downstairs.”

“Doesn’t your dad know by now that he can’t keep anything from

your mom ’cause she’s got that all-seeing third eye in the back of her

head?” I ask.

“I actually think she gets a kick out of watching him squirm,” she

laughs, “when she finds the butts hidden around the backyard.”

“Just like a woman.”

She punches me on the shoulder.

“I’m going to start charging you every time you hit me,” I tell

her.

“That would negate your purpose as my personal punching bag. And

speaking of people who’d like to use you as one, Maddy called me.

She’s not coming because she’s at her friend’s house.”

“See! And she got all mad at me when I said friends. ”

“Yeah, but you say friends in a mean way. I say friends because I

don’t like her new friends .”

“Whatever. I don’t need her crying all over the place, feeling

guilty ’cause I’m not dead.” I suck my teeth. I need a toothbrush

ASAP.

We fall into silence. She tilts her head and combs her hair all to

one side. She twirls a strand around her index finger and stares at my

face. I wonder what she sees. If she sees something different from

what everyone else does. I wonder if she’s thinking I’m a

piece-of-shit friend and an even worse boyfriend. I wonder if she’s

thought about our CPR kiss the way I have.

Instead she whispers, “What were you dreaming about?” She

hesitates. “You were really tossing.”

I shake my head. I know how this would make me sound. If there is

anyone I let myself tell anything to, it’s Layla. Well, almost

anything. “Just some crazy stuff. You know, I still can’t remember

anything that happened to me out there. I see this blur. Then last

night I was going through the apartment, reading, Googling, pacing,

trying to make myself remember, like maybe it’s memory loss. But

nothing.

“I mean, I wasn’t expecting an instant replay. But when I fell

asleep, my dream was so impossible and it still felt so real. More

real than this-” I pinch her and she squeals. “What if something

happened to me down there? It would explain how I got this-” I pull my

T-shirt at the collar so she can see the red scratches on my chest.

“Yes, Tristan, you have pecs of steel. The guys are outside. You

really don’t have to do that with me-”

“No, dumbass. I mean, I do, but look-” I really don’t want to get

up for fear of the pillow shifting. “Scratches.”

“There’s nothing there, Tristan.” There’s a sort of pity in her

eyes.

She’s right. I rub my hands on my chest and can’t feel anything.

Not even the impression of scabs.

“Is he awake yet?” My mom is standing at the door.

“Just now,” I say, as Layla stands and pulls at where her dress

clings to her thighs.

Mom lingers at the doorway. She stands half in and half out.

There’s something about the way she’s looking at me. It’s not exactly

wonder, but similar to it. I mean, I can’t even imagine what it

must’ve been like to think I was dead.

“Hurry up and get dressed, honey. People are on their way.”

“Yeah, I’ll be ready in just a minute.” Though I don’t feel ready

for anything at all.

•••

While my mom spared me a Welcome Home sign, my friends-if I’d even

call them that after what they’re holding up-have made a crude sign on

white cardboard. It reads: “IT'S ALIVE!” With thunderbolts on the

side.

Jerry, Angelo, Bertie, Ryan, and some other lifeguards and members

of the swim team hang around the living room. They pat me on the back

and tell me they’ve never seen anything like this. They can’t believe

it. I’m a miracle. I’m the coolest dude that ever lived on Planet

Cool. They show me my mug on three newspapers, an awkward picture that

I recognize from Mike’s camera phone at the pizzeria, and one that

looks like a girl was edited out of the left half. I’m halfway between

a smile and a grimace, and my eyes don’t really come out right in

black-and-white. They almost look colorless.

Jerry polishes off his can of root beer and burps. From somewhere

in the kitchen, Layla’s mother scolds him, and he sinks into the

chair, which makes him look like a grasshopper retracting his limbs.

He’s so tall that watching him swim reminds me of a log with branches

flailing down a stream. “My mom was going to send flowers from her

flower shop, you know? But half the girls in school were already

buying them and sending them to your hospital room.”

“Tell her thanks anyway.”

Angelo sits up on the ottoman. “Bro, that nurse.” He makes the

symbol of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, then kisses his

fingertips. I’ve seen his father do the exact same thing when they’re

sitting on their front porch drinking beer and a girl in short shorts

walks in front of them. “You’re the luckiest bastard who ever lived.”

Now I’m a lucky-cool bastard. Hey, I’ve been called worse.

Layla walks over with a refilled bowl of tortilla chips, and the

guys are all over her. I don’t like the way Angelo’s eyes linger on

her. It’s not like she’s got giant boobs. I mean, they’re a nice size

for her height, but she’s also not wearing a bra, just a bikini top

under her dress. What’s with these guys anyway? She’s on our team.

They see her in a suit all the time.

Layla takes a seat on the couch between Bertie and me. She’s used

to being one of the guys, so she doesn’t notice how different they’re

acting, all shifty and nervous because she’s sucked their breaths out

just by being here. Maybe she doesn’t realize how she’s changed. How

practically overnight her Bambi eyes and full lips have grown into a

face that all you want to do is stare at it. How she’s set the bar

pretty damn high for every other girl.

Of course, none of the guys would try to get with her. She’s still

one of us.

I reach over the coffee table and eat chip after chip. My stomach

lurches, and I can taste bile creeping up. I gulp down water, and I

feel a little better.

“My mom actually wants me to quit my post,” Angelo says. “She says

the apocalypse is coming, so she’s got these garlic wreaths all over

the windows-”

“I knew I smelled something,” Ryan goes, shrinking back from the

threat of Angelo’s fist.

“-and crosses all over the place. She asked Father Thomas to

rebaptize me. He told her you’re only supposed to do it once.”

“Did you tell your mom that the apocalypse is coming, and not an

army of vampires?” Layla jokes.

“Whatever. All I care is that she was so happy I woke up too late

to go to work that day that she even let me sleep through school

yesterday.”

Angelo is a guy with no conscience and no worries. I almost envy

him. He’s the kind of guy who takes your lunch money at the beginning

of the day and then asks to borrow another dollar after school so you

can split a pizza. He smacks girls on their asses, and they actually

turn around and giggle, because other than being macho and using more

hair spray than the drama class, he’s a pretty good-looking guy.

Mom walks in with a gallon of root beer. “I heard you boys were

thirsty.”

“And girls,” Layla chimes in. Sandy, who’s been looking through my

mom’s collection of books, looks up and smiles.

“Yes, please, Mrs. Hart,” the boys say in unison, all smiles and

politeness. She doesn’t know them like I do.

The minute she walks out, Layla looks up at Ryan and says, “Ryan,

you’ve got a little drool right here.”

He wipes at his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “It’s kind of