The F- It List Part 6

"Before you die," I pushed.

"Well, I sure as f.u.c.k can't do them after I die."

"Says you. What if I learn the art of taxidermy, stuff you, and take you with me everywhere I go until we complete the list?"

"You're totally going to turn that into a movie someday, aren't you?"

"Probably."

"You can use my dead body as the dead body," Becca volunteered.

"You'll be too busy starring as the gorgeous, living friend. Who is alive. And not dead at all."

"Okay, good, because that's on my list." She pointed to number 67: Star in one of Alex's movies and have it seen by actual people instead of just me and Alex. "Sorry," she noticed. "My bucket list isn't very well- worded."

"Can we stop calling it a bucket list? Again: implied death," I noted.

--1 "I thought it meant all the things you can fi t into a bucket to do."

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"Um, no, I think it means all the things you can do before you kick the bucket. Which, actually, I think is an allusion to suicide, right?

Like, kicking the bucket out from under your feet while you hang.

Or maybe someone else is kicking out the bucket."

"Yuck and gross and eeww."

"So no more bucket. How about the f.u.c.k- It list? Like, f.u.c.k it, I might die, but let me look like an idiot doing all sorts of ridiculous things?"

"The f.u.c.k- It List. n.o.ble, but with a hint of edge to it."

"Think they'd ever let me name a movie The f.u.c.k- It List?"

"Probably not. They'd be all, 'How about The Stuff - It List? That's how kids these days really talk, right?' " Becca perfectly adopted a hilariously oblivious male executive's voice.

From downstairs we heard Becca's mom yell, "Ten minutes!"

"d.a.m.n, Woman. She's probably got her stopwatch ticking.

Okay, we need to focus. I don't know how much of the list I can do by myself in a short amount of time, so I had the idea that maybe you could help me out with some things on it and I could live vicariously through you."

I grabbed the list and skimmed through the scribbles written over every possible inch of the worn paper. "No way in h.e.l.l am I send- ing my bra to Zac Efron." I gagged.

"Shut up. I was like twelve when I wrote that."

"Did you even have b.o.o.bs?"

"I had a training bra. I think SpongeBob was on it. Anyway, you don't have to do everything, but, like, here, number thirteen." She pointed to a line written in pink pen. "Sleep on a beach to watch the -1- sunset and sunrise. You could defi nitely manage that."

0- "So could you! Come on!" I prodded. It was hard for me to

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imagine Becca being so sick, or maybe not even here to do something so simple.

"Alex, humor me. Things on this list need to start getting done, so I can feel like I accomplished something just in case I do die. And don't give me that s.h.i.+t that I'll be dead so I won't know whether or not I accomplished anything because now you will know and you'll have to live with it weighing on your lightly existing conscience."

"Geez, fi ne. No need to bring my conscience into this. I'll sleep on a beach. I'll be a regular beach b.u.m. I'll bring you back a grain of sand and everything."

"This is serious, Alex. You can't just do it half- a.s.sed. Do every- thing like it's your last night on Earth."

"Are you going to quote Ke$ha again? Fine. Two grains of sand."

Becca smacked my shoulder. "Isn't there anything on here we could take care of now? So you can do some of it?" I scanned the page. Num- bers and sentences in various colored pens and markers were strewn every which way. "Here! I found one. Number 8: Crank call Adam Levitz."

"That's on the list? G.o.d, I was such a douchey nine- year- old."

Adam Levitz was a crush gone wrong in fourth grade. He invited Becca to the Fun Fair at our elementary school, but when he didn't pick her up at her house she and I went to the school in hopes of meet- ing him there. Turned out it was all a trick masterminded by Queen b.i.t.c.h Mara Radnor. Apparently, Becca hadn't gotten over it.

"It's on the list. Let's do it." I reached for Becca's phone and punched in *67, so her number would show up as private.

"Give me that." Becca grabbed the phone out of my hands and dialed some numbers.

--1 "Why do you still know his phone number?" I was incredulous.

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"I tried calling him so many times that night he ditched me, it stayed in my head. Ssshhh-" Becca help up a fi nger to quiet me. In a hilariously s.e.xy, breathy voice, Becca asked, "Is Adam there? No?

Well, can you tell him Ca.s.sandra called, and I just wanted to let him know he gave me chlamydia. Thanks."

We both started giggling when she hung up. "That was weird,"

I told her.

"I know. Ca.s.sandra's such a tramp."

"Cross it off ." I pushed the list at her along with a pen from her nightstand. "Let's do one more," I suggested. "We have fi ve minutes.

Is there a quick one? Like where we make out or something?" I asked.

"What? That's not on there, is it?" Becca scanned the list. "How about this one?" Number fi fteen: Flash the homeschooled guy next door."

Becca lived next to a family with six girls and one boy, all home- schooled. We knew nothing about them except that the boy was our age, ridiculously hot, and his bedroom window lined up perfectly with Becca's.

"You little wh.o.r.e. You have to do this one." I nudged her.

"I don't know. Is it too s.k.a.n.ky?"

"It's not like your list said to give the homeschool boy a handjob.

Unless that's further down. Ha. Get it? Further down?"

"Alex! Time to go!" Becca's mom called once again from downstairs.

"Your mom is insane, by the way," I told her.

Becca wasted no time answering me. Before I fi nished my sen- tence, she was on her feet and heading to her window.

-1- "Oh my G.o.d. He's there. At his little homeschool desk facing his 0- little homeschool window. He looked up. He sees me."

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"No time like the present for a nip slip," I advised.

"I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it," Becca chanted. She threw her t-s.h.i.+rt to the fl oor. "I'm totally doing it. He's looking! I'm going to take off my bra. I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it."

"This play- by- play is really s.e.xy, Becca," I teased.

Becca reached around her back and unhooked her bra. "Here I go. I'm taking off my bra. One. Two. Three." Becca fl ung her bra across her room and threw her arms up in the air. "He's smiling!"

"Yeah. I'd imagine so."

"I'm going to blow him a kiss." Becca did just that. Then her bedroom door opened, and her mom barged in. Becca spun around instantly, arms crossed over her chest. "Mom! Get out!" Becca screamed. "Alex is leaving! Give us a minute, d.a.m.nit!"

I don't know if Becca's mom left because of what Becca said or because she didn't want to know what Becca was actually doing. We busted out laughing the second the door closed. Becca threw her s.h.i.+rt back on and climbed into bed.

"That was so excellent. See how good it's going to feel when you do these things for me?" She was really serious about me doing her list.

"I'm not showing my t.i.ts to your neighbor, Becca."

"You don't have to. I already did!" she squealed. "Calm thyself, Becca," she breathed, something she often did before a show to cen- ter herself. "You don't have to do all of them. I know it's a lot. Just some of them so you can report back to me. Really live while I can't."

"When you put it that way, I'm pretty much obligated to say yes, aren't I?"

"That's the idea."

"I better go, or your mom might try to smoke me out. Should we --1 hug?" Hugging now felt too infi nite.

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