut whats the lens size? Who the fuck

knows that?

347
 Marcy scribbles down her answer and folds her hands.

Theres no way you knew that, I whisper, lemme see.

No cheating, she says.

I write 70mm and erase it. It has to be bigger. A custom

lens. 250mm?

There are twenty questions in all and when I turn in my sheet

I feel pretty good about it. That lens, though. Damn thats an unfair

question.

I get another beer and Marcy gets her fruit and doesnt eat it.

My shepherd pie has gone cold and I pick at it and eat her fruit

instead. The scores are tallied and the top three winners are

announced. When I come in first, Marcy folds her arms and I breathe

a sigh of relief. Franky already hates me. At least I wont be the

reason she loses her job and home.

I collect my winningsa $25 gift certificate to Kilkenny

Pub. All the four pints I can drink. I wave the certificate in Marcys

face and she snatches it and drops it in my beer.

You mad? I ask, beaming.

I dont have to enjoy the date, she says.

348
 I dont care if you do.

Good because I wont.

I hope you hate it, I tell her.

Youre abominable. Take me home.

Not a chance.

The cab lets us off at LArte del Gelato. I order three scoops:

fragola, caffe, and biscotti in a cone. Marcy gets amaretto and

liquirizia.

Want to try mine? I ask.

Not after you slobbered all over it, she says, carving a

scoop with her little green spoon, would you like some of mine?

No, you got the grossest flavors. You have the palette of 90

year old woman.

Thank you, she says, sucking on the spoon.

Not a compliment.

She slides forward in her chair, everything you say is a

compliment.

Bullshit.

349
 I havent heard you say one nasty thing to me since you

showed up on my doorstep.

I think for a moment, licking the biscotti before it drips.

Youre jealous I say.

Her demeanor shifts, of?

Franky. You made that bet because youre jealous.

She puts her spoon back in the cup and sets it firmly on the

table, lets make this clear: I am not, nor have I ever been jealous of

someone so destructible. I made the bet because she adds nothing to

PS 111. Her Eff It List content is contrived. Her followers are scarce.

She is a do-good, try little, unimpressive hick, and Id rather it were

her dead on the steps than Parisa.

Marcy continues to eat the amaretto gelato.

I smile into my cone. Youre jealous.

She rolls her eyes. Is this date over yet?

Not yet. We have one more stop.

Marcy shivers as we step out of the cab and onto the

walkway of the Brooklyn bridge. She wants to know why were here

and I dont blame her.

350
 Its freezing and a light snow covers the wooden planks of

the bridge. The benches are icy and far down below, the water is

black and still.

The bridge lights are blue and in the distance the city

sparkles. Manhattan on one side of us, Brooklyn on the other. Marcy

is not impressed by the sight. She has her scarf pulled up above her

nose and all I can see are her eyes which are scowling.

Come on, I say, taking her by the hand.

You have five minutes, Marcy says.

I take her to the middle of the bridge and stop at the guard

rail. The railing sags with the weight of lovers locks. All different

sizes and colors of marker and paint. Some are bicycle locks. All of

them have names, some have hearts. One has a swastika. Marcy

pulls her hand away and folds her arms, unimpressed.

Are those supposed to be charming? She asks.

Youre not charmed?

Not even slightly.

Open your hand, I tell her.

She rolls her eyes and holds a gloved hand out.

351
 I place the lock in her palm. She looks at it like Ive given

her a dead mouse. Then her eyes widen as she reads what Ive

written on it: F & M.

What

Have you been to Paris?

She nods.

Well, I havent. A couple months ago, I decided Id travel

abroad with my remaining time. But I chose to stay here with you

instead. Theres a bridge in Paris called the Pont des Arts.

I know, Marcy says hesitantly.

Then youre familiar with the symbolism of the locks. If

you put a lock on the bridge and throw the key away. That means

your bond will be unbreakable no matter what happens.

The city removes these, Marcy says, nudging a cluster of

locks, they weigh too much and break the bridge. And the fish

choke on the keys.

To hell with the fish.

She paces, searching the railing. There isnt any room for

the lock.

352
 You have to find room.

Marcy blows her breath out in a plume of steam.

The longer you take the less toes well have by the time we

get home, I tell her.

She takes a knee and moves a heavy padlock to the side.

Then she slides the lock onto the railing. Now what?

Lock it.

It doesnt mean anything between us if I do.

Doesnt matter, I say, you still have to lock it.

She rolls her eyes. Click.

Now throw this into the river, I tell her, holding out the

key.

Marcy gets to her feet.

Im done. Take me home, she says.

Were not going anywhere until you throw it in the river.

She snatches the key and raises it above her head, but stops.

You know, she says, I dont think I will throw it.

She pockets the key.

Thats not how this works.

353
 I dont care how it works. I reserve the right to come back

and unlock the damn thing. Now take me home.

354
 Chapter 18

Its still dark when I get to the gym. My Wednesday trainer,

Pete, is stretching in the mini boxing ring. Hes the only Mexican

guy I know in Manhattan, though most people think hes Puerto

Rican. Petes slightly shorter than me with a thinner build. He

doesnt look like he can fight, but he holds the Golden Glove

championship title.

Morning, Pete.

Howd you do last night? He asks.

Couple drinks.

Beer?

Yeah, I admit.

355
 Youll feel that today, he says.

I know.

He throws me the gloves and I get the wraps from my bag.

The right hand firststart with the thumb loop, wrap the wrist, wrap

the index finger, ball your fist, wrap the wrist, middle finger, ball,

wrist, ring, ball, wrist, pinky, ball, knuckles, knuckles, knuckles,

wrist, Velcro. Repeat for the left. Not too tight. Glad I washed them.

If you dont wash them, youll smell up the gym.

Step each time you jab, says Pete, demonstrating the

movement. His jab is effortless. I covet his jab. And loosen up.

Have you been shadow boxing?

Yeah.

Our class starts out with lateralslow, squatting steps in a

tight circle around the ring, to the right, then left, as instructed. My

quads are stronger than they were when I first started training with

Pete.

After laterals we move into footworkright foot back, knee

bent, left foot forward 40/60 weight distribution, neither heel

touching the mat. Up. Back. Left, pivot. Right, pivot.

356
 Squat down, says Pete, lower. Theyll knock you down.

Pete slides his mitts on. He parts the ropes and gets into the

ring. He tells me to throw a one-two. This is a boxers bread and

butter. Jab, straight. One-two. One-two. Faster. Keep your hands up.

I always drop them, I say to myself.

Yup, Pete agrees, guard up.

One-two, one-two. Bring that left back when you use it, I tell

myself, dont drop your guard.

When I drop my guard, Pete jabs with in the nose with the

mitt-not hard enough to break it, but strong enough to make my nose

run and remind me how bad it could be if it were real.

The ring bell sounds. Its my favorite noise besides the

wonderful snap of the glove connecting with the center of the mitt

a perfectly thrown punch. Pete replaces the mitts with gloveshis

glovesbright blue, Pro Boxing gloves used to lay down the 14

KOs in his careerthe gloves that made him the Golden Glove

champion.

Ready to move around? He asks.

Yeah.

357
 I get the sparring helmet from my bag and pop the

mouthpiece in. Im glad I cleaned it. Im getting better at breathing

through my nose during these sparring matches, but its still running

from the reminder jab. The ring bell sounds and we touch gloves.

Petes posture changes and all at once hes no longer my trainer; hes

my opponent. He looks at my chest, keeping my hands in his

periphery. His feet move quickly and he jabs me again in the nose.

Keep your guard up god dammit.

Right glove to my right cheekbone, left glove to my left

cheekbone.

Stop waiting for me to attack, says Pete, never wait. Be

aggressive. Always hit first.

I come at him with my bread and butter, throwing a jab and a

straight. He goes under the straight and knocks me on the chin, or

button.

Twist that hip, says Pete, throw that straight like youre

swinging a bat.

I throw it again, twisting the hip, pivoting my right foot.

Good, says Pete.

358
 Good, but not great.

My jab connects with his chin.

Sorry I say.

My stupid natural reaction to hitting him. Apologizing for

hitting my opponent in the ring. Stupid.

Relax, he says and comes out with a jab, another jab,

driving me back. I lean to the right and he hits me above the right

eye.

Dont lean. Look at me. Always look at me.

I will. I will look at you.

The ring bell sounds and he socks my shoulder. Good.

Marcy is sitting on the guest bed when I get back. Shes got

on a Burberry trench and boots.

How bout that date? She says.

Can I shower first?

Shower at my place, she says, we must be on our way.

I wipe off my face and drop my gym bag in the closet. Let

me pack some clothes.

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 She checks her watch, you have two minutes before Mark

arrives.

God, so pushy, I say, pulling the how-to-dress agency

cheat cards from my top drawer. Im surprised youre still here.

Didnt you know its Christmas?

None of my colleagues are working today, she says matter-

of-factly.

Sure you just didnt want to spend it with me?

Ha, she barks without a hint of a smile, I can think of

much better company.

I open both of the closet doors, check the wardrobe, look

under the bed. And where are they?

At home, says Marcy, with their families.

Looks like youre stuck with me then.

And you with me.

Mark takes us to Marcys secret penthouse. Its a three-

bedroom apartment in the upper west side. The place is called The

Matinee.

360
 Its an exquisite old building. The doorman greets Marcy and

says he needs to take a picture of me. Its just protocol.

He snaps my picture and tells me Im good to go. We pass

the two main elevators and take a smaller elevator that goes to the

penthouses. The apartment is cozy inside. Light wooden floors and

West Elm furniture. A large balcony with lounge chairs and

gargoyles. A spare room for guests and an office which is littered

with papers.

Marcy quickly shuts the door to the office and apologizes for

the state of it, this is where I work she says.

She gives me a tour. First is the master: its bed is so large, it

nearly touches all four walls. Next is the guest room: a small,

childrens bed is made perfectly, the sheets tucked under the

mattress. A quilt with daffodils sits folded at the edge of the bed. An

array of stuffed animals lay on the pillow.

Marcy takes a rabbit from the bed and brushes the floppy

ears from its face. I had this put in before I knew we couldnt have

babies.

She returns the rabbit to its spot on the bed.

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 Will this be my room? I ask.

Certainly not.

I didnt see another guest room.

There is a couch, she says coyly.

I have a bad back.

Funny, she says, leading me out to the living room, your

back was fine when you took my virginity.

Thats true, I say, but I do hate sleeping alone.

Youve managed so far, she says from the kitchen. How

about a glass of wine on the terrace?

Its raining, but we dont care. We take our Arbois

Chardonnay to the balcony and sit by the gargoyles and drink our

wine as the rain sprinkles us. She looks beautiful out here,

silhouetted by the city lights. Her eyes are bluer when its cloudy.

Can I tell you something? I ask.

She nods and I unload. I tell her everything. I tell her about

the guilt I still feel for Brandon. I tell her about seeing his ghost. I

tell her about the call with Doctor Devon. All the while, she listens

patiently, drinking her wine.

362
 When Ive finished she says, lets go in. Its quite wet.

We get out of our wet clothes and into bathrobes. Im happy

the radiators on. We pull the couch over and warm ourselves.

