Cat Patrick: Revived

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.

In contrast, Audrey’s breath sounds strangely labored. I wonder whether she’s got the flu or something, with the barfing at lunch and everything.

“Do you feel okay?” I whisper in Audrey’s ear.

“Shh,” she says. “I’m watching the movie.”

I look over at Matt and he’s looking at me, and I’m zapped by a jolt of electricity. I conjure up my flirtiest smile, then sit back and resume my popcorn-tub war with Audrey.

After the show we head to the food court because somehow half of the world’s largest container of popcorn simply wasn’t enough for Audrey. Matt and I find a place to sit while Audrey buys pretzel bites. We awkwardly look anywhere but at each other until I can’t take it anymore.

“Do you like Mr. Jefferson?” I ask.

“Yeah, he’s okay,” he says. “You?”

“He seems pretty cool.”

Pause.

“I didn’t tell Audrey that you took her phone,” I say, instantly feeling silly for bringing it up. I doubt he even remembers.

Except that he does.

“I know.”

Matt smiles, mostly with his eyes. Someone at the next table over squeals and, curiously, he turns to see what’s happening. I take the opportunity to examine his profile. His skin is still tanned from summer and is perfectly even except for a tiny scar on his chin and a pen-dot mole near his jawbone. Matt’s neutral expression is borderline dark, but when he looks back at me and smiles again, this time showing off his straight, white teeth, it’s impossible not to feel it. I force myself to look away so I don’t say something stupid, like, You’re gorgeous.

“Thanks for not telling her, though,” Matt says, about the iPhone.

“Of course,” I say. I notice that I’m bouncing my knee under the table, which is something I do only when I’m extremely nervous. “I wonder what’s taking Audrey so long,” I say. Matt shrugs and taps his fingers lightly on the table.

The longer I’m alone with him, the more excitable I get. I pick up a napkin that someone left on the table and start twisting it for something to do with my hands. Then, thankfully, before I origami a crane out of a recycled napkin, Audrey returns.

For one second, at least.

“Crap!” she says as she sits down. “I forgot to fill my soda.” She picks up and waves an empty cup. I notice a little sweat on her forehead even though it’s cool in the mall.

“I’ll do it,” I say, standing quickly. I feel like Matt’s the sun and I need sunglasses: I’m overwhelmed by him and need a moment to calm down. “You eat,” I say to Audrey. “What flavor do you want?”

“Clear,” she says before popping a pretzel bite into her mouth.

“Got it,” I say. I turn and walk back to the fountain-beverage station by the pretzel place and fill Audrey’s paper cup with whatever brand of clear soda they have. I take a deep breath and shake my head at my girlishness as I grab a lid and snap it on, then shove a straw through it. I walk back to the table feeling surprisingly more centered.

“Do I get a tip for that?” I ask Audrey when I’m about five steps away from her.

“You wish!” she says, laughing loudly.

“Fine, then I’ll take it back,” I say, pretending to turn around.

“Give me my drink!” Audrey shouts playfully. Her voice echoes off the walls, up to the skylight. People all over the food court look up from their greasy snacks. An older lady tsks at the scene we’re making; two young girls giggle to themselves.

And that’s when I see her.

Across the food court, Nora Fitzgerald from Frozen Hills is turning in her chair to see what’s going on.

Like a deer who spies a hunter, I bolt. Only when I round the corner of the main part of the mall and duck into one of those side hallways that lead to the creepy walkway behind the stores do I realize that I’m still holding Audrey’s drink. When I’m sure that no one’s followed me, I set it down on the floor and text Audrey.

Daisy: SORRY! But I can explain. Meet me around the corner by Foot Find.

I hit send and wait. Audrey and Matt arrive in minutes.

“You could have just asked for some of my soda, Dais,” Audrey jokes. She picks it up and starts drinking it. “What’s the deal?”

Matt’s standing between me and the main walkway. Instinctively, I stay directly behind him, like he’s my shield. He looks at me funny.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” he says.

More like Nora did , I think to myself.

“I saw a girl from my old school who… uh… hates me,” I say. “Can we just go?”

Matt shrugs and Audrey nods. We make our way toward the movie theater’s parking lot, Audrey chattering about mean girls, me looking over my shoulder for Nora, and Matt eyeing me like he knows I’m lying and wants to ask about the truth.

Thankfully, I catch a break: Matt doesn’t ask.

“It’s only a long weekend,” Mason says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as we barrel down Interstate 29 in the dark.

“I know,” I say glumly. “But we weren’t supposed to leave until tomorrow. And wait—what do you mean by long weekend?”

“I thought I told you that we’re staying until Monday night,” Mason says. “To ensure enough time for Wade’s test. We called the school and got you excused from Monday’s classes.”

“No, you didn’t tell me that,” I mutter, turning backward in my seat and watching the lights of Omaha fade into the distance. I already regret telling Cassie and Mason about Nora because it gave them a reason to leave town tonight. Now I’m even more annoyed because I won’t get to see Audrey or Matt on Monday. “I’m not supposed to be on this trip.”

“You weren’t supposed to be seen,” Cassie says without looking up from her computer. I’m surprised by her tone; she’s not usually so snappy. The worst part is that she’s right.

“Why was Nora even in Omaha?” I mutter.

“We checked her email,” Cassie says. “She’s staying with relatives. Something about a family reunion this weekend.”

“Random,” I say, shaking my head. “What’s going to happen with her?”

“Depends on quite a few variables,” Mason says, scratching his head.

“Like?” I look at him expectantly.

“Like whether or not she saw you. And if she did, whether she wrote it off as coincidence or actually believes you’re alive.”

“And?”

“And it depends on what she does with the information.”

“If she goes public—” I begin.

Cassie interrupts. “Then our thirty-year research study is over.”

“But hasn’t this happened before?” I protest.

“To my knowledge, it’s only happened one other time,” Cassie says.

“Twice,” Mason corrects. “There was that one in Missouri.”

“I meant that one. What was the other?”

“Florida.”

“Oh, right,” Cassie says before refocusing on her computer. It bugs me that she’s talking like she was part of the program back then. Recruited straight from college after the program had already started, Cassie’s younger than the other agents. At first she was assigned to the main lab, but her boss thought she’d be better in the field. So when Sydney left, Cassie was reassigned to us. But sometimes Cassie talks like she was with the Revive project from day one.