Revived

thirty-five

Matt comes back to school on a Thursday.

I only find out he’s coming back when he walks through the door to our English classroom. It stings a bit that he didn’t tell me—that he didn’t want to ride together or meet up before class—but I knew things would be different.

I just hope they’re not different forever.

In the halls, people look from me to Matt and back again with funny expressions that I can’t read. It feels like we broke up even though we were never official, except that when we catch each other’s eyes, we talk without speaking.

I wish they’d stop staring.

Everything’s going to be okay.

I still care about you.

We’re only a few feet apart, but there’s a wall between us, both of us unable to deal with the enormity of our feelings toward each other right now. Somehow I know that eventually we’ll fall back into step, so the pain is the low hum of detachment rather than the screaming stab of the end.

I try to busy myself with other things, namely Nora.

After Matt’s first day back, I call her like I have three other nights this week, but I need it more this time. We chat about school, she buzzes about boys. It’s like we’re old friends, except that we aren’t. Not really. Talking with Nora makes me miss my real friends. Megan. Matt.

Audrey.

When it approaches bedtime, I decide to try again on the whole accident thing.

“A girl at my school got into a car accident,” I lie. “She said it was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to her.”

“I can relate,” Nora says. “I thought I was going to die.”

“You did?”

“Of course,” Nora says. “I was already creeped out by the dark road—the streetlamps were out in a couple of places because there was an electrical storm earlier in the day. Then when the truck came around the bend with its high beams on, I got this sinking feeling, like I knew it was going to swerve into my lane before it actually lost control.”

I hold my breath; this is more than she’s shared in any of our conversations. I don’t want to call attention to her story by speaking, in the hope that she’ll keep going. For now, it works.

“I cranked the wheel to get out of the truck’s way. Half of my car went off the pavement onto the gravel, so when I braked, the loose, wet gravel sort of grabbed the car and pulled it more off the road, but my wheel was still turned so the car…” Pause. “It flipped.”

“Oh, Nora,” I say quietly. “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah,” she says.

I get the sense that she’s going to change the subject, so I ask a question to stay on topic.

“What was it like?” I ask, cringing for making her relive it.

There’s another pause, when I wonder if I’ve pushed too hard. But then…

“Loud,” she says. “It happened really quickly, but I remember it like I was in slow motion. I had this CD case on the seat next to me, and I remember watching it float around the car like there was no gravity or something. My water spilled all over me. I hit my head, but I didn’t feel any pain. Then the car landed upside down. I was still strapped in, so I was just hanging there. Bleeding.”

“That must have been so insanely terrifying,” I say honestly. “I mean, to be out there all by yourself, thinking you’re going to die.”

“Except that I wasn’t by myself,” Nora says. “I saw the truck driver before I passed out. He was the Good Samaritan. He walked in front of my headlights, and then crouched down next to my window. It was open because all the glass was broken.”

“And he pulled you out?”

“Yes,” Nora says. “But not right away. At first he checked on me. Then he called someone.”

“Nine-one-one?”

“I guess, but it sounded more like a normal conversation. Maybe he was asking a friend what to do. I’m sure he didn’t know whether he should move me or not.”

“I’m sure,” I echo, wanting to shake her for being so clueless. “What did he look like?” I ask, channeling Mason and Cassie.

“Uh…” Nora says, warily. “Just normal,” she says, and I don’t press it. In fact, I don’t say anything at all. “Anyway, then he came back over and said, ‘Help is coming,’ and I passed out a couple seconds after that.”

It hits me again that Nora doesn’t know she died.

“Wow,” I say, because it seems safe.

Nora’s quiet, except I can hear her inhale and exhale like she’s breathing through the trauma. Finally, she laughs a little.

“What’s funny?” I ask.

“It’s just weird what you remember.”

“Like what?”

“Like the guy,” Nora says. “It’s mean, because he saved me and all, but he reminded me a little of Daffy Duck.”

“Huh?” I ask. “He looked like a duck?”

“No,” Nora clarifies. “He reminded me of him. It was his voice. He had a lisp. It wasn’t as pronounced as Daffy’s, but…”

Nora keeps talking about cartoon characters, but I don’t hear her. I’m lost in thought, time-traveling back to when we first came to Omaha and I visited the aquarium. I remember the unsettling stranger who talked to me and then disappeared.

The otherwise nondescript stranger with a lisp.

Even though lisps are incredibly common, I feel it in my bones that this is more than a coincidence. But why would the same agent who was there to Revive Nora—who possibly caused her death—be at the aquarium? And why would an agent be so covert while speaking with me? We’re one big network, all working together. Everyone knows one another. Everyone except…

The hairs on my arms stand up; a shiver dances down my spine.

“Are you there, Daisy?” Nora asks.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ve got to go.”

I end the call before she says goodbye, and then I sit in shock.

Finally, because I’ve got to tell someone, I dial Megan. The second she picks up, before she has the chance to say anything, I spill.

“Megs,” I say, fear in my voice, “I’m pretty sure I saw God.”

The floorboards creak outside my door and I stop talking for a minute to listen. When no one comes in, I continue in a whisper.

“Even though Nora hasn’t confirmed that someone had her killed, I know it’s true,” I say. “And that is just… off-the-rails crazy. And then they hid her, but didn’t tell her about the program, and now they’re Reviving new Converts? It’s all too much. If this is how things are going, I’m even more worried about Matt. I’m going to pull together notes on everything I know and share them with Mason tomorrow,” I say. “He’ll know what to do.”

“I think it’s the right move,” Megan says. “You’re taking control.”

“Love you, Megs,” I say.

“Love you more.”

When I finally go to bed, I imagine Matt’s car being driven off the road and have to shake my head to fight off the thought. I toss and turn for hours, thinking of one gruesome scenario after another. I lie on my left side and the thoughts are there. I switch to my right—no escape.

Finally, I force myself to remember that Matt isn’t Nora: He won’t tell.

Then again, I think as I flip to my stomach, it seems that God paid me a visit, so maybe he’s watching me. And if he’s watching, then maybe he already knows, anyway.