10 Things to Do Before I Die (2 page)

Things I Love About Rachel Klein

It’s easy to see Why Mark and Nikki make a great couple. For one, they look alike. They’re both blessed With the same Mediterranean complexion, the same carefree thrift-store style. They’ve also nailed the elusive “We’re-hot-and-We’re-comfortable-With-it” vibe. They could be brother and sister. But it goes beyond just a physical resemblance. It’s metaphysical. They’re almost yin and yang. They share lots of private jokes and long, meaningful glances. They finish each other’s sentences. They even hang out With each other’s parents. It’s as if they’re adults.

I don’t get it. Because my own girlfriend—

Let’s just say that our relationship rests a few rungs lower on the maturity ladder.

It’s not that I don’t love Rachel Klein. Of course I love her. What’s not to love? There’s her blond hair (short cropped and funky), her blue eyes (soft), her fashion sense (bohemian: sandals and floral dresses), her GPA (4.0 and rising), her sense of social commitment (she’s a member of Amnesty International), the fact that she’s really—Well, for lack of a better Word—nice …

Yet … there are some things I don’t love about Rachel Klein. In no particular order:

She thinks I have a crush on Nikki.

She bugs me about hanging out at the Circle Eat Diner so much. She once asked me—very, very nicely, of course: “Why spend all your time there With them When you could be spending time With me?”

She Won’t have sex until she’s “ready.”

See number 3.

The Swirling Vortex Inside My Head

Before I get back to the impending catastrophe at the diner, though, there’s something I should mention. The only reason I Was lucky enough to meet Rachel in the first place (and I know I Was lucky) is because I approached her on a dare, instigated by Mark and Nikki. I Wouldn’t even have a girlfriend at all—much less one to complain about—if it Weren’t for them.

Here’s What happened:

It Was four months ago, the Week before Thanksgiving break. Classes had just ended for the day. Mark and I Were out loitering With the rest of the kids on the school’s front stoop, shivering in the Wind. We Were Waiting for Nikki.

Suddenly Mark spotted Rachel Klein.

“Burger, there’s that new junior,” he Whispered. “You know, the Amnesty International chick? I saw her checking you out.”

I Was tempted to give Mark a Wet Willy, but it Would have been giving him too much credit. If he Wanted to pull a prank, he had to tell a better lie than that.

“I’m serious, Burger,” he said. “You should go up to her and introduce yourself.”

“Are We being filmed for some sort of reality show right now?” I asked him dully.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you are trying to set me up for some kind of nationally televised humiliation, right?”

Mark scowled at me. “Dude, you gotta drop the clown act. It’s getting old.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why don’t you believe that Rachel Klein Would be interested in you?”

“Gee, Mark, I don’t know. Look at her. Now look at me. You do the math.”

“The question you should be asking is: Why Wouldn’t she be interested in you?”

I offered a guess: “Because she’s cute and I look like a Q-Tip With a Brillo pad Afro on top?”

“Burger,” he moaned. “You’re a stallion, dude! And Who cares about looks, anyway? She obviously sees the swirling vortex inside your head. That’s What matters.”

“She sees the … What?”

“She sees that you’re a tortured soul. She sees What the rest of them don’t see, What I see. And What Nikki sees, too. She sees that you’ve got plans. She sees that you Want something more … that you sit in your room alone and play guitar for hours—that, dude, you’re a sick guitarist! She sees that. She sees that you Worship that band from Brooklyn, Fakes the Clown—”

“Shakes the Clown. They’re named after the movie.”

“Whatever. She sees that you Worship that band. But she sees that What you really should be doing is starting your own band, living life like the rock star you are—”

Out of nowhere Nikki’s arms appeared around his Waist. He hugged her back. As usual, their embrace had an oblivious, summer-blockbuster intensity; a passerby might think that Mark had just returned home from a long War or unlawful incarceration. Finally he took a deep breath.

“All I’m saying,” he continued, “is that—”

“I should go up and introduce myself to Rachel Klein,” I finished for him.

