The Catastrophic History of You And Me (4 page)

I got up from the booth and slowly made my way over to the counter, a little miffed. I pulled out a stool and sat, then watched as the woman took out a brand-new file folder and scribbled my name down on the tab. I could see the veins in her snow-white hands as she removed a single sheet of paper from the cabinet, attached it to a clipboard, and slid it over to me across the counter. “I’ll just need you to fill this out.”

“I think maybe there’s been a mistake.”

She eyed me but didn’t budge. “I doubt it.”

“But this is all wrong. I feel fine.”

She laughed. “You and everybody else in here. Now, paperwork.”

I crossed my arms and clenched my jaw, feeling my inner five-year-old beginning to act out. “I. Don’t. Have. A. Pen.”

She pointed at my right hand. “Yes. You. Do.”

Before I could argue with her, I realized that actually, I
did
have a pen. Right in my hand, ready to go. I almost fell off my chair.

How the hell did that get there?!

The weirdest part? I recognized it.

No.
Way.

It was the exact same pen I’d had back in third grade. Back when I was an even bigger dork who got so excited I couldn’t sleep before School Supply Shopping Day.

The pen was white on top and sky blue on the bottom, with six (six!) color options, depending which button you pushed down. You could even press two
buttons down at the same time and mix the colors. (I
know
.) To a third-grade bookworm who’d spent her entire summer practicing her signature in cursive, this pen was a complete and total thing of beauty.

I’d left it in my desk one Friday afternoon, but when I looked for it the following Monday morning, it was gone. We’re talking Real Life Elementary School Tragedy.

But then, in a very suspicious turn of events, Chloe Lutz—a girl who wore her hair in
pigtails
every day, for god’s sake—showed up with a similar (and by similar I mean identical) pen a few days later.

Et tu, Chloe?

I
knew she took it. Emma, Sadie, and Tess knew she took it. But tattling wasn’t an option because our teacher Mrs. Arden had a very harsh No-Tattling policy. I wanted to confront her at recess, but I figured that was a bad idea, considering a) she was a whole foot taller than me and b) she was a brown belt in karate.

In the end, I spent the whole rest of that school year watching Chloe have the time of her life pushing my beloved color buttons. Red! No, blue! Oh, isn’t this fun?

Yes, Chloe Slutz, of course it’s fun. That is obviously why I bought it.

And now, all these years later, here I was in a grungy pizza parlor in Half Moon Bay, dead since Monday, and holding the very same World’s Greatest Pen.

SO weird
.

I stared down at the piece of paper in front of me. Pushed down the green button and began filling out the answers.

N
AME:
Aubrie Elizabeth Eagan

D
ATE OF
B
IRTH:
November 1, 1994

D
ATE OF
D
EATH:

I paused, glancing up at Crossword Lady, who had gone back to her puzzle. Her face was scrunched up with concentration. I moved on to the next question.

C
AUSE OF
D
EATH:

I stopped again, biting the inside of my lip. After a few seconds, I scribbled down my answer.

Evil boy who deserves to suffer.

Below that,
P
ARENTS
, S
IBLINGS
, P
ETS
, M
ISCELLANEOUS
:

Aw, Hamloaf. I wish you were here so you could bite this lady for making me fill out these dumb forms.

More writing followed as I listed the rest of my family.

P
EANUT
B
UTTER OR
J
ELLY:
Peanut butter (extra-crunchy)

C
OFFEE OR
T
EA:
Chai

Then, on the very last line:

H
OPES,
D
REAMS,
F
AVORITE
I
CE
C
REAM:

And a memory flooded back.

CHAPTER 7

your love is better than ice cream

J
acob Fischer and I met when I was four and he was five, but somehow managed not to have an actual conversation until I was eleven and he was twelve. When we were little, all I really knew about him was that he was Such a Boy. (Monsters and cowboys and farting, oh my.) He was loud and messy and always climbing on stuff in the playgroup Sadie’s mother put together after school. One of those kids you loathe sitting next to at restaurants or on airplanes.

