Revived (7 page)

I hook Audrey a look like she’s insane and move to the other side of the rack.

“I love this song.” I sing quietly as I flip through pants I can’t afford; I used all of my allowance on stuff for my bedroom.

“Ick,” Audrey says. “I totally don’t get this band. You and
Matt
.”

I suck in my breath, hoping she’ll say more about her brother. She doesn’t, so I decide to use question number one.

“What show did he go see last night?” I ask casually.

“Crunch Toast.”

“Love them, too.”

“Actually, I agree with that one. They’re awesome. One time…”

Audrey tells her story and I try to listen but instead I zone out, pulled away by thoughts of Matt’s hair. Of his
tanned arms and the wide, industrial-hip watch that looks like it was made specifically for his arm. I think of the way he smelled faintly of cucumber and mint—both must be in his shampoo. I think of the sound of him sipping his coffee: not a gross slurp, but not silent, either. Like a little inhale. Of his easy smile. Of the way his worn jeans hang perfectly from his hips. I think of the fact that he has the nicest boy feet I’ve ever seen… not that I’ve seen a ton of them.

I wonder what he’s doing right now.

Then I wonder if he’s mad about the iPhone.

Then I wonder whether he’s wondering about me.

“Hello?” Audrey says. “Are you even listening to me?”

I blink, confused.

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.

“Do… you… want… coffee?” she asks, enunciating every word. She looks really tired all of a sudden.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I say, putting the shirt I didn’t realize I was holding back on the rack.

We take the escalator to the coffee shop on the second floor. Audrey orders a nonfat caramel latte and it sounds delicious so I get the same. When we’re settled at a table by the window, Audrey checks her phone.

“What time do you have to be home?”

“Five,” I say, sipping my drink.

“Okay, we’re doing all right, then.”

Audrey’s still looking down at her phone. I take the opportunity to bring up Matt.

“Why did Matt take your phone?” I ask. She rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Because he’s an idiot.”

I raise my eyebrows, and she continues. “He accidentally synced all of his music onto my phone instead of his, and it took forever, and he’s too lazy to go back and do it again on his own. So if I’m around, he’s always taking my phone. It’s so annoying.”

“I saw him bringing it back today. I think he thinks I ratted him out.”

“I knew anyway,” Audrey says. “He never puts it back in the right place.”

“I think he’s mad at me.”

“Doubt it.”

“He seemed like it,” I say.

Audrey sips her latte. “You mean when he said, ‘Thanks a lot’?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, he was just messing around. At least I think he was. Sometimes, lately, I can’t tell.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, realizing my question probably counts as number three.

“Oh, nothing,” Audrey says, disappointing me with her answer. “He’s just got some stuff on his mind.”

Audrey is quiet then, clearly done talking about her brother. Kicking myself for using all my questions about Matt, I look out the window to the mall patrons cruising by with strollers and shopping bags. Movement near a
planter catches my eye: A man in a blue button-down and jeans is standing there, waiting for someone. The funny thing is that he looks right at me when I look at him. He watches me for a second like a curious stranger might, then looks away, taking out his phone and typing on the keyboard. I imagine him texting his wife or girlfriend to hurry up, except something about him bugs me. He’s got the same robotic look that Cassie has, that the agents in the cleanup crews have.

Unexpectedly, my cell rings. It’s Mason.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yes, why?” I ask back.

“No reason. Do you have your card?”

“Yes,” I say; he’s asking about the debit card that’s linked to my allowance account.

“That’s good,” Mason says. “Have fun.”

Click.

For exactly five days, my life is so normal that I almost forget I might be faking it. On Monday, Matt waves at me at the beginning of English. On Tuesday, he asks how it’s going—from across the room before class—making at least three girls seated between us breathe jealousy. Every day except Wednesday, when she has an appointment at noon, Audrey and I eat lunch together, either in the cafeteria or off-campus. Despite the fact that others say “hello” in the halls, I seem to be Audrey’s only friend. She and I text every night, and she even starts reading my blog.

Thursday night, she texts:

My life starts to feel like a prime-time sitcom.

Then, on Friday, the cracks start to show.

The morning is fine, but things begin to unravel at lunch. Audrey and I go to the taco place down the street from school for the Friday special: two hard-shell tacos, chips and salsa, and a drink. Right after we finish eating, Audrey runs to the bathroom and throws up (I hear it because we’re at a table close to the restrooms). But when she comes out, she lies about it.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” I ask when she sits down. Her brown eyes are watery and her face is so pale she’s practically translucent.

“Totally fine,” she says, taking a sip of her soda. “I thought I was going to pee my pants.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because I thought I heard you—”

“Throw up?” she interrupts. Then she leans closer and whispers, “There was another girl in there hurling her brains out. Maybe she’s bulimic or something.”

I glance at the door, wanting to believe my new friend, hoping some super-skinny girl with the telltale round face
will walk out looking guilty. Except that I don’t believe Audrey, not at all. The story was fine—good, even—but when she leaned in to whisper, her breath gave her away.

Vomit.

When we get back to school, a tall blond guy halfway across the commons approaches us, eyeing Audrey. The way he looks at her is nothing like one typical teen checking out another: He looks sad. Maybe even more than sad. Wrecked. The guy stops in front of us and opens his mouth to say something to her. The pain in his eyes makes me want to listen, but Audrey grabs my arm and pulls me around him and quickens her pace. Kids all around us watch the silent scene with funny looks on their faces as we work our way through the post-lunch crowd.

