Revived

twenty-six

After Megan’s first day of testing, she and I stroll through Pike Place Market. Having lived mostly in smaller cities, I experience a bit of sensory overload surrounded by the crowd, but I love it. Megan and I have a tradition of buying salted caramels from Fran’s, watching the fish throwers until it gets boring, then eating crab cakes at one of the restaurants that overlook the water.

“Can we skip the crab cakes tonight?” I ask as we turn away from the fresh catch. “I feel a little sick.”

Megan grabs my hand and pulls me out of the market toward the city. We walk the block and a half to Starbucks and don’t speak until we’re both armed with caffeine and seated at a cozy table by the window.

“You’ve never passed up a crab cake in your life,” Megan says. “What’s going on?”

“Matt asked me to steal Revive for Audrey,” I say.

Megan’s jaw drops in shock. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“Megan, WHAT?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I mean, why not?”

“Um, it’s seriously against the rules? I could get in major trouble. Like jail time.”

“They’d never do that,” Megan says, sipping her latte. “They’d be too afraid you’d rat out the whole program.”

“I never thought of it like that,” I admit.

“Listen, Daisy, I’m not knocking Revive or what it gave me and my mom. In fact, I’m grateful. But that doesn’t mean I have to let them brainwash me into thinking that every little move they make is right. It doesn’t mean I have to let them control me.” She holds my gaze for a few seconds. “You shouldn’t let them control you, either.”

“So, what, you think I should steal it?” I ask, nervous.

“I think you should do what you think is right, not what God tells you to do.”

The mention of God reminds me of the new lab. Expansion. Which reminds me of Case 22.

“I have to tell you something else,” I whisper.

“Ooh, juicy!” Megan says, leaning in.

Minutes later, every secret I have is out.

“We have to find Case Twenty-two,” Megan says when I’m finished. “The only way we can get the details is to ask the Convert directly.”

“How on earth do you propose we do that?” I ask. My coffee’s gone, and I’m sad about it.

“Get another one,” Megan says when she sees me eyeing my empty cup unhappily. “You’re on vacation.”

I buy a second cup and a scone and come back to the table.

“So how do you propose we find out who this person is?” I ask.

“What else do you remember about the file?” Megan asks.

“Nothing much,” I say. “I was stuck on it being the twenty-second case. I wasn’t paying too much attention to the rest. Oh—it did say the name of the relo town. It’s called Franklin, Nevada. I have no idea where that is.”

Megan types it into her phone.

“That’s because it’s barely a town,” she says. “Poor, poor kid has to grow up in a population of… oh my god, three thousand. Daisy, that’s our break. All we have to do is ask someone. It’s so small, surely anyone would notice the new family in town.”

Within minutes, my genius friend has come up with a plan to call the night desk at the local newspaper. She’ll tell whoever answers that it’s her job to do a write-up for the school website about the new family in town, but she’s so bad at journalism that she already forgot the family’s last name.

It’s so ridiculous, it works.

“That’s right, Emerson!” Megan says excitedly into the phone. “Oh, Bill, thank you so much. You have a great evening, too.”

“Now what?” I ask. “What do we do with just a last name?”

“We search Facebook, of course,” Megan says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“You should be an agent,” I say.

“That’s what David says, too,” Megan says coyly. I know she likes her handler.

“Well, he’s right,” I say. “Let’s go.”

There’s no one with the last name Emerson in Franklin on Facebook, and there are too many Emersons when we search the entire state of Nevada. I’m ready to give up when Megan calls David.

“Will you do me a favor?” she purrs into the phone. I’m a little embarrassed, but a lot curious about what she’s going to ask.

Megan pauses to listen to David.

“Of course, but this should be no big deal. See, there’s this kid I met at that online party last weekend. We bonded, and I wanted to get in touch on Facebook. The only thing is that I don’t remember the first name.”

Pause.

“Yes, totally. The last name is Emerson, in Franklin, Nevada.”

Pause.

“Really? You know such random things. So anyway, they just moved to Franklin, so you could like figure it out with a newly hooked-up Internet connection or something, right?”

Pause.

“Hacking the city’s water company is even better! You’re a genius!”

Pause. Giggle.

“Sure, sure, I know you’re busy. But I’ll be forever in your debt, and…”

Pause.