We got older. Never talked much. Not that I ever thought about him or anything. Boys weren’t on my radar, since they were gross alien creatures who my friends and I basically wanted nothing to do with. Anyway, we were too busy riding bikes and doing way cooler stuff like diving (me), gymnastics (Tess), and ballet (Emma and Sadie).

That is, until one September afternoon, years later, when Jacob’s big sister, Maya, rang the doorbell. I was the one who opened it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Hey, Brie!”

Maya Fischer: long, crazy curly hair. Invisalign. Silver hoop earrings. Orange Crocs.

Ooh. I want those.

“Hey, Maya,” I said, licking a watermelon Blow Pop. I was trying to make it last without getting to the bubble gum too quickly.

“Is your mom home?”

“Yup.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Sure. What for?”

“I’m starting a babysitting company. I stopped by to see if your parents ever need a sitter.”

I leaned a little farther out the door. “I like your Crocs.”

“Thanks.”

“Brie?” called my mom from upstairs. “Honey, who is it?”

“It’s Maya Fischer!” I yelled back. “She wants to know if you need anyone to sit on us!” Then I burst into giggles and ran back inside.

Turns out, as fate would have it, Mom and Dad
did
need someone to watch Jack and me that Friday. Dad had one of his big medical-dinner things in the city, so Mom set it up for Maya to come over for the night.

“Only thing is,” Maya said, “can I bring my little brother? I told my mom I’d watch him too, if that’s okay.”

“Of course!” Mom exclaimed. “We’ll order from Bo-Bo’s.”

I was obviously way more excited about Bo-Bo’s Burgers and watching
Finding Nemo
for the eighty-seventh time than Maya Fischer and her brother, Jacob, coming over to my house.

Jacob Fischer: No big deal. Just a kid from school. Just a kid from playgroup when we were babies.

Before I knew anything about anything.

Mom and Dad were running late as per Eagan family usual when the doorbell rang again Friday night. I was lying on my bed on the phone with Tess, listening to her latest reasons for being infatuated with Eric Ryan.

“Did you see him in the pool at Bethany’s birthday party? Don’t you think the way he does the backstroke is kind of adorb?”

(What did I say? Total Ariel.)

Downstairs, I heard Mom say hi to them. Heard the door slam as Maya and Jacob walked inside and got the basic house tour. Heard the garage door squeak open and then shut as Mom and Dad sped off to their dinner.

When I eventually wandered downstairs, I found Maya sprawled out on the couch watching MTV, and my four-year-old brother sitting on the carpet playing with his LEGOs. Maya turned around as I walked into the family room.

“Hey, Brie!” Big smile. “You hungry?” She checked her phone. “Bo-Bo’s should be here in like any second.”

“Hi,” I said. “Thanks, yeah, sounds good.” I walked over to Jack and flopped down on the rug next to him. “Hey, Jackson Hole, whatcha doing?”

Jacob was sitting next to my brother, playing LEGOs too.

Picture me: a little chubby, a little frizz-tastic, Soffe shorts, purple-rimmed glasses about three times too big for my face. Picture him: tall (okay, for a twelve-year-old, people), curly brown Jew-fro, a freckle right square on the tip of his nose, snaggletooth.

Just a boy. Just a boy in a skateboard shirt. Just a boy in a skateboard shirt playing LEGOs. He didn’t look at me or even remotely acknowledge my existence. Even though he was in
my
house. On
my
living room carpet. Playing with
my
little
brother. Ugh, typical caveboy.

“I’m doin’ a spaceship,” Jack said proudly. He held up a stack of LEGOs that looked more like a stegosaurus than a spaceship.

I laughed. “Ooh, good idea, Jack. Maybe I’ll make a Wendy’s space station, so the astronauts can each order a Frosty when they get to the moon.”

Jacob snorted and made a face. “Ben and Jerry’s would be better.”