Why did you tell me that? She asks.

Im not sure. I just needed to tell someone.

And that someone had to be me?

I trust you.

She drinks her wine.

That guilt you feels just natural, Fey. Youre a good person

and he wasnt. Bad people take advantage of good people. If you

could do it all again, would you let him get away with murder?

It was self-defense, I say.

Self-defense is calling the police. Self-defense is disarming

an assailant. He acted impulsively, and might I add, under the

influence. He murdered a man in my house. Should he get away with

that?

I guess not.

You guess right. And Doctor Devon. What about him?

I wanted your opinion.

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 Youve weighed the pros and cons, havent you?

I have.

Then what is there to talk about, Fey?

I scratch my head, I wanted to ask if youd I try to find

the words, come with me.

The radiator hums. Marcy twirls the robes sash between her

fingers. Why would I do that?

We can live full lives, I say.

How is this not more obvious to her?

Ill think about it, she tells me.

I kinda have to let him know tonight, I say.

On Christmas?

Sorry.

Ah, says Marcy, checking her watch, then Ill decide

now.

She clicks her tongue and searches the ceiling for an answer.

After a moment, she says: Ill go with you.

Yeah? I say, not fighting the smile.

364
 This isnt the first cure theyve come up with, Fey. You

know that, dont you?

I knew they tried, but this one sounds legit.

Devon does have impressive pedigree, she admits.

Arent you excited at the idea of living a full life? Havent

you thought about it?

What Iris hasnt? I, however, am a realist, and when

something sounds too good to be true

It usually is.

She touches her nose.

Can I ask you something?

Yes, she says.

And you dont have to answer if you dont want to.

Ask.

Why arent you spending Christmas with your family?

She runs her palm along the length of the arm rest. Ill tell

you if you tell me.

Were not on good terms, I say.

Ill have to steal your answer.

365
 Why arent you on good terms?

There are two things I never talk about, Fey. My family is

one of them.

Whats the other one?

Failed investments, she says, then changes the topic, can I

ask you something personal?

Of course.

Why did your parents shelter you from, she gestures to the

city outside, this?

I warm my hands over the radiator. They knew Id have too

much fun.

She smiles. Really though.

I dont think they wanted it all to go to my head. They

wanted me to live a normal life or something.

Marcy scoffs, a normal life? What a prison sentence. They

wanted you to get a job, have babies, settle down, all of that?

Before they knew what happened to Irises, yeah. And before

you, I was on that path.

366
 It wasnt my doing, says Marcy, youre the one who

came.

I came for you.

She nods, but no one forced you to live at PS 111. You

alone decided to be with strangers in a foreign city for the rest of

your life. Normal people dont do that.

Well, what made you do it? I ask.

Do what?

I gesture to the city outside, this thing you created.

I didnt make Manhattan.

You know what I mean.

Marcy sits back in her chair and thinks. Im unsure if shes

considering her answer or whether Im worthy to hear it.

Have you always been like this? I ask, breaking the silence.

Like what?

So determined to live each day like its our last, I say,

using her words.

Dont patronize me, Fey.

Im not. I really want to know.

367
 Hmm, she says, tracing something on the arm rest. I

suppose I should tell someone, she says to herself. She moves a

strand of hair from her face. Refill my glass and Ill tell you.

I refill our glasses.

Before all of this, Marcy begins, before this big life, I had

a little life. I wasnt Marcy, I was Em. Em from Montgomery. Do

you know where that is?

I tell her that I dont.

Its in upstate New York. In the Hudson Valley. Just a main

street. We lived on Walkill Street, she says, sighing. It was good

until my father brought me to the city and started my modeling

career. My childhood stopped then. For a lot of reasons.

I dont ask what the reasons are. She drinks her wine, still

tracing shapes on the arm rest.

My grandma and I had a tradition where wed go to the

Village Luncheonette. It was the only place for breakfast, besides the

creamery, but the lines were too long there. Anyway, that was our

tradition. Just us. No Day. Just Edie and Em.

368
 Not knowing what to say, I tell her that it sounds special and

she smiles.

This is a different smile. Not her photo smile, but a wider,

natural smile that shows too much gum and crinkles her face. This

would never be shown in public.

Shes back with Edie.

The last time we did it, Edie had really big news. My nanny

said Edie was coming, as usual. Theyd just gotten off the phone and

Meredith, that was my nanny, said Grandma Edie sounded excited.

And when Edit picked me up, she wouldnt tell me what it was and

made me keep guessing. I just guessed all the presents I thought

shed gotten me. Silly. Finally, I managed to get it out of her by

holding my breath. I could do it until I passed out. It was a really

great method of getting my way. I still can do it.

Can I see?

Maybe later, she smiles again, but its the usual affected

smile. Okay, long story short. Edie was going on a trip for the first

time in her life.

369
 She was 81 and going to Cairo because she had been an

anthropology professor for countless years and had been obsessed

with the Egyptian history.

Marcy takes a breath after the long explanation and

continues. It had always been a someday trip, but now it was a

now trip. Thats how she explained it. I told her Id send her a

postcard, but she didnt want to figure out the Egyptian post. So I

took a placemat and wrote the postcard there in the luncheonette and

folded it and told her not to read it until she was in Egypt. In front of

a pyramid. She promised she wouldnt.

Marcy lapses into silence and I clear my throat. She takes

another drink.

When we finished breakfast, Grandma Edie went to the

bathroom and never came back.

What do you mean? I ask.

She had a heart attack. Died on the bathroom floor.

I touch Marcys hand and she stops tracing. Theres silence

again as I search for the right thing to say.

I still have it, Marcy says, its the only thing I kept.

370
 She finishes her glass, one finger in the air, and sets the

empty glass on the radiator. Then she hops over the back of the chair

and goes to her office.

I hear a safe open and close. When she returns she has a

crudely folded piece of paper, torn at the corners and stained. She

carefully unfolds it and hands it to me. I take it and lay it out on my

lap.

Grandma Edie,

What is Egypt like? Are you having fun? I miss you very,

very much. Bring back a mummy please? Just kidding that is cruel.

The pyramids are 4,000 years old. Do they smell?

I think you are my best friend. I hope you are having fun.

Love,

Em

P.S. Tell me everything when you come back okay?

I carefully fold the placemat and give it back to her.

Marce I say.

371
 She takes it. Youre the first person whos read it.

Im sorry.

Her expression changes back to the Marcy I know. Removed

and emotionless. Were not doing that. Thats not why I showed

you.

Im the first? What about Day?

The conversation is over. We dont need to talk about it if

she doesnt want to. But I want to talk about it. This is the most Ive

learned about her past. I cant picture Marcy as a child. I cant see

her smiling up at her grandma across the luncheonette table. When I

look at Marcy I see a fully-formed adult: confident, determined,

infallible. How ridiculous. Of course she had a childhood.

Marcy tells me shes going to get ready for the store. She

walks barefoot to the bathroom.

At what point did she become this goddess? Stop it. Shes not

a goddess. Shes a person. Shes a retired model.

Shes popular, sure. Loved by many. But she still has

emotions. She still breaks down and drinks too much sometimes and

lets her hair down. She isnt perfect.

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 There is no perfect. She has a conscience. Doesnt she?

The thought makes me shiver. She isnt perfect. I say it again

in my head. What would Marcy say if I confessed that I thought she

was? Shed say thats on me. She never claimed to be perfect. Just

because I want to worship someone doesnt make them a goddess.

Does it make her a false idol? Do I ignore her crimes?

Enough of this. I decide not to think about it for the rest of

the night. I put a period on that train of thought and go to the kitchen

to wash my glass and plan dinner.

We walk to Zabars Deli and Marcy picks out chicken and

asparagus, lemon and baby spinach, fresh Granny Smith apples and

orange blossom olive oil. The manager knows her and he lets us go

to the front of the line, despite the angry remarks of the upper west

siders. Back at her apartment, she cooks for me. We finish the bottle

of wine and Im sent on a mission to go find another couple bottles.

Down the street is a specialty wine store. Its weird for me,

coming from California where everyone is a wino and good, cheap

wine can be found at the gnarliest of gas stations. In New York, wine

is a specialty item.

373
 If it isnt Chateau Diana, youll have a difficult time finding a

bottle of real wine.

The prices are also higher than Californias. I get four bottles

of white wine and the clerk scolds me for taking the bottles from the

fridge myself. He points to a sign on the fridge that tells customers to

ask for assistance.

No, this is not California.

By the time I get back, the food is ready. Marcy is a

phenomenal cook. She tells me that she only cooks when shes at

this apartment. Only for herself or for very close friends. I wonder

who these close friends are, but I dont push the subject.

You know this doesnt count as the date, she says.

Clearly. Youre the one cooking for me.

Dont get used to it.

She pauses then says, I decided I dont want you fucking

anyone else, Marcy says, bringing her plate to the sink, and if you

do

I dont want to.

If you do, she continues.

374
 I wont, I tell her.

Fine. I wont if you wont. She crosses her heart. Now

finish your meal and well call the good doctor.

I clean the plates and Marcy gets my computer from my

backpack. I dry my hands and sit with her at the counter. I video call

Allen and he answers on the third ring.

Hes at home, buttoning his shirt. Fey, I didnt think youd

call.

Is this a bad time?

No, he says, like Doctor Devon said, you could call at any

time.

Marcy nudges me.

Oh, this is Marcy Darling, I say.

Im aware, says Allen, hello Ms. Darling. I would not

have answered if I had known a lady was watching.

He puts on a tie and carries his laptop to the kitchen.

Its quite alright, says Marcy, are you headed to work at

this hour?

375
 Research labs have sporadic hours, Allen explains. I work

better at night, so I dont mind.

Allen, I cut in, I wanted to give you our answer. Well do

it.

His face lights up. You will? Wait, did you say we?

Yes, I tell him, Marcy and me.

Marcy smiles her patented smile.

Thats, he stumbles, surprising news. Ill let Devon know

ASAP.

We have to go now, says Marcy, be in touch.

Allen is still talking when she shuts my laptop.

More wine? She asks.

Im too pleased to refuse. She pours more.

Will you take me out tomorrow?

I will.

Will you have a cigarette with me on the terrace?

I will.

376
 Im alone on the couch when my alarm goes off. My back

hurts. Its 7:30am and Marcy is awake before me. Shes always

awake before me. I wonder if she sleeps. Shes on the terrace talking

on the phone and when I come outside she says, no, thank you!

and hangs up.

She unwraps her scarf and drapes it over the back of the

lounge chair and lights a cigarette. Sleep well?

Am I interrupting?

I just finished. Theres coffee in the French press.

Thanks, I say, give me half an hour and Ill be ready to

go.

Where are you taking me? She asks.

Thats a surprise.

