The F- It List (25 page)

We got back to Leo’s house in record time and shot straight up to his bedroom. We kicked off our shoes and dove under the covers together, still wearing all eight million layers of clothing. As we huddled up, our shivers stopped and we somehow fell asleep. When I awoke an hour later, I was thick with sweat.

“Gross.” I sat up and began to peel off my coat, then my hoodie. Underneath were three more shirts and long underwear. When all that was left was my t-shirt, I nudged Leo awake. His forehead and hairline were coated in sweat. “You need to get out of your clothes,” I told him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said sleepily. I helped him unzip his coat and pulled layer after layer over his head. When it was time to stop, when he, too, was left with only a black t-shirt, I pulled that off, too. In return, he yanked my shirt over my head. “Just to be fair,” he explained.

“Well, if you’re going to be that way,” I said, and unhooked my bra.

There we were on his bed, wearing jeans and nothing else. I sat on my knees facing him, while his legs dangled over the edge of the bed. I traced my fingers up the definition of his stomach, his chest. He wrapped his hands around my waist and let them rise up over my breasts. This was as naked as we’d been in months. We both knew that if any clothing came off, we couldn’t stop ourselves from everything coming off. We were right. The instant I felt his bare flesh against mine, I couldn’t get close enough to him.

We took our time, knowing we
had
time. Every hair on my body stood on end, every sense heightened. He tasted so good, felt even better. I didn’t remember taking off my jeans, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe it was all him. We waited until we couldn’t stand it anymore, until it felt like we’d explode from not letting ourselves go. And then we did. The feeling lasted forever, as though I couldn’t let it stop. When I finally relaxed, every limb entwined with Leo, I said something so completely involuntary that I gasped after I said it.

“I love you.”

“You what?” Leo propped himself up on an elbow.

“Uhhh…” I sounded like a dolt, and I knew I had to own it. “I said I love you,” I repeated more clearly, more certain.

“One more time,” Leo prodded.

“Those are about to be the last words you ever hear, Leo Dietz,” I growled in his ear.

“That’d be fine with me.” He kissed my forehead. I waited for his return sentiment, but it didn’t come.

“And?” I prodded.

“And what?” He played dumb. Or
was
dumb.

“Aren’t you going to say it back?”

“You heard those words from me and had months to deal with them. I’m going to let your words age a little. Like a fine wine.”

“Or cheese,” I noted.

“I like cheese,” Leo added. “A lot.”

“That makes two of us,” I concurred.

So, I had to wait. I had gotten pretty good at waiting. But this time, it wasn’t test results. Love was so abstract: It wasn’t war, it wasn’t cancer, it wasn’t death. But I’m pretty sure that’s what I felt. And I was going to let myself, no matter how hard my evil side fought against it.

SPRING

I WAITED FOR LEO
in the book closet. There was less than one month left of school. Less than one month until the anniversary of my dad’s death. Less than one month until Becca’s next cancer check.

The door clicked open, and there stood Leo. His hair was growing out, which I liked a little better than the buzz. I think we all wanted to have some hair on our heads for a while. He had on a black t-shirt, jeans, and black Chucks, which made us annoyingly cutesy and matching. I recognized the outline of his brother’s dog tags underneath his shirt. The second he walked in and the door closed, we clung to each other. We kissed for a couple minutes until I stopped him. “Time to get down to business.”

Reluctantly, we sat down at the old desks and worked. He had a huge creative writing story to revise, and I was putting the finishing touches on my new horror movie,
Graphite
. It was the story of a girl who gets hit in the forehead with a pencil after her classmates attempt to throw it at the muddled classroom celling. Then she goes on a killing spree, taking out all of the guys who crossed her with violent pencil deaths. Naturally, Becca would star, fulfilling number nineteen on the Fuck-It List. Not that we had looked at the list since freezing our asses off on the beach. We may have accomplished most of the weird, ridiculous, perverted goals Becca set for herself, but the list felt too connected to cancer to continue. I held onto it, storing it underneath my bedside stack of library books. Just in case. Becca never asked where it was.

On a clear May afternoon, Becca, Caleb, Leo, and I hung out in Becca’s backyard. It was the spring of the seventeen-year cicadas. They had been around when I was a baby, so this was technically the first time I had really seen them. I found them fascinating. In appearance, they would have made perfect horror-movie specimens: about three inches long, with translucent, green wings and glowing red eyes. Their feet were covered with sticky pads, and if one landed on you it might stay and just hang out, not flit away like scaredy bugs. It was incredible to think they lay dormant underground for seventeen years. Then they climbed their way out, leaving behind a trail of cocoony things on the trees and a layer of bugs on the ground so thick you had to shuffle your way through them so you wouldn’t crush their newly freed bodies. And the noise they made was deafening. Like a UFO landed somewhere nearby and hovered as it picked up people for experiments.

There definitely was a movie or two to be made out of this.

Caleb’s beagle waddled around, his belly distended after consuming more than his share of the tasty bugs, three of which rested on my arm. I examined them, and asked, “Do you think they dreamed?”

“Hmmm?” Becca mused as she rested her head on Caleb’s lap, and he stroked her newly growing hair.

“For seventeen years. Do you think they dreamed underground for seventeen years?” I clarified.

“Do any bugs dream?” Caleb asked.

“It’s so sad. To wake up and die so soon after,” Becca said.

“I bet it’s really fucking awesome for those couple of weeks when they’re awake, though,” Leo noted.

“Maybe they spend seventeen years dreaming about what they want to do during their minuscule lives.” I smiled at the thought of bug dreams. Then something came to me. “Hey, Becca. I wonder if they have bucket lists.”

“A bug-it list!” She laughed.

“That was so not funny,” I said. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

I shook my arm, and the three bugs lazily flew away, on their way to accomplish great things in a short amount of time. Really, how we all should try to live our lives. No matter how long we’ve got.

Cylon Basestar–sized thanks go out to the following people: Allyx Davison, for letting me into your life and showing me I need to upgrade my video game knowledge.

Becky Britt, for introducing me to Allyx, and your sincerity and thoughts.

Dale Davison, for the online time line of Allyx’s treatment on
CaringBridge.com
. It was more helpful than any book or Web site in keeping my character’s journey on track.

Eastman, Jack, and Al, for always answering my questions.

Jean, for the wonderful bucket list spark; Anna, for the lengthy editorial phone fun; Liz, for her glorious editorial prowess; Rich, April, Dave, Ksenia, and all of the other wonderful people at my publisher, Feiwel and Friends; and my agent, Rosemary Stimola, for her guidance and pumpkins.

My mom, for all of her support, love, and being the best grandma ever.

And Matt and Romy, who start each day with a hilarious, human alarm clock and end each day with snuggles and songs. Thank you for holding me up when way too many chips are down.

A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS Book An Imprint of Macmillan
THE F-IT LIST.
Copyright © 2013 by Julie Halpern. All rights reserved. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available ISBN: 978-1-250-02565-4 (hardcover) / 978-1-46684849-8 (ebook) Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto First Edition: 2013

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eISBN 9781466848498

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