“Life,” Evan suggests. “At least how I remember it.”
“Yeah, maybe like that. Maybe like life.”
“Wait,” Brooke says, her voice a cracked whisper. “Listen.”
Evan and I hush. At first, it’s a murmur, but as I listen, it grows into a chorus, into a crowd—not one voice but hundreds, thousands, all calling my name. It’s like everyone I ever knew is thinking about me, remembering the best thing they could. It’s like everyone I ever knew is calling my name, calling me to come meet them.
I turn to Evan. “Do you hear it?”
He says, “They’re saying my name.”
“What do we do?” I ask.
But it’s Brooke who answers, backing up a step, and then with one last look at me, running forward and throwing herself through the wall. Except she doesn’t go through it, and she doesn’t hit it. For a moment, it’s as if she’s become a part of the mural, a vivid collection of colors and shapes, but also a girl. Then she’s gone.
“A life spot,” Evan breathes.
“Are you scared?” I say. “I’m scared.”
Evan nods. “But I’m ready. Are you?”
I take a last look at the empty hallway. I turn to Evan. “Together?”
We step forward.