The perfect New York City date:

1. Picnic in Central Park

a. Pappardellas takes picnic basket orders. It

comes with:

i. 2 prosciutto sandwiches on hard rolls

377
 ii. 1 gluten free roll for Marcy

iii. Charcuterie plate

iv. Sliced bread for charcuterie

v. Penne pesto pasta salad (not gluten

free)

vi. 2 blood orange sodas

vii. 6 biscotti (not gluten free)

viii. 2 lemon bars (not gluten free)

ix. 1 red table cloth

b. Get lost in the Ramble. This is unnecessary,

but fun.

c. Find big rock on the great lawn facing the

West Side.

d. Spread out table cloth and food.

e. Open hidden bottle of wine.

f. Rent rowboat at the Central Park Boathouse.

g. Bring bread for the geese.

2. Get hot apple cider at Boathouse afterward.

3. MET rooftop Garden

378
 a. This is closed in January. Go to the museum

instead.

4. Bond no. 9 store

a. Get her new perfume. They will seriously take

all day trying out scents until one matches.

Marcy chose Bleecker Street btw.

5. Il Buco

a. This is, without a doubt, the best, most

authentic Italian food you can get in New

York. I know this because Yelp told me.

b. Get the panna cotta. I dont care how full you

are, just get it.

6. Hotel Kimberly Rooftop Lounge

a. Go on a weeknight. The lounge will be empty

and youll have the whole view of the city to

yourself.

Do you like the view? I ask.

Very much, she says.

379
 Did you have fun today?

She touches my hand. I had a lovely time.

Yeah? Gotta admit, I was terrified to take you out.

Why?

Youre a complicated girl, I say.

I am not, she says and screws up her face, see?

Well that settles it. I dont know why I thought you were so

complicated.

Marcy takes her hand away and sips her martini. The Empire

State building is so close we could touch it.

That used to be the tallest building in the world, I tell her.

Something changes in her expression and she looks me in the

eye and says. Youre not going to die at PS 111.

Huh?

After were all gone, you need to be our spokesman. You

have to make sure our legacy lives on. A lot is going to happen after

we die. Back-to-back meetings and interviews. Youll be the last

living Iris in the world and theres a lot of power in that. People will

listen to every word you say.

380
 If all goes to plan, she says, knocking on the wooden table

top, after all is said and done, we will be immortalized. Promise me

that you wont mess it up.

My mouth goes dry and I swallow. What about Doctor

Devon?

She ignores the question. Promise me.

I promise, I say, furrowing my brow.

How have your speech classes been going?

Good I say hesitantly, why are we talking about this?

Do you feel more confident? Do you feel like you could go

in front of a crowd and speak?

Yeah, I guess. Why?

I need you to be sure, Marcy says.

Im sure.

She folds her hands. Good, she says and relaxes into the

chair and laughs, Im enjoying this date so much and it was on my

mind. I hope I didnt ruin everything.

You didnt, I say, but my mind is racing.

381
 She smiles, but theres nothing there. Next week, she says,

something big is going to happen and I want you to be next to me

when it happens.

What is it?

Its phase 3.

Im sure itll be great, I tell her.

She kisses me on the cheek. Your optimism is what I like so

very much about you.

I turn and kiss her and she closes her eyes and kisses me

back. She slides her hand under my shirt and feels my abs. It drives

her to kiss me harder and we start getting some stares from a group

across from us but I dont care.

Take me home, she says.

Shes pulling off my shirt when we stumble into her

penthouse. Were making out and we dont make it to the bedroom.

She slips out of her skirt and panties and I lift her onto the kitchen

counter. I take off my pants and now Im naked except for my socks.

I start to go down on her but she pulls my hair.

No, she says, fuck me.

382
 The granite countertop is cold as I slide into her.

I pick her up and take her to the couch. She flips me over and

rides me. Her neck gets flush when she orgasms. I love that. I may

not remember all of my nights in New York, but Ill remember this.

Ill never forget the redness that spreads from the nape of her

neck, around the front, down to her nipples. Im the only one in the

world who will ever see that. The one human symptom of Marcy

Darling.

She falls on top of me, totally out of breath. I kiss her, taking

her tongue in my mouth, tasting her, succumbing to my addiction. If

only my 22nd birthday were tonight. If only this were how I went out.

If it ended like this I wouldnt need the extra 60 years that nature or

god or whoever took from me. This would be just fine.

Im not the type to snoop. But I cant sleep. Im playing her

words on repeat: Youre not going to die at PS 111. She got so

serious. I cant help but think Devons offer was too easily accepted.

What is phase 3?

383
 After she falls asleep, I go into her office and look through

her journals. Im already a little drunk, so it doesnt make me feel

too bad.

Her apartment is spotless, but her office is a mess.

Piles of journals, leaking pens, scattered photographs, half-

eaten sandwiches rotting in drawers, torn books, clipped magazines,

one thousand blank Post-its.

Seriously, theyre all blank.

She has an old Apple iMacthe kind from the late 90s. Its

pink. There are dead flowers by the window and something that

smells like curry, but I dont know where it is. The trash can is

empty.

Theres a closet whose door is blocked by stacks of

manuscript boxes. Each of them is full and I wonder how many

books, or versions of one book, Marcy has written. I clear a path and

look inside. The shelves are lined with diaries.

There are the cheap Barnes and Noble diaries with a flower

or a cat with the little ribbon bookmark in the spine. There are

Venetian diaries made of soft leather.

384
 There are black and white composition books. I stop counting

at sixty-seven. I cant imagine how many years these span. My eyes

follow the different colored spines all the way down to the bottom

shelf. There is about six inches of space on the shelf. A black

Moleskine seems to be the most recent journal. I open it and flip to

the last page. Written in beautiful cursive are the words: see tablet

4a.

Okay, at some point she switched to tablets. I flip through the

Moleskine looking for a dated entry. I find a page marked: February

8, 2011. Im way off. I find a small safe underneath her desk. The

Darlings logo is spray painted on the side of it.. It has a touch screen

interface. The password is 6 characters.

Try Osiris, says Marcy from the doorway.

I jump up, hitting my head on the bottom of the desk. Marcy

rubs the sleep from her eyes.

I was I start.

Trying to look in my safe. The password is Osiris. Go

ahead, Fey.

She doesnt sound angry.

385
 I want to explain myself, but she yawns and waits for me to

enter the code. I enter it and the door swings open. Marcy crosses the

room and takes an iPad out of the safe. She unlocks that with a six-

digit password and once shes found what shes looking for, she

hands the tablet to me.

Its open to a document titled Phase 3.

Read, she says.

Phase 3

To be launched 12/31 at 12:00am.

I skimmed through the document. It describes a public

shooting that will occur at PS 111 on midnight of this New Years

Eve. The gunman is someone named Alex. He will, according to a

detailed blueprint, enter the club at 11:30pm in Full Dress Uniform

and upon producing his service pistol, shall execute six people and

then himself.

The hell is this? I ask.

Marcy doesnt respond. She waits for me to figure it out.

386
 The document then devolves into Media and PR

Guidelines, Possible Legal Ramifications and Next Steps, and

Contingency Plans. Some of the snippets from Contingency Plans

include:

All letter and email correspondence, including journals, and

not limited to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and WordPress posts

are to be compiled for posthumous autobiography: Shelf Lives:

beautifully cursed. Contact C.S. Harriot for more details.

And:

Upon midnight 12/31, Faith Davis will inherit 51% of

Darlings shares.

And:

Upon Faith Davis death, all urns will be placed in PS 111.

At that time, the school will be turned over to the city as a public

museumto be renamed Museum of Beautiful Curses.

I stop reading at that point. I look up from the tablet and see

Marcy sitting on the floor cross-legged with her hands folded in her

lap.

Youre going to have us killed? Thats Phase 3?

387
 No, she says, you wont be killed.

Is John actually this Alex guy?

Yes.

Hes not an Iris?

Hes not an Iris, Marcy says, hes a veteran with a good

plastic surgeon and a voice coach.

Why would he go through with this?

Desperate people are easy to find, Marcy says, and

desperate veterans living in poverty will do anything for their family.

His family will be well-off after hes gone.

The bodybuilding competitions, his backstory, all of it

bullshit?

He is an amateur bodybuilder, says Marcy and stifles a

yawn, that had nothing to do with us. He started bodybuilding in

Afghanistan and it became a passion. An unpaid passion. Now its a

paid one. Win/win.

You said you wanted me to be the spokesman for the Irises.

Thats a lie. You want me to spin this as Sandy Hook 2.

She pauses to think. I wont tell you how to do it.

388
 Im not going to do this, Marcy, I tell her, Im not letting

my friends die.

What are you saving them from? She asks, her voice calm

as ever, none of them will be here in two months.

And that means they deserve to be executed?

Marcy touches her nose. Yes.

She sits on the edge of the desk. If it wasnt for me, the

public would forget them. We would be a Wikipedia entry. A 2010s

Trivial Pursuit question at best. Without me, the Irises might have

left a dent on history, sure, but now we can leave a crater.

Im not going through with this, I tell her.

Marcy nods thoughtfully. Lets play that scenario out.

Tomorrow we return to school and you sound the alarm. You tell

everyone that John is a plant and hes going to come at midnight and

shoot the place to pieces. Lets assume they believe you. Everyone

goes home. Jen returns to the UK, Stefani to Canada, Franky to

Tennessee, Casey to Massachusetts, and you go home to smog city,

California to spend your last months with your estranged mother.

389
 Did you just save them or did you commit them, and

yourself, to obscurity?

We sit for a long time. I study the pattern of the carpet.

What if I just want to save you?

Im already gone, says Marcy.

She takes the tablet and returns it to the safe. Why do you

think I chose you?

Because Im the youngest.

She smiles. I could have picked anyone. Casey has public

speaking and modeling experience. His rsum is more impressive

than yours.

Then why the fuck didnt you pick him? I snap.

Because I already knew every detail about Casey and

Brandon and Jin-ho. I know their blood type, their arrest records. I

know their STIs and I knew all of it before they ever stepped into

PS 111. But you were the anomaly. I had an out-of-date high school

photo of you and a washed-out paparazzi shot. She steps out into

the hallway: I always knew we would do lovely things together.

You knew or you know? I ask.

390
Thats up to you, Fey, Marcy says, good night.

391
Phase Three

392
 Chapter 19

In the courtyard, I flip to the dog-eared section of my speech

class notebook. We were working on alpha behavior. Alphas control

people. Marcy, for example, has a power frame which enables her to

be the group alpha in every situation. Its no secret. I know this. The

group knows this. People like having someone drive the bus. My

speech coach, however, likes to drive his own bus. He told me to

practice breaking the Power Frame.

The way to do this, as the book explains, is to make a bold

in-your-face move in order to disrupt their plan, thus breaking the

frame. In this instance, the plan is Phase 3. If Marcy goes through

with it, I lose everything I love.

393
 So, I have two options: One, I could leave. I could pack my

bags and leave and Phase 3 will launch and my friends and Marcy

will die and I lose. Two, I could assume the alpha role and force

Marcy into a checkmate. People hardly ever challenge her. When

they do, she makes a public example, forcing them back into the beta

role. I have to counter her plan with such force that she has no

chance but to put me in my place. In other words, I have to become

the alpha male in I check my watch: 6 hours.

