Revived (Cat Patrick)

picked up on the corner of Connecticut Avenue and First Street.”
    “How do you retain these things?”
    “I just do.”
    I didn’t want to tell him that I remembered because of him, that I used to stare up at that street sign wishing I was in the real Connecticut instead of on Connecticut Avenue— that’s how badly I didn’t want to ride the bus to school. Not until I broke down crying one morning did Mason realize that I had been totally traumatized by the whole bus incident.
    He drove me to school after that.
    The memory test is followed by the psych evaluation, which is slightly awkward because it’s administered by my father figure, but so far it’s been okay. Then there’s an IQ test, followed by age-appropriate math, science, reading comprehension, and language exams.
    While the testing is grueling, even brutal, I appreciate it for all that it gives the program, data-wise, about the bus kids. But there’s one part I hate: the blood draw. Tissue samples are one thing—a quick pinch from numbed skin—but having fifteen vials of blood drawn at once is like having the life slowly sucked out of you. It starts with a poke and ends with wooziness.
    It’s the worst.
    But even though I see the benefits of the Revive testing—including that dreaded blood draw—the process does drain me to the point of exhaustion. Since I live with two agents and am essentially their human lab rat, my test takes only one day, as opposed to four or sometimes five for the average Convert. There’s no resting between sessions; for example, there’s no recharging the brain between the psych eval and the IQ test.
    After it’s all over, overtired and blurry, I sign my name—my original name, Daisy McDaniel—at the bottom of an oath that binds me to a life of continued silence and make-believe. Then, instead of priming or primping for a party like everyone else my age at seven thirty on a Saturday night, I change into pj’s and struggle to stay awake while I brush my teeth.
    Because summer solstice is nothing compared to this; the longest day of my year is test day.

seven
    Sunday, I wake up at noon, out of it and thirsty. I stretch, then drag myself out of bed. I’m not sure why, but I check my phone before doing anything else. There’s a text waiting from Audrey:
Audrey: Want to come over and hang out?

    I put on a bra and use the bathroom, then go downstairs to find Mason. He’s not in the kitchen, so I check the basement.
    Halfway down the stairs, I stop.
    “… just out of the blue,” Mason is saying.
    “But why would he contact Sydney?” Cassie asks. “She’s not even active anymore.”
    I hold my breath at the mention of Sydney’s name.
    Cassie wasn’t always Mason’s partner. Sydney was with us for five years, until I was almost ten. I loved her like the mother I never had, but she fell in love with another Disciple and got pregnant. She left the program and her fake family for a real one, and I haven’t spoken to her since.
    According to the rules, when you’re out, you’re out.
    Even knowing that, I skulked around the house for months after Sydney left, pretending to be okay with everything but crying into my pillow at night and begging Mason in private to bring her back. Even fully briefed on the rules, I felt discarded like an old pair of shoes.
    Feeling icky for eavesdropping, I start down the stairs again, but this time I stomp loudly so they have a little warning. Mason shares most things with me about the program, but even so, the look on his face when I enter the lab tells me not to ask questions. At least not right now.
    “Can I go to Audrey’s house?” I ask instead.
    Mason raises his eyebrows, and the usually emotionless Cassie looks my way, surprised.
    “This is the girl you went to lunch with?” he asks.
    “Yes.”
    “She invited you over?”
    “No, I’m going to show up unannounced,” I say sarcastically. “Of course she invited me!”
    “Okay,” Mason says, looking around at the explosion of papers and science stuff on his workspace. “What time?”
    “Now-ish,” I say.
    “Give me twenty?”
    “Okay.”
    I head back upstairs, where I text Audrey, then shower without washing my hair. I throw on shorts and a ratty T-shirt and flip-flops because apparently Omaha didn’t get the memo that it’s fall.
    Mason makes me agree to eat something before we leave the house, so I inhale half of a sandwich and crunch a few baby carrots. On the way out, I grab a handful of red