Alano
July 26, 2020
10:36 a.m.
Death-Cast still can’t call me. My father finds that upsetting, but I don’t. I wouldn’t go so far to say that I’ve been living
my best life ever since opting out of the service, but I would say that I’m on the right path. Mostly thanks to Paz.
The Melrose Trading Post—better known as the Melrose Market to locals like Paz—is a really impressive flea market outside
Fairfax High School. I’m really happy I didn’t miss out on visiting during this trip to Los Angeles. Nothing has caught Paz’s
eye yet as we bounce between booths, but I’ve already bought amber incense, reusable candles, an art print of the Santa Monica
Pier (in a style reminiscent of Pierre-Auguste Renoir), a 3D flower bouquet that will survive in my absence, a Y2K Three Bats
shirt, and a green quartz crystal that is said to be good for emotional stability. One hour definitely won’t be enough time
to get through all these booths, let alone spend meaningful time with Paz before I have to meet Rio at Universal Studios,
but I’m making the most of it.
We’re in a booth after the vendor invited us in, saying, “Come claim your name!” I thought it was going to be some unique experience, like an aura reading, but the woman is simply selling small objects with people’s names. I already know I won’t be buying anything here.
Paz spins a rack of name magnets. “Always Pat, never Paz.”
“Always Alan, never .”
“My mom has had some luck, but Rolando hasn’t.”
“I’ve seen Joaquin magnets, but never Naya.”
“That’s so stupid, Naya is a beautiful name. We probably don’t see it more because parents know their children would be disappointed
at these racks.”
I politely nod at the vendor as we leave the booth—followed by Agent Dane, who has likely seen his fair share of Dan magnets
while searching for his own name—and search for our next stop.
“I’ve decided what I’m going to do instead of running Death-Cast,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“I’m starting a secret club for those who have suffered the indignities of never seeing their names personalized on objects.
On Day One everyone will be welcomed with magnets, key chains, pencils, journals, mugs, water bottles, backpacks, and anything
else.”
“Can we get Beyoncé to join?”
“It’s a fantasy. Beyoncé can perform before every club meeting.”
“Okay, I’m all in. What do we talk about?”
“Nothing special, but we keep it secretive anyway so all the Common-Namers know what it’s like to be excluded.”
“?‘’ must mean ‘genius’ because this is brilliant.”
“In Old German origins it means ‘precious,’ which honestly tracks with how I’ve been treated my entire life,” I say, casting
a quick smile back at my personal bodyguard. “My name is the Spanish cognate of ‘Alan,’ which means ‘handsome.’ Sadly my name
doesn’t translate to ‘genius’ in any language.”
“I think you’re a precious and handsome genius, ,” Paz says while avoiding eye contact, as if the ice at the bottom of
his empty lemonade cup is more fascinating than directly flirting.
“And I think you’re living, breathing peace, Paz.”
“Even all those times I was about to kill myself?”
“No, not then, but definitely the moments after where you chose to live,” I say, remembering the heart-racing intensity when
Paz had the gun to his head on the Hollywood Sign and in the alley. I push it away with the relief from both times Paz lowered
the gun along with when he threw it away. “You’re living up to the peace in your name, Paz. Maybe I can find a peace sign
around here to send you home with until I get my club up and running.”
“I actually hate the peace sign.”
“You can’t hate the peace sign, Paz.”
“I hate the peace sign, .”
If Paz were anyone else, like Rio for example, I would joke that he’s hopeless. The last thing I want is Paz remembering that
I’ve said that, even kidding around. It’s too easy for someone to believe there might be truth behind humor. “Fine. You hate
the peace sign, but do you like gifts? I want to get you something.”
“Why?”
“To thank you for bringing me here.”
“You don’t have to do that, I’m good.”
“I want to. Is that okay?”
Paz seems hesitant. I almost retract the offer, but he says, “Only if I can get you something too.”
I have plenty already from the market, but I agree. We plan to meet at the exit at 10:55. I should honestly spend these ten
minutes hanging out with Paz instead, but I’d like to get him something to hold close when I’m not here.