“What was that all about?” I ask quietly when we’ve made it to the hallway where our lockers are.

“Just an old boyfriend,” she says.

“Wow, he’s gorgeous.”

Audrey’s quiet for a second. Then she says, “He used to be.”

The bell rings, so I don’t get the chance to ask what she means.

On the way home from school, Audrey asks me to go to a movie tonight, which I take as a return to normal after a confusing afternoon. But then I walk into my house,
throw down my bag, and head downstairs to say hi to Mason. And he screws things up again.

“We’re going to Kansas City this weekend,” he says, barely looking up from what he’s working on.

“I know,” I say. “You told me this morning. Are you getting Alzheimer’s?” I smile at my own joke, but Mason ignores it. He seems stressed. He meets my gaze.

“I told you that Cassie and I are leaving tomorrow, not that you’re going with us.”

“Noooooo!” I protest. “You’re going to test Wade!”

Wade Zimmerman, formerly Wade Sergeant, is hands-down the most annoying of the bus kids. He’s only a year older than me, but he tries to act like he’s an adult. He has this condescending way of talking. But what bugs me the most about Wade is that he won’t acknowledge our shared past. In fact, he won’t talk to me about the program at all. It’s totally weird.

“Wade is a nice young man,” Mason says, shaking his head at me and writing something down. Cassie sneezes and I jump because I hadn’t even registered that she was in the room.

“Wade’s obnoxious,” I say, ignoring Cassie’s sniffles. “And you always let me decide whether I want to go with you to do the tests. Why are you making my decision for me this time?”

Mason sighs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Something’s bothering me, and I can’t put my finger on it. Call it
instinct or paranoia. I’d like to keep you close this weekend.”

Apparently, Mason is one of God’s favorite Disciples because of Mason’s (borderline eerie) sixth sense about things. Knowing Mason is worried about something makes the hair on my arms stand up.

“Can I at least go to the movie with Audrey tonight?” I ask.

Pause.

“Yes,” Mason says, but the frown on his face tells me that he’d rather I didn’t.

I go anyway, so the detour from Normalville continues.

Mason claims he was already planning to go out for groceries, so he insists on dropping me off at Audrey’s instead of letting her pick me up at home. In the car on the way over, he warns me, again, about getting too close to my new friend.

“Daisy, I don’t want you to think that I’m against you having friends,” he says slowly. “But I do want to remind you what’s at stake here.”

“And I want to remind
you
that I’ve been in the program almost as long as you have,” I retort. “I get it.”

“I know,” Mason says. “It’s just that you haven’t actually been around that many people who aren’t bus kids or agents. I want you to keep your head on straight.”

“It’s on as straight as it can be,” I say.

“I guess that’s all I can ask of you.”

The way Mason checks the rearview mirror when we stop makes me afraid for a moment, but I brush it off and hop out of the car. I wave goodbye to him, but instead of leaving, he just sits there in the idling car as I ring the bell and wait for someone to answer. I hear footsteps running to the door on the other side. Audrey flings it open with a big smile on her face. Finally, Mason drives away.

“Hi!” Audrey says. “You’re late!”

“It’s Mas—my dad’s fault,” I lie. Honestly, I was having a clothing dilemma: broken-in sweatshirt, old jeans, and sneakers for maximum relaxation, or cuter—and less comfortable—straight-leg jeans, embellished T-shirt, and flats, just in case…

“Matt’s coming,” Audrey blurts out. “I thought I’d let you know so you don’t have to blush like…” She pauses to examine my face. “Well, like
that
in front of him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say self-consciously.

“Shut it,” Audrey teases. “I know you like him.”

“Do not.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing.”

“Um, yes you are. But no worries. Matt won’t notice.”

Audrey yells upstairs for Matt to meet us in the car, then pushes past me. I follow her to the driveway. Once we’re inside the car but before Matt joins us, I ask Audrey in a whisper: “Why won’t Matt notice me?”

Confused, Audrey stares blankly at me.

“You just said that,” I say. “That Matt won’t notice me blushing.”

“Oh my god, Daisy, don’t be so sensitive!” Audrey says. “I didn’t mean that he won’t notice
you
. I meant that he hardly notices
anything
these days. The other day he asked me where his hat was. He was wearing it.”

“Maybe he has something on his mind,” I offer, hoping Audrey will elaborate.

Audrey rolls her eyes. “Don’t we all,” she says. I want to ask what’s on
her
mind, and about a zillion other questions, but Matt opens the door and climbs in the backseat.

“Hey,” he says when I turn around to look at him. He looks like a model for Levi’s in his perfectly faded jeans and maroon-and-gray-striped hoodie.

“Hi, Matt,” I say back. “I like your sweatshirt.”

“Thanks,” he says, smiling a little. “Cool shirt.”

Audrey stifles a laugh and puts the car in reverse.

“Yes, we all look awesome,” she says. “Now let’s go. We’re going to miss the previews.”

I face front in the passenger seat, take a deep breath, and smile to myself. Glancing down at my shirt, I can’t help but give myself props for choosing to wear the cuter outfit. Even if the top button on my jeans
is
digging into my stomach.

The movie is a comedy, but I don’t laugh much. Instead, I listen to Matt. He only reacts to the smart jokes, not the stupid ones that everyone else seems to find hilarious. But
when something strikes him as funny, it’s really hard for me not to smile. His laughter starts low and gets higher the longer it lasts. It’s easy and warm, like his mom’s chocolate-chip cookies, and it makes me want to snuggle up to him. It’s the perfect sound.