“You know what? I’m not even sure!” Megan bursts out laughing, and I can hear David laughing on the other end of the line as well. When they recover, I hear David’s muted voice say something else.

“Okay, great. Thanks for your help.”

Pause.

“You, too. Bye.”

“What was so hilarious?” I ask after Megan ends the call.

She smiles broadly. “He picked up on the fact that I wasn’t saying ‘he’ or ‘she,’ ‘him’ or ‘her,’ ” Megan says. “He asked whether he’s looking for a boy or a girl.”

I laugh, getting it as she says it.

“He knows I participated in an online party for transgender kids last weekend, so he totally bought it when I said that I honestly had no idea.”

“You’re brilliant,” I say, hugging my friend.

“Ditto, Miss D.”

I’m staying at Megan’s tonight, like I always do when we’re in Seattle. In flannel pajama bottoms and ironic T-shirts, splayed out on her fluffy pink rug with bowls of popcorn on our tummies, Megan and I watch TV, then argue for half an hour about the pros and cons of slutty Halloween costumes.

“Save it for the blog!” I shout at her as I leave the room to pee. When I come back, she’s at her desk, typing furiously.

“I didn’t mean that you should blog right now,” I say as I flop onto the bed. I roll over on my back and laugh at the poster of Jake Gyllenhaal on the ceiling. Apparently, my friends make up the Jake G. fan club. I don’t really get it. I mean, he’s sort of old.

“David came through,” Megan says excitedly.

“Did he call?” I ask, eyes still on the ceiling.

“Yes, he called! He found the name. And I just found our girl!”

I pop up off the bed and hurry to the desk. I look over Megan’s shoulder: She’s on Facebook, typing a witty comment to go with her friend request. I read it and laugh, then my eyes find the profile picture and my laughter is gone.

The hair is shorter and a different color, but the face is the same.

It’s…

Oh my god.

Oh my GOD.

“What’s her name?” I ask, monotone. They never change first names. This will confirm it.

Megan looks up from her note and smiles.

“Oh, it’s so cute; she’s a little Irish lass. Her name is Nora.”

I lap Megan’s bedroom three times before she gets me to sit down.

“Girl, you’re tripping,” she says, sitting facing me. “Now what’s up?”

I sigh loudly, grabbing one of Megan’s pillows and clutching it to my chest.

“I went to school with that girl in Frozen Hills,” I say, pointing at the computer accusingly. “She’s the one who spotted me in the mall.”

“Daisy!” Megan says, rolling her eyes. “That profile picture is tiny by tiny—it could be me. You’re freaking out for no reason.”

“I’m not,” I say firmly. “I know what she looks like. She lived down the street from me.”

“Wait, what?” Megan asks. “How is this the first I’m hearing about her?”

“Because we weren’t friends,” I explain. “We weren’t anything. She was popular and I was… well, you know.”

“Wait, wait,” Megan says. “I’m confused. Tell me the whole story. Speak slowly; pretend I’m Wade.” Megan winks and it makes me laugh, which takes away some of my anxiety.

“Okay,” I say, hugging the pillow tighter. “Nora Fitzgerald lived down the street from us in Frozen Hills. She invited me to her birthday party when we first moved there, but I didn’t go.”

“Why not?”

“Totally irrelevant.”

“Why not?”

“I felt inferior. She was rich and had an apron-wearing mom and wore clothes that matched head to toe.”

Megan nods once like she understands.

“So anyway, Nora turned out to be popular, and I did my own thing. Then I got stung and we moved.” I pause for breath; I feel like I’ve been running. “Then that night in Omaha, I went out with Matt and Audrey and I saw Nora—she was randomly visiting relatives or something—and she might have seen me…. But she might not have. Regardless, Mason kidnapped me that night and took me to Kansas City—”

“Poor Wade.”

“Shut up,” I say, tossing a pillow at Megan’s face. She catches it. “On the way, I asked Mason what God would do about Nora, and he said they’d watch and wait and see what she did.”

“What does that mean?” Megan asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “We didn’t really talk about it again. I found out about Audrey and went back to Omaha and sort of forgot about it.”

“And then you got all lovey-dovey with Matt and really forgot about it,” Megan teases.

