I laugh and put Penny down. Lidia gives Penny the plastic butterfly and collects clothes from the floor. “What can I do to help?” I say.

“You can never change, for starters. Then you can throw all her toys back in the chest, but leave the sheep alone or she’ll freak out. And in return I will love you forever and ever. I’m going to put her clothes in her drawers. Give me a minute or ten.” Lidia leaves with the laundry basket.

“Take your time.”

“Godsend!”

I love Lidia in all her forms. Before Penny, she wanted to graduate high school with top honors and go to college to pursue politics and architecture and music history. She wanted to travel to Buenos Aires and Spain, Germany and Colombia, but then she met Christian and got pregnant and found happiness in her new world.

Lidia used to be the girl who got her hair straightened after school every Thursday, was always glowing without makeup, and loved photo-bombing strangers’ photos with goofy faces. Now her hair is what she calls “somewhat cute, somewhat lion’s mane,” and she will never approve any photo to go up online because she thinks she looks too burned out. I think my best friend glows even brighter than before because she’s been through a change, an evolution that many can’t handle. And she’s done it solo.

When I’m done throwing all the toys back into their chest, I sit down with Penny on the floor, watching as she blows raspberries whenever the cartoon characters ask her questions. This is Penny’s beginning. And one day she’ll find herself on the terrible end of a Death-Cast call and it sucks how we’re all being raised to die. Yes, we live, or we’re given the chance to, at least, but sometimes living is hard and complicated because of fear.

“Penny, I hope you figure out how to become immortal so you can rule this place for as long as you like.”

Here’s my vision of Utopia: a world without violence and tragedies, where everyone lives forever, or until they’ve led fulfilling and happy lives and decide themselves that they want to check out whatever’s next for us.

Penny responds with gibberish.

Lidia comes out of the other room. “Why are you wishing Penny immortality and world domination while she’s learning how to say ‘one’ in Spanish?”

“Because I want her to live forever, obviously.” I smile. “And make minions of everyone else.”

Lidia’s eyebrows rise. She leans over, picks up Penny, and holds her out to me. “Penny for your thoughts?” We both cringe. “That is never going to be funny, is it? I just keep going for it, hoping that the next time will be it, but no.”

“Maybe next time,” I say.

“Honestly, you don’t even have to give me your thoughts. If you want Penny you can have her for free.” She flips Penny around and kisses her eyes and tickles her armpit. “Mommy meant to say that you’re priceless, little Penny.” Then she mutters, “The priciest priceless little Penny ever.” She sets Penny back down in front of the TV and continues cleaning.

The relationship I have with Lidia isn’t the kind you see in movies or maybe have with your own friends. We love each other to death, but we don’t go around talking about it. It’s understood between us. And words can sometimes be awkward, even when you’ve known someone for eight years. But today I have to say more.

I prop up a framed picture of Lidia and Christian that was tipped over. “Christian has got to be crazy proud of you, you know. You’re Penny’s shot at happiness in a world that makes cheap promises and has no guarantees and doesn’t always reward those who never did wrong. It’s like, the world will just as easily screw with a good person as it will a not-so-good one, but you devote your days to someone else selflessly anyway. Not everyone is programmed like you.”

Lidia stops sweeping. “Mateo, where is this random flattery coming from? What’s going on?”

I carry a bottle of juice over to the sink. “Everything’s okay.” And everything will be okay. She’ll be okay. “I should probably head out in a bit. I’m tired.”

I’m not lying.

Lidia’s eyes twitch. “Before you go, could you help me with a couple more chores?”

We move silently through the living room. She scrubs oatmeal off a pillow, and I dust her air conditioner. She collects cups, and I arrange all of Penny’s shoes at the door. She folds laundry, peeking over at me, while I break down some diaper boxes. “Could you take out the garbage?” she asks, her voice cracking a little. “Then I need help assembling that little baby bookcase you and your dad got Penny.”

“Okay.”

I think she’s catching on.

I place the envelope of cash on the kitchen counter when she leaves the room.

Even as I grab the trash bag out of the bin, I know I won’t be able to return. I step out into the hallway and throw the bag down the chute. If I go back in, I’ll never leave. And if I don’t leave, I’ll die in that apartment, possibly in front of Penny, and that’s not how I want to be remembered—Rufus’s approach is really smart and thoughtful.

I pull out my phone and block Lidia’s number so she can’t call or text me to come back.

I feel nauseous and a little dizzy, slowly making my way back downstairs, hoping Lidia understands, and hating myself so much I race down the stairs faster and faster. . . .

RUFUS

6:48 a.m.

Who put down ten dollars I’d find myself on Instagram on my End Day? Because you’re now ten dollars richer.

The Plutos still haven’t responded to a single text or phone call. I’m not freaking out too hard because they’re not Deckers, but damn, could someone at least let me know if the cops are still on my ass or not? My money’s on everyone being passed out. I’d nap too if you put a bed in front of me. A chair with armrests would work as well. Definitely not this lobby bench that could seat two people max. I’m not about to rest fetus-position style, that’s not me.

I’m scrolling through Instagram, expecting to find a new post from Malcolm’s account (@manthony012), but there’s been nothing since nine hours ago when he uploaded that unfiltered photo of a Coca-Cola bottle with his name on it. He’s Team Pepsi in the world war of Pepsi versus Coke, but he was so happy seeing his name in that bodega fridge that he couldn’t resist. The caffeine only got him more hype before the fight.

I shouldn’t call that thing with Peck a fight. Peck couldn’t even get a swing on me with the way I pinned him.

I’m texting Aimee an apology, even though I only half-mean it because her little shit boyfriend unleashed the cops on me at my own damn funeral, when Mateo comes running down the stairs at a dangerous speed. He’s bulleting to the front door and I catch up with him. His eyes are red and he’s breathing hard, like he’s fighting back a serious cry.

“You good?” He’s not, that was stupid to ask.

“No.” Mateo pushes the lobby door open. “Let’s go before Lidia chases me down.”

I’m eager to get a move on too, believe me, but his silent mode isn’t gonna fly with me. I wheel my bike alongside him. “Come on, get whatever it is off your chest. Don’t carry this around all day.”