Delilah turns on her TV to re-watch the painfully absurd premiere—a challenge in a crowded Brooklyn coffee shop where the hipsters have to cowrite short stories on a typewriter—and before she can switch to her DVR, a Fox 5 anchor shares something truly newsworthy, given her interests.
“。 . . and we’ve reached out to his agents for word. The twenty-five-year-old actor may have played the young antagonist of the blockbuster Scorpius Hawthorne films about the demonic boy wizard, but fans all over the world have been sharing nothing but love online for Howie Maldonado. Follow us on Twitter and Facebook for immediate updates on this developing story. . . .”
Delilah jumps out of bed, her heart pounding.
She isn’t waiting around for this developing story.
Delilah will be the writer who reports the story.
MATEO
5:20 a.m.
I approach the ATM on the corner while Rufus watches my back. My dad thankfully had the common sense to send me to the bank after I turned eighteen so I could get a debit card. I withdraw four hundred dollars, the max limit at this ATM. My heart is pounding as I slide the cash into an envelope for Lidia, praying someone doesn’t come out of nowhere and hold us up at gunpoint for the money—we know how that would end. I grab the receipt, memorizing how I have $2,076.27 left in my account as I tear up the slip. I don’t need that much. I can get more cash for Lidia and Penny at another ATM or the bank, when it opens.
“It might be too early to go to Lidia’s,” I say. I fold up the envelope and put it in my pocket. “She’ll know something is up. Maybe we can hang in her lobby?”
“Nah, dude. We’re not sitting around in your bestie’s lobby because you don’t wanna burden her. It’s five o’clock, let’s eat. Potential Last Supper.” Rufus leads the way. “My favorite diner is open twenty-four hours.”
“Sounds good.”
I’ve always been a superfan of mornings. I follow several Facebook pages about mornings in other cities （“Good Morning, San Francisco!”） and countries （“Good Morning, India!”）， and no matter the time of day, in my feed there are pictures of glowing buildings, breakfast, and people beginning their lives. There’s newness that comes with the rising sun, and even though there’s a chance I won’t reach daytime or see sun rays filtering through trees in the park, I should look at today as one long morning. I have to wake up, I have to start my day.
The streets are really clear this early. I’m not anti-people, I just don’t have the courage to sing in front of anyone. If I were alone right now, I’d probably play some depressing song and sing along. Dad taught me it’s okay to give in to your emotions, but you should fight your way out of the bad ones, too. The days after his admittance, I was playing positive and soulful songs, like Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are,” so I wouldn’t feel hopeless.
We reach Cannon Café. There’s a triangular sign above the door with an illustrated logo of a cannon blasting a cheeseburger toward the café’s name, with French fries exploding wayward like fireworks. Rufus chains his bike to a parking meter and I follow him inside the fairly empty café, immediately smelling scrambled eggs and French toast.
A tired-eyed host greets us, telling us we can sit wherever. Rufus passes me and goes all the way to the back, settling into a two-person booth beside the bathroom. The navy-blue leather seats are cracked in various places, and it reminds me of the couch I had as a kid where I would absentmindedly peel the fabric off until there was so much exposed cushion foam that Dad threw the couch out for our current one.
“This is my spot,” Rufus says. “I come here once or twice a week. I get to say stuff like ‘I’ll have the usual.’”
“Why here? Is this your neighborhood?” I realize I have no idea where my Last Friend actually lives, or where he’s from.
“Only for the past four months,” Rufus says. “I ended up in foster care.”
Not only do I not know much about Rufus, I haven’t done anything for him. He’s been all about the mission of shadowing me on my journey—getting me out of my home, going to and getting me out of the hospital, and soon coming with me to Lidia’s. This Last Friendship has been very one-sided so far.
Rufus slides the menu my way. “There’s a Decker discount on the back. Everything is free, if you can actually believe that.”
This is a first. In all the CountDowners feeds I’ve read, the Deckers go to five-star restaurants expecting to be treated like kings with courtesy meals, but are only ever offered discounts. I like that Rufus returned here.