Metaconclusion.

Yes, you're ent.i.tled to know: A little sniffling goes on.

I blow my nose in the napkin.

Mark Singer is a very Wise kid. It's clear, isn't it? He knows me. He knows me in the Way that only a best friend can.

My Whole life, I've fought to impose order on the chaos, to build a Wall of routines and barriers. And then came that final day: Burger's spring break, ten things to do before I die, the chapters, the chapters Within chapters, the visions of my own funeral-the lists, the bullet points, the footnotes ...

But you can't impose order on the chaos. You can't divide it up. Reality isn't like that. Reality isn't neat. It comes as it comes, in a great roar-not in lists and footnotes and chapters, but in real time. There's no Way to divide it up, no Way to keep it at a safe distance no matter how hard you try. Sure, you can hole up in your room and fantasize about being in your favorite band. Sure, you can pretend that you have a good relationship With a nice, beautiful girl even though you don't. You can even go for years Without communicating With your parents; you can even l.u.s.t after your best friend's girlfriend-and hate yourself for it because you love your best friend... . But you can't hide. Sooner or later, reality Will catch up With you. It always does.

So.

Rachel and Nikki are on their Way to see me. Together. Mom and Dad are Waiting outside to finish the conversation We started. Together. A large dose of reality is coming at me. And I'm apprehensive, maybe even a little freaked. But I'm alive. I'm not running away anymore. Besides, even if I Wanted to run away, I couldn't- because I'm trapped in a hospital bed in Brooklyn.

Honestly, though, I don't Want to. Mark Was right. Burger is dead. And as far as Who takes his place ... Well, I'll just have to Wait and see. But I'm hopeful. I really am this time-no joke. The gla.s.s is half-full and rising.

1 Their real names are Wes Levitz and Herbert Goldstein.

2 Just take a look at their names. They aren't so far from Ted Burger.

3 It's on their first three-song demo: an impossible-to-find CD (but yes, I have it) called Clowned Out.

4 Hailed by one critic as "the Citizen Kane of alcoholic clown movies."

5 I have the original ad taped to my bedroom door.

6 Real name: Glenda Givens. She Was training to be a cop until a fellow officer s.e.xually hara.s.sed her, Whereupon she punched him in the groin and quit. True story. I downloaded the police report.

Epilogue: A Month Later.

"I can't believe it," Nikki says.

"What, that We came back here after What happened?"

"No. That they actually added Mark's Ted Burger to the menu."

"Well, of course they did. Who doesn't love fries on a bun?"

She laughs.

It's the first time We've been back to the Circle Eat. We're sitting across from each other at our old booth. Looking around, you might think nothing had happened. It still stinks of grease. Nikki is still all in black; I still register a nine-point-five on the Afro Q-Tip meter. Old Meatloaf Lady, Guy With Crumbs in His Beard, P.Y.T.-they've all returned, too, all to their usual counter-stools or tables.

There are two very significant and conspicuous absences, however. Leo is in jail, pending his trial. And Where Mark always sat beside Nikki ... Well, my guitar case and her knapsack currently occupy that spot.

"Besides, Mark is a living legend," I add. I glance around. "He saved this place. Speaking of Which, he really needs his picture on the Wall."

Nikki lays the plastic menu on the table. She stares down at it, her black hair shielding her. "So he didn't Want to come today, huh?"

"No, no. He did. It's just he's ..." I laugh and shake my head. "He's making a doc.u.mentary about Leo's trial."

Nikki looks up and brushes the black strands out of her face, finally revealing her beautiful, saucer-alien eyes. "Wait-What?" she asks, smiling.

"Yeah. He's doing this project With the film club because he's super-p.i.s.sed that Leo's lawyer isn't pleading insanity. He said that this Whole thing jump-started an interest in doc.u.mentary filmmaking and the legal system. He said that he had a long talk With his father and that he doesn't have a *thing' either. So he has to find something to do With all his energy. He never had an outlet for it before, and, Well, you know, his judgment stinks... ." I leave the sentence hanging.

Her smile grows Wistful. "So you guys are cool?"

"Getting there." I shake my head, puzzled. "But you know about all this, right? He says he talks to you all the time."

She sighs. "We do talk, I guess. We just don't really ... you know. Talk."

I nod, looking into the black orbs. I do know. And she knows it. Nothing more needs to be said.

"But hey, did you notice the smell When We first came in?" she asks suddenly. "That deep-fried grease smell? It Was crazy."

I glance around the diner and lean toward her. "I know exactly What you mean," I Whisper so only she can hear. "You know What my shrink told me? Like the very first thing he said to me? I mean, aside from the fact that my parents should probably be in on my sessions, too? He Warned me that I shouldn't come back to the Circle Eat. He said that neurological studies prove that odor is the most powerful stimulus for triggering traumatic memories."

"Really?" she asks. "So Why did you come back here?"

I shrug, settling back in the seat. "Because you Wanted to."

"I don't believe you, Ted."

"I'm serious!"

She reaches across the table for my hand. "Don't BS me," she murmurs dryly, looking straight into my eyes.

