The Last Wish of Sasha Cade

, pointing out the features as she talks. “I was thinking of having long, rectangular planter boxes filled with the flowers in soil. We can paint them white with glitter and line them around the casket, and up and down the rows of chairs at the cemetery.”

She peers at me, creases running up her forehead. “What do you think?”

I shake my head, but not from disapproval. It’s more like I’m totally in shock. “It’s beautiful. But the funeral is in a few days. Can we get this done on time?”

“Well …” She averts her gaze. “Come with me.”

We meander through the rest of the shop and into a small storage room at the back of the building. Inside are a dozen of the planter boxes, made and painted, gleaming like they came straight from a fairy castle.

“You made these?” I ask, mouth falling open.

She nods. “Couldn’t help myself. I’ve never had a client plan her own funeral before. I told her it could be done, knowing those suckers don’t hold up well, especially in the heat. So yeah, I had to find a way to make it work.”

I feel genuine happiness for the first time in the two days that Sasha has been gone. I know she would love this. “Can I pay extra to keep the boxes?”

She waves a hand at me. “No extra. They’re yours.”

This is working out better than I thought it would. Turns out preparing Sasha’s funeral is giving me something to do besides sit around and cry all day. We head back to the front of the store, where I pay for the flowers using Mrs. Cade’s credit card. Right now, she’s at the funeral home making the final arrangements, the one thing a best friend can’t exactly do. My next stop is the photo and print shop to pick up programs and a massive photo of Sasha. On Thursday morning at eleven a.m., we will lay my best friend to rest.

While signing the receipt, I notice a sign — or an index card, rather — that says Now Hiring. I point to it. “You’re hiring?”

Izzy nods, focused on her work. She picks a few flowers and bunches them together at the stems, then reaches for a white ribbon to tie around them. “Just something part-time. I could use a break every now and then.” She quirks an eyebrow. “Are you interested?”

“Yes,” I find myself saying before I can think it over. The animal clinic has been my usual after-school job, but they understood when I took some time off to care for Sasha. I love animals and I do plan on going back, but without Sasha, it feels like I’m learning how to be a person all over again. Maybe I need something new for a while. “I’m still in school, so I could only work evenings and weekends,” I say.

“That’s fine. Perfect, actually.” Izzy holds up the simple bouquet, tipping it toward me. “Pink carnations — they stand for remembrance. For you, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking the flowers and inhaling the sweet scent. “How do I apply?”

“Just come in when you’ve had time to mourn your friend,” she says, taking the index card and tossing it in the trash. “No rush.”

***

I’m awake before the sun on Thursday morning. Sasha didn’t have a viewing — she didn’t want one. She said the idea of lying around dead for a few hours in a funeral home sounded like torture. She wanted her funeral to be outside at the cemetery, her casket surrounded by wildflowers and the sounds of nature.

Peyton Colony Memorial Park is as beautiful as it is old, with one edge bordering the massive lake that makes our town a tourist stop and a low-budget vacation spot. There are graves from as far back as the 1800s here, and since the grounds slope slightly downward, every headstone has a view of the water. If only hypothetically.

I wear a dark-pink sundress that stops just above my knees. Sasha picked it out for the occasion. I know she’s wearing a matching dress in purple, her favorite color, inside the casket. Not that I will ever see it.

I glance at the stack of funeral programs on my desk. Sasha’s grinning school picture from last year is on the front. She’d gone to the salon for a blowout the day before, so her long hair is supermodel-perfect — this was long before the shave. Her high cheekbones and smile make her look like a goddess. I don’t know how she managed to nail school photos. Mine are always the worst.

I attempt to deal with my hair, but short, wavy and messy are pretty much the only things it can do. Mom keeps saying I should have a stylist cut it into some kind of actual hairstyle, but I like seeing how it grows out all wacky. Besides, I don’t think Sasha will mind.

“How do you like my hair?” I pick up the first program from the stack and look into my best friend’s eyes, knowing she can’t reply. Even printed on paper, their color is mesmerizing.

My eyes are a hazelish green, like someone dumped a bucket of dirty mop water on top of them. Definitely nothing to write home about. Sasha, on the other hand, had these gorgeous bright blue eyes that contrasted starkly with her dark hair and brown skin. They were the first thing you noticed when you looked at her, two orbs of light set into a face that already glowed. Sasha was single by choice, since nearly every guy she ever met wanted to date her. She was the kind of charismatic person that would be really easy to hate, but no one ever did. People were drawn to her. People wanted to be her best friend, but for some reason, she chose me.

I set the program back on top of the stack.

In the kitchen, Dad’s dressed in his funeral best, which is a far cry from his usual wardrobe of faded jeans and a stained T-shirt. He hands me a cup of coffee and Mom forces a plate of pancakes and bacon into my hands.

“You need to eat,” she says, watching until I take a bite.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to drive myself,” I say after breakfast. My parents exchange a look but Mom nods.

“That’s fine. Just be careful.”

“I want to get there early and stay late.”