I need a counter offer that will benefit me whether she

accepts it or not. A checkmate. I close the book and lean against the

oak tree. Wind shakes everything else in the courtyard, but the oak

stays stationary.

A shape moves in one of the suites. Are they watching me? I

rush over and peer in. Its Brandons suiteempty as usual. Then I

see something on the floor near the boarded-up fireplace. A

shivering something. But the suite is too dark inside to see anything.

I try the sliding glass door but its locked. I knock and wait. Franky

rolls over. Shes drunk?

Why are you in Brandons? I ask.

394
 She looks up at me through her messy hair. She says

something but I cant make out the words

I am thrilled? Hes been killed?

What?

She turns her face down so her nose is squished on the floor

and stays like that. Something is wrong. I pull on the door. It wont

budge. I start checking the windows.

Stay there, I tell Franky, but its a stupid thing to say

because she hasnt moved this whole time.

Brandons bathroom window isnt locked so I climb in and

when my foot touches the tub I slip. I regain my balance and am hit

with a pungent smell of bile.

Ugh, I say, covering my nose, what is that?

I dry my shoe off on the bath mat and look at the little pool

of bile in the tub. I have to get to Franky. When I reach her shes still

face down and I get her into a sitting position and lean her against

the fireplace boards.

What did you drink? I ask. Or did you take something?

Yes, she says and gives a mirthless laugh, alla the above.

395
 Theres an orange stain on her white shirt and a clump of hair

is matted, stuck to her forehead, and I pull it away from her skin. I

instinctively smell my fingers and retch. It isnt just vomit, its a

deeper, more concerning bodily fluid. Frankys eyes are half shut.

She cant sit up on her own and keeps falling to the floor.

My heart starts to race. Franky, what did you do?

Alltheabove, she slurs.

This isnt a joke. What did you take? Im gonna call

someone.

She doesnt respond so I take her head and put it in my lap

and shake her. Theres a pipe sound like a sink backing up and she

turns her head and projectile vomits onto the floor. Her body begins

to convulse and I want to cry. I fiddle with my phone, wet with the

sick. She recovers from the fit long enough to put her hand over my

phone, and stops me from dialing. Dont do this, Franky. Dont do

this. Youre doing this because of me, arent you? What will I do if

you do this and I didnt help?

What are you doing? I have to call for help!

396
 She shakes her head and settles on my lap again. Help

yourself, she says.

What the fuck did you do? Tell me right now. You need to

go to the hospital. The paramedics will ask what you took.

Theyll

Its done, she says sleepily, its done.

I cant believe youd do this to me.

Just a week, she says and swallows, left. Done.

I yank the phone away from her limp hand and dial 911. She

puts her hand back over the screen.

Whatre doing, she mumbles.

Saving you, I say, not even thinking about my words, my

heart pounding. I feel like Ill be sick too. How long does it take to

die from this? Ten minutes? An hour? How long ago did she take it?

Im wasting time. Im wasting so much time playing these games.

Just call.

Franky talks into my lap. I feel her hot staggered words.

Theyll hospital. A week.

397
 She lets her hand drop and I go to send the call, but I

hesitate.

You dont know what the hell youre talking about. Youre

so stupid, I tell her.

What am I saving her from? What do I always have to be the

fucking savior?

Its okay, she keeps saying, its okay.

Her words are half-muffled by my jeans, half muffled by the

drugs drowning her from within. Is this how it happens? On the floor

of dead Brandons empty suite covered in sick? I should say

something. I told her shes stupid. What if those were the last words

she hears? Should I tell her Ill miss her? Screw this, I have to call. I

have to call.

I start to get up, but she stops me.

Stay, she says, stay this time.

I brush the hair out of her face.

Im right here, I tell her.

Minutes pass as I listen to her breathing. I check her pulse

and feel a soft thump. I count between the beats.

398
 One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,

four one thousand, five one thousand, six one thousand, beat.

One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,

four one thousand, five one thousand, six one thousand, god, oh god,

seven one thousand, cmon Franky, eight one thousand, nine one

thousand, beat.

One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,

four one thousand, five one thousand, this is it, I know this is it,

seven one thousand, but maybe theres time still, seven one

thousand, eight one thousand, theres time, Ill call, but why call,

why is this my decision, fifteen one thousand, she promised thats

why, she promised, suicide is wrong, I cant let a friend die, a

lover

I cant let someone I love die, they wont die because of me,

not like this. Twenty-five thousand, twenty-six thousand. I flatten

my hand on her chest and feel for her heartbeat. Theres nothing.

Franky?

Nothing.

Are you still here?

399
 Nothing.

Frankys breathing has completely stopped. My tears fall

onto her face. I watch for a change in her expression. Nothing. Her

eyes are half open, the lids are shadowed. Her mouth gapes creating

a double chin. Her bleach white teeth are stained with the orange

bile.

She is Brandon hanging from a towel, tongue like a slug. She

is Jin-ho face down in the back of a filthy cab. She is Parisa on the

basketball court. She is Will, seemingly asleep between the

guardrails of the hospital bed, his hand still gripping the blanket.

But his hand, I had said, he isnt dead, his hand was

holding the blanket.

Rigor mortis. Thats what the doctor said all too casually.

It wasnt Will who was holding the blanket. It was his stiffened

nerves.

I expect Franky to open her eyes. I want to hear her laugh

and tell me its a joke. Everyone will come out, even Brandon and

Jin-ho, and Parisa. And it will be part of a crazy NewEx. A crazy

New Experience. Losing someone. 10/10.

400
 How stupid of me to miss that. Someone is recording me

right now. Its been long enough to get my reaction. Even if it was in

poor taste, they got it on video and theyre going to post it. I watch

the hallway to the bathroom waiting for all of them to come out. Any

second now.

I dont remember picking her up and I couldnt tell you why

I put her in the bathtub. Maybe it seemed apropos that a suicide

should end up in the bathtub. I have always associated bathrooms

with suicide for some reason. Im looking at her in the tub now.

Shes wearing yoga pants and a hoodie, both filthy. I did my best to

get all of the nastiness from her hair. She looks like shes taking a

bath without water; her head reclined on the ledge.

Its 11:40pm and even with an extra dose of my anxiety

meds, Im shaking. This is the night.

The club is packed. Im getting message after message. Club

guests are posting NewExs like crazy. Casey keeps calling out the

time and I wish hed stop.

401
 Twenty-nine minutes till!

He wore Converse with his tuxedo and hes got Ray-Bans on.

He has no idea whats about to go down.

The anxiety wont pass this time.

My phone vibrates again. More NewExs. One after the other.

There must be a thousand notifications. The server will probably

crash before midnight.

Who will capture tonights shooting on video? How long

will the NewEx stay up before the app is banned from the app store

for violent content?

Marcy and Day funnel through the crowd and into the VIP

section. When Marcy sees me sitting with everyone, her eyes flare.

Shes wondering if I told them.

Day finds his seat on the empty couch. He drinks his scotch.

Marcy makes her rounds, clinking champagne glasses with the group

and their dates. Acting completely normal. When shes finished, she

sits next to me.

You came, she says.

I try to sound calm. Where else would I be?

402
 She smiles, but its meaningless. You can still leave.

I take her hand, when I leave Im taking you with me.

She raises an eyebrow. Im not calling it off.

My voice is strong. I look here in the eye and say, you will.

She sips her champagne. A staff member whispers something

to her and she excuses herself.

I watch Marcy mingle. I jump every time someone steps past

the velvet rope.

Jen and Stefani join us.

Its 11:50pm and were all together now except for Franky.

No one has seemed to notice her absence. Why arent they asking

about her? The lights flash to the beat of the music. The club pulses.

Champagne is poured. Marcy returns to our section. The minutes

tick by. In 10 minutes, John will come in shooting. In 10 minutes,

everyone I love will be Columbined.

Marcy addresses the group. She raises her glass. To a

successful year.

They clink glasses. I dont toast; I just drink. 10 minutes until

the massacre.

403
 Marcy is talking to Jen. I take her hand and she turns.

Hey, I say.

She leans in to hear me.

When your time is up, so is mine.

Dont be melodramatic, she says.

Im serious. Thats how this goes.

Youre not in control of that.

I am, actually.

Marcy studies my face. Shes looking for that bluff, but

doesnt find it.

I made you promise not to kill yourself, she says.

If you dont follow your rules, why should I?

She drinks her champagne and loosens her grip. Let go of

my hand.

I let go and she rests it in her lap.

To be clear, she says steadily, you are saying that you will

commit suicide if Phase 3 launches?

I dont say anything.

Have you decided how youll do it?

404
 Ill hang myself on the oak tree in the courtyard.

She sets her glass down and checks her watch.

5 minutes, I say.

You arent the type to kill yourself.

Are you sure about that? Sure enough to risk it?

Her intensity fades and she relaxes. This is extortion, she

says.

Extortion, compromise, blackmail, its all part of the game.

I gesture to the club around us. All of this was your game.

She shakes her head dismissively, youre betting your life

on the hope that Ill choose you over my empire.

You made something very clear last night. After you die, I

am your company. 51% of the shares go to me. Unless you can run

and change your bylaws in I check my watch: 3 minutes.

Marcy flicks a smile on and off. Where was that sweet boy I

knew last night?

Franky is dead, I tell her.

Her mouth opens and she turns to count heads. Missing one.

What happened?

405
 She doesnt sound concerned. Why is no one concerned?

I found her in Brandons room. She took a bunch of pills.

Her expression doesnt change. You found her dead? Did

you tell anyone?

I found her alive, I say and my throat chokes, I was there

the whole time and I didnt do anything.

Marcy puts a hand on mine and glances around, checking to

see if anyone is watching. She doesnt want to cause a scene before

the scene.

Right, she says, um. Thats just fine. I would have done

the same thing.

I didnt do anything to help her.

I said its fine! She says. Where is she now?

In Brandons tub.

She raises a hand to call a staff member, but I stop her. Im

not telling you this so you can clean it up before it makes the news.

Marcy lowers her hand.

406
 Im telling you because Im done watching my friends die.

Im telling you because I want you to know that Im not fucking

around.

Im yelling now, pulling the attention of the group, this isnt

a bluff!

Be quiet, Marcy hisses, shut your mouth.

She wants me to be quiet? Fine. I grab her by the shoulders

and whisper in her ear, Im killing myself if you go through with

this. Is that clear? Do it, dont do it. I dont care anymore. All I know

is, Im not going to be your corporate lackey. If thats all I am to

you, then do it and be done with it. Be done with this nightmare.

A waiter passes and I grab two champagne flutes, spilling

most of the first on his immaculate shirt. I take them to the arm of

the couch where I sit and drink and wait for whatever happens to

happen.

1 minute.

Marcy exchanges a glance with Day. He mouths what? but

Marcy shakes her head.

45 seconds.

407
 Jen and Casey are sharing a bottle of champagne, no glasses

required, and Stefani is up on the table dancing and Jen is laughing

and laughing.

Everyone is drunk or rolling and disconnected. Everyone

except for Marcy and me.

I see something change in her facesomething Ive only

seen once before. Her apathetic expression cracks and a line forms

across her forehead. She searches the crowd.

