Whenever I get into a car with someone, I like to remind them that they are literally entering a screaming metal death trap. And that their lives are now in the unsympathetic hands of fate.

The chances of dying in a car crash are oddly astonishing. But if it's any consultation, the odds of an addict dying of an accidental overdose are much higher.

We all pile into the van with Madam and it quickly becomes apparent that our chances of dying significantly go up. They can't drive, and they have the attention span of a goldfish. At this point, I think I'd rather take my chances snorting coke out of a hooker's navel, less it provides me with a quick and painless death.

"Do you know which one is the brake?" Madam asks Iggy from the front seat. I'm beginning to suspect that he might be falling in love with them. They're making a suspicious amount of eye contact, and twice Iggy has reached for Madam's hand on the steering wheel. 

Of course, that could just be because he's fucking terrified. But still.

"How long have you actually been driving?" Iggy demands as we roar out of the driveway and onto the road. 

"Oh, never. My parents refuse to let me get behind the wheel." Madam replies easily, and they turn on the radio, Ariana Grande's new song, Chicken Sandwich Boy, blasting out from the speakers. "I have a tendency to channel spirits when I'm driving."

"You what?" I demand from the backseat, and I grab onto the door, yanking on it furiously. "Let me out of here!"

"Acta est fabula, plaudite!"  Madam suddenly hisses, jerks the steering wheel, and makes a sharp left, hauling us into oncoming traffic. Iggy and I scream like small children as we're suddenly side grazed by an eighteen-wheeler and nearly turned into roadkill. 

It's the single most terrifying thing that I've ever experienced in my life.

"I think I'm going to throw up." Iggy groans and he leans forward in his seat.

"Oh look, I see your friend!" Madam shouts a second later, "Where's he going? He looks like he's in a hurry."

I lean forward and see my Acura weaving through several cars ahead of us. Eugene is barreling down the road, to who knows where. Back home? To his family? If I had died and come back to life, where would I have gone first? 

"He's going to the cemetery," I murmur from the backseat. 

Iggy turns to look at me, "What did you say, Brown?"

"The cemetery!" I shout, thinking back to what Eugene had said about me fixing him. "Eugene doesn't want to go home, he's dead. He's going back to his grave! It's the only place that makes sense!" 

"That's so convenient! There's a Starbucks on the way there!" Madam shouts and makes a sharp right, throwing us screaming into the next lane. 

It takes us half an hour, two Americanos, and a Frappe to make it to the cemetery. I'm covered in sweat and my nails have dug so far into the back seat that I have to pry them loose when we finally arrive. It's starting to get dark, and the sun shines a gentle orange over the rows and rows of graves. I wonder how Eugene is feeling. Is he scared? 

"Just give me a minute," Iggy says from the front seat, his face pale. "I think I saw my life flash before my eyes, like, ten times."

Madam rolls their eyes and crosses their arms. "Oh, come on. I don't drive that bad."

I open my door and get out, searching the parking lot before finding my car parked nearby, the door hanging open. "Eugene?" I call, and I start towards the cemetery. 

Leaves rustle past and scatter across concrete headstones. It's so quiet out here, even with the road nearby. I see a large tent up ahead, the kind set up over graves to keep the rain and the sun away from the family when they bury their loved one. I head in that direction. 

Eugene is on his knees in front of a large pile of dirt. There's a mountain of blue and white flowers on top. He looks so small beside it. 

"Eugene?" I hesitate and then I go over to him, unsure of what to say exactly. 

"Why did this happen to me, Darcy?" Eugene whispers, and he continues to stare at the dirt. "I was supposed to graduate, get married, and have like, eight kids." He says. "I was supposed to open up a shop with my dad fixing motorcycles. I had it all planned out, you know? I didn't want to do big things. I just wanted to live."

This is one of those moments where I loathed death.

I go and touch Eugene's shoulder, and then I sink down beside him. "Eugene, I'm so sorry," I tell him softly. "If I had known that this would cause you so much pain, then I never would have done it."

Eugene finally looks at me, and his eyes catch the fading sunlight, amber-like honey. His lashes are long and thick, and I wonder how his undead lips would feel against mine.

I lean in slowly, and Eugene reaches over and he wraps his hand in my coat, twisting it a little to pull me close.

It's just us, Darcy and Eugene.

"I can't," I whisper to him, and then he stops, his lips inches from mine. "Eugene, you're dead " I remind him. "This is wrong in so many ways."

"Darcy, I fucking hate your guts." Eugene replies, "But I've wanted to kiss you since second grade when you put Ben Tibbles in an eighteenth-century torture device for show and tell. Don't make me wait. I've been waiting my whole life, and now I'm dead."

I'm so startled that I have no idea what to say.

"Darcy?" Iggy suddenly shouts from across the cemetery, and he and Madam come walking down the hill, searching for us among the tombs. 

I straighten up and adjust my coat, a little flustered. "Over here!" I call back.

Iggy comes over to us, glances at Eugene, and then back at me. His eyebrows lift a little, but he doesn't say anything about us being so close. "It's starting to get dark. We should start heading home." He tells me instead. "We still have school in the morning, remember?"

I stand up and dust off my pants. "What about Eugene? The whole point of bringing him back to life was so that he could finish high school and graduate."

"Darcy. We're a little past that point, don't you think?" Iggy replies stubbornly. "If he shows up at school tomorrow, everyone's going to wonder why the hell he's not six feet under." 

"Wait a minute." Madam looks Eugene up and down and they smile coyly. "I think I might be able to help you disguise him. I have my bag in the back of the SUV. I'll show you how."

I have no other choice, so I reluctantly agree.