The First Last Day by Dorian Cirrone Read Free Book Online Page A

and an ambulance would be there in a little while, even if I didn’t say anything into the phone.
    I took tiny bites of my cannoli as I kept my eyes fixed on the front door, waiting for the paramedics to arrive. I was almost done when there was a knock. Mr. Damico answered it.
    â€œWe received a call from this house,” a man in a uniform said. “Everything okay?”
    Mr. Damico looked around the room. “Looks like it.”
    â€œAre you sure?” the man asked.
    I held my breath as his eyes lingered on mine. Could he tell I was the one who called?
    â€œIt must be some mistake,” Mr. Damico said.
    I whispered to G-Mags, “Maybe you should go with them, to see about your dizziness.”
    â€œDon’t be silly,” she said. “I’m fine.”
    â€œYou’re positive everyone is okay?” the paramedic said.
    G-Mags went to the door. “My son is right. There must be some mistake.”
    As I watched the guy head toward his truck, I got a sick feeling inside. Wasn’t there anything I could do to help G-Mags?

CHAPTER 17
    T he next day, the same thing happened. And the next. And the next. At first I thought the day kept repeating so I could eventually talk G-Mags into going to the hospital. But after a couple of weeks of living the same day over and over, it was pretty clear she was never going with the paramedics. Finally, I stopped dialing 911.
    More time passed, and I started thinking it was a good thing the day kept repeating. Each morning, G-Mags was fine. Who knew what would happen if time moved forward?
    And would it be so bad to live in a never-ending summer? To not have to deal with seventh grade? There were definitely advantages: no teachers telling me to put away my sketchbook, no homework, no mean girls, no pimples.
    And then there was Kevin. We’d stay friends forever—nothing would change us. Not time, not distance, not different schools.
    One afternoon as Dad was explaining to me how black holes form when a star explodes at the end of its life cycle, I couldn’t help but smile. The life cycle didn’t appear to be ending for G-Mags—or anyone else, for that matter.
    When the Damicos’ car horn sounded from the driveway, Mom threw me the apple like she did every day. I caught it, threw it back, and bounded out the door with an energy I hadn’t felt in a while.
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    The neon taco sign glowed in front of me as I thought about having Mexican food again. Riffling through my wallet, I was still amazed that my money kept reappearing.
    â€œWhat are you smiling about?” Kevin asked.
    â€œNothing.” I grabbed his arm. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a quesadilla.”
    As we talked, I realized I could change some things about the day, like our conversations and some of our activities. But other things were always exactly the same: the waitress with her flamingo pink lipstick, the eavesdropping man with the briefcase, Marty the magician and his trick with the scarf.
    Throughout the day, the sameness of things was comforting. Especially when I was back in G-Mags’s kitchen, smelling the rosemary all over again.
    â€œHey,” Kevin said, “bet you can’t spell ragout.”
    Without thinking, I spelled out, “R-a-g-o-u-t.”
    Kevin looked disappointed. “How did you know that? I would have bet money you’d spell it wrong.”
    â€œI must have seen it somewhere.” I wasn’t really lying. Was I?
    Once the ragout was dished out, I wondered if I would ever get tired of eating the same thing for dinner every night. I pierced a piece of meat with my fork and swirled it around in the juices. Ragout every night was a small price to pay for a never-ending summer.
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    Back in my room that night, I picked up the canvas on my desk and touched the sky. A bit of blue paint came off on my fingertip. I rubbed it away and looked over