Revived (Cat Patrick)

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.

nine
    For exactly five days, my life is so normal that I almost forget I might be faking