Deep in my heart, I already know the answer.
Orion
2:17 a.m.
I’m staring at my X-ray like it’s ugly art on a wall.
An eighteen-year-old’s heart isn’t supposed to look like some misshapen potato, but that’s what I think every time I’m shown my insides. Doctors were always quick to show me what a healthy heart looks like, like I didn’t know already.
“I bet Valentino’s X-rays are as good as his pictures,” I say.
Dalma picks up a plastic heart replica. “You’ve never seen his pictures.”
“He booked a huge campaign. They’ve got to be good. His X-rays have got to be model-worthy too.”
Then my head drops because this world is about to lose thousands of Valentino Prince pictures.
Dalma hops up beside me on the bed, the paper sheet crinkling under her, and holds my hand. “Hey, O-Bro. Real talk. I’m getting concerned about you.”
“Look, if it’s not his heart, I’m not sweating it. We’ll find a match.”
“This isn’t about the transplant. I’m talking about your heart-eyes. How quickly you opened up your heart about your parents. Most important, the heart attack you had after saving this boy. Lots of heart-adjacent things.”
“You think I’m in love with Valentino? I’m not. I—I’m just—I don’t even know if he likes me that way.”
“Whether or not Valentino likes you isn’t what’s at stake here,” Dalma says slowly, like she’s explaining computer code, but also lovingly, like she’s breaking bad news. “Valentino is going to die today, Orion.”
I look around the hospital room, knowing damn well why we’re here. “What’s your point?”
“You can’t get too attached. It’s not going to end well for you.”
“What’s not going to end well is Valentino dying at nineteen,” I say, hopping off the bed. I really shouldn’t be pacing, I should stay put. But I can’t stop my feet from taking me back and forth between the wall with my glowing X-ray and the one with anatomy posters and certificates. “Death-Cast has opened the door to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Most donors are not only strangers but they also remain anonymous forever. Why would I shut out the person who wants to give me his heart?”
Dalma hops off the bed and blocks my path. “I’m trying to protect you. Not fight you.”
I know her heart is in the right place—physically and emotionally. But even with my big-ass imagination, I can’t imagine not getting to know Valentino while I can.
And by tomorrow, I can’t.
There’s a knock at the door, and Valentino and Dr. Emeterio enter.
This is it.
Suspense really isn’t good for someone with my condition, and every second of silence is brutal.
“What’s up?” I ask, wanting to get this over with, one way or the other.
“It’s nice that something good will come out of this,” Valentino says, pressing his hand to his chest.
My heart skips a beat, two, ten, a hundred, a thousand, a million, and somehow, I don’t die on the spot.
In fact, I’m going to live.
I’m going to live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live.
But first, he has to die.
Valentino
2:22 a.m.
I could have lived my whole life telling people they will live.