The music cuts off and the crowd begins to count down:

10.

Marcy looks at Day, then towards the crowd.

9.

I follow her line of sight and spot John. Hes wearing a

Marine Corps ceremonial uniform and holds his service pistol at his

side. The crowd doesnt notice.

8, 7, counts the crowd, their champagne flutes of spiked

apple juice raised to the sky. John shoves someone down, his eyes

glossy.

6, 5, 4

408
 Marcy watches, motionless. She glances at Day and then to

me. Our eyes lock.

3, 2.

She shuts her eyes.

1! Screams the crowd. The music cuts short. Lovers kiss.

John raises the pistol to the back of Caseys head.

Gun! Yells Marcy.

John hesitates, looking to Marcy for guidance. Day vanishes

into the crowd.

Gun! Repeats Marcy, pointing at John.

Casey whirls around and John fires, sending him sprawling

into the glass coffee table. It shatters and Stefani screams. The VIP

security guard tackles John. A second shot is fired into the crowd.

Guests scatter.

Marcy and I dont move. A stampede of panicking, drunk

people surge between us. Another shot is fired. People fall, some get

trampled. The security guard wedges an elbow into Johns neck and

kicks the gun away.

409
 My ears are ringing. Stefani is kneeling next to Casey, asking

again and again if hes alright. His blood pools beneath the broken

coffee table. The shards drift away on it.

Happy New Year! banners fall from the rafters.

410
 Chapter 20

Just a month ago, Marcy got the nickname Queen of the

Lower East Side. Now she was under a Mussolini amount of scrutiny

from her subjects. I thought the Irises would kill her. The club was

shut down by NYPD this morning. PS 111 will never open its doors

to the public again.

This morning, the questions started coming.

There were many questions from the remaining Irises, but the

one whose answer couldnt be spun was this: how did Marcy not

know who John was?

411
 If the question had been directed towards someone else: me

or Day, for example, they might have accepted naivety as an excuse.

But Marcy was so OCD, so overly planned, and so detail-

oriented, there was no way John could have snuck in. Especially

because Marcy had claimed to have found the unknown Iris. It was

all bullshit and Marcy, to be blunt, was fucked.

She knew his name was Alex. He was an ex-marine. He had

been discharged due to PTSD after serving only one term in

Afghanistan. He had married young. He had a four-year-old

daughter. Alex couldnt hold a job because of his mood swings. He

was so desperate for money that he went under the knife and got a

perfect face for Marcy. Then, with the help of Rothfuss & Ellis and

an unnamed doctor, he was unearthed as the unknown Iris.

Were all gathered in the Mess Hall. This will be the last time

were together and I know it. Even if they dont. There wont be any

sad goodbyes. No final toast. They look murderous. It took some

convincing to get everyone quiet, but Marcy promises to answer any

question if people can be civil.

412
 They repeat the question theyve been asking all morning:

how did Marcy not know who John was?

Marcy doesnt lie. She tells them every part of the plan.

Once shes finished, she opens the floor for questions.

Why arent you in jail right now? Jen asks.

Im under investigation, Marcy replies calmly.

Jen ties her combat boots and crosses the Mess Hall. She

slaps Marcy. I get between them, but Jen slaps me too.

You dont do this to family. Thats what we were, bitch. We

wasted the last days of our lives here. Think about that, Marcy. Even

if you didnt kill us, you wasted our time and that was all we had.

I was immortalizing you, says Marcy, touching the red

mark on her cheek.

Jen laughs bitterly. I always thought you were crazy, she

says, pointing at Marcy, and you, she says, jabbing a finger in my

face, are a brainwashed pussy.

With that, Jen storms out. Stefani finishes her coffee. Its her

turn to tell us off now. She walks over and extends a hand. I think

shes going to slap Marcy, but she just holds the hand there.

413
 Marcy shakes it.

Youre not mad? I ask.

Stefani shakes her head. Your plan failed. Why should I

care if you wanted me dead?

Marcy narrows her eyes.

Plus, Stefani says, I met my fiance here.

I cant tell if shes kidding. Huh?

We told everyone during our last night cap. Dont you

remember?

I vaguely remember a big toast. Hugs. Congratulations. I

hadnt been paying attention. Id been thinking about Phase 3. I

dont. Sorry.

She gives a little grin. We know its quick, but we dont

want to die single.

Congratulations, I say.

Marcy and Day remain silent.

Stefani holds me at arms length and meets my eyes, call

your mom, Fey. For real this time.

I already said goodbye, I say.

414
 Verarsch mich nicht. What good is it if she cant return the

call? Unblock her, stupid.

I stare at the ground.

Remember how it felt when you had anxiety attacks? Every

day was bad, wasnt it?

I dont say anything.

And then I come along and make it all better. Not because

Im magic, but because I knew it could be better. Now Im not

saying Marcy was a great choice for you, but maybe she knows what

you need. Even if that so happens to be what she needs.

Marcy blows out her breath.

I hope you find what you need. Apart from her.

Im not sure what she means and all I can do is hug her.

Ill miss you, Stef. I tell her.

I dont blame you.

Stefani regards the twins with a look of pity. You look sad,

Marce. And Day, well, you look exactly the same as always. Cheer

up, Marce. Losing doesnt look good on you.

415
 Stefani takes one last look at the Mess Hall and departs.

Marcys nose twitches. Her jaw is clenched so hard I can hear it.

Day speaks up. What do they have on you?

John wont talk, says Marcy, colder than usual, I only

have to worry about them.

Shes still watching the Mess Hall door.

None of us want to spend our last days in court, I say.

Day considers this. Hes got a point.

Thank you, Fey, says Marcy.

Dont thank me. I say, following the girls out.

I slid a note under Marcys door on the way out. It read:

Marcy,

Im going back to California to participate in the research

study. Dont forget your promise.

-Fey

416
 I considered saying goodbye to Day, but it didnt feel right. I

never really knew him anyway. Maybe there wasnt anything to

know.

Mark was waiting for me outside.

To JFK, I said after getting into his car.

Sure thing, said Mark.

I got a text from Boomer: Heard about last night. Hope ur okay.

Call me.

No need, I replied.

He responded with a phone call.

Hey bud, how you doin? He started.

Alive, I said.

Just saw you bought airfare with the company card. Thats cool.

Super cool. Goin on a trip?

Im going home.

Cool, cool. Hey, listen, give me a call once you touch down just

touch base.

I wont be doing that, Boomer.

You wont be doing what? He asked, his chipper voice fading.

417
 I wont be calling you. I wont be coming back to New York.

Im done with your agency. I quit.

Boomer paused. I heard him snapping at someone. Im sorry

you feel that way, bud.

Consider the plane ticket my severance package, I said and

hung up.

Just last year, I was getting on a plane to New York. The first

plane ride Id ever taken. I was anxious and confused and miserable.

Not much had changed for my second plane ride. The only thing Id

gained in my months in New York was hope. Closer to death and

hopeful. Lifes weird like that.

I skyped Allen when my plane landed.

Im bringing a friend, I told him, I think youve heard of her.

418
 Chapter 21

The research study started and ended with a psych

assessment. The psychiatrist approved my mental state with the

recommendation that I remain on the anxiety medication during the

clinical research. She also gave me a prescription to help the alcohol

withdrawals.

Theyll be moderate to bad, she told me, pointing to a

feelings chart from 1 to 10. It will land around here. Her pen

touched the number 6 with a frowning face. What this medicine

does is promote dopamine production. It will stabilize your mood.

You will still get headaches, muscle tremors, and mood swings.

419
 She asked how much I drank and I answered honestly. With

the small amount of time I had left, she recommended I not go cold

turkey.

Have a couple of glasses of wine a night, she said, but

dont overdo it. Unfortunately, you wont survive long enough to get

off the alcohol.

What if this miracle drug cures me?

Then Ill have you check into a rehab center, she said.

I have something to look forward to.

They put me up in the Hilton in Alhambra. It was a three-star

hotel, but the rooms looked like Motel 6 compared to my suite at PS

111. I was tired of having my own Jacuzzi anyway.

Marcy arrived three weeks later. She was waiting for me in

the lab one morning.

You came, I said.

She looked different. The short bob shed had when I first

met her had grown into a long bob. Now it was in a ponytail. And

Ill be damned if she wasnt wearing Uggs. Her face had also

changed.

420
 She was still beautiful, but a look of sadness gripped her. The

sparkle in her bright eyes had dulled like a worn marble. Something

had changed in the past three weeks. Something in her had died and I

knew it would be number three in the shortlist of things she would

never talk about.

I had to, she said without a hint of a smile, you own me

now.

I forgot about that, I said, scratching my head, 51% of

your company is mine?

She nods.

I shrugged. Write up a new contract. Take the shares back.

Ill sign it right now.

No, she said, folding her hands in her lap. It would look

bad to our shareholders.

What happened with the trial?

There will be no trial, she said, Alex has a court-ordered

therapist to deal with his post-traumatic stress.

And his family? I asked.

421
 She put a hand over her heart. Im a girl of my word. They

will be taken care of.

I asked the question that had been on my mind since I left:

what happened to Casey?

You havent been following the news?

I didnt want to, I said.

His family didnt want him to stay on life support. It was

now or then so they chose now.

I see.

He died last weekend.

Uh huh.

There were bags beneath her eyes. Little shadows on a bright

face. She cleared her throat and said, Day killed himself.

I crossed the room and held her.

He promised me he wouldnt, she said, shaking, we came

into this world together and we were going out together. The same

day on both ends.

Im so sorry, Marce, I told her.

422
 The staff found him. He put a gun to his chin and ruined his

face.

I held her for a long time before Doctor Devon had to take

her away.

I kissed her before she left.

Ill see you soon I said.

She looked past me. Okay, she said quietly.

I wouldnt see her again until the end of the study. I so badly

wanted to just take her and leave this place. Get away from this lab

and spend our final months together. But I couldnt pass on this. The

prospect of surviving our disease was too attractive. This could be

ground zero for the second biggest event in Iris history.

I worked closely with Allen while Doctor Devon worked

with Marcy. Allen was kind and soft spoken. My sarcasm didnt

agree with his temperament and he asked me to stay focused a lot. I

actually found the drug development process really interesting.

Allen explained the process like this: see, Fey, there are five

steps to creating a drug. The first is discovery and development. You

have to find a link between a chemical and its potential cure.

423
 Then theres preclinical research. We run preclinical tests on

rats to check the toxicity of the drug, among other things. Then if the

drug is cleared for human patients, we begin our clinical trial. This

process takes several months. Luckily a lot of that research has

already been done. Safety and dosage, efficacy and side effects, and

efficacy and monitoring adverse reactions have been cleared.

You didnt need a large group of people to test on? I asked.

We had non-Iris patients for the first two phases, but we had

to have an Iris for the third and fourth, he said.

How long does the fourth phase take? I asked.

How long should it take or how long will it take in this

case?

Both?

One to four years, Allen said, but we dont have that time.

Were going to get you and Marcy started on 1.5 grams of

Chlopestrine immediately and observe its effects on your frontal

lobe. This is where most Irises have the aneurysm.