Mark smiled, satisfied. “Exactly.”

“You mean that blond chick?” Nikki asked, letting him go. “The new chick, right? The cute one? The one Who’s so into Amnesty International? That’s so funny! I saw her checking Ted out in the cafeteria!”

“See?” Mark said. He beamed at me in triumph. “She’s attracted to you, Burger. So What are you gonna do? I dare you to go up to her.”

“I dare you, too,” Nikki added. “It’s about time you cashed in on your charm.”

“My charm?”

“Yes, Ted,” she said dryly. “That shy, mysterious, tortured-soul thing you Work so hard to cover up With your clownish shenanigans? That charm?”

I didn’t reply. Instead I just blushed, like the clown I am.

Something to Think About

Now, here’s a question. Hypothetically, if you approach a pretty stranger on a foolish dare in order to escape a three’s-a-crowd-type situation With your best friend and his girlfriend (a situation that arises all too often), are you also partly—secretly, unconsciously—motivated by a desire to impress your best friend’s girlfriend?

You don’t have to answer right now. It’s just something to think about.

Exit Cue

Back at the Circle Eat, Mark has Wiped our plate clean not only of hamburger, but also of grease. There’s nothing left Whatsoever. I can see my distorted reflection in the plate’s ceramic White glaze. The guy’s metabolism never ceases to amaze me. He’s even taller than I am, he sucks up burgers With the efficiency of a vacuum cleaner—and he barely Weighs in at a hundred twenty pounds.

“But seriously, Burger,” he says. “What are you gonna do this spring break?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” I tell him. “Because for once, I have a ‘thing.’ See, Rachel is helping to organize a big student Amnesty International retreat this summer in the Catskills. It’s gonna be really fun. There are gonna be a bunch of kids from all over the country, hanging out at this old camp, and tons of speakers are going to come. Diplomats, ambassadors … it’s the kind of thing that’ll look awesome for colleges, you know? But I have to Write an essay and fill out an application to get accepted. So Rachel is coming over tonight to help—”

“Whoa, slow down there, Chatty Cathy,” Mark interrupts. “I don’t know about this. You’re saying you’re going to spend the first night of spring break Writing an essay?”

I smile. “Yes, Mark. Unlike you, I occasionally plan for the future.”

“Yeah, but you’re also telling me that filling out an application for a summer retreat, Which Will take you five minutes to finish, tops, counts as doing something? I don’t think so.” He adopts a pseudo-paternal tone. “And let’s not forget that you really shouldn’t go to the Catskills because your allergies Will act up—”

“Don’t listen to him,” Nikki cuts in, elbowing Mark on the shoulder. “I think it’s a great idea, Ted. It’ll give you and Rachel a chance to spend some real time together, away from school, you know?”

“So how come you’ve never invited me on a retreat, then?” Mark asks her.

“Because you can’t sit still.” She frowns at him. “And Wipe your face, for God’s sake. You’re disgusting.”

“Oh, sorry,” Mark says.

He Winks at me, then reaches below the table and pulls Nikki’s jean jacket out of her bag, using the sleeve to clean the ketchup off his chin. But Nikki just Winks at me, too, then Wipes the ketchup-stained jacket back on Mark’s face. Mark laughs. Nikki doesn’t. I recognize my exit cue.

“Later, dogs,” I say, scooting out of the booth.

“Wait!” Mark Whispers. He grabs one of my knapsack straps, reining me in. “Check it out!”

My shoulders sag. “Come on, man.” I groan. “I gotta go. Anyway, I don’t feel so Well.” It’s true. My stomach is churning. Sometimes the fries at the Circle Eat don’t go down as smoothly as they should. This particular nausea is Worse than usual. It’s actually making me a little dizzy.

“Sit down,” Mark hisses, forcing me back into the seat With a violent yank.

“What’s the problem?” I ask.

He jerks a thumb toward the register. He looks panicked.

