DAYS BEFORE NEW YEARS : 13

"Coby has been declared dead."

I stared at my bowl of cereal as my mom poured milk, causing it to overflow and splash onto my hands. I looked up at my mom's face, but I could already tell that she knew.

"JACOB! Now is NOT the time—" My dad slammed down the newspaper, his mustache soaked in morning coffee, buttery pancakes wobbling on the plate.

"THEN WHEN?" The chair screeched in protest as he abruptly stood, demanding an unbearable answer from my mom.

"I don't want to keep lying to our bo—"

His gaze softened as his own brown eyes stared back at him, heavy with even more remorse. I wiped my hands with the untouched tissues, breaking our eye contact.

After regaining his composure, he continued.

"... Principal Simon... is going to hold a mourning-"

"What does that have to do with me?" I bitterly snapped at my father, letting my grudge loosen against him.

I pushed my chair back, the sound scraping against the floor echoing my frustration. Marching toward the laundry room, I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, searching for a fresh shirt to mask my turmoil.

Leave me alone.... I need to cool off...

Just as I expected, my dad's heavy footsteps followed me. In the background, my mom's sobs were silent but unmistakable.

"After enduring sleepless, fruitless nights searching for the lost Galvin's, Casper Towns, the leader of the teen rescue operation, has been given the opportunity," he read out aloud from his phone, "to deliver a eulogy at the Reopening Day Assembly dedicated to his heavenly ascended friend, Coby Galvin, and his sister, Coral Galvin."

I looked over to dad who held out the black blazer.

With a blank stare, I walked out of the room in my suit.

Ready to carry my late godparent's casket to their final destination.

Yet, despite all the reminders of his absence, my fingers hovered over the screen, itching to text him again.

It felt like a betrayal, yet I couldn’t help myself.

My rival.

My competitor.

My debater.

My.....friend.... He's no longer here.

Worse of all, I knew he was going to die.

How?

He used to complain about his terrible marks, as if mine were any better than his perfect A's.

He used to call me late night about his stress about his college applications.

He informed me first when he started experiencing anxiety and panic attacks.

Always covered it up with that wicked smile of his.

He always shared his thoughts with me about his parents' scientific worries, their artificial marriage fallout, research work ethics...

But after going to their workplace, he stopped answering his phone.

He didn't come to school the next month.

Then, just a day after his family was reported missing officially, he finally texted me about his goddamn treasure hunt plan.

That would occur after he died.

Yeah.

My friend of 7 years told me he would die on a silly treasure hunt.

Now, why wouldn't I be mad about this?

Because this stupid bigot had the perfect personal life, popular friends, a ten out of ten girl, and a goddamn Audi for his 15th birthday-

He had everything I ever wanted.

I envied him for his luck.

I love him for his company.

And I hated that his sister survived a shootout only to end her life five years later.

My sister took her place, and for what?

My little sister's sacrifice was wasted.

My little sister's sacrifice went down the drain.

He didn't even text a 'sorry'.

I am just doing it for our family's sake.

That's what I keep telling myself.

But.....

I can't stop crying for that bastard while cursing him out.

Nothing made any sense to me as I buckled my shoelaces on the porch.

The car engine whistled to signal the ignition that my father inflicted. Any moment now the garage should open to let the car out.

The porch wasn't big and all, but it was familiar—a place I had stood on countless times before. Though today, it felt heavier beneath me.

The wood was ancient from my granddad's time but well-maintained, newly fresh painted a soft shade of white steps that glittered in the sunlight. My dad's handmade wooden porch swing bench stood still in the corner, its once-golden hue disappearing after years of usage.

The shiny wind chime was gifted by our neighbour's 6-year-old daughter. It swung to and fro in motion hastily in that breeze, its melody eerily out of place against the suffocating weight in my lungs.

Which reminds me of an incoming panic attack.

I listened to online websites' advice.

Find the root.

Coby's very mysterious death.

Distract yourself from the uneasiness with the complex-

The house.

My house.

My home is.

The one I was born in.

It was a.... two-story, suburban relic with a red brick foundation and off-white siding, its once-pristine walls now streaked with traces of rain and dirt.

It has the image of a warm, loving home.

At least that's what it seems to be on the outside.

The front door, a deep mahogany with a brass handle, was adorned with a worn-out wreath from last year's Thanksgiving that no one has ever bothered to take down. But during the night, the porch light would flicker continuously as if it was the water cycle, struggling to hold onto life, much like the family whose funeral we were holding today.

Shit... shit...

Don't think about him....

Normally, the air would be thick in the morning with the scent of maple syrup, butter, and coffee. Let's not forget the absurd radio cracking up.

As for the kitchen.... moving on.

