Revived (Cat Patrick) by Cat Patrick

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.

nine
    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:
Audrey: I love your post about the anatomy of mall crowds.

Daisy: Thanks!

Audrey: Sure. And your friend Fabulous is hilarious.

Daisy: That’s Megan. You’d love her.

    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,