How can I put into words the beginning of my complete and total adoration of Eugene Wilder?

Maybe it was knowing that I could never have him. After all, I was flesh and blood and he was something else. Something beautiful and strange, wearing a crown of death like a King.

Madam digs through their bag in the back of the SUV while Eugene sits in the back of the trunk. We're all crowded around trying to figure out how to disguise his Adonis-like profile without making him look like RuPaul.

"I don't know if this is going to work," I admit, doubting Madam's skills at this point. "Eugene's sucked face with half of the student body. Everyone's going to know who he is, even with a wig on."

"Do you even listen to yourself or do you just say whatever the fuck you're thinking?" Eugene questions.

"Umm...Both. I guess?" I reply.

"Look, trust me. I know what I'm doing." Madam insists, rolls their eyes, and takes out a bottle of mascara, uncapping it. "Humans aren't that bright when it comes to disguises. Throw some makeup on and a baseball cap, and they won't be able to tell who he is."

They reach for Eugene's eye with the mascara wand and he holds up his hand, blocking them.

"Bro," He says, and then he leans his head back. "I'm not putting that shit on."

"Hey, asshole." Iggy finally speaks and looks up from where he's texting his mom with my phone. "Makeup is for everyone. Why don't you drop the toxic masculinity act and just do what they say so that we can all go home? I'm tired, and I'm fucking sick of listening to you bitch and moan."

All of us go quiet.

"What? It's true." Iggy mutters and then returns back to texting.

"It's fine. I have a better idea anyway." Madam sighs then caps the mascara wand again.

I watch them as they reach into their bag again and pull out a roll of gauze. "This is going to be easier to put on anyway. I doubt that any of you have contoured a day in your life."

"Why would I need to contour?" I question, and I gesture to my face. "Have you seen this jaw?"

Iggy snorts a little. "Babyface." He mumbles, and I shoot him a glare.

Eugene reluctantly accepts his fate and lets Madam wrap his head in the bandages. It's strange and bizarre, like watching the invisible man come to life. Still, I feel a little sad watching them cover Eugene up. I had enjoyed sneaking glances at him when he wasn't looking.

When it's finally over, Madam drops a baseball cap on top of Eugene's head. "There! Isn't it perfect?"

"I can't feel my face." Eugene muffles from under the gauze.

"You shouldn't be able to feel your face anyway. You're dead." I remind him. "Besides, you'll only be wearing it for a few hours a day. The rest of the time you can wear a hat and some sunglasses."

Madam zips up their bag, then straightens up. "Well! My job is done here. I need to return the SUV back to my thieving parents." They reach out and shake my hand, then Iggy's. "It was nice knowing you, gentlemen! May we never meet under these circumstances again."

It feels so final. A part of me wants to ask them for their number, or Instagram, but the other part of me that loathes speaking to other humans refuses to let me.

"We should get going, too," Iggy tells me, and he hands me my cellphone. "It's getting dark and my girlfriend's probably wondering where I'm at. We're supposed to have dinner together."

I take my phone from him, surprised and a tiny bit jealous. "You actually have a girlfriend?"

"Dude," Iggy says, and he squints at me. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I'm not! I'm just--"

"Can we just go?" Eugene interrupts us. "I still need a fucking place to crash tonight."

"You can stay at my place. We have a spare room." I sigh, grab my keys and head back over to my car, relieved to see it in one piece.

We all pile in again in silence and I start up the engine. It's hard to believe that the day had started out so simple, with a funeral. And now we were here, reenacting a Weekend at Bernie's with Eugene. I still wanted to get a closer look at him to try to figure out what was making him go. But so far, he had shown no signs of deteriorating, and all his limbs and his delightful sense of humor were intact.

Of course, this was only the first day, and the embalming fluid was doing its job well. In a week, the body would begin to leak fluids and become a human balloon. In two weeks, Eugene would look like the ham sandwich that I had left in my backpack over the Summer, green and moldy.

We would need to act fast to preserve him, or else we would lose him before prom night and graduation.

I couldn't let that happen.

"My house is the yellow one. Right there." Iggy points out once I drive him home. We hadn't said much on the way back. I think he was still offended about my earlier comment about him having a girlfriend. But I couldn't help it. I knew virtually nothing about him.

Iggy gets out as soon as I park and brushes back his hair, tucking it behind his ear.

"Hey, Igor?" I call to him, and I stick my head out to look at him. "Thanks."

Iggy turns and looks at me, and then he smiles. "Anytime, Brown." He replies, and then he walks away.

"Oh man," Eugene says from the backseat. "You're totally into him, aren't you? Is that why you didn't kiss me earlier?"