Agent Dane watches Paz run off, alarmed, and I explain the situation. He obviously stays close as I browse through the booths.
Even behind my sunglasses, I’ve already been recognized three times this morning. First at the food truck where Paz and I
bought frozen lemonades, then by the artist who sold me their print of the Santa Monica Pier, and lastly when I was shopping
for crystals. I happily obliged as the vendors asked for pictures and spoke about how Death-Cast has been meaningful to their
lives, but the entire time I could feel Paz and Agent Dane watching them, unsure if these strangers were being sincere or
luring me into a false sense of security so they could stab me with an ice pick or sharpened pencil or an obsidian knife.
There are so many booths and not enough time, so I go down my lane of Paz memories to come up with some options. His stress and depression are obviously at the forefront of my brain, but I don’t think stress balls, coloring books, and fidget toys would be enough to keep Paz off the Hollywood Sign or that kitchen knife off his skin (something I still can’t help but think about since I’m not sure where Paz was even self-harming and I can only rule out his unscarred arms, neck, and face). He suggested that I decorate my car with an air freshener so I can always get him something for his car. Then I realize that I don’t know if Paz himself even drives or if he’s only driven around by Gloria Medina and Rolando Rubio (and now me). I pass a booth that’s selling frames and consider getting one for Paz’s dream eulogy, but he won’t be able to showcase that until he speaks about it with his parents. Another booth is selling stickers, and in another world this shiny yellow heart would have been a cute gift to celebrate his favorite book and casting in the adaptation, but if we lived in that world, Paz and I wouldn’t have met when we did. Thankfully Paz and I did meet, but this sticker might be a sore spot, so I move on. There’s a small bookshop selling language books and I think it would be really fun to learn a language with Paz, or tutor him in one I already know, like Spanish, so he’ll feel less like a “bad Puerto Rican.” This will have to do because I only have three minutes left. Right before I can step inside, something catches my eye outside the neighboring booth, something so perfect that I buy it fast before anyone else can because this is so destined for Paz that it may as well have his name on it.
I hurry toward the exit, where I see Paz running toward the gate while hugging a big brown paper bag to his chest. There’s
no time to guess on what it might be before we reunite.
“Hey,” Paz says, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
I take a deep breath when my chest feels tight. “Any chance you got me new lungs?”
“Are you okay?” Paz asks. “Do you need your inhaler?”
“No, I’m fine, but thanks for caring.”
“Back at you.”
After spending last night learning more about Paz, meeting his parents, exploring his bedroom, and almost kissing, I went
home thinking about how much I like him. We’re good for each other as friends, and I’m confident we would be really good together
as boyfriends, even if it has to be long distance. If that went well for a few months, what’s stopping me from spending more
time out here in Los Angeles to be with him? Certainly not Death-Cast. I only want to make sure that I’m genuinely in the
right headspace to care for Paz as much as I do myself. If my mother is right about this psychotic break, I’ll have to reassess
everything, no matter how true it feels now.
To be clear, it feels very true now.
“Close your eyes,” I tell Paz. Once he does, I pull his gift out from my tote bag and unroll it before his feet. “Take two
steps forward and open your eyes.”
Paz does what I said and looks down—no, he stares down at his yellow star-shaped rug.
“I was inspired by our stroll down the Hollywood Walk of Fame,” I say.
“How—what—where the hell did you find this?”
“An Old Hollywood booth that sells set pieces. The vendor said this rug was for some TV pilot that never got made.”
Paz gets self-conscious as he realizes everyone is staring at us since we’re blocking foot traffic to the exit. He starts stepping off. “We should move—”
“You should get used to people staring at you,” I interrupt, and center him back onto the star. “You’re going to be famous
one day, Paz, for all the right reasons. Just bask in the peace of them not hounding you for autographs and pictures right
now.”
A smile creeps up as quickly as it vanishes. “No one’s ever gonna cast me in anything ever again, . Definitely not anything
star-worthy.”
“Time will tell, Paz. Until then, put this rug by your bed so you wake up and go to sleep remembering that you’re a star.