“Yeah, but it makes sense,” I say, ignoring her comment about Matt. “What if Nora did see me, and she told someone? What if God relocated her and her family so she’d keep quiet?”

“That’s a little far-fetched, but for the sake of argument, why would they agree to be relocated?” Megan asks.

“Maybe they didn’t,” I say. “Maybe God threatened them.”

“Or paid them off,” Megan says excitedly. “Maybe he gave them millions of dollars in hush money.”

“Maybe,” I say, genuinely considering it. “Except you’re forgetting the file.”

“That you claim to have seen at three in the morning after you had a sweeps-week moment with the guy you like, and that mysteriously disappeared after you saw it.”

“Are you saying that I imagined the file?” I ask seriously.

“Or dreamed it,” Megan says, matching my tone.

“It was there,” I say flatly, annoyed that she’s challenging me on this.

“Okay, I believe you,” she says, too quickly, which is even more annoying.

“If you’re going to cave so easily, why argue in the first place?” I ask, rolling my eyes at her. She doesn’t answer, so I continue. “Anyway, the file for Case Twenty-two says that the subject was Revived. As in dead and brought back to life.”

“Even if the file’s real, that entry could be fake, to cover up the money.”

“Or it could be real,” I say.

Megan shakes her head at me. “So, let me get this straight in my Wade-sized brain,” she says. “You’re saying that Nora saw you in that mall and told somebody, threatening to expose the program. And you’re saying that God found out about it and actually killed Nora so that he could Revive her and relocate her, all to make sure she didn’t talk?” Megan lifts her perfectly manicured eyebrows expectantly. “That’s your theory?”

“Yes,” I say decisively. “That’s my theory.”

Megan’s quiet for a few moments, considering. She squints her eyes at the ceiling and bites her pinkie nail. Then finally, she speaks: “I guess it could work.”

“You’re totally annoying,” I say.

“But you love me.”

“I do.”

“What should we do now?” Megan asks. “I mean, if your theory is true and God’s killing anyone who knows about the project…”

I suck in my breath so hard I think my lungs might explode. It makes Megan jump.

“What?” she asks, wide-eyed.

“Do you think Matt could be in danger?” I say, realizing what I might have done to the guy I like.

“No,” Megan says reflexively to reassure me. But the concerned look on her face tells me otherwise. “And the difference is that if this is true, Nora was threatening to out the program. No one knows that Matt knows, and he won’t tell anyone.” She pauses. “Right?”

“No,” I say uneasily. “At least I thought he wouldn’t.”

“He won’t,” Megan says quietly, as if she knows him. “You have good instincts with people. I’m sure you can still trust him, even if he’s being a child right now.”

“I hope so,” I say, worried anyway. “But oh my god, what about Nora? If it’s true, seeing me in that mall ruined her life.”

“You can’t take all the credit,” Megan says. “People make their own decisions. Maybe she saw you. But she could have minded her own business and stayed right there in Michigan. And besides, I’m not even one hundred percent convinced.”

“Look up Nora Fitzgerald on Facebook,” I command, fed up with the back-and-forth. Megan crawls off the bed and searches for Nora.

“No account,” she reports. “But maybe she’s one of those dorks who’s taking a stand against social networks. We should totally blog about that, by the way.”

“She’s not,” I say. “But just in case, search for Gina Geiger. She’s Nora’s best friend.”

“Okay, here’s Gina,” Megan says. “Whoa, check out that red lipstick. Is she a tranny?”

“Focus,” I say. “Look through her friend list.”

“Love to, but I can’t without friending her. Want me to?”

“No, let’s figure it out another way.”

“Should I go back to the original plan of friending Nora directly?” Megan asks.

“Shh,” I say, holding up a hand. “I’m thinking.”

The room is still for a few moments.

“Just Google Nora Fitzgerald and see if anything comes up,” I say as a last resort. I listen to Megan’s nails clicking against the keys.

“Here’s something,” she says, clicking on a link. I climb off the bed and walk up behind Megan as the page is loading. I realize that we’re looking at the Frozen Hills newspaper, then scan the rest of the page. Megan and I both gasp when we see the headline:

LOCAL TEEN KILLED IN DRUNK DRIVING ACCIDENT

“I guess you were right,” Megan says quietly.

“Guess so.”