Then I see Why: that other high scorer on the Afro Q-Tip meter, the recently fired Leo, has just Walked in. He’s lurking by the door. And there’s definitely something … Well, a little off about him. His face is a gruesome White, except for the purple sacks under his eyes. His Brillo pad hair is a mess. He’s also Wearing a ratty black overcoat. It looks as if it’s come straight out of a Dumpster. This is conspicuous because Leo never Wears an overcoat, not even When it’s cold outside—Which it isn’t. Leo Wears a blue parka. (At least, as far as I know. And I know, having eaten his fries almost every single Weekday afternoon for the past two years.) Furthermore, Leo is now glaring at the balding young Greek guy, Greg, Who Works the front counter.

Not that any of this really grabs my attention.

No, What grabs my attention is how Leo has now jammed his right hand into his right coat-pocket. Something pointy is protruding from the fabric. This pointy thing is slowly being aimed straight at Greg—

“Everybody freeze!” Leo shrieks. “I Want to ask you something! Do you know that fired is just fried, misspelled?”

Sniveling Coward

Every cliché is Well founded. When you’re face to face With death, your life really does flash before your eyes. I guess it’s a lot more enjoyable to relive the past than it is to confront a deranged fry cook With a concealed gun.

So While some brave souls may try to jump in and save the day, others—namely sniveling cowards like Ted Burger—freeze up.

My brain hops the next train out of the station. I start thinking about Rachel. I realize that Rachel Will never have sex With me no matter how “ready” she is because I’ll be dead. Not unless she’s into necrophilia. Ha! Ha … no, that’s not funny, either. It’s not even shameful. It’s despicable. But still, I think about all the mistakes I made With her, about how I should have appreciated her more—and thankfully (or not), Mark slams the brakes on this sad train of thought by jumping out of our booth and lunging at Leo.

A Round of Waters for Everyone!

“Mark!” Nikki shrieks in horror. “Don’t!”

But Mark is already in midair.

I can’t believe it. I mean, I can; this is Mark, after all—He’s going to get killed. My best friend is going to get killed.

I gaze, slack jawed, as he hurtles down the aisle.

Leo seems as perplexed as the rest of us. His purple-ringed eyes narrow into slits. Oddly, though, he doesn’t move. So Mark crashes into him. The impact is a blur of black fabric. Mark’s T-shirt and Leo’s ratty overcoat meld into one. They topple to the floor. Instinctively I leap to my feet. I Watch as they Wrestle. It’s not like the Wrestling you see on TV. It’s not choreographed. It’s sloppy and awkward, and they slip on the linoleum and grunt and … at this point I’m having difficulty breathing. I’m also having heart palpitations. Plus my stomach feels as if it’s being ground up in a Dispose-All.

I don’t Want to start spring break like this, I frantically think. I Want to start spring break by laughing and telling jokes—I know I should dive in there and interfere, and aid my best friend in his struggle, but I can’t. I’m paralyzed.

Somehow Mark pins him.

“Yes!” I shout.

Leo tries to squirm. He’s beefier than Mark is, but Mark’s skinny limbs are stronger than they appear. He exploits the temporary advantage by shoving his hand into Leo’s overcoat. No, no, no. Don’t do that. That’s how accidents happen.

I hold my breath. Mark pulls out the gun and sticks it into Leo’s face, and …

“Oh my God,” Nikki Whispers.

Wait a second. Wait just a second here.

The gun is green.

Translucent green. It’s made of plastic.

It’s a Water gun.

Mark scowls at it. “What the—”

“Suckers!” Leo screams.

He flips Mark over and bolts for the exit. A second later the door slams behind him. He disappears down Seventh Avenue.

I glance at Nikki.

A shaky smile spreads across her face.

We both turn to Mark. He’s still lying flat on his back on the floor.

Then slowly, very slowly, he starts to laugh.

It’s over, I say to myself, fighting to catch my breath. It’s all over.

In a flash Mark is scrambling to his feet and Waving the Water gun over his head. He squirts it a few times into the air— his sweaty face ecstatic, his black T-shirt soaked—and cries, “A round of Waters for everyone!”