What will you be looking for?

424
 He tilted his head and made an indecisive gesture. To be

candid, we arent entirely sure what were looking for specifically.

Strengthening in the brain tissue is the high-level answer. The idea

behind the drug is to pinpoint the faulty blood vessel that comes to

full maturity in your 22nd year and prevent it from ballooning.

Cant you just look at what blood vessel killed the other

Irises and fix that one in Marcy and me? I asked.

We cant pinpoint the blood vessel because it isnt the same

each time, though they mostly occurred in the frontal lobe, and that

gives us a place to start. He pat me on the shoulder. You ask the

right kinds of questions, Fey.

Even if it was all just part of the research, I felt like Allen

cared. I wasnt just a lab rat to him. Saving me would propel his

career into the stratosphere and he knew it. And doing so would save

my life. We both had a lot to offer each other and because of that,

there was an immediate friendship.

I found myself looking forward to each days work. Even

when it got really bad and the drug gave me terrible migraines.

425
 Migraines that no amount of Excedrin could cure. Even when

I had a minor seizure. I dont remember it. I do remember waking up

on the floor, covered in piss. Allen brought me a blanket and gave

me water. He told me I would be okay and to rest and that we would

continue our work tomorrow.

Thats enough for today, hed said.

I spent my days with Allen and my nights alone. Theyd put

Marcy in an undisclosed hotel and asked us not to communicate. I

guess they were worried wed distract each other. I could deal with

the migraines and the seizures, but the loneliness sucked and I found

myself awake most nights missing her, wondering if she was missing

me. I spent my nights in the hotel bar. As the research days were so

longaround 12 hours, Id get back, have a couple glasses of wine,

and pass out.

12-hour work days turned into 16-hour work days. I

wondered how Marcy saw this part of her life. Was it still Phase 3?

If she wasnt creating, she wasnt living. She wouldnt stop because

someone else did. Even if that someone was Day.

426
 They say people die in threes. In the month to follow, Stefani

joined the 22 club. Then two weeks later, Jen followed. As Stefani

had wanted, they did not die alone. Just two weeks prior to Stefanis

death date, the two had eloped. Buried side-by-side, their

gravestones shared the last name Hoffman.

I had intentionally disconnected from the media, but the news

still reached me. Research students would pass me in the hall and

offer their sympathies.

I heard about that Southern girl, Im sorry to hear it.

Or

Did you know Stefani Hoffman? It happened last night. Did

you know she was gay?

I did know, I said, it was the only healthy relationship I

knew.

Its so stupid. I really did think wed all make it. When the

first Irises died, I couldnt bring myself to care. They were just news

reports. A strangers death is just a statistic. But when its your

friends, you start to believe the disease doesnt apply to them.

427
 They arent Irises, theyre Franky and Brandon and Casey.

Ive toasted with them. Ive slept with them. Ive loved them and

been loved by them. Ive cried with them. Ive laughed with them.

They cant just be gone. And yet, here we are, erased off the map.

Their dreams and secrets and fears, gone forever.

Its just Marcy and me now, and soon

Doctor Devon and Allen were worried Marcy and I would

make a suicide pact so they confiscated our phones.

The Klonopin and the Chlopestrine and the Modafinil made

me cloudy headed, tired and lethargic. Each morning I would take

my cocktail of drugs and go into my medicated funk. A few cups of

coffee and my morning meeting with Allen helped me come back

down to Earth.

He was patient. We started these days with what he called

pregaming. He had an intern set up the only console they had: a lime

green Nintendo 64 and we would drink our coffee and play Mario

Kart.

428
 The game was nostalgic for me and the coffee was strong and

we would start talking shit and making fun of each other and

eventually I would be able to hold a conversation. My headache

would quiet to a murmur and I could start the day.

Chlopestrine is a small Creamsicle colored pill taken twice a

day. Allen tells me to take it with food. After the second seizure,

they brought me down to 1 gram. My brains cloudiness lessened

after that. Then came the physicals. Physical after physical. Not a

turn your head and cough physical, but a blood sample, stool

sample, full cavity physical. I had a collection of Band-Aids that

kept getting pulled off and replaced. My arm looked like a heroin

addicts.

Life hadnt changed much since the nights at PS 111. I was

spending late hours taking drugs and having intense conversations

about my feelings. All eyes on me. At least I didnt have to worry

about hidden pap shots or dressing up each night.

I could show up in a hoodie and Converse and even then,

theyd put me in a hospital gown. I didnt have to do my hair or put

Visine in my eyes to make the colors pop.

429
 But my favorite thing about the clinical research program

was that I could just sit there, answer the occasional question, and

otherwise shut the fuck up. No one wanted my opinion on anything.

There was no drama.

Expository speaking, as Allen called it, was taboo in this

environment.

And when I screwed updrank too much the night before or

missed a dose or answered a question incorrectly, it wasnt the end

of the world. Their motto around the lab was hurry up and fail.

They chose February 18a day before Marcys 22nd

birthday as our research completion dates. They didnt ask me to

stay without her. I appreciated that.

The first thought of each day was: wheres Franky?

I dont know why this was my first thought. It takes me about

a minute to place herdo we have a NewEx together? Is she at the

pool waiting for me? And then it all comes back, little by little, like a

movie. It felt like something I watched instead of lived. She was

gone and that still doesnt make sense.

Theyre all gone.

430
 My next thought, and this was somehow more powerful than

the first, was: coffee. I am empty and will remain empty but the

coffee will move me from one place to another. I cannot stay in this

hotel room. I have to get to the lab. I have to get cured. I dont need

to feel okay about this, I just need to put my feet on the carpet and

get coffee and get to the research lab. How had that become so hard?

Just weeks ago I had been running around Manhattan and now I

couldnt get out of bed.

The coffee was nothing like the Mess Halls Americanos

made from antique espresso makers, their steam permeating the

morning air. No, my hotel rooms coffee was pissed out of a three

cup, 24 ounce travelers special seated on the bathroom counter. Its

coffee bags came in little pouches. Two choices of brews:

Columbian Hike (caf) or Mountain Falls (decaf).

It was dispersed into a ridged paper cup. It was antiseptic:

purpose over pleasure, taken like a shot, powder hitting the back of

my tongue. It wasnt a perfect stimulant, but it was enough to get me

in that car every morning.

431
 It had been a month since I had seen Marcy. I woke up to

find a note that had been slipped under my hotel room door:

Fey,

Get your ass out of bed so we can finish this study. Ive never

needed a cigarette so badly.

- M

I found her in the hotel lobby. She was wearing a white

pencil skirt and Greg Lauren maya blue mules I recognize from

NYC Fashion Week.

Theres the Marcy I know, I said.

She turned and saw me, framed in the doorway of the

elevator. She dropped her bags and jumped on me. We kissed and

she squeezed the air out of me.

I take it back, I said, who are you?

In the hotel restaurant we ordered egg-white omelets and

drank coffee and ate our breakfast. She ate the omelet, a bowl of cut

fruit, and two pieces of wheat bread.

432
 We didnt talk. A waiter refilled my cup, but Marcy placed a

palm over the top of hers.

No more, she said politely.

You heard about them, I said.

It wasnt a question. I knew shed kept track of our news.

I did, said Marcy, folding her napkin and placing it on her

plate.

We dont need to talk about it, I said, and felt my throat

choke up. But can I admit something weird?

She gestured for me to continue.

Ive been trying to remember their faces. I saw them all

together, just a few months ago, but I cant remember what they

looked like. I couldnt tell you the color of Frankys hair or what

Casey sounded like. I was crying all of the sudden. Can you

believe that? Is that bad?

Marcy didnt answer. She waited for me to continue.

We spent all those nights together. All those drunken nights

spilling our guts and I couldnt tell you a damn thing about them.

433
 We sat listening to the piano music in the lobby. Marcy

raised her mug to get the waiters attention.

You know, she said, I will have that second cup.

I pinched my napkin over my eyes. I knew theyd be red and

swollen and I didnt care anymore. Let them take pictures.

Do you want to know what I think? Marcy asked.

I nodded.

You didnt know them.

I did though.

You couldnt have, said Marcy, smiling at the waiter as her

cup was filled, there wasnt the time. There never would have been

the time.

I let out a shaking breath. What about us?

Marcy added cream to her coffee. We arent like them. We

never were.

We had back-to-back PET scans. Previously, they had

discovered some weak tissue in my frontal lobe and Allen had

focused on that section. Its not good to work on assumptions, he had

told me, but we have no choice.

434
 Doctor Devon was present for my final PET scan. His

persona had changed since that first Skype call. He seemed excited

then; hopeful even. Now it felt like he was doing us a favor. Doctor

Devon stood behind the protective glass and spoke into the speaker.

Sit very still, Fey, he said and caught himself, what am I

saying? Youre used to this by now.

You can tell a good doctor by their tableside manners. A few

light jokes here and there to comfort the patient. Doctor Devon is a

titan of his field. The stretcher moved me under the scanner. It was

cold in the room and the machine made little noise. They told me I

could wear headphones during the exam, but I never did.

Afterwards, I was brought to an in-patient room with Marcy

and we were seated on butcher paper. Marcy looked like a little girl

in her hospital gown. Doctor Devon and Allen addressed us. I was

nervous, but the Klonopin dulled the anxiety to comfortable levels.

Hows it looking? I asked.

Everything looks great, Allen said, for both of you.

Doctor Devon chimed in, there is no improvement in the

weakened brain tissue since your last scan, Fey.

435
 This does not mean that the blood vessel hasnt been

structurally repaired by the Chlopestrine. It means that we cannot see

an improvement. As for Marcy, we did not find weakened tissue.

That, as Ive said, does not mean you do not have weakened tissue. It

means we could not locate it. Do you understand?

I understand, said Marcy.

Im confused, I said, was the trial successful or not?

Doctor Devon let Allen answer. Im sure he sees this as a

training opportunity.

We will not know until tomorrow.

On my birthday, Marcy said.

Thats correct, he said.

Thats the final test, really, added Doctor Devon.

My heart sinks and I lay down on the table. This could have

all been for nothing.

That was the risk of these trials, Fey, said Allen, in order

to see if weve beaten the disease, we must wait for the effect of the

drug.

Should I keep taking the Chlopestrine? Asked Marcy.

436
 She pronounced the drugs name perfectly. I got so tired of

trying, I just nicknamed it Chloe.

Absolutely, said Allen, you will take it for the rest of your

life.

Are we done then? I asked.

After the exit assessment, yes.

We were given four bottles each. Each bottle contained 30

slow-dissolve capsules.

That was decent of them, said Marcy as we waited for the

psychiatrist.

What was? I asked.

Giving both of us the same number of pills.

437
 Chapter 22

Its 8pm when we touch down in New York.

Id never been on a private jet before. It would have been

nice under different circumstances. But even when our own private

attendant offered us champagne and tapas, I opted for coffee and

peanuts. Should Chloe not work, I wanted to be lucid during our last

hours together. But it would work. It had to work.

Neither of us had checked our phones since the research lab.

