You're So Dead

1

They couldn’t find it.

It wasn’t going as well as she’d hoped: her big chance to break out of Normal Town, Ordinaryville. But damn it, Plum wasn’t going to let a little thing like ride-share logistics stop her.

Besides, they’d already come so far. All the way to the island of Saint Vitus in the Caribbean. It was a whole other world from Huntington, Alabama.

If someone were to ask Plum, What’s it like in Huntington, Alabama? she’d start by saying, It’s fine. Her family had moved to Huntington when Plum was in the seventh grade and her dad left the army. Next she’d say that Huntington wasn’t like the rest of Alabama. It was reflexive, saying that, because while she knew Alabama had so many beautiful regions—it also had a lot of shortcomings. A lot.

But Huntington was different, mainly because of the university, which added a lot of diversity to the town, with faculty from all over, international students, and so on.

Was it still boring? Especially if you’d been there since seventh grade, were a senior in high school, and had an itching desire to have an adventure, to chase something, to become someone, to go places?

Yes. Yes, it was.

So Plum and her two best friends were here, on Saint Vitus. Just a little more time and distance to go, and they’d arrive. Both metaphorically and literally. They’d get to a private island, a luxurious villa resort, attending the most amazing event ever put on in the history of music and art and new media. Pyre Festival was so exclusive that it even promised not only that the performers would be famous, but that all the attendees would be celebrities and influencers as well. There would be hundreds of stars, and they would be with them.

Not that Plum and her two best friends were celebrities. Or influencers.

But Plum’s sister was.

It says it’s right here. Marlowe Blake, Plum’s best friend, stopped and lowered her cat’s-eye sunglasses. Her blue-green eyes glanced out to the street. She was white, like Plum, but where Plum tanned easily Marlowe burned, so the minute they’d stepped outside the airport Marlowe had put on a floppy sun hat. She looked impossibly elegant even as she craned her neck to peer around the people lingering at the curb.

Some of the elegance was just inherent to Marlowe. The rest of it was because she dressed like she was a movie star from a bygone age. Her mother, Elizabeth, was a theater professor at the university, and she had gotten Marlowe sewing lessons the minute she had shown an interest.

Plum remembered the day she’d met Marlowe. The memory ran in her head like a flickering movie reel in one of those old-fashioned film archives. It had been the first day of their freshman year of high school. Plum and her other best friend, Sofia Torres, were sitting on the brick bench in the courtyard at break, and Marlowe had walked out of the double doors, dressed in a gorgeous navy suit-dress, perfectly elegant, deliberately retro. Making matters worse for Plum’s instant crush, Marlowe was built like a movie star from yesteryear, too. She was completely curvy in a way that made Plum think of words like lush and plush and other -ush words, probably.

You’re staring. Sofia had hissed the warning. But Marlowe had already spotted them and headed over to the bench.

Hi, I’m new, Marlowe had said. Can I hang out with you?

She’d smiled a little, whether at the rhyme or in friendliness Plum hadn’t known, but it was a swerve-y bit of crooked perfection that made Plum’s heart skip a beat. Or several.

So confident. So real. So ready to put it out there.

Can I hang out with you?

Today, standing outside the Saint Vitus airport, in addition to the floppy hat, Marlowe was wearing an eggshell-white linen suit with wide-leg trousers and a black camisole under her double-breasted coat.

Shouldn’t there be a sign for attendees? Marlowe asked. She pulled a hand down her sideswept sheet of wavy blonde hair.

Did we pass it? Sofia asked. She looked anxious but also adorable, as always. Sofia was Puerto Rican and short—at least, she seemed short to Plum—with a small face and a cute, pointy chin. Sofia paused to adjust the shoulder straps of both her favorite olive-green romper and the pink-sequined tank top peeking out underneath. The warm beige skin of her arms had a golden tone in the island’s bright sunlight.

Sofia was a worrier. Her family was incredibly close and involved in Sofia’s life in a way that Plum’s family wasn’t involved in hers. On one hand, that could sometimes make things harder for Sofia, Plum thought. But on the other hand Plum often wished her own family was more like that—both that her family was larger and that her parents were more . . . well . . . observant. That’d be the nicer word to use.

Attentive. That would be the one she really felt.

