Being dragged out of a funeral parlor hadn't exactly been at the top of my priority list for that afternoon, but here I was.

Eugene's family goes full eighteenth-century angry mob on me, and I'm carried out of the funeral and thrown out into the parking lot. 

"He's dead, you demented little fuck!" Eugene's dad screams at me. "Do you know what that means?"

Eternal rest from this torturous mortal world?

"Carl," Eugene's mother, God bless her, pushes back Mr. Wilder, "He's in just as much pain as we are. We have to respect that."

Mr. Wilder is livid. "Brown, if I ever see you around my son's grave, there's going to be hell to pay. You hear that? Hell! "

I sit there for a while, even after they leave and everyone goes back to the funeral. I think about the fragility of life, and how Eugene didn't deserve to have his life cut short when he was in his prime. Even if he had been an asshole to most of the school population.

I get up after a moment and go to my car. My mother's had gotten it for me for my sixteenth birthday, even though I would have preferred a hearse instead. The trunk is nice and wide, perfect for storing large body shaped objects.

I use my key to open the trunk once I'm sure that nobody's looking.

It pops open, and my shadow falls across the body of Eugene Wilder.

He looked peaceful, but the morticians had gone a little crazy with the makeup. His lashes were caked with enough mascara to put Dolly Parton to shame. His hair was a swoopy chocolate brown, and his jaw was still perfectly chiselled.

I had dragged him out of the coffin shortly before the funeral attendees arrived and replaced him with ten pounds of potatoes from the supermarket. His family wouldn't open his casket again; it was too painful for them to witness.

But if I could do this for them. If I could bring Eugene back to life, maybe there was a chance that they could say goodbye properly. At least give Eugene another chance to finish high school. I felt like I owed him that.

With the full expectation of being by myself, I close the trunk door and turn around. Instead, I see the blonde-haired boy from my science class standing nearby with a can of soda clutched in one hand. When he notices me, his eyes widen slightly, and he crumples up the can.

"Dude," he says, "is that a fucking body in your trunk?"

Fuck.