“You should stay here,” Malcolm says. He opens up the only closet. “Maybe we can beat this. You can be the exception! We can lock you in here.”

“I’ll suffocate or the shelf with your heavy-ass clothes will collapse on my head.” He should know better than to believe in exceptions and shit like that. I sit up. “I don’t have a lot of time, guys.” I shake a little, but I get it together. I can’t let them see me freaking.

Tagoe twitches. “You gonna be okay by yourself?”

It takes a few seconds before I get what he’s really asking me. “I’m not offing myself,” I say.

I’m not trying to die.

They leave me alone in the room with laundry I’ll never have to worry about washing and summer course work I’ll never have to finish—or start. Bunched up in the corner of my bed is Aimee’s blanket, this yellow thing with a pattern of colorful cranes, which I wrap around my shoulders. It belonged to Aimee as a kid, a relic from her mother’s childhood. We started dating when she was still here at Pluto, and we’d rest underneath the blanket together and use it for the occasional living room picnic. Those were mad chill times. She didn’t ask for the blanket back after we broke up, which I think was her way of keeping me around, even when she wanted distance. Like I still have a chance with her.

This room couldn’t be more different from the bedroom I grew up in—beige walls instead of green; two extra beds, and roommates; half the size; no weights or video game posters—but it still feels like home, and it showed me how people matter more than stuff. Malcolm learned that lesson after firefighters put out the flames that burned his house, parents, and favorite things.

We keep it simple here.

Behind my bed, I have pictures thumb-tacked to the wall, all printed out by Aimee from my Instagram: Althea Park, where I always go to think; my sweaty white T-shirt hanging from my bike’s handlebars, taken after my first marathon last summer; an abandoned stereo on Christopher Street, playing a song I’d never heard before and never heard again; Tagoe with a bloody nose from that time we tried creating a handshake for the Plutos and it all went wrong because of a stupid head-butt; two sneakers—one size eleven, the other size nine—from that time I bought new kicks but didn’t make sure they matched before leaving the store; me and Aimee, my eyes uneven, kind of like when I’m high, which I wasn’t (yet), but it’s still a keeper because the streetlight threw a cool glow on her; footprints in the mud from when I chased Aimee around the park after a long week of rain; two shadows sitting beside each other, which Malcolm wanted no part of, but I took anyway; and tons more I gotta leave behind for my boys when I walk out of here.

Walking out of here . . .

I really don’t wanna go.

MATEO

1:52 a.m.

I’m almost ready to go.

I did the dishes, swept dust and candy wrappers out from underneath the couch, mopped the living room floor, wiped the bathroom sink clean of my toothpaste smears, and even made my bed. I’m back in front of my laptop, faced with a greater challenge: the inscription for my headstone in no more than eight words. How do I sum up my life in eight words?

He Lived Where He Died: In His Bedroom.

What a Waste of a Life.

Children Take More Risks Than Him.

I have to do better. Everyone wanted so much more out of me, myself included. I have to honor this. It’s my last day to do so.

Here Lies Mateo: He Lived for Everyone.

I hit Submit.

There’s no going back. Yeah, I can edit, but that’s not how promises work, and living for everyone is a promise to the world.

I know it’s early in the day, but my chest squeezes because it’s also getting late, for a Decker, at least. I can’t do this alone, the leaving part. I’m really not dragging Lidia into my End Day. Once I get out of here—not if—I’ll go see Lidia and Penny, but I’m not telling Lidia. I don’t want her to consider me dead before I am, or ever bring her any sadness. Maybe I’ll send her a postcard explaining everything while I’m out living.

What I need is a coach who can double as a friend for me, or a friend who can serve as a coach for me. And that’s what this popular app often promoted on CountDowners provides.

The Last Friend app is designed for lonely Deckers and for any good soul who wants to keep a Decker company in their final hours. This isn’t to be confused with Necro, which is intended for anyone who wants a one-night stand with a Decker—the ultimate no-strings-attached app. I’ve always been so disturbed by Necro, and not just because sex makes me nervous. But no, the Last Friend app was created so people can feel worthy and loved before they die. There are no user charges, unlike Necro, which goes for $7.99 a day, which disturbs me because I can’t help but feel as if a human is worth more than eight bucks.

Anyway, just like any potential new friendship, the relationships born from the Last Friend app can be pretty hit-or-miss. I was once following this CountDowners feed where this Decker met a Last Friend, and she was slow about updating, sometimes for hours, to the point where viewers in the chat room assumed she’d died. She was actually very much alive, just living her last day right, and after she died her Last Friend wrote a brief eulogy that taught me more about the girl than I’d learned in any of her updates. But it’s not always sweet like that. A few months ago this Decker with a sad life unwittingly befriended the infamous Last Friend serial killer, and that was so tragic to read about, and one of the many reasons I struggle with trusting this world.

I think engaging with a Last Friend could do me some good. Then again, I don’t know if it’s sadder to die alone or in the company of someone who not only doesn’t mean anything to you, but also probably doesn’t care much for you either.

Time is wasting.

I have to take a shot and find the same bravery hundreds of thousands of Deckers before me have found. I check my bank account online, and what remains from my college funds has been automatically deposited into my account, which is only about two thousand dollars, but it’s more than enough money to get through the day. I can visit the World Travel Arena downtown, where Deckers and guests can experience the cultures and environments of different countries and cities.

I download the Last Friend app on my phone. It’s the fastest download ever, like it’s some sentient being who understands the whole point of its existence is that time is running out for someone. The app has a blue interface with an animation of a gray clock as two silhouettes approach each other and high five. LAST FRIEND zooms into the center and a menu drops down.

Dying Today

Not Dying Today

I click Dying Today. A message pops up:

We here at Last Friend Inc. are collectively sorry for this loss of you. Our deepest sympathies extend to those who love you and those who will never meet you. We hope you find a new friend of value to spend your final hours with today. Please fill out the profile for best results.

Deeply sorry to lose you,

Last Friend Inc.

A blank profile pops up and I fill it out.

Name: Mateo Torrez

Age: 18

Gender: Male

Height: 5’10”

Weight: 164 lbs.

Ethnicity: Puerto Rican

Orientation: <skip>

Job: <skip>