I turned to him, wide-eyed.

Excuse me? You dare to snort at my choice of dessert?

“Uh, I’m sorry,” I said, “but Frostys are the
best
.”

“No way,” said Jacob. His eyes met mine. “Nothing beats Cherry Garcia.”

And just like that, BOOM, there it was.

The evil, twisted, dreaded hold had found its next victim.

If I’d known right then that this was the kid—this toothy, big-haired Skatr Boi wannabe—
this
was the kid who would grow up to break my heart beyond repair, maybe I would’ve stayed upstairs on the phone with Tess. Maybe I would’ve gone to bed early. Maybe I would’ve begged my parents to take me with them—even though those doctor dinners are pretty much the boringest things ever.

But I didn’t know.
Couldn’t
know. So instead, I shrugged like I couldn’t care less and said something really genius like “Um, whatever.” I got to work building my Wendy’s space station.

And proceeded to fall totally, madly, crazy in love.

CHAPTER 8

only the good die young

I
t had been a week. One week since I ceased to be. One week since I’d slipped through the universe and landed in some strange,
other
dimension of my hometown, stuck in the same outfit and cursed to eat pizza for all eternity.

Not such a bad curse, actually. At Slice you could eat pizza all day every day and never gain a pound. Sadie would be so jealous.

“Are you gonna eat that?”

Whoa, he speaks.

I watched in surprise as Bomber Jacket Dude made his way over to my booth and took a seat. He yawned and scratched his head. Then he reached over and grabbed a slice of my half-eaten veggie pizza. “Can’t let a good thing go to waste.”

“Be my guest,” I said, channeling my inner Disney Princess Belle.

“Ugh, veggie?” He examined a big piece of eggplant. “How boring can you get?”

“Tell it to my parents.” I shrugged. “They raised me vegetarian.”

“For real?” He gave me a pitying look. “Wow. My deepest condolences.”

“Um, thanks,” I said.

“So,” he said between disappointed crunches, “allow me to be the first to welcome you to the good old Great Beyond, little lady.”

Great Beyond?

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Patrick. Resident Lost Soul.”

I shook it.

“And you are?”

“Brie.”

He stared at me like I had a giant pepperoni stuck on my face. “Your name is Brie? Like . . . the cheese?”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah. Like I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Thanks,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I do pride myself on originality.”

We sat for a moment in silence and I found myself staring at some of the other kids around the room. Then something occurred to me. Quarterback Dude. Lady Gothga. Bojangles. Nintendo Kid. Patrick.

Even
me.

Every single person in the place, with the exception of Crossword Lady, was young.

“You look confused,” he said.

How observant
.

I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Who are all these people?”

He shrugged. “You know. Just your average deadbeats.”

“But, like, where are all the
old
people? Where are all the adults?”

“Um . . .” He scratched his head. “Probably hanging out at a more expensive restaurant?” There was that smirk again.

I gave him a look. “Are you always this charming?”

“Are you always this beautiful?”

“Very funny. But seriously, what’s everybody doing here? What are
you
doing here?”

He shrugged again. “I’m not, like, the official expert or anything. Some of them”—he pointed to Nintendo Kid—“are seriously out of touch with reality. Then others”—he nodded to Bojangles—“have been hanging around for ages.
I
just happen to really like pizza. Everybody tends to move at their own pace, do their own thing,” he said. “But believe me.” His eyes darted toward the big windows overlooking the ocean. “There’s plenty of fun to be had out there.” He winked at me and grinned. “On that note, want to have some?”

Oh, SMOOTH.

I raised an eyebrow. “And what kind of fun might you be referring to?”

He put his hands up in defense. “Hey now, lil’ lady, let’s try and keep it PG, okay? I mean for one thing, there are children present. And for another, we’ve only just met. So let’s just keep doing what we’re doing, keep dating other people, and let things develop organically, all right?” He shook his head and whistled. “Gee whiz. It’s like no matter what I do, the ladies can’t resist me.”