"I didn't kiss you because you're dead." I remind him. "And I don't have the hots for Iggy. He's the complete opposite of me and he throws off my dark and depressing aesthetic."

Eugene says nothing from the backseat.

I turn around, thinking he's playing some kind of joke, and I see him slumped back against the seat.

He's dead. Eugene Wilder is dead. Again.

"Eugene!" I climb into the back with Eugene and straddle him, checking to see if he's breathing. Which is stupid, because he was already dead in the first place. "Oh my God, don't do this to me!" I start unwrapping the bandages around his face, hoping to see some semblance of life in his undead eyes.

His skin is waxy, cold and he's gone completely pale. It's a sharp contrast to the boy he had been just moments ago. But why? And how?

I reach down and slap him across the face and his head snaps backward.

No visible response to pain. No skin elasticity. This is bad...really bad.

I open the car door, hyperventilating a little. Iggy's house looms ahead of me, cheerful lights on inside. I think about his kindness and his gentle voice. Could I exploit it for my own gain? He was supposed to be having dinner with his girlfriend. Could I honestly ruin a beautiful, blossoming relationship between a man and a woman?

I start running up the driveway.

"Igor!" I scream, and I reach his front door, pounding on it. "Open the door! Please!"

There's a moment where the world is spinning and I have my hands in my hair. What if Eugene didn't come back this time? I think about the promise that I had made him. I think about his dead body sitting in the back of my car.

Footsteps and clattering erupt from inside the house, and then the door opens, light shining down, breaking apart the shadows. "Igor, I--"

I stop myself, realizing that it's not Iggy at all. Sure, he has the same blonde hair like him, but he's got a buzz cut and his face is round and he's eating a huge bag of corn chips.

"Iggy!" The boy shouts back into the house. "There's a weird emo kid standing on our porch!"

More footsteps approach and then Iggy comes into view and peers out at me. "Darcy? I thought you were going home."

"I was, but then something happened to Eugene," I reply, struggling to keep it together. "I just need you, okay?" I tell him. "I don't know who else to turn to."

The corn chip boy chews loudly as we speak over him. "You have weird friends." He tells Iggy. "I'm going to go hit on your girlfriend." He adds, and then he vanishes inside again.

Iggy steps outside and he closes the door. He looks exhausted, and I feel bad for dragging him into my mess, but I was scared and highly emotional at this point. "Show me." He says.

I lead him back to my car where Eugene's still slumped against the seat. As we approach, it looks like he's sleeping from far away. But when I open the door, it's apparent that Eugene is in fact, a corpse. Obviously.

Iggy climbs into the back and he takes Eugene's face in his hands. "Gene? Come on, wake up."

I stand outside and feel tears rolling down my cheeks. "Is he dead?" I ask, and then I think about it. "Again?"

Iggy checks Eugene's pulse. "I think this might be the end, Brown." He tells me grimly. "Maybe it was some kind of death convulsion or something. One of those freak things, you know?"

He starts to get out of the car, but then Eugene sits bolt upright in his seat and gasps.

I scream and throw myself into Iggy's arms, holding onto him as tightly as possible. "Eugene!"

Eugene shakes his head as if to clear a fog, and then he frowns up at us as if he hadn't just nodded off. "What the hell are you two losers doing staring at me?" He grumbles. "I know I'm pretty. But goddamn."

Iggy glances from me, and then back to Eugene. Neither of us can explain it. Had Eugene fallen asleep? Or had his body just naturally returned to its death state after being awake for so long?

I drop out of Iggy's arms and I crawl back into the car with Eugene, practically sitting on his lap. "How many fingers am I holding up?" I ask him, and I wave around two fingers in front of him.

"None. Go fuck yourself." Eugene replies and smacks my hand away. "What's going on? Why are you two acting like it's the end of the world?"

"Look," Iggy says, and he starts to take a few steps back. "Darcy. It's just a fluke, okay? I really have to get back inside before Megan flips out. She's already pissed enough as it is."

"It's fine," I reply from inside the car, but it's not fine at all and I want him here with me. "Just go. I think I can handle it from here."

Iggy starts back up his driveway, glancing back at us once. But as soon as he's several feet away, I feel Eugene crumple beneath me, the life draining out of him with a startling amount of force.

"Wait a second, Iggy!" I shout at him. "Come back!"

Iggy turns around and he narrows his eyes a little, obviously wondering what my game is. Then he throws up his hands after a moment and approaches the car again.

"Slowly," I instruct him, and I watch to see what happens.

Iggy takes a few steps forward, then pauses, waiting for my instructions. I nod my head, encouraging him to come closer, and he takes a few more steps. It's like a weird game of hopscotch or something, only it's more serious than this.

Because as soon as Iggy's close enough, Eugene Wilder bolts upright in his seat.