It wasn’t Plum’s parents’ fault that they really loved their jobs. And each other. And going out to stuff. And they loved Plum, she knew it.

They just liked being alone more than Plum did.

Her parents were just two only children who had an only child who wasn’t actually an only child, because of her older half sister.

Meanwhile Sofia had two sisters: a younger sister, Mia, in tenth grade, and an older sister, Krystal, a sophomore in college in Atlanta. Sofia’s parents always wanted to know everything about each of their children. They seriously wanted to know where Sofia was at all times. They wanted her and her friends to hang out at their house instead of anywhere else. Sofia’s mom, Linda, was white, with piercing brown eyes and long brown hair shot through with gray. She was honestly a bit intimidating. She was a research librarian at the university, and she’d stop whatever she was doing to greet Plum whenever she’d arrive. She was nice but also intense. When Plum talked to her, she always felt like she was getting subtly interrogated.

Hector, Sofia’s dad, was second-generation Puerto Rican, and he loved everyone, especially if you loved one of his daughters. Plum was his favorite of all of Sofia’s friends, a fact that absolutely delighted Plum. Sofia and her sisters would lovingly tease Plum about being tall and skinny (too tall and too skinny, in Plum’s opinion. She’d heard all the jokes about ironing boards and stick insects and being bony, and she agreed with them, sadly). But when Sofia’s family called her flaca she’d feel the affection in it. It wasn’t a criticism but instead a term of endearment. A normal and good part of who she was.

Hector was a geologist at the university, but his second passion was feeding people. He loved cooking dishes that his mother had taught him. Whenever Sofia had friends over, Hector would always carry down plates stacked with tostones or empanadillas.

The year before Sofia moved to Huntington had been the loneliest year in Plum’s life. And that was saying something, because as a former army brat, Plum had moved around, been uprooted from friends, been lonely, and started over again and again.

But seventh grade in Huntington had been the worst. There was no familiar army base, no old friends or acquaintances who showed up halfway through the year (as had happened with previous deployments), no connections.

The whole entire year, Plum hadn’t made a single friend.

Well, not a true friend. Not the lifelong kind. It was a feeling Plum thought everyone knew, even if no one ever talked about it. She’d had temporary friends, the kind who look at you like, You’ll do. Who let you spend time with them, but who don’t really like who you are, in the end.

Thank God Sofia had arrived a few months into eighth grade. When Plum got sent to the principal’s office and made a true friend all in one day.

But that wasn’t how they’d ended up here on Saint Vitus—for the spring break to end all spring breaks.

2

The hot wind of Saint Vitus was scented with the fumes of idling cars. Sofia grabbed Plum’s suitcase handle to stop her.

It doesn’t make sense that it would be this far down here. We must have passed it.

Sofia let go of Plum’s suitcase and lifted her thick dark hair up onto her head, puffing out a breath.

No, Marlowe said. "This is it." She gestured at the bench and the crowd of travelers staring at their phones.

The single lane the airport had devoted to ride-share cars was clearly not enough.

Plum frowned, glancing down at her own phone, trying not to drag the wheels of her bag into her heels. Again. Thank God for Doc Martens, amen.

Plum always dressed for comfort and movement first and style second. Or rather third. But even Plum had stepped up her fashion game for the fest, wearing her favorite black skinny jeans and oversized white V-neck men’s undershirt with a black tuxedo jacket over the top.

Well, the jacket was now draped over her suitcase handle. Unlike Marlowe, Plum felt the heat.

Plum still couldn’t believe they were doing this. Just thinking about it set her heart racing in a combination of excitement and apprehension.

Back when Plum had told her the plan, Sofia had frowned. It’s technically fraud, isn’t it? she’d asked.

Marlowe had chimed in, Mail tampering’s a federal offense.

But it wasn’t mail fraud. Or identity tampering. Or whatever. It was courage! It was boldness! It was reaching for the life you wanted and for who you wanted to be!

By being the person you were impatient to become.

Plum felt dazzled by her own audacity, as if inside her all these years there was a secret mirrored disco ball, just waiting for one bright act of courage to scatter speckles of light all through her.

And anyway? It was totally something her older half sister, Peach, would do. Absolutely. Except for the part where Plum was pretending to be Peach.