Several customers sigh. A few burst into applause. I nearly collapse.

Mark performs a silly little dance in front of us all. I tumble back into the vinyl seat, as exhausted and triumphant as if I’d been the hero myself. Although there is a prickling in my belly, a little Warning flash that maybe Mark didn’t quite save us from this twisted freak, that maybe this is only the start of something much more sinister …

But I have an overactive imagination. It is over. Yes. Of course it is. I should know better.

That prickling is probably just Leo’s last batch of fries.

Opportunity

Several long, nervous minutes go by before the Circle Eat Diner begins to settle down. In the meantime everybody decides to leave except Mark, Nikki, and me. And a funny thing happens. All the regulars take turns patting Mark on the back on their Way out. None of us has ever actually communicated beyond “hi” until now. But the brief crisis has united us, made us a family. It’s like a receiving line at a bar mitzvah.

“Nice Work, sport,” says Old Meatloaf Lady.

“You’ve got guts, kid!” says Guy With Crumbs in His Beard.

“Word, G.,” says P.Y.T. (Pale Young Thug, so christened because he has a machine gun tattoo on his bluish White forearm and several names crossed out under it).

Mark shrugs and thanks each one graciously.

I Want to be part of this mass exodus, too. I Want to pat Mark on the back and congratulate him and then get the hell out. I’m quivering and dry mouthed. Also, something is Wrong With my stomach. It’s not just prickling anymore. It’s gurgling. But I can’t leave. Mark is in no hurry. He insists on staying. And I can’t blame him. Not only is he decompressing after an extremely traumatic experience (he disarmed an insane criminal, for God’s sake), Nikki is also smothering him With affection and gratitude. Which he deserves. So I don’t Want to spoil the moment.

Still, I’m very relieved When Greg, the balding Greek guy behind the counter, announces: “I’m gonna call the goddamn cops. I don’t Want that pecker coming back in here and scaring all my customers away.”

“Sounds good,” I reply. I stand up.

“Hey!” Nikki cries, letting go of Mark. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m gonna split, too,” I say. “Just until the cops arrive and clear this up. Anyway, I should go home and get ready to meet Rachel.”

“You have plenty of time,” Mark says. “What is there to clear up? It Was a Water gun. The guy’s a nutcase.” He pauses. “Which is too bad because he Was an awesome fry cook.”

“Not that awesome.” I groan.

“Listen, Burger, you Want to know something?”

“Can I know it later?”

“I’m being serious!” he yells. “You know Why I Went after Leo? Why I really did it? To teach you a lesson, dude! To show you What it’s like to grab life by the cajones! To lead by example!”

In spite of the nausea, I almost laugh. That might just be the silliest lie he’s ever told. Even Nikki rolls her eyes. I know exactly Why he Went after Leo: for no other reason than that he’s an impulsive maniac. But I also know now that I have no choice but to stay. If I bolt, he’ll chase me down. This is classic Mark: he’s pumped full of adrenaline—rightly so—eager to talk, and capable of anything. So I collapse back into the vinyl seat. I owe him that much. He did try to save my life.

“Look, here’s the deal,” he says earnestly. “It’s the first day of spring break. Your parents are out of town until tomorrow night, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“You told me, Burger, remember? The Way I see it, you should use today and tomorrow as if they Were your last days on earth. You should try going crazy for once. Like I just did. You should try taking some risks, you know What I mean? Have you ever really taken a risk before?”

“I introduced myself to Rachel Klein, didn’t I?” I answer. It’s the only risk I can think of.

“Okay, aside from that,” Mark says. “What I’m saying is: Have you ever really lived, Burger?”

I blink at him. Interesting question. It reminds me of that Hong Phat fortune cookie. I probably should have tried to bolt. I hate it When people ask me stuff like this. Especially Mark. I can hardly think of anything that makes me more uncomfortable. Except … oh, I don’t know. Acting like a coward, maybe?