The front yard seems to be stretched out in its patch of green grass bordered by a slightly uneven sidewalk.

While in the mailbox...

It's quite dented from years of reckless bicycle collisions...

Just barely clung slightly to one side.

For some reason, when I crouched to fix my pants, I imagined hearing my name being screamed—

"CASPPPPPPPPPPPPPPEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

At first, I thought it was my head messing with me. A nostalgic echo of Coby's voice, the way he used to yell during our daily debate sessions, dragging my name out like it was some sort of surprise Pokémon move attack.

But then—

"CASPPPPPPPPPPPPPPEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRR—"

The voice was real.

Before I could even lift my head, a blur of limbs and wheels came crashing down onto the pavement with a loud thud.

A very loud thud.

I sighed. "Sammie."

As per the norm, my hyperactive, clueless, dummy of a friend tripped over his skates and proceeded to land flat on his face against the pavement. He lay sprawled out on the sidewalk, groaning dramatically, arms flapping like a cockroach flipped on its back.

Mind you, I compared him to a cockroach for a reason.

A very unfortunate comparison indeed, but just like a cockroach, Sammie was indestructible.

And just like that hindrance to society, Sammie was our school's future Caltech scientist—or its present incarnation of Oppenheimer.

The same guy who, in fourth grade, invented a steaming water bomb as part of some "against-school-shooting" program.

In fourth grade.

I repeat myself.

Fricking fourth grade.

You see how I changed my language here? It's because our mad scientist has the mental age of a five-year-old.

A very pure mind.

No bad words spoken to date.

He still thinks babies are delivered by storks.

It's his parents' fault for never signing him up for any sex education. I don't know what they taught him, but it sure as hell wasn't anything religious.

Yet somehow, he still managed to get a girlfriend on the first try.

I bet he came here just to tease me about it.

Thankfully, at least, the idiot finally used his God-gifted brain for some provoking thoughts: wearing safety gear.

Nonetheless, I was glad he showed up, tearing up the lawn the same way he did to his past enemies. From the looks of his 'Bleach' pajamas, he has no clue about the funeral today.

I brushed off the grass and fixed his mess of dirty blonde hair, then handed him back his goggles. Guiding him to the porch, I made him sit on the bench before heading inside to grab some water and a first aid kit.

On my way, my mom bumped into me. 'Concern' literally written all over her face.

"What was that crash just now?" Her voice cracked while inspecting my face, without my permission.

After quickly summarizing the incident, she sighed and headed upstairs while I continued with my plan.

By the time I reached the bench, my job of lecturing Sammie was already done.

Thalia had taken care of it for me.

His girlfriend.

"So what? Dead or not, at least my crash stopped Casper from crying and made him burst out laughing!" Sammie declared proudly.

I froze.

Crying? I cried?

At once, I touched my cheeks. Sure enough, my mother wiped all my tears. No wonder why she looked worried when I summarized the incident with a smile.

"DEAD? YOU'RE ALREADY— Oh! Casper, I'm sorry— Gosh... You didn't have to do that," Thalia cut herself off, immediately shifting focus as she started patching up his scraped knees.

I counted 1234 and then exhaled slowly, pressing my fingers against my temples.

Crying?

Was I?

I didn't even realize it.

Sammie's words had a way of slipping under my skin, slipping through all the carefully constructed walls I had built up.

But it wasn't his fault.

It never was.

Thalia, always the responsible one, was already tending to his wounds. Her hands moved swiftly, dabbing antiseptic onto his scraped knees while he winced and screamed out some anime terms.

A doctor and a scientist.

What a match created in the lab!

"You know," she muttered, not looking at me, "you should at least let yourself grieve properly instead of bottling it up. It's not like—" She stopped, shaking her head. "Never mind."

I knew what she was about to say.

It's not like he wouldn't have done the same for you.

But she didn't have to say it.

Before, we never got along because I thought she was just dating Sammie for his brain. But after spending some time together to search and find Coby, we realized that we both wanted to preserve Sammie's innocence along with some surprising common interests.

One of which is that we both share the same hatred for Coby and his stupid hunt. Both of us haven't disclosed Coby's actual disappearance to Sammie.

Why?

Because neither of us wanted to break Sammie's heart just like we did to ours.

I stood there, my hands clenched into fists, watching the two of them bicker like always.

Sammie, with his ridiculous blabbering, and Thalia, with her no-nonsense disapproval.

They were the same as ever.

And for a second...... I forgot that today wasn't just a normal day.

That today was the day I had to say goodbye.

Not to them.

To me.

The car honked in the driveway.

I blinked, snapping back to reality.

"Come on! We gotta go!" I looked at my dad, from the driver's seat waving at us.