Peach was famous, an Instagram and TikTok star. To Plum, it seemed like Peach had always been famous. The glow of personal charisma was a force that practically lifted off Peach’s seemingly poreless, golden tan skin, like heat shimmers lifting off hot pavement, so palpable that even as a child Plum imagined she could see it twining into the air.

Peach was ten years older than Plum and had never been anything as ordinary as a high school senior with a severe case of senioritis and a spring break with nothing to do.

Objectively, Plum recognized that since she’d been only in second grade when Peach was a senior in high school, she probably wasn’t accurately remembering how Peach had actually been.

Peach had dropped out of college and started her own company when her social media started paying so well. She was a true influencer, bestowing an effortless patina of cool with a single post or click of a heart-shaped button. Peach’s life was the very definition of aspirational. The fancy parties, attending Coachella as a VIP, endorsement deals, modeling gigs, private boats and planes, everything special flowing to Peach like water flowing downhill.

So much so that Peach was now moving to LA from NYC to pursue acting. Peach asked that her mail be forwarded to her dad’s house during the move and while she renovated her new place.

Some kind of secretarial service was supposed to come and sort through the drifts of catalogs and samples and invitations that had gathered in laundry baskets on their dining room table.

Meanwhile, for Plum, spring break loomed and there was nothing to do. Plum’s mom said they would have a staycation—but it was fairly obvious that meant Plum would spend her days alone (as usual) while her dad went to work at the local hospital where he was a radiologist and her mother went to work at the day care she managed.

Plum’s spring break then would have included nothing but scrolling her phone, cooking ramen, and bingeing some shows. They were all things that Plum actually enjoyed, but it didn’t feel like enough. Not when there was a whole world out there and yearning pulling at her insides like the moon pulls the ocean, to just go, to be a part of something, to dare.

To act as she wished. To be bold.

Then, as if Plum had somehow summoned it, the invitation had arrived.

3

Standing on the crowded sidewalk in front of the small Saint Vitus airport, Plum could feel the invitation in her mini backpack, as if the paper were actually physically heavy with the promise of adventure.

She’d memorized every word.

you are invited to set the night on fire! the front read. The background was black, the letters a gorgeous swirl of reds, oranges, and blues, like the words were made out of writhing flames.

Even though the envelope had been addressed to P. Winter, Plum knew instantly that it wasn’t for her.

Of course not.

Plum had taken it from the delivery guy. She’d signed for it, the envelope suddenly a piece of kindling in her hand, ready to ignite. Because she knew instantly, on that day, the Friday two weeks before spring break was to begin, that this was her chance.

To have an Adventure.

To be Somebody.

Her mom and dad, not to mention her teachers and her friends, would absolutely hurk into their hands to hear her say that last one.

Plum Winter, you are somebody! Somebody special!

They’d tell her that she was all the normal things she was. Listing them as if the qualities were somehow extraordinary.

Nice, generous, kindhearted, funny, loyal, and depending on who they were, they’d maybe continue with cute, amazing, the best friend anyone ever had. Shut up about Instagram, already, goddamn it. No one has it all!

Okay, so it was Marlowe who would say that last part. Unfailingly. Like the skipping section of one of those records she loved to play. Crackly 1920s or 1930s songs, the singer’s voice like that of a beautiful ghost that had been trapped in a hallway (which incidentally had perfect reverb).

Marlowe was like that, though. Not like a beautiful ghost, but like a good friend, obviously. The best friend. And also heart-stoppingly beautiful. And conveniently blind to Plum’s faults. Or at least, if not blind, she was accepting of how desperately Plum wanted to be . . . wanted to become . . . something. Marlowe noticed how restless she was sometimes, like there was a green, growy thing inside her heart, hungry for nourishment.

Like a secret ability, waiting to awake. To be seen.

What Plum wanted more than anything was to be extraordinary. She wanted to be the kid who discovers they’re a wizard, if wizards were real. Or that there’s a vampire in love with them, if vampires were real. Or that they somehow have magical powers, like the ability to control the elements or harness the power of an amulet or move things with their mind or literally anything.

If any of those things were real.

She wanted to be the kind of person famous people would be drawn to. She’d imagine meeting her favorite musicians, actors, artists, and each and every one of them would think, She’s so cool. We should hang out.

