Page 164 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
As we walked along the pavement, dodging tourists overloaded with bags, drinks and poised cameras, I slipped my hand confidently into Ellis’s. This was L.A.—we could be somewhat safe here. She gripped back and shot me a grin. Liv walked a few paces ahead, her gaze on the sights but her enthusiasm muted.
California was where she’d grown up. I doubted this was her first time at the pier.
Our footsteps joined the hum of life on the wooden planks, the music and laughter, the buzz of conversations, the creak of the pier beneath us. We passed so many bars and restaurants that my stomach began to growl. I eyed Ellis—she’d need lunch soon for her meds, and I wasn’t sure I could keep going without food myself.
I was about to say something to her and Liv when I saw it. It came up faster than I expected, and my mouth went dry.
Between the Oatman Rock Shop and Pier Burger, the sign stood proudly, faded from years of wear but still commanding. I halted. Ellis did too.
I hadn’t really thought too much about this moment—about what it would mean, if it would even mean much. I assumed it would be just another stop, another photo, another marker. A box ticked to say, yes, we did this. But standing there in front of it, with Ellis close enough to brush my arm and Liv standing just under it, pink hair glinting in the sun, the world suddenly felt sharper.
Ellis stepped forward and tilted her face to the sky, letting out a laugh edged with disbelief. The wind carried her hair back as she looked at the sign, shaking her head and clasping her hands under her chin.
“I can’t believe we made it,” she said as I walked up beside her, her gaze fixed on the sign. “Like, seriously. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever done, and we made it. I’m here. You’re here. And Liv is here. We did it.”
“Well,” I said, teasing in my voice, and she turned to me. “Did we really make it if we don’t have a photo to prove it?”
Ellis beamed and dug through her bag for the Polaroid camera before narrowing her eyes at the crowd, scanning for someone she deemed trustworthy enough to handle it. Her gaze landed on a middle-aged group of women, all dressed in pastels and wearing fanny packs.
She strode over to them.
“We should’ve placed bets on who she’d pick,” I told Liv. She rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips as we watched Ellis chatting with the women.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“Nervous,” she admitted. “But ready.”
Ellis skipped back—yes, skipped—with one of the women in tow, halting anything else I might have said to Liv. Her expression was radiant, her eyes sparkling almost blindingly as she tugged me under the sign and discreetly beckoned Liv closer.
“Okay, girls,” the woman said, her words wrapped in a thick Southern accent. “Squish up together nice and close while I line this up, we don’t want to miss half the sign!”
I pulled Ellis into my side, and what shocked me was how easily she melted there. She rested her head against my shoulder and slung her arm around Liv’s. To an outsider, it would look like nothing more than a loose gesture, her arm hanging midair. But we would know the truth.
The three of us stood there together, the sign towering above with the ocean and the rest of the world stretching out behind us.
“Now, say ‘End of the Route!’” the woman ordered with a delighted chuckle.
“End of the route!” we cheered, and Liv let out a laugh.
The camera clicked, and for a moment none of us moved. None of us dared to. Ellis’s arm stayed slung across my back, her hand tightening at my waist. Liv tipped her head back, and though I knew she couldn’t cry, her eyes seemed to glisten as she stared up at the sky.
And just like that, it became more than a photo moment. It became a marker in our lives, proof that we had all been here together. Proof that something bigger than us—Liv included—had pulled us across the country and made us a family, even if only for a brief moment.
My chest tightened as life’s realities struck me with full force, but a grim acceptance dulled the edge.
Moments ended.
Memories didn’t.
We endedup getting burgers at Pier Burger, taking them outside to sit on a bench as the salty sea breeze danced around us. Ellis took her pills halfway through her meal, chasing them with a long gulp of water and a satisfied smirk at me before biting back into her oily, meaty patty.
No healthy wraps for her today.
“Should we ride the Ferris wheel?” Liv asked, twirling around a lamppost.
I looked from her to the lit-up wheel in the distance, my brows raised.
“I mean, we kind of have to, right?” I said, rolling my foil into a ball. “We can’t come to the pier andnotride the Ferris wheel.”
