Cat Patrick: Revived

Then every happily relaxed muscle in my body tenses when Matt walks into the room.

“What’s up,” he says to his mom.

“Hi, Mattie,” Mrs. McKean says before standing on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. He doesn’t pull away, but he does look a tiny bit embarrassed when our eyes meet, and I wonder whether it’s about the kiss, or being called Mattie, or both.

Matt goes to the cabinet and retrieves a mug, then pours himself black coffee from the pot and adds a touch of milk. No sugar. He grabs a cookie and sits down with me and Audrey at the table.

My stomach flips at the sight of the little wisps of hair behind his ears. They’ve become my English-class distraction. Being so close now, I fight the urge to reach out and touch them. As if he can read my mind, he looks at me curiously, like he’s wondering if I just might do it.

“Mattie, you slept the day away,” Mrs. McKean says from across the kitchen.

“ ’Cause he was out so late,” Audrey says under her breath. They both glance at their mom to make sure she didn’t hear.

“I stayed up late reading,” Matt says to his mom. She turns her back to us to get more cookies out of the oven. When she opens the oven door, it makes the warm kitchen hot.

“The show ran long,” Matt whispers to Audrey. “I couldn’t miss the encore.”

“What are you kids plotting over there?” Mrs. McKean asks, spatula in hand.

“Nothing,” the siblings say in unison.

We munch quietly for a moment before Audrey starts harassing her brother again. She leans toward him, elbows on the table, eyes narrowed, and lips pinched.

“By the way, I know you used my phone again. Just because you’re too lazy to charge yours doesn’t mean you can steal mine whenever you please. Stop taking my stuff.”

Matt rolls his eyes at her and then looks at me with an expression that straddles the line between annoyed and amused. “Thanks a lot,” he says in a voice that could be sarcastic; I don’t know him that well. Right when I decide he’s teasing, he gets up from the table.

“Later,” he says to no one in particular.

“Bye,” I say quietly, wishing I could make him stay.

Audrey and I decide to go to a just-opened mall that she says is like shopping heaven. We okay it with her mom and with Mason, then take off in her sunshiny yellow car. While we shop, I balance my overwhelming desire to ask about Matt, Matt, and more Matt with wanting to get to know Audrey better. I don’t want Audrey to think I’m only interested in her brother, so I decide as we walk through the temperature-controlled atrium that I’m restricted to asking only three questions about Matt.

As we meander down the aisles of Von Maur, GAP, Abercrombie & Fitch, and Hot Topic, Audrey and I chat easily about anything and everything else. After only thirty minutes, I know that she got her hair colored at the salon on the first level, loves glass elevators, wants to go to Paris someday but takes Spanish at school, prefers pretzel bites to sticks or full soft pretzels, and is a closet history nerd.

“I could have rocked the Victorian era,” Audrey says as she fingers a ruffled, Victorian-inspired shirt at Anthropologie.

“I think you’re right,” I say. “But corsets? No thanks.”

“I bet they weren’t so bad after you got used to them.”

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.