I felt myself blush ten thousand shades of red. I couldn’t believe this kid. Was he serious? He couldn’t be.

Could he?

I cleared my throat awkwardly, and tried to think of something to say. “So, um, how long did you say you’ve been hanging around again?” My voice came out super-high-pitched, sort of a cross between a donkey and a ferret.

He laughed. “I didn’t.” Then he grabbed another slice off my tray and wolfed it down in three giant bites.

“Impressive,” I noted. “You should compete professionally.”

“Boy’s gotta eat.”

I pushed the rest of the pie in his direction. “Help yourself. I’ve definitely had enough to last me forever.”

He paused for a moment, eyeing me. “Forever’s a pretty long time. Maybe longer than you think.”

I wasn’t really sure what he meant, so I kept quiet.

“Speaking of life and death . . .” His voice turned thoughtful. “What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. What’d you die of?”

I felt my chest tighten. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be shy. I won’t bite.” He chomped down extra-hard, grinning. “Well, maybe a little.”

Ugh.
Boys are SO gross.

“Look.” I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Let’s change the subject, okay?” I glanced over at Crossword Lady, hunched over the same puzzle she’d been working on for days.

“Eight letters,” she muttered to herself. “A stupid person who might also double as a pizza topping. Eggplant? Mushroom?” She began to erase furiously.

“Meatball!” Patrick spun around. “Try meatball!”

Crossword Lady stopped erasing and, after a second of counting letters, blew him a kiss from across the room. “Thank you, darling!”

“
Darling
?” I whispered skeptically. “Sounds like somebody’s got a crush.”

“What did I tell you?” He struck a pose. “The ladies looooove the jacket.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure they do.”

My mind wandered and for a second I couldn’t help thinking of Mom and Dad.
How we all used to do the
New York Times
crossword puzzle together as a family every Sunday morning over banana waffles. How they always let Jack and me help them with some of the answers. Okay, the easy ones, but still.

Suddenly, I looked up at Patrick. “Do you have a phone I could borrow?”

“Why? Need to call your other boyfriend?”

“Hardy har har,” I said, crossing my arms. “For your information, I want to call a cab.”

Patrick leaned in closer across the table. “Oh? And where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” I said matter-of-factly. “I’m going home.”

“Wait a second.” He put down his pizza. “You’re for real, aren’t you?”

“She”
—I pointed to Crossword Lady—“said it would only take a few days for my paperwork to process, or whatever. But it’s been almost a whole week.” I grabbed my cup and slurped the last bit of Sprite from the straw. “So what’s the deal?” I asked. “Why’s everything take so crazy long around here?”

He leaned back, a look of amusement on his face. “What’s the big rush?”

“We’re wasting time.”

He laughed. “Angel, sorry to break it to you, but you’ve got nothing
but
time. So you may as well try to relax and enjoy yourself.” He put his arms behind his head and inhaled deeply. “See? What you need is to learn to stop and smell the pizza.”

Oh no you didn’t.

News flash, Bozo. Don’t ever tell a girl to relax. It only makes us madder.

I stared at his jacket, disliking it more and more by the second. “Do you ever take that thing off?”

“Why would I? I look good!”

“You look stupid.”

“Whu-oh, look out. She’s testy today, folks.”

I scowled. “I am
not
testy.”

“Or wait a second.” He grinned. “I get it. You’re trying to get my clothes off, aren’t you? You totally want to see my sexy bare man chest!” He reached for his jacket zipper.

“Ew!” I threw a piece of crust at him. “Spare me the hairy details.”

“You sure?” He paused. “You really don’t know what you’re missing.”

I shook my head.

“Okay. . . .” But before Patrick zipped all the way back up, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a tiny book. Then he tossed it in my direction, where it landed in front of me with a thud. “You’ve got questions?” he asked. “This has answers.”

I picked it up and took a closer look. Ran my fingers over the black moleskin binding and gold foil letters.