We spent the flight reading texts, notifications, messages, emails,

and catching up on Iris related news. To my surprise, there wasnt

much on the topic of the Irises. For the first time in 5 months, were

not trending.

438
 Out of morbid curiosity, I checked 22club.org. The site with

our countdown timers. I dont know why I torture myself with this

website. Call it closure.

Graham Cassel: Deceased

Parisa LeDour: Deceased

Brandon Ucif: Deceased

Ally Bishop: Deceased

Stefani Hoffman: Deceased

Franky Pearl: Deceased

Jin-ho Gai: Deceased

Mason Esguerra: Deceased

Jen Monroe: Deceased

John Lox (Alex Boyle): Disqualified

Casey Havok: Deceased

Day Darling: Deceased

Marcy Darling: 10 hours

Faith Davis: 15 days

439
 As the plane taxies into the airport, Marcy speaks up, NYU

bought the school.

She reads the Guardian article out loud: PS 111: former

night club and prior home of ex-supermodels Marcy and Day

Darling has been purchased by New York University. Peter Blair

Henry, Dean of NYU, says the social hotspot will be used for

student housing.

Whose decision was it to sell?

The agency, says Marcy, writing a text.

Why did you leave it to them?

As collateral should Phase 3 not play out. It was a

contingency plan.

One possible contingency plan in a sea of possible

contingency plans.

Theres nothing we can do?

It was in the bylaws, Marcy says, throwing her laptop into

the seat across from her. Will you do me a favor?

Of course, Marce.

440
 She taps a contact in her phone and in a moment shes telling

Mark to pick us up from JFK.

Are you gonna tell me what the favor is? I ask, already

knowing the answer.

No, says Marcy and gets her coat on.

Mark lets us out in front of PS 111. Marcy had our luggage

held at the airport. She still hasnt told me what were doing here.

Do you mind waiting? Asks Marcy.

Take your time, says Mark.

Instead of entering through the front gate, Marcy walks us

around to the back alley. The door is locked with a Construction

Zone sign slapped over it. Marcy tears it off and tells me to roll it

into a tube.

I cant, its metal.

Use those big forearms, she tells me and sits on the back

steps to watch. She lights a cigarette.

Its thin and I manage to start the curl by placing it on the

ground and kneeling on the edge.

441
 Then, with some effort, I get it into a tube about the size of a

rolled newspaper.

Wonderful, says Marcy. She takes the tube and breaks the

basement window at our feet.

We could have just kicked it, I say, massaging my

forearms.

And ruin those shoes? I think not.

We wait for an alarm to sound, but nothing happens. She

clears the frame of glass shards and asks me to lower her in. I kneel

and place my coat over the frame, just in case theres any broken

glass left, and lower Marcy into the basement.

A little lower, she says.

I steady myself on the guard rail and lower her all the way

down until my chin is touching the window frame.

Please hold, she calls. Her voice trails off as she goes

deeper into the basement.

What is she up to? In a moment well be famous for breaking

into our own house.

The back door swings open.

442
 Hurry! She says.

The school has been trashed. Graffiti over the huge Banksy

murals. That shitty illegible gang territory graffiti, probably left by a

future NYU student. They spray painted over the girls face and

drew a dick on her. Her red heart-shaped balloon is now a pair of

floating tits.

Trash, broken glass, a piss-stained mattress, bags of empty

liquor bottles, a couple syringes, the occasional used condom. We

have to step over this minefield to make it to Marcys suite.

The doors of the suites have been kicked in. Everythings

been looted. The courtyard windows are smashed and a rope hangs

from the oak tree.

I never wanted to come back here. Especially now. But it

doesnt make me think of them. This no mans land never housed

living people. It was a transient depository, massacred each night

and cleaned each morning.

Marcy gets this wry smile when we get to her door. Its the

only suite whose door has not been kicked in. It remains locked.

443
 I asked my architect to find good steel. He purchased it

through a liquidation on Delancey, Marcy explains, stroking the

metal, it belonged to a bank vault. She produces a three-sided

brass key and unlocks the door, it truly paid off.

It looks the same inside. The wading pool is empty and the

torches are out, but it remains untouched. Something triggers in my

brain. A whisper of a thought: home.

And I cant help it. I cant keep it together anymore. I lean

against the wall and begin to sob, crying into my hands. I slump

down onto the stone floor, beside the bust of Horus and cry.

Marcy puts a hand on my cheek and tells me shell be right

back. I curl into a ball and face the hieroglyphs and fall apart. I go

into my own little private space, far from the grasps of anxiety, and

disconnect.

Something shakes me awake. I dont know how much time

has passed, but a distinct smell bites my sinuses and pulls me to

consciousness. Marcy is wearing a painters mask and shes telling

me its time to go. She helps me up and we step over a trail of fresh

liquid and out into the ballroom.

444
 Its not theirs to have, says Marcy and I cant tell if shes

talking to me or to herself. It was never meant to fall into their

hands.

What are we doing here? I ask, groggy from the fumes,

dehydrated from crying.

Marcy drops a matchbook in my palm.

About that favor she says.

I follow the shimmering line from our feet and see it split off

into ten brancheseach leading into a suite.

Its gasoline. Wheres it from?

We kept a surplus in the basement for the generators. In

case the power went out.

Theyll catch us, I say.

Well be long gone, says Marcy.

Theres a sparkle in her eye. One I havent seen in months.

She gives that winning smile.

I light the match, where do we go after this?

To my favorite place.

The trickle ignites.

445
 In a blink, its followed the trail of gas into each suite. The

18th century Venetian wooden floors, flown in from an unfinished

chapel, burn amazingly well. Each suite glows from within. Crazy

shapes are cast on the wall. It looks like people are dancing. Before

the smoke blocks our view of the destruction, I see the eleventh

branch of gas climbing the steps to the second floor. Marcy is

pulling me and we go around to the front of the building and get in

Marks car.

To JFK, please, Marcy says.

Mark doesnt say anything. The car doesnt move.

Drive, Mark! I yell.

He puts the car into drive and speeds down the street.

For your service, says Marcy, dropping a check through

the town cars partition.

Mark doesnt move. He runs a red light.

Relax, Mark, I tell him, you didnt see anything. Say it.

I didnt, he starts, didnt see a thing.

You didnt even pick us up from the airport. You havent

heard from Marcy since PS 111 was closed, right?

446
 Yeah, he says, fumbling for a cigarette.

Marcy lights one of hers and passes it through the partition.

Look at the check, wont you?

We get to a stop sign and Mark takes the cigarette and looks

at the check.

This for real? He asks.

Made out to cash, Marcy says calmly.

Thank you, says Mark.

For what? I ask. You received it anonymously.

As we drive away, I watch the school in the rearview mirror.

Smoke is just starting to leak through the broken windows. The

industrial red brick faade will soon be dusty with soot. What will

become of it now?

All of Marcys contingency plans had been based on Phase

3s launch. No one would have come to an Iris museum that

displayed the urns of Parisa and Brandon alone and she knew that.

Maybe the city would knock it down. NYU would build something

in its place, but it wouldnt be the same.

447
 Theres a feeling of closure in burning things. Had it

remained standing, waiting for another group to move in, it would

have been a continuation of a plan that never came to fruition. Had

Marcy not stopped John, it would have just been a stain on history.

Now it was, as it had been before us, a blank canvas.

I breathe easy for the first time in months.

When we get to the airport, I tell Mark to stay in the car.

We can manage from here.

Thank you, Mark, says Marcy, kissing him on the cheek.

He shakes my hand. Good luck, kids.

Before we go into the airport, I tell Marcy Ill meet her

inside. I have to do something first.

I sit on the curb of a no loading zone and dial the first

number in a list of numbers Id saved one night while slightly drunk

and very determined. Id made a promise and now was the time to

pony up.

The first number is a Tennessee number901 area code.

It rings and I pray it will go to voicemail.

Ring.

448
 Dont make me talk to her. What am I going to say?

Ring.

I should have something meaningful written. I should just

hang

Yes? The voice is soft. Her accent makes the e long.

Talk, Fey. Say something.

Hello?

Shes going to hang up and this will go worse if I have to call

back.

Mrs. Pearl? I say.

Yes?

I okay. This is really hard. Im calling on behalf on

behalf? I sound like a coroner. Keep it casual. Im calling because I

was friends with your daughter and

And what? She cuts me off, what does Francine want

now?

She sounds pissed. I wasnt expecting this. What the fuck

does she mean what does Franky want? How could she shit. She

doesnt know.

449
 Are you Frankys mom?

Who is this?

My name is Fey. I was friends with Franky. I promised Id

call her after you know. After it all happened.

After what happened? She asks impatiently. Did you go to

Collierville High with her?

No, Im an Iris. We lived together in PS 111.

The line goes quiet. What did you say about it happening?

After Franky passed away. I told her Id call you.

What?

How could you not know? I feel my temper rising. Even

if she hadnt overdosed she would have been dead by now. How did

you not know that?

The line goes quiet again. I wait, trying to relax my

breathing.

Her voice is soft again. Whod you say this was?

I dont know what the hell is wrong with you, lady, but I

promised Franky Id call you after she died and this is what Im

doing.

450
 I heard about youthe shit you put Franky through with the

plastic surgery and everything. It was awful. And the monthly

checks? What kind of mother writes shit like that to their daughter

when they know shell die young?

Now hold on! She says, but I keep talking over her.

Franky wanted me to tell you that she didnt die painfully

and you shouldnt worry about her and she loved you and everything

is going to be alright. Those are her words, but I was the one that

held her when she died and I can tell you first hand that she did die

painfully. She committed suicide because she didnt want to live

another week just to drop dead of this awful fucking disease. And

where were you when that happened? Where were any of you when

that happened? Not here. It was just us. Her new family. Are you

still there?

Yes, she says quietly. I hear Frankys voice in hers.

I breathe and try to calm down. How did you not know?

Another intolerable silence follows and I sigh heavily into

the phone. Then I hear a receiver drop. She hung up. That awful

bitch. Shes probably popping the champagne cork now.

451
 No more checks to send.

I light a cigarette and go to the next number in my list

Stefani. After her Ill have two more to call: Casey and Jen. I dont

know what Ill say, but Im confident the calls will go better than

Frankys.

The phone rings and rings and rings and thank god Im sent

to a voicemail.

The voicemail you are trying to reach is currently full.

Should I text her parents instead? No, thats worse than

leaving a message. Ill call back later. What if there is no later? Well

they should keep their god damn voicemail clear. Its not my fault if

its full. Ill call again tomorrow. Will Marcy still be with me

tomorrow? Of course she will. Shell help me make the call. Ill call

tomorrow.

Next is Caseys number. They pick up on the first ring:

yeah? Bennie?

The guy has a Boston accent. I wonder if its Caseys dad.

No, this is Fey.

Huh?

452
 I was friends with your son, Casey.

Oh yeah? What do you want? Im expectin another call.

Should I call back?

Just tell me what you want, guy.

Deep breath. I told Casey I would call you after he died.

You gonna tell me why that pazzo shot my son?

Well, no. Thats not what Im calling about.

Which one of em were you?

