Los Angeles Paz
Los Angeles Paz
8:12 p.m. (Pacific Daylight Time)
I keep daydreaming about what life will look like when I’m cast as Death.
I might resurrect my old Instagram account to share my casting announcement as a massive middle finger to everyone who bullied
me off social media. I’ll get to fly down to Puerto Rico to shoot the movie, and during my downtime I can connect more with
my roots, finally meet my aunts, and learn some Spanish. I’ll get tight with Zen Abarca during our long hours on set, and
who knows, we might become best friends. Maybe more. More than anything I can’t wait to become my dream character. It’ll be
nice to become famous for something good.
Even though I haven’t booked the role yet, Mom and Rolando cooked a celebratory dinner and baked flan for dessert. Normally
I’d hide out in my room this time of night, but I’m still on such a high (and now post-dessert sugar high) that I’m hanging
out with Mom and Rolando in the living room.
We’re trying to find something to watch. HGTV is airing one of their Graveyard Sale specials of Flea Market Flip , where the vendors have strong emotional connections to the things they’re selling because they once belonged to beloved
Deckers. I’m so relieved I won’t be putting Mom through this pain. We skip that since she’s already seen that episode and
keep skipping and skipping and skipping until we end up all the way back to the local stations. There’s that cringey drama
Beth vs. Death , which is about a Death-Cast herald, Beth, who uses her psychic powers to save the lives of the Deckers she calls. I’m desperate
enough to be working again that you could pay me to be on that shit show but not to watch it. We land on NBC, where a news
anchor is reporting on the murder of a nineteen-year-old Decker who got tricked by a Death Guarder on the Last Friend app.
“Holy shit,” Mom says.
“Poor boy,” Rolando says.
I know what it’s like to be tricked on the Last Friend app, but my abuse was more psychological than physical, though definitely
physical too. Not that anyone knows about one of the saddest nights of my life.
It’s been hard to make lifelong friends, so after my suicide attempt, I started befriending Deckers on the Last Friend app.
They were so desperate for company on their End Day that they were down to hang out with killers like me.
I’ve been a Living Last Friend for six Deckers.
My first Last Friend was Amos, who was very nice, very nervous (understandably), and very sick from cancer. We had a long talk at his synagogue about the afterlife—the next world, as he called it—and his wishes to be buried alongside his brother as soon as possible for his soul to find peace. I never found out how he died, but I envied him and his soul, whatever happened. My second Last Friend was Carter, this guy a year older than me who was as attractive as he was horrible to me: very. I don’t like talking about him. My third Last Friend was Darwin, one of my favorites. No deep talks, but we had fun at this arcade where we talked about his favorite video games, anime, and fantasy movies. He wasn’t a fan of the Scorpius Hawthorne movies, and I found his rants funny. Not only did he die at sixteen, he ended up on the Dumb Deaths website for suffocating on a spoonful of cinnamon for some influencer’s channel. My fourth Last Friend was Robin, this girl who drowned at the World Travel Arena. My fifth Last Friend was Marina, who ended up ditching me thirty minutes into our breakfast because her best friend finally woke up to see all of Marina’s missed calls and texts, which I respected but which made me sad because I’ve never had a best friend of my own. And my sixth Last Friend, Kit, was the worst of them all. He was a liar, rude, and the two hours spent with him had me racing home to self-harm because he made me feel absolutely worthless.
I swore to myself I would never be someone’s Last Friend again, but maybe if things get bad again, I’ll sign up so some Death
Guarder can do my dirty work for me.
My phone buzzes, and all that tension and sadness gets swallowed up. “Orion just texted.”
Mom sits up. “He has your number?”
My phone number was one of the only true things on my résumé. “He wants me to call,” I say, my heart pounding. “Do you think it’s bad news? Good news? Maybe it’s no news?”
“Only one way to find out, Pazito,” Mom says, trying to contain her excitement too, but I see that glimmer in her eyes.
I stare at the ten digits that make up Orion’s phone number. It’s gotta be good news. Why else would the author of my favorite
book and the screenwriter of this movie text me so late after I crushed my audition today?
“Record my reaction,” I say. I love videos where actors find out they booked roles. I can use mine during my comeback post.
I call Orion on speaker and pace as the phone rings, crossing my fingers as I pass Mom’s camera.
“Hey, Paz,” Orion says against a noisy airport background. “How’s it going?”
“I’m good, I’m just— Yeah, I’m good.”
“Listen, I’m catching a flight back to New York, but I wanted you to hear all this from me. We shared your tapes with our
studio partners at See-All, and every single producer loved you. You were so dialed in as Death, and your chemistry with Zen
was undeniable. I got chills every damn time I rewatched the video today.”
I’m tearing up. Every horrible thing I’ve had to push through has led me to using my pain for my dream. All’s well that ends
well, right? Mom’s hand is shaky as she and Rolando keep smiling at each other. I can’t even get mad at how this might be
messing up the video, I’m legit so damn happy too. Happy Paz isn’t a performance for once—
“But they’re nervous,” Orion says.
I freeze. “Nervous about what?”
“The reality is everyone’s trying to cover their own asses, protect their jobs. I got a lot of shit for adapting my book when
studios kept throwing out names for Oscar winners to do the script instead. This is how they work out in Hollywood, and I
hate it, but they’re not sure how casting you will play out in the long run.”
My thigh is already tingling, like it knows what’s about to happen to it.
“But they liked my performance,” I say.
“They loved your performance, Paz. If this was just about acting, you would have the part. But Hollywood hates risks, so they
want to go with a safer choice. They’re concerned that this movie they’re investing tens of millions of dollars in might get
boycotted because—”
“Because I saved my mom from getting killed?! Because I was declared innocent during trial?!” I snap, which can’t be helping
my case, but fuck it, all anyone is ever gonna see me as is a loaded gun anyway.
Mom turns off the camera and tries calming me down, but I keep pacing, taking Orion off speaker.
“Come on, there’s nothing else you can say? Maybe set up a meeting so they can see I’m a good guy. Tell them I’ll do the movie
for free. Please!”
Orion is quiet. All I can hear is an airport attendant announcing boarding for a flight to New York. “I’m sorry, Paz, but
I’ve done everything I can.”
Now I’m not saying anything, just breathing and breathing even though I don’t wanna. I’m about to throw my phone against the wall when Orion calls my name. “What?”
“I get that you’re pissed, but remember your promise,” Orion says, but I don’t believe he actually cares about me. He’s trying
to cover his ass too, just like those ass-covering assholes at the studio. “I’ll hit you up soon to see how you’re doing.”
Soon? How long is soon? A day or two? A week? Right now a week sounds as long as an immortal life.
“Okay. Thanks, Orion,” I say, hanging up as he’s saying bye.
I stare lifelessly at Mom’s phone on the couch. I want that reaction video deleted.
“I’m sorry, Pazito,” Mom says, blocking my path from pacing more.
“It’s not your fault.”
“This isn’t your fault either.”
“It is, you heard him.”
Mom grabs my hands. “No. Orion and those Hollywood people do not know what they are talking about. Everything that happened
was all Frankie’s fault.”
“Yeah, well, Dad’s dead.”
“You are not, Pazito, because you and I, we are survivors,” Mom says, pulling me in for a hug. “We have been through so much,
and you will get through this too.”
I hate being called a survivor like it’s a good thing, but Mom is right, I will get through this.
I just have to wait until I’m alone so I don’t end up on suicide watch again.