Scarlett is the only person in the universe who can use that nickname. Many others have tried, but it always feels wrong. It’s like someone is trying to show how close we are when they haven’t put the time in. I obviously don’t have more history with anyone than Scarlett, and when we were kids she had a hard time saying Valentino, so she started calling me Valley and eventually trimmed it to Val.

“I’m here,” I say weakly, like an ax murderer did manage to get me. “You’re not driving, are you?”

“Of course not. What’s going on? You sound off.”

“I’m going to FaceTime you.”

“What’s happening? Tell me.”

“Just answer, okay?”

I click the video camera icon, and it rings once before Scarlett’s face appears. There’s pure concern in her eyes, like when she opened her first college admission letter and discovered she was rejected. She really struggled and didn’t believe she’d have a future until I suggested we move to New York. But I don’t know how to walk her through how to live after I die. I can’t even tell her what’s happening, I’m stammering over every word. But I don’t need words with Scarlett. Just like so many other difficult trials in my life—most recently, when Mom and Dad didn’t react well to my coming out—all I have to do is look my sister in the eye and cry and let all the tears speak for me. Except there’s no way for my death to dawn on her face since I shouldn’t even know it’s happening.

“I signed up for Death-Cast, and they called me.”

She’s quiet and so still that I think the call has frozen out in this hallway.

“No,” Scarlett finally says.

I don’t know the full sequence of the stages of grief, but I know the first is denial.

“Stop crying, Val, this is so not a thing,” Scarlett says. Unfortunately, her poker face is worse than ever. “These Death-Cast operators are total newbies. They don’t know what they’re doing.”

“I—I spoke with Joaquin. Joaquin Rosa.”

I manage to get those words out because we can’t play pretend. If Joaquin Rosa is screwing up End Day calls, then that whole operation needs to be shut down this moment. But maybe Scarlett will have another argument that I can’t counter. Something to give me hope.

“Well, did Mr. Death-Cast tell you how he thinks you’re going to die? Because if not, then we shouldn’t put too much weight on his little educated guess. It might be an uneducated guess! We have no idea how Death-Cast even works. This is why we didn’t sign up.”