Meanwhile Marlowe was immune to all of this sort of thing. Even on a small scale, at their school, the whole social media game, keeping up, the constant hunger to post, to have anyone click love or like. To see what everyone else was up to.

Honestly, it was sometimes annoying how resolutely disconnected Marlowe could be. On one hand, Plum admired it, because it was like Marlowe was cultivating something inside herself, protecting it. But other times it felt . . . pretentious. Especially joined with her retro style, it was as if Marlowe was too cool for anyone else.

Which, if she was being completely honest, Plum had to admit that a) Marlowe never said anything like this, b) Plum did actually think that Marlowe was cooler than everyone else, and c) Plum only truly felt this particular annoyance when she was lonely.

It seemed like Marlowe never felt lonely. And wasn’t that part of what this yearning to be somebody was all about? Not just to have adventure, or excitement, or all those other valid things, but to be someone who would never, could never, be lonely.

Not that Plum felt that deep level of lonely often. Usually, there was just yearning tugging at her. A thrum of anticipation, excitement, and impatience.

Sofia was somehow both too anxious and too grounded to feel the pull of yearning the way Plum did. Her family was part of it, because she wasn’t alone all the time. Not like Plum, who could admit that she was lonely sometimes, a lot of times, especially last year when Sofia and Marlowe both had boyfriends.

If Sofia ever heard Plum’s negative self-talk, she would also say affirming things, give a rushed but heartfelt speech about authenticity, vulnerability, being real. Which Sofia actually was, online and off. Like she had a spiritual compass in her head, guiding her.

Neither Sofia nor Marlowe really understood.

How could they? They didn’t have a famous relative, much less memories of that famous relative cuddling them and telling them stories. Shining love on them like the sun.

To Plum, Peach was perfect. When Plum was growing up, Peach would dart into her life regularly but then flit away again, her time split between two houses, theirs and her mom’s.

Until the day she disappeared. Well, went to college. To Plum, it felt like the same thing. Peach’s visits home became shorter. She didn’t ever have time to talk on the phone. And then she stopped coming home completely.

Plum’s mom and dad looked resigned whenever Plum would complain about it. They’d squeeze Plum’s shoulder, or give her head a peck, and say, Oh, honey, I know how you feel. But try not to hold it against her. This kind of thing is totally normal for a young person finding their way in the world. They lose touch. Time doesn’t feel the same to them.

Every time she heard that, Plum’s heart would fill with hot iron nails. And she would make a fierce promise.

I will never do that. I will never be that way.

So, no, there was no way her two best friends could understand.

The weird loneliness of having a famous older sister.

Which was compounded by watching her, on Instagram or TikTok, just like anyone else could.

When the Pyre Festival envelope arrived, the thought slid into Plum’s mind like a spill of black oil onto water.

She would never miss just one invitation.

Inside the card, the background changed to flame orange, bright like an adrenaline dump.

pyre festival: a luxury music and art festival like no other. exclusively for artists, musicians, influencers, and new media. april 18–20, little esau, saint vitus.

A festival. A new social media app, Pyre Signs, which apparently the whole thing was promoting (Plum had immediately downloaded it). The app didn’t seem that revolutionary. It had a cool theme, though, with flames and black backgrounds. Other than that, it felt like a combination of already existing apps. Users could post text only, or text and pictures, or short videos, all in the same feed. Still, Plum reasoned that if she was going to Pyre Festival, she should definitely have the app.

The invitation also came with a verification code that unlocked an account with links to confirm a voucher for an airline ticket (first class!) and other transportation information. Once on the island, P. Winter was promised luxury accommodations in the large resort—a converted villa from the 1920s.

Before she could think about it, Plum had begun hatching a plan.

And now, with her two best friends, she was there!

Well, almost there.

If we miss the boat, we’re going to be in so much trouble, Sofia moaned.

A fissure of doubt spread through Plum. What if they did miss the boat? Literally! What if they got stranded on Saint Vitus? With not enough money to stay two nights, much less buy food.

What if they’d made a terrible, terrible mistake in coming?

4

Plum took a deep breath. Then she took another.

We’re not going to miss the boat, she said. Plum stuck her lower lip out and puffed, blowing her brown-red fringe off her forehead.

We’ll be fine, Marlowe said, backing her up. "And if we missed it, we’d just