Thalia's hands shook for a moment before she gave a quiet nod. Sammie, despite his usual cluelessness, suddenly looked serious.

"Wait... before you go, take these." Sammie took my hands, placing the googles in them.

Seriousness doesn't look good on him.

I finally cracked up. My chuckles filled the air, while Thalia shot her concern glare at me.

"And? These are for what occasion?" I awkwardly tried on the goggles for him to loosen up.

"No silly! It's your birthday gift! You and Coby always lectured me on remembering-" Thalia quickly clamped his mouth shut while I....

I continued to chuckle.

"You know what you just got yourself? A plus-one for the funeral! " At that, Sammie's eyes were horrified as his memory relapsed and made him remember why I wasn't planning to celebrate my birthday.

"Mom! Seems like we need to also borrow one of your dresses along with my suit for them!" I shouted across the hallway, slamming the front door behind me.

----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----X----

“You have reached your destination.” The GPS was the only one to speak during the uncomfortable ride in my dad’s car.

Thalia sat in the front with my dad while my mom sat in-between me and Sammie-boy.

Why?

Because we got into a fight that turned physical.

My dad’s burning red eyes said everything that I needed to hear from him, for the day at least. I was already prepared with my dad’s scolding for starting the fight. But, never have I ever imagined to witness Sammie throwing the first fist at me.

Now with a wounded face, I walked out of the car to get out of that suffocation of a room.

My lungs quickly filled up with the fresh air, while my legs, that were screaming in pain ages ago, finally relaxed and started to feel more alive.

Despite my weight loss, I still retained some strength to carry almost all the supplies to St’ Paul church, the place where the funeral is taking place. Fortunately, Sammie had the heart to help me out with supplies while maintaining his silence.

I deserve it after what everything I said to him.

I wanted to apologise for it, but my mouth wouldn’t open up. Hell, even my tongue fell asleep. I hoped he would look into my eyes and see how sorry I felt about it, because eyes are the window to soul. He needs to know how I feel so at peace when I am around him and his presences is helping me in calming down my fast-paced pulse.

My dear guardian angel, let Samuel Birchers see through me, just for once.

After dropping us off, dad drove the car further to find a suitable parking spot.

Strangely for a common church, there were barricades and police officers stationed around the entrance. There was an old couple in front of us who were talking with one of the police officers. From the looks of their faces, neither of both parties were pleased.

“Ahh! Mrs Town! Casper! How are you doing, son?”

At once my eyes stood up at the familiar officer.

Mr Adams.

I walked up the stone stairs to greet the wonderful officer.

“I am fine, so far. I would love to shake your hands but as you can see,” I shook the plastic bags with all the flowers and the other supplies.

“I can hear it pretty well. Thalia, it’s good to see you again, dear.” Thalia nodded at him and exchanged some words. Probably about Sue, his daughter whom Thalia had been giving maths tuitions to. Ironically, he complimented my mother’s pegged dress she wore and how well it’s colour suited her eyes.

Dark as midnight sky.

“This might come off as invasive, but what's up with all these barricades?” I was stunned to hear Sammie break his silence. For one, I thought he would break it in an hour or so, and two, I was eventually going to ask the same question. It’s as if he and I were thinking the same thing because when Mr Adams answered, we both rolled our eyes in annoyance.

“How could someone leak about the funeral?” My mother cried behind her gloves.

“For money, mom. People will do anything.” I nudged towards the door and bid goodbye to the panda-eyed officer.

Thalia and mom held open the doors for us to go through quickly because in the next moment, cars and vans all piled up at the entrance with cameras, mics, flashes, reporters. I swore that in the midst of the crowd, the familiar wicked smile appeared the one that was delighted to witness his parent's funeral.

After rushing in, we were greeted and guided by the priests. At once, we all were assigned our tasks.

Thalia and mom went over the the flower arrangements along with the candles and card memoir of the Genius couples in each seat. Sammie and I were taken to the other relatives and friends to carry the casket down the hall for viewing.

Together, in time we descended with two groups carrying two caskets.

I barely noticed when my dad joined, but boy did his anger calmed down.

The service began with prayers, led by the priest and his apprentice. He began, “These prayers express comfort, hope, and trust in God's care for the deceased……” followed by some Bible passages. Before I knew it, eulogies started to pour out and it was finally my turn.

My legs felt heavier with each steps toward the microphone. 

My hands sweatier, almost making the mic slipper than a bar of soap.

"Goo-ood mo-rni-g," I started off with a voice crack. 

Breath in. Breath out.

1....

thump...

2....

thump! thump!

3....

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

4-

"I am sorry." My legs gave out, gravity pulling my body weight down to the floor.

It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would.

My mind felt worse than ever.

Hands were all over me, pulling and pushing me down on a cushion, or a chair.

