What Remains of Tomorrow

BRUCE

My name is Bruce Macker.

Yeah. Bruce.

Before you ask—yes, I was named after Bruce Wayne.

My dad was a Batman fan. Actually, fan probably doesn’t cover it. When I was younger, he told me he chose the name because Batman didn’t have superpowers. He was just a man who decided to do something with what he had.

No pressure, right?

I’m seventeen years old and a junior in high school. If you asked me what kind of person I am, I’d probably give you the usual answers.

I play guitar.

I love music.

I hang out with my friends.

I work when I can because having my own money beats asking my parents every time I want something.

And I was dating Jill.

My family isn’t perfect, but whose is?

My dad works hard. My mom worries too much. I have a little sister named Grace who can drive me absolutely insane and somehow make me laugh five seconds later.

She’s four.

Which means she asks approximately nine thousand questions a day.

“Bruce, why is the sky blue?”

“Bruce, why do dogs bark?”

“Bruce, why can’t I stay up?”

“Bruce, why?”

Sometimes I make up answers just to see if she’ll believe me.

She usually does.

Then Mom yells at me.

Pretty normal stuff.

That’s what my life is, really.

Normal.

School.

Music.

Friends.

Family.

I’m seventeen, so obviously I think about what happens after high school, but it still feels far enough away that I don’t have to know everything yet. College, maybe. Music, hopefully. Something where I don’t wake up every morning hating what I do.

Mostly, though, I figure I have time.

Time to decide.

Time to screw things up.

Time to fix them.

Time to figure out who I’m supposed to become.

When you’re seventeen, you don’t really think about how quickly everything can change.

At least I didn’t.

Not yet.

MACY

My name is Macy, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in seventeen years, it’s that people love asking teenagers what they’re going to do with the rest of their lives.

I hate that question.

Not because I don’t have dreams.

I have too many.

I love art. Music. Movies. Anything creative, really. Give me a pencil and paper and I can disappear for hours. Sometimes I think I’d like to do something with that someday.

Then somebody asks:

“What college?”

“What major?”

“What career?”

And suddenly I’m supposed to have the next sixty years planned before I’ve even graduated high school.

So my answer is usually:

“I don’t know yet.”

Adults hate that answer.

My mom doesn’t.

Her name is Elizabeth.

It’s been the two of us for most of my life.

My father left when I was little. I remember pieces of him, but not enough that I’d call them real memories. Mostly they’re like photographs in my head—little moments without anything connecting them.

Mom never made me feel like something was missing.

She worked.

She raised me.

She showed up.

That’s more than some people get from two parents.

I work too. Nothing glamorous, but I like having my own money. There’s something nice about buying something without having to ask anybody for it first.

I’m also dating Will.

We’ve been together for a while.

He’s funny when he wants to be. Sweet when nobody else is around.

And lately…

Different.

Maybe I’m imagining it.

That’s what I keep telling myself.

People change. Relationships change. High school changes everybody.

Right?

There’s also Bruce Macker.

I’ve known Bruce for years.

Everybody knows Bruce.

He’s one of those people who seems to get along with almost anyone. He plays guitar, has his group of friends, and has been dating Jill forever—or at least forever by high-school standards.

Bruce and I aren’t best friends.

We’re friends.

Maybe somewhere between friends and people who know more about each other than either of us realizes.

He’s easy to talk to.

I’ve always liked that about him.

Not liked him liked him.

He’s with Jill.

I’m with Will.

That’s just how things are.

And if you’d asked me then whether Bruce Macker was going to become one of the most important people in my life, I probably would’ve laughed.

Not because I didn’t care about him.

Because sometimes the people who change your life aren’t the people you expect.

Sometimes you don’t recognize the beginning of something until long after it has already begun.