Im Fey.

What do you look like?

I hear a mouse click. The tapping of keys.

I have dark brown hair and blue and green eyes.

Uh huh thought you were that one. You that girls

brother?

No, thats Day Darling. Hes gone.

And wheres the sister? He asks.

Marcys still alive.

Whens she dying?

She isnt dying. We found a cure.

453
 He curses. I hope it doesnt work.

I dont say anything.

You got anything else? He asks.

I should just hang up. This is another wasted call. But I think

of Casey and my promise. It seemed so important to him that I do

this. So, I tell the man what I think Casey would want him to hear.

Casey wanted you to know that he had a happy life and he

wanted to thank you for that.

Click.

And hes gone.

How had I expected the calls to go? Not like this.

I tap the next number on the list. Maybe Jens call will go

better. British people are nicer than Americans.

The ring is different. Beep. Pause. Beep. Its kind of exciting.

It sounds like Im calling the other side of the world. Even the ring

tone is different.

Chopstick House.

I check the number.

Is this I read off the number.

454
 Yes, what do you want?

Is this a restaurant?

Chopstick House. Chinese takeaway.

Sorry, I have the wrong number.

I hang up and check the number against my notes page. Its

the same. Jen entered it herself so it cant be a mistake.

If she were here, shed be laughing her head off.

Theres only one more number on my list.

I unblock my mom and dial. Why is this so hard? Of all the

calls, this should be the easiest. My own mother. I owe her closure. I

owe her a goodbye, dont I? Shes probably been a mess these past

couple of months, not knowing where I was or if I was still alive.

Or did she follow PS 111? Did she watch the Good Morning

American interview? Does she know about Marcy and me?

Hello?

The sound of her voice is so jarring, I cant speak. I hear her

rustle with the phone, pulling it away from her face to see the

number.

455
 Baby? She says, her voice shaking, Faith? Baby are you

there?

Mom?

She sounds frantic. I knew youd call. Every day Ive been

waiting. Had my phone with me at work every day. Where are you?

Im squeezing the phone so hard it might break. The sweat on

my cheek creates a barrier between me and the glass. I have nothing

to say. I should have something to say to her. I feel numb.

I feel numb, I say.

Are are you safe? Where are you? Theres a lot of noise.

Goodbye mom.

She falls apart. The messages come in gasps now. I made my

mother fall apart. Dont. Hang up. God. Faith. Baby. Dont. Hang

up.

I hang up.

I find Marcy on a bench. It looks like shes also just gotten

off of a bad call too. I dont ask her and she doesnt ask me. I just

slump down next to her on the bench and fold my arms. I feel

heavier.

456
 Do you remember what I told you when you first came to

PS 111? Marcy says. I told you not to get attached.

Because of Phase 3?

Because I saw you investing in these people and I knew it

would only be harder once they died. Why do you think I was never

around?

I thought you were busy.

Marcy puts her elbows on her knees. You need to let them

go.

Let them go. Just like that. How did Marcy learn to let people

go so easily? Just push them into the crowd like so many faceless

guests that faded in and out of existence in the surreal PS 111 nights.

I dont I can.

It will take time, but you will.

I wont, I tell her, Im not like you.

You arent like me, she says, touching my lips, and thats

precisely how you will.

Marcy stands, shouldering her Foley + Corinna Jet Setter Jr.

totecherry like her cashmere infinity scarf.

457
 Are you coming, then?

The ticket agent prints our boarding passes and asks us to

hurry. Youll have to run.

Fine, says Marcy.

I throw both of our bags onto the scale and we run for

security.

The gate is announcing its final call when we arrive. Our

boarding passes are checked and the flight attendant tells Marcy

shes a big fan and where has she been lately?

I wish I could tell you, says Marcy with a wink.

Bagless and out of breath, we find our seats: 4a and 4b.

The coach passengers glare at us as they walk past. Someone

takes a photo and the flash goes off and momentarily blinds me.

Marcy chuckles at my misfortune.

See? I say, they havent forgotten us.

Marcy drops her napkin in my champagne.

The flight attendant seals the door and Marcy squeezes my

hand.

458
 She doesnt take her eyes off the tarmac. I know what shes

thinking: this will be the last time I see New York.

Do you wish things had been different? She asks.

I only wish that we had more time.

Her look tells me our wish isnt the same.

What time were you born? I ask, breaking the silence.

1 in the morning, she says.

I go to check my watch, but she covers it. I dont want to

know, she says. All that work all that hard work down the

drain.

The drug will work, I tell her again.

I wasnt talking about the drug.

I spread out her hand on the arm rest and slide my fingers

between hers so theyre interlaced.

She puts her head on my shoulder. Why arent you scared?

I shut my eyes and listen to the hum of the plane. I am

scared.

Marcy breathes softly. I feel her chest rise and fall.

459
 Why did you stay with me after you found out about Phase

3? She asks.

I knew you wouldnt go through with it.

I would have, she says.

But you didnt.

Because you said youd kill yourself. That was a deal

breaker.

I open one eye. A deal breaker because you didnt want me

to die or because you didnt want your plan to fail?

I didnt want to lose what I loved.

I sit up. You love me?

She actually blushes. Marcy Darling is blushing. More

importantly, Marcy Darling loves me. She loves me?

You love me? I ask again.

Marcy looks out the window as if to say dont make a big

deal about it. But I cant not make a big deal about it. Marcy loves

me.

I cant believe you said that, I tell her.

Let it go, alright?

460
 Shes avoiding my eye contact, still looking out the window,

waiting for me to drop it, and I see itI see a scared little girl. I see

Em.

I love you too, I tell her.

I kiss her and she looks into my eyes. Her face is set with

resolve, those pale blue eyes seeing past me and into the horizon.

Everything will be okay.

Theres some turbulence and Marcy squeezes my hand.

No matter what happens, Ill be right here.

Tell me something, she says.

Like what?

Anything. I cant stand the silence.

I think for a moment, then say, Close your eyes and picture

this. Seriously, close them. Are they closed? Good. First things first,

your 22nd birthday will come and go and well freak the fuck out

because nothing bad happened. In your face, everyone ever.

Were living full god damned lives and we have money and careers

and everything ahead of us. But we wont make too big of a deal

about it.

461
 Then were going to travel. Well go everywhere. Well wear

out shoes on cobblestone streets. Well hear church bells in a city

with no English signs. Well be young and careless and tall and

beautiful and viral and the envy of the people we meet along the

way. Some will recognize us and thatll be okay. Theyll be stunned

that we didnt die. Itll be our little secret. That the whole world was

wrong about us. An inside joke we share with everyone we meet.

Well try to pick up Italian and youll go to markets in the

morning to practice. And youll bring back fresh vegetables and

brown eggs and Ill cook for us. Ill learn how to cook too. No, well

cook together. And well eat breakfast on the balcony. Youll smoke

and Ill photograph you. Ill also pick up photography. Ive always

wanted to learn it. And why not? We have the time now.

And when our adventures are done, well come back and buy

a house in California. Youll wake up and find a ring on your finger.

Thatll be the way I do itsubtle like that. No big deal. Were

engaged now. And? People always thought wed get married, so here

ya go. Doing it more for the public than for ourselves.

462
 Well have a quiet rooftop wedding in downtown LA, only

us and the officiant. Paparazzi will curse us from the street below.

Years will pass and well adopt, because why not? Shell be

three and from Barbados or some less fortunate country. Her name

will be Amy or Sheri. Youll dress her impeccably and Ill bring

Amy on hikes through Griffith Park and show her the nice parts of

the city. Shell want to know how we met and when shes old

enough, well tell her. Well tell her about the disease and how we

beat the odds. How mom and dad were on death row and managed to

escape. Well tell her about her uncle Day the others who werent as

lucky.

But youre lucky? Amy will ask.

We are. Thats what youll say. Were the lucky ones.

I look down at Marcy whose eyes are still closed. Hows

that sound?

I already speak Italian, Marcy says.

I kiss her on the head. Her hair smells like coconut. Besides

that.

It sounds pretty.

463
 Would you be happy with a life like that?

I think I would, she says.

I drifted off at some point. When I wake up I notice Ive

drooled on myself. Marcys still asleep and Im glad she didnt

notice. Shes still holding my hand. A flight attendant passes and I

ask where we are.

Above Greenland, she says, if you open your window,

youll see the snow.

I shake Marcy, can I open the window? Marce?

She doesnt reply. I check my watch: 1:12am. Marcy turned

22 just twelve minutes ago.

I shake her again. Marcy? Hey. Marce?

I put two fingers to her neck. Her skin is still warm but

nothing beats inside of her. I open the window and look at her in the

moonlight. She looks like shes sleeping.

Marcy? Come on. Marcy? Baby?

The last thing I said to her. What was the last thing I said?

464
 I love you, I whisper, I love you so much.

I stay awake the rest of the flight, holding her hand until my

fingers go numb.

Were in our final descent to Cairo International, says the

pilot, the local time is 7:10am. The temperature is 12 degrees

Celsius. Thank you again for flying with us.

Its 7:40am and were the only ones left on the plane. Today

is March 19 and in half a month, there will be no Irises left. By the

time I die, no one will be talking about the Darlings or PS 111 or the

Iris generation. No one will ever post another NewEx.

I wrap Marcys scarf around her neck. It catches on

something. She always wore jewelry to be seen, so why was this

necklace hidden? I pull on the thin silver chain and find a key

dangling from the end. Ive seen this key before. It belongs to our

lock on the Brooklyn bridge.

When I kiss her I only taste my tears.

465
 In an hour, the press will have its story. #Iris will trend for

the last time.

Theyll take her away and turn her death into a headline.

Whatever they say about hertheyll get it wrong. Theyll get it

wrong like they get everything wrong about us.

If I stay with her, Ill spend the last 15 days of my life

delivering statements, interviews, autographs, apologies. Ill have to

answer for Marcys sins. I have a good five minutes before a flight

attendant will ask me what the problem iswhy Im not getting off

the plane.

Then there will be police and reporters and Marcys lawyers,

who are now my lawyers, debriefing me and running through

scenarios and and Im done.

I spent 21 years of my life avoiding all of that. I dont plan

on spending the last 15 days of my life knee-deep in the media.

When your time is up, so is mine.

I had a month left with her and I wasted it in a lab. I wasted

our last days together. I should have known they wouldnt be able to

cure us.

466
 But maybe it will cure me. Maybe 15 days will make the

difference. I have to get off this plane. I have to leave her.

What the hell will I do in Cairo? What will I do without

Marcy? I beg her to wake up. Tell me what to do, dammit. God

dammit, Marcy, I dont know what to do.

A flight attendant makes his way, row-to-row cleaning up

trash. Hell be here any minute. I must get off this plane.

A pinpoint of light pulls my attention. I look out at the

tarmac, slippery with morning heat, and there, past the airport, far

into distance I swear I can just barely see the pyramids.

467
This book is for Allyson.

Special thanks to Sean and Sarah for the endless workshopping and

all the coffee and beer it took to do so.

Thank you to Tristan, Katie, Rachelle, Taira, mom & dad.

468