10 Things to Do Before I Die by Daniel Ehrenhaft Page A

Way, your parents don’t have to be present to give consent. They can do it over the phone. But if you can’t get in touch With them, I’d be happy to do it.”
    I glance at the computer screen. It Whirls like a pinwheel. Now that the sun has set, its dead White glow provides the only light in the room. “If it’s nothing, Why do I have to deal With it now?” I’m having difficulty catching my breath. “Why can’t I just Wait until my parents get back?”
    “I’m sure the hospital just Wants to rule some things out.”
    “That’s exactly What the intern said!” I gasp.
    “Right,” he confirms With utter calm. “They just Want to perform a couple of examination procedures… .” His voice trails off for a moment. “Hey, are you Watching the news right now?”
    “No. Why?”
    “Something happened at that diner you guys always go to. You know, the one on Seventh Avenue? The Circle Eat?”
    The spinning computer screen freezes before my eyes. “What?”
    “Yeah, it’s on channel two. Are you near a TV? You should really check this out. It’s live… . It looks like there are tons of cops there. Wait. They’re hauling some guy away. Hey! He looks a little like you—”
    BZZZT!
    It’s the front door buzzer.
    “Ted?”
    “I gotta go,” I mutter. “I’m sorry, Mr. Singer. Thanks. Bye.” I hang up.
    BZZZT! BZZZT! BZZZZT!
    The buzzing is very insistent. It has an odd effect: it turns my limbs to gelatin. A thought has occurred to me. Yes, as I sit in that dark, terrible bedroom (practically a tomb!), a horrid Worst-case scenario has materialized: Leo ran off to get a real gun. And then he returned to the diner to shoot Mark. And now the cops have come here to tell me that my best friend—
    BZZZT!
    “Whoa!”
    Vertigo sends me toppling to the floor.
    Ouch.
    I bang my side. It’s cool, though. I’m coping. For the first time ever—despite my condition—I’m confronting trauma head-on. I stagger down the hall and through the pitch-black living room into the foyer, collapsing against the Talk button.
    “Hello?” I Whisper.
    “Burger!”
    Thank God. It’s Mark’s voice, blaring from the White plastic speaker. But it’s so distorted I can barely understand him.
    “Dude, We have to talk!” he says. “It’s Mark and Nikki! You’re in trouble!”
    Trouble? I stand there, numb and frozen.
    “Burger? You there?”
    I lift a shaky arm and press the button again. “Yeah, Mark, I’m here.”
    “You have to let us up, dude. Now! I don’t Want to freak you out, but see, Leo really flipped his lid—and—and—”
    Mark is stammering. He never stammers. I’m the one Who stammers.
    “Leo poisoned the fries!” Nikki Wails. “You’ve been poisoned, Ted! You’ve been poisoned!”

Epiphany
    I surprise myself.
    I’m super-relaxed. I’m beyond super-relaxed. I’m Zen-like. I’m pretty sure I know Why, too. Denial is the first stage of “the five stages of grief.” (Or so my psych teacher taught me.) The great thing is, knowing I’m in denial doesn’t even detract from its soothing, medicinal relief. Mark and Nikki are fairly impressed. They must have been expecting me to freak out. They’re certainly freaking out. But I’m slouched comfortably on the living room couch as they pace in front of me.
    “Leo came back,” Mark starts in. “Like, twenty minutes after you left.”
    “He told everybody he synthesized some sort of poison at home,” Nikki says.
    “See, he got kicked out of graduate school. He Was there for chemistry—”
    “He got kicked out the Week before he Was fired—”
    “He said it Was the same kind of poison that occurs naturally in blowfish—”
    “You know, that poison sushi? It’s colorless and odorless—”
    “He mixed his own homemade stuff into his last batch of fries—”
    “It makes you sicker and sicker, and it only takes twenty-four hours—”
    “Twenty-four hours! After that, your body just shuts down and you die—”
    “There’s nothing