I felt the light daze-

"Mr Towns?" I blinked to see a tall man in a black suit standing before me.

Oh, good..... death is here to pick me up for my most requested rematch against Coby.

Yet, I never expected death to look so old-

"We haven't met before, I believe." I blinked again, shaking off my dark thoughts and forcing myself upright. My palm met my own cheek in a sharp slap.

Snap it out, Casper.

I shook hands with that man named Mr Colin, who kept on shooting concern looks at me.

"Forgive my intrusion. I know this is an absurd way to meet up," he waved around the hall. "But, this is an urgent matter that needs to be taken care of at once."

I took a glance around.

Ah, yes.

Mrs and Mr Galvin's funeral session.

Where I just had a panic attack.

The room was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the sea of black-clad mourners, their faces etched with grief and disbelief. It did so little to hide the sea of black attire and stiff expressions.

The Galvin family name had drawn quite a crowd—friends, co-workers, and opportunistic reporters lurking near the exits like vultures waiting for the feast to begin.

My godparents weren't like us, ordinary people.

They were two of a kind. Scientists whose names would be written into history books long after we were gone.

Monica and Louis Galvin. The minds behind the greatest medical breakthrough of our time.

Their company, Xext-Gen, wasn’t just another biotech firm—it was the biotech firm. The ones who cracked the code, the ones who formulated the vaccine that saved millions from the virus that nearly wiped us out.

2 years ago.

They weren’t just brilliant. They were irreplaceable.

And now they are dead.

And who was the closest person to those genius minds?

Me.

And I also bet that this pap over here wants every tiny juice about thei-

"I am Galvin's family lawyer. Was, if we are technically speaking." He pointed to the two casket left for viewing.

"Oh…" I stared back at him, my mind still processing his presence.

A lawyer. Of course.

I should have expected this. With godparents as influential as the Galvins, there were bound to be legal matters left in the wake of their deaths. But still, something felt off.

Mr. Colin didn’t look like he was here just for formalities. There was a sharpness in his eyes—calculating, expectant. He was watching me too closely.

“Did they… leave something behind?” I asked, my voice coming out more guarded than I intended.

The lawyer gave a tight-lipped smile, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit.

“More than just a will, Mr. Towns.”

Huh, sure.

"Almost all of their properties... their houses, their bank credentials-"

"WOAH! WAIT A DAMN SECOND!" I held up both hands, nearly knocking over a framed picture of 'THE FAMILY' on the nearby table.

"You’re telling me I get all of that?" I whispered, narrowing my eyes. "Why should I? I don’t know, maybe a blood relative or something are the right ones to it?"

Mr. Colin didn’t even flinch at my outburst. He simply adjusted his tie and sighed.

“Their will is clear, Mr. Towns. They have clearly hand-written it and signed that you are the sole inheritor of their estates.” He stated it as if it was the universal truth just like how the Earth isn't flat.

I opened my mouth and then closed it.

The sole inheritor.

Of everything.

The Galvins weren’t just wealthy—they were filthy rich, and their research alone was worth billions.

This wasn’t some ordinary reading.

This was a handover of pow-

"But there are some instructions and restrictions placed by Coby Galvin." My world tripped me over.

Now, I have very bad feelings about it.

"HEY!" We both turned toward the voice

Sure enough, Sammie came dashing in—this time actually wearing my black suit instead of his pajamas. He came in between us and shooed him away like an annoying mosquito trying to suck off every last drop of his juicy blood.

But from his burning red eyes, I felt my heart wrench as I recall him slouching against the car's window seat. He kept hiding his face from me, but his reflection gave away his tears.

“Bud-” Before I realized, my chest got punched by some unusual strength, losing my footing.

CRASH!

There I lay, drenched in holy water from the jugs, with white lilies tangled in my now slicked-back hair. I felt the goggles crack in my pants' pockets, but I couldn’t feel my very own feet. It’s as if it was their funeral we were attending.

Huh, perhaps that’s why my mom always insisted I eat breakfast—life could change in an instant.

Speaking of my mom, she’s now dabbing my hair while carefully picking out the glass shards. That’s the shard that's making my head go-

Boom-Clap!

Wait, that’s copyrighted.

DOOMING-BOOMING!

Nah…. Whatever. My head was pounding.

But not as bad as my worsening eyesight.

My vision blurred like a fogged-up window on a rainy day. For a second, I wondered if I’d suddenly developed cataracts, even though I was in the prime of my youth.

I could make out my father... No wait? Thalia? Making the black clouds go away. Were they pushing people back or just keeping their distance?

As I looked further, Sammie was lifting someone or that someone was lifting someone.

I don’t care who was lifting who.

I just cared about shutting my damn eyes for once.