The F- It List Part 5

"What? You're not going to put me in your will, are you? Because you're not going to die," I told her.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I don't have a will. I wrote something else. And I need you to help me with it."

"What? Do you want me to kill someone?" I asked ner vous ly.

"Alex, shut up. Although, I'll keep that in mind. No, I wrote a bucket list. And I need you to help me do it."

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CHAPTER.

7.

"A bucket list? Like something an old man writes when he retires? Bungee jumping and s.h.i.t?"

"Not only old men write bucket lists, Alex. And I already went bungee jumping when my family went to Acapulco."

"So what are you talking about?"

"Stuff I want to do before I die. Not only old people die, you know."

"I'm thoroughly aware of that, thank you." I pursed my lips at the thought that my dad, while parently old, would never have been considered an old man.

"All the more reason to do a bucket list. We have no idea how much time any of us have left, and what if we don't get to do all of the things we dreamed we'd do?"

"Big f.u.c.king deal. Then we'll be dead in a box, in the ground, not knowing any better. Actually, I'm thinking cremation and having --1 -0 -+1 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 33 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 33 4/17/13 8:57 PM.

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my ashes sprinkled on the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland. But don't tell anyone."

"I'll take it to the grave." Becca smirked.

"Why are we even talking about this? You are not going to die.

You are not. Going. To. Die." I stood up and started to pace, kicking at broken pieces of frame gla.s.s along the way.

"Let's say I'm not, for the sheer joy of being not dead, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't be doing amazing things."

"Amazing things? You want me to build a well in a third world country?" I stopped pacing long enough to give her my patented you've got to be kidding look.

"Your kindness shines through your blackened exterior, Alex." I fl ipped Becca off . "Maybe not amazing, but we have to do what we want and not let conventional fear get in the way. Like when we were freshmen, remember when Ryan Gosling was at an appearance at a bookstore because he wrote a page or something in a book on eti- quette for teens, and you totally wanted to go ..."

"I thought we promised not to talk about that."

"I'm playing the cancer card and bringing it back."

"How gloriously thoughtful of you," I drolled.

"I know, right? Anyway, you had that box with all of those pic- tures of him in the secret hole in your closet, but you refused to go see him. And you cried, remember? Because you regretted not going."

"I did not cry." I sat down again at the degrading memory.

"Two tears, but for you that's extreme." I shrugged because I knew she was right. "We should never have any regrets, not when we're dying and not when we're alive. Like Ke$ha so wisely puts it, -1- 'Let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young.' " Becca 0- looked so determined, I couldn't fault her for quoting Ke$ha.

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"Does this mean you want me to write a bucket list, and we'll drop out of school together and travel the world pursuing our sick and twisted fantasies and then drive off a cliff holding hands?"

"Take it down a notch, Alex. Your bucket list can wait. I'm the one dying here."

"I'll only help you if you stop f.u.c.king saying that."

"I like saying it. The more I say it, the less real it sounds."

"Fair enough. What do I have to do?"

Becca waved me over to her bed with a fl oppy hand, and I scrunched in next to her. Even without hair, I could smell her sham- poo, citrusy and fresh, almost good enough to eat.

She reached underneath her mattress and pulled out a crinkled piece of h.e.l.lo Kitty stationery I vaguely remembered giving her for her birthday in elementary school.

"This is my bucket list. I've been writing it since I was nine,"

Becca shared.

"And I'm the morbid one?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Yes. I'm not the one who used a needle and pen to tattoo their thigh with a smiley face."

"It's not a smiley face. It's a dead guy smiley face. That's what the 'X's instead of eyes mean."

"Yeah, like I said, morbid. The point was-"

"There was a point?" I laughed a little.

"Alex, we're running out of time. I'm running out of time. Tomor- row is it. What ever happens, I have no idea what it's going to be like or how long or what I'll look like or when I'll see you again, so we need to do this now." Becca had worked herself up, or I had, and she started coughing. When she didn't stop after a few hacks, her mom's --1 feet pounded up the stairs.

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"Here, honey." Becca's mom reached for a small pitcher on her nightstand, and, with shaking hands, poured a gla.s.s of water. Becca drank it slowly, deliberately, until the gla.s.s was emptied and her mom fi lled it again.

"Thanks, Mom." Becca sounded younger and sweeter, like a lit- tle kid version of Becca I remembered from when she had a broken arm and she worked the pity factor to get a ma.s.sive Polly Pockets yacht.

But this didn't feel like working it. She was already becoming a smaller, frightened version of herself.

"Alex, Becca needs to get her rest for tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I think you should probably go."

Becca snapped out of her weakness for a moment. "Mom, I need to keep talking to Alex. I might not see her for a while." She looked at me. "The doctors said I'd be really out of it. And I can't risk bringing germs into the house because of my weakened immune system. You won't want to see me all gross and gnarly anyway," she a.s.sumed, turn- ing to me.

"Gross and gnarly is my business, Becca. But what ever you need me to do."

"Fifteen minutes more, Mom?" Becca opened her eyes wide in their most manipulative, manga- like expression.

"Your hair-" It was as though Becca's mom just noticed the ma.s.s of missing locks. Tears and shudders erupted from her, the abso- lute worst thing to watch. I knew parents were supposed to be human and all, but I wish she could have pulled it together for Becca's sake.

And mine.

"I saved some in a bag for you." I tried to cheer Becca's mom up -1- and held the bag out for her to see. Apparently, that wasn't the correct 0- thing to do. The sobs and shudders turned even more extreme.

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"Mom, you're freaking Alex out, and I just got her back. Can you please give us fi fteen minutes alone? I'm fi ne without the hair.

Just pretend it's for a big role starring opposite Hugh Jackman."

Becca always knew the right thing to say, and I saw the smile I had hoped for spread across her mom's face. She loved Hugh Jackman.

"Fifteen minutes," she agreed, and grabbed a handful of tissues on her way out.

"And you wonder why I'm in drama," Becca sighed after her mom closed the door.

"The list?" I had to know where she was going with this.

"Yeah, so I've been doing this since I was nine. Not, like, as an I'm going to die list but more like a list of things I need to do someday."