I laugh. "Okay, I came back here because my band's rehearsal s.p.a.ce is right around the corner, and I knew I Would be hungry, and the food is good here-and I Wanted to see you, and I knew you Wanted to come here. Satisfied?"

She squeezes my fingers for a moment. "Not really. I think you came back here because you Wanted to see your name in print on the menu." Then she lets go and unzips her knapsack.

"You know What I can't believe?" I find myself saying.

"What?" She pulls out a notebook and lays it on the table.

"That you're actually going on that Amnesty International retreat."

She chuckles, clicking open a pen, all business. "Well, I still have to get in first. Rachel said that the s.p.a.ces are getting really limited. Anyway, it'll probably do me some good to get away this summer. It'll probably do us all some good."

I shake my head. "Actually, What I really can't believe is that you guys are so tight now."

Nikki blinks. Her cheeks redden. She concentrates on her notebook. "Neither can I. But you guys are still friends, right? She says she talks to you."

"Well, sort of," I reply honestly. "But it's the same thing. We talk, but We don't talk. She Was so p.i.s.sed at me that day When you guys came to see me in the hospital. Not that I blame her. She had every reason to be p.i.s.sed. Basically, every single thing I ever said to her Was a lie. Except maybe about Shakes the Clown. She's got a lot of forgiving to do."

"No, she doesn't," Nikki states, still studying her notebook.

I glance at my Watch. "She doesn't?"

Nikki shakes her head. "Nope."

"You'll have to tell me Why sometime," I say, scooting out of the booth. I Want to stay With Nikki and finish this conversation- I Want to stay With her no matter Where I am or Who I'm With- but I have to get to band practice. We're having auditions today for a singer. It's a seminal moment. Once We have a singer, the band Will be complete. Finding a ba.s.sist and drummer Was insanely easy. Mark helped me make a bunch of flyers (nothing offensive, just Ba.s.sIST AND DRUMMER WANTED)... . Anyway, We posted them all over the school, and the ba.s.sist and drummer from the jazz band-John and George-answered immediately because as it turns out, Mr. Puccini is friends With the jazz band conductor, Who put in a good Word for me. The three of us jammed, it clicked, and We've been rehearsing almost every day for the past two Weeks. John and George have the same tastes I do. They love Shakes the Clown, too. (The music of Shakes the Clown, that is.) And after We get a singer ... Well, all We have to do is come up With a name. Then it's straight to the Onyx.

"Ted, I'm serious," Nikki says. She grabs my forearm as I reach over her for my guitar. Her ringed fingers are cold against my skin.

"Serious about What?"

"Rachel doesn't have a lot of forgiving to do. She lied to you, too."

I have to laugh. Very funny, I think. Rachel is to lying What Pinocchio is to telling the truth. Lying isn't a part of Rachel's makeup. She'd probably have a violent reaction if she tried to tell a lie. She's Honest With a capital H. "Uh ... I think I'm going to have to disagree With you on this one-"

"I mean it, Ted," Nikki says. Her tone softens. Her fingers slide down my Wrist to my hand. "She'd kill me if she knew I told you this. But maybe she told me because she Wanted me to tell you."

My pulse picks up a notch. "Tell me What?" I ask.

"She lied about guitar lessons. She only started taking guitar lessons With Mr. Puccini after you introduced yourself to her."

I laugh again. "No, she didn't."

"Yes, she did. She researched you, Ted. She had a total crush on you. And When she found out you took guitar lessons from Mr. Puccini, she came up With this huge scheme. She thought that if she just stared and stared at you, you might introduce yourself. And if you did, then she'd already have this Mr. Puccini story in place. And then she'd start taking guitar lessons to make the story true. Which is exactly What happened."

I clutch Nikki's hand tightly. "I don't believe you."

"It's true, Ted," she says.

"It's ..." I let go and glance at my Watch again. d.a.m.n. I'm late. I sling my guitar case over my shoulder. "But if Rachel Wanted to meet me, Why didn't she just start taking lessons With Mr. Puccini? I mean, before? Wouldn't that have been easier?"

Nikki grins. "Because she's a lot like you, Ted."

"She is?"

"Yeah. She covers up her tortured soul With clownish shenanigans, too. She Was Worried Mr. Puccini Would tell her she had no talent. She Was Worried about being rejected. By you, by him, by everyone. She Was just Worried. So she came up With a brilliant plan involving staring at you and lying. Make sense?"

I swallow. "No. No, it doesn't."

"Well, don't Worry about it too much. She'll get over it. It'll just take time." Nikki smiles briefly and turns back to her notebook. "Anyway, I've gotta Write this essay for the retreat... ."

I lean over to kiss her on the top of the head and then head for the exit. I'm not letting her off the hook. This conversation Will be finished. She knows it. I know it. We also know We have lots of time. We have an entire future.

"Oh, hey!" she shouts after me. "Who are you auditioning today? You know, for a singer?"

"Billy Rifkin," I call over my shoulder. "Turns out he started taking singing lessons after his accident."

end.