On the days that are hard, know that I believe this won’t be your last star—and the next one will have your name on it as
Hollywood finally celebrates you.”
Paz’s smile comes back to life, but stays longer. “This is really sweet, seriously. I hope you like yours, I couldn’t afford
the super nice things I saw, but I think it’s cool—”
I take the brown paper bag out of his hands. “I’m going to love it.”
“You don’t have to, you can hate it.”
I pull out the gift, and I don’t know how Paz ever thought that I could hate a brown ceramic vase shaped like a skull.
“It’s a vanitas vase, though I don’t know if this counts because you said vanitas are still-life artwork, but this is art and someone spent their life working on it,” Paz says nervously like he wasted his money. “But you also said vanitases—is that even a word?—are usually skulls and dead flowers, so I thought you could put your new 3D flower bouquet in there. And I really liked it because then you got the brown and green like your alien eyes.” Paz stares at me, trying to gauge how I’m feeling. It’s honestly cute how much he feels the need to keep selling it. “I just thought it would be really fitting because now more than ever you need to remember that you will die since Death-Cast can’t warn you.”
I hug the skull to my chest. “This is honestly the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.”
Paz exhales. “Really? You don’t have to say all of that.”
“Are you kidding me? This can’t stay here in Los Angeles. This has to go everywhere I go.”
We stand there and as much as I’d like the world around us to disappear, I also become very aware that everyone’s watching
us and that more people are beginning to recognize me. Paz picks up his star-shaped rug, and we exit the market.
“This is the best gift ever and best start to a morning,” I tell Paz as he walks me back to my car. “No roller coaster is
going to top this.”
“Maybe a cool glass of tartsun from the Milagro Castle will top everything,” Paz says as he fans himself with his star-shaped
rug.
Tartsun is the signature beverage that all the demonic witches and wizards in the Scorpius Hawthorne series drink at the start
of every school year to wake up the powers that have been slumbering from underuse. It’s said to be sweet, sour, spicy, and
not for the faint of heart. I’m excited and nervous to see how I fare against Rio.
“Is tartsun good?” I ask.
“I don’t know. They didn’t have any on set.”
“You didn’t drink any at Universal Studios?”
“I’ve never been.”
I stop in my tracks, a few feet from my car. “What? How come?”
Paz shrugs. “It’s always been too expensive to go to the park only to risk getting booed or kicked out if someone recognizes
me.”
I roll the skull around in my hands, feeling the same way about this gift as I do Paz. “Please come with me.”
He laughs. “No, this is your time with your friend—”
“You’re my friend, and I want more time with you.”
“I want more time with you too, but...”
“But what?”
Paz’s head hangs. “I don’t really have Universal money. I wouldn’t have cared as much about blowing it all during my Not-End
Days, but I gotta think differently for Begin Days.”
“I’ll get your ticket.”
“No, I can’t accept that, it’s too much—okay, maybe not for you, but still.”
Even though my family has enough money to reserve the entire park to ourselves, I really appreciate Paz not taking advantage. “I understand. My family doesn’t like accepting complimentary gifts, no matter how well-intentioned they may be.” This is tricky because now that I’ve got this idea of Paz joining me at the park I can’t imagine having a good time without him. “How about this? Rio bought me a ticket already that wouldn’t be right to accept when I can afford my own, so I could give that one to you?”
“You don’t even know that he wants me tagging along.”
“He’s going to love you.” I’m not confident it’s the truth, but it’s not technically a lie. I’m sure Rio will need an adjustment
period given how he reacted after hearing about the romantic possibilities between me and Paz in the first place, but Rio
will see that Paz is innocent.
“Please come,” I say, sure that I’ve almost got him. “We could really use another one of your five-star tours. Who else knows
the Milagro Castle better than you?”
Paz rolls his eyes and smiles. “Fine. But only so you don’t get lost in the dungeons.”
I may have lied to Paz.
The vanitas vase is actually the second-best gift I’ve ever received. The first has to be all the time I’ve gotten to spend
with Paz since he’s chosen to live.