“If Death-Cast is hitting her up, I bet you anything you’re the first person she’s going to call once she’s off the phone.” I find his eyes in the darkness, seeing him understand. “Scarlett is probably still having service issues.”

“You’re totally right. It took forever for my text to go through earlier on my flight before we took off. The message had just sent before I had to switch to airplane mode, and that was without interference from all the End Day calls.”

“Exactly,” I say, even though I don’t believe he believes in his words. He’s trying to talk himself into that truth, and I respect it.

He rests his head back onto his makeshift pillow. Only to pop up again a second later.

“What if those signal disruptions prevent Death-Cast from reaching Scarlett? Or anyone else on the plane? Or everyone else, even? They could be about to take off, not knowing they’re doomed. It’s not like Death-Cast could call the airlines either and prevent them from departing, since they’re not tracking us like all those conspiracy theorists believe, though in this case, it would actually be really helpful to know if the plane is full of Deckers.”

I let Valentino vomit out every last word, and he’s got me thinking about my parents and all the other 9/11 victims.

If Death-Cast had been around back then and called the thousands of people who died in the towers and the planes and on the grounds, could they have lived? Everything Joaquin Rosa has talked about suggests they would have been killed in other ways, but would I have gotten to see them one more time that day? Would I have watched them die instead of being oblivious for hours that they were dead? There’s a million questions I could ask, just like after watching any movie with major time-travel paradoxes, but unless I can actually rewind time, I’m never going to get an answer.

“It’s times like this I wish I still prayed,” Valentino says. “I’d pray for Scarlett’s safety.”

I’ve never really been religious, but I respect other people’s shit as long as they respect mine. Like whenever we’re at home and about to eat, Team Young takes a second to pray for their blessings and I peacefully sit it out and we all jump into our meal together. It’s all good.

“You stopped praying because of your parents?” I ask.

“I’m aware that my story is as old as the Bible, but my parents made it clear that I was sinning after I came out as gay. It felt like I was banned from praying.”