Denton Little's Deathdate by Lance Rubin

touch anywhere on my legs shifts the whole lot of them, still in perfect formation. But Taryn’s splotch looks more like an ordinary rash.
    â€œSo mine is kinda different,” Taryn says.
    â€œYeah, definitely different.”
    â€œMaybe it’s just an allergic reaction.”
    â€œI bet it is.”
    Taryn takes two deep breaths, wipes away some tears, and looks at me. “Why are you still naked?”

    â€œIt’s around here somewhere,” Paolo’s mom mutters into the pantry.
    I’m sitting at Paolo’s kitchen table, feeling like I’m eight years old again, the morning after a Pow-Dent sleepover. I’d usually wake up first and pad out to the kitchen table to chat with Paolo’s mom as she cooked mind-blowing chocolate chip pancakes.
    Currently, though, she’s sifting through shelves, looking for some anti-anxiety supplement thing she thinks might help me. (Apparently, I seem anxious. Who knew.) Paolo isn’t home yet. He’s off working on “a surprise” for me. A sweet gesture, but unless it’s some kind of life-lengthening elixir, I don’t think I’m interested.
    â€œAha!” she says. “Here it is.”
    â€œSo, it’s like Xanax, or something?”
    â€œGosh, no, I wouldn’t give you that garbage. This is herbal, from my homeopath.” Paolo’s mom turns around, a proud smile on her face, unscrewing the lid on a white container. “Take two. They will absolutely make you feel better.”
    â€œOkay, thanks,” I say, downing the pills with a swig of water. I do feel better, almost immediately.
    â€œRight?” Paolo’s mom says to me.
    â€œYeah, those are amazing.”
    â€œPicture?” she asks as she grabs her digital camera off the counter. She hardly goes anywhere without her camera.
    â€œOh, ha-ha, sure.” I smile from my place at the kitchen table as the flash burns my retinas.
    â€œIt’s a keeper,” she says, looking down at the screen.She stares at it intently, and I see her tear up a little bit, which catches me off guard. I feign a sudden interest in the plaque above the sink that says THE DIAZ FAMILY .
    â€œMom, didn’t we talk about this?” Paolo says as he appears in the kitchen, a big plastic bag in his hand. “How we’re gonna limit the number of cries per day?”
    â€œI know, I know.” Paolo’s mom sniffles. “Just thinking about you two, how much fun you used to have…One quick picture, then I’ll leave you boys alone.” She snaps a shot of me and Paolo smiling uncomfortably. “Denton, you are a gem. I’ll see you at your Sitting.”
    As she heads out of the kitchen, Veronica heads in, and my insides leap. Mother and daughter narrowly avoid bumping into each other before Veronica sees me in the kitchen and changes her direction.
    â€œYou can come in here,” I call out to her, but I know she won’t.
    â€œDon’t mind her,” Paolo says, reaching down into his big bag. “She’s been superweird since your funeral. I think she’s gonna miss saying mean things to you.”
    â€œYeah, maybe.”
    â€œThat, or she’s moping about being apart from her boyfriend.”
    â€œWait, Veronica’s got a boyfriend?”
    â€œYou know, some college thing. Okay, so I have in this bag a final parting gift for you. Ready?” He unfolds this huge rectangular cloth canvas, which he’s covered with photos and images and his signature awesome cartoon drawings. When I look closely, I see that it’s got references to all these different moments and events in my life, to movies I love, to inside jokes we’ve had.
    â€œWow. This is amazing.”
    â€œI know, right? It’s for your coffin.”
    â€œOh. That’s why it’s shaped like that.”
    â€œYeah, yeah.”
    I don’t like thinking about my body underground in a coffin, even with this