The D&G Handbook

“D and G?” I said. “What, like Dolce and Gabbana?”

He snorted. “Try
Dead and Gone
, the guidebook. Pretty much the only literature you’ll be needing from here on out.”

I opened the cover slowly and flipped pages until I landed at the table of contents.

Chapter 1: You’re Here. Now What?

I’d like to go home now, that’s what.

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Patrick said. “But trust me, there’s a lot of handy info in there. Some great ideas on how to stay busy.” He flicked a stray olive and watched it sail onto the floor. “Time’s a tricky business, Cheeto. You’ll have to learn to distract yourself.”

I hesitated.

Cheeto?

Dad and Jack were the only ones allowed to use cheese-themed nicknames. And maybe once in a while, my best friends. But that was definitely it.

“The problem with time is,” he continued before I could tell him off, “sometimes there’s just too much of it.” He pointed to the book. “The
D and G
really helped me adjust.”

“Adjust?” An uncomfortable feeling began to take shape in the pit of my stomach. “Adjust to what?”

“Just do yourself a favor and study up.” He smiled. “Because believe me, there will be a test.”

Something about his eyes made it hard to tell if he was joking. I mean, he
had
to be joking.

Didn’t he?

“Absolutely,” I said, hoping he could hear the sarcasm in my voice. “Can’t wait to dig in.” I started to tuck the book inside my right dress pocket, but at the last second, let it drop under the table by my feet. I coughed to cover the sound of it hitting the linoleum.

Whoops. Did I do that?

I wasn’t about to tell Mr. Meatball here that I had absolutely zero intention of reading his stupid book, just like I had zero intention of sticking around here a single minute longer than I had to.

“Wow.” Patrick suddenly looked impressed. “You might be the worst case I’ve seen since New Kids on the Block broke up. Maybe longer.”

“Worst case of what?” I flicked a crumb in his direction. Direct hit.

“It’s sort of cute, actually.”

I felt myself beginning to get Actually Annoyed. “I am not cute.”

“Now that I think about it,” he said with a laugh, “you kind of remind me of someone. Must be your eyes.”

I made a face. “Oh yeah? Who?”

“Cleopatra
.
”

“Why in the world do I remind you of her?”

“I dunno . . .” He trailed off. “Just that she was, you know, Queen of Denial.”

I crossed my arms. “I am
not
in denial.”

“Spoken just like a Phase One Newbie.” He ducked under the table for a second. When he popped up again he tossed the D&G back in front of me. “Nice try, by the way.”

Busted.

“Not like you can help it or anything,” he continued. “Believe me, I’ve seen plenty of people just like you come through those doors.”

I paused. “You
don’t know anything about me.”

“Brie.”

“What
?
”

Patrick grew quiet. “Do you know why you’re here?”

His question caught me off guard. I felt the slightest tingle in my nose. The smallest twitch at the corners of my eyes.

Do not cry. Do not cry.

I nodded yes.

“Oh?” he said. “And why is that?”

Who the hell did this kid think he was? Here he’d known me for all of five minutes and he was acting like he was some kind of expert on the subject.

The subject being
me
.

“You know what?” I said. “It’s really none of your business.” With that, I slid out of the booth and moved across the room to another table, right next to the window.

“Just like I thought.” He got up and made his way over to the soda fountain, where he began to refill my Sprite. Then he followed me to the new table and pulled out a chair. “You’re pretty much a classic case.”

“I’d really prefer to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Nah, you like the company.” He scooted in across from me. “Listen, Angel. What you’re feeling right now is totally normal. Happens to the best of us. It happened to
me
.” He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and wiped his mouth and hands.

I didn’t answer. Just grabbed my soda and started chewing my straw. Old habit.

“It’s like this,” Patrick said. “I’ll show you.” He uncrumpled the napkin, smoothed it out on the table, and started writing. When he was done, he pushed the napkin toward me. “Read.”