Revived (Cat Patrick)

to the top to see which case number it is so that I can find the confidential Convert. It takes me a couple of frustrating seconds to locate it before finally I see that the file is for case number—
    What?!
    I suck in my breath. My hand flies to my mouth, and even though I’m alone, I murmur through my fingers: “That’s not possible.”
    I know that I’m perfectly safe, in a locked house with two gun-toting government agents down the hall, but I’m instantly afraid. The room is too dark. The night is too still. What’s on the screen in front of me is too shocking. I’m so creeped out that I start to consider that I’m being watched. I log off like lightning and then hurry out of the office, across the hall, and into my bed.
    Only then, when I’m burrowed down deep under the covers, do I think about what I saw.
    There were twenty-one people on the bus.
    I just met Case 22.

twenty-two
    A car horn wakes me up.
    Completely foggy, I turn my eyes to the clock on my nightstand. Somehow, despite my stupor, my brain registers that it’s 7:32 AM . Suddenly, I’m awake. I fling off the covers, run to the window, and see Matt’s car sitting in the driveway with Audrey up front. Right then a text message comes through from Audrey.
Audrey: Almost ready? We’re here.

Daisy: I heard… give me five?

Audrey: No problem

    I run to the dresser and yank fresh underwear and a bra from the top drawer. I strip my pajamas off and pull on my skivvies, then grab yesterday’s jeans from the floor. I rush to the closet and rip the first shirt I see off its hanger: It’s a bright blue peasant top that falls off my shoulders a bit. I don’t really love it, but it’s what I’m wearing.
    I glance at the clock. It’s 7:34.
    I slip into black flats and race to the bathroom, where I pee while simultaneously brushing my teeth, then pull my hair into a high ponytail that actually looks okay. I put blush on my cheeks and eyelids and then nearly poke my eye out trying to apply mascara too quickly. After a stop in my bedroom to grab my bag, I make it to the car at 7:38, breathless and a little sweaty.
    “Sorry,” I say to the McKean siblings as I slide into the backseat. It feels weird to be back here instead of in the passenger seat.
    “No problem,” Audrey says, smiling brightly.
    Matt glances at me in the mirror as he backs out of the driveway.
    “Did you oversleep?” he asks.
    “Yeah,” I admit. “Total insomnia. I probably got about two hours.”
    “Well, you can’t tell,” he says warmly, which makes both Audrey and me smile.
    “Thanks,” I say, feeling my cheeks turn pink.
    Matt turns on the radio and it’s an upbeat love song that makes it hard not to smile the whole way to school. At least he’s smiling, too.
    I spend the day alternating between conflicting feelings. I’m optimistic about Audrey’s high spirits and positively cheerful when I think of Matt’s kisses and kind words. I’m panicked about Case 22, but exasperated because I can’t put my finger on what exactly I’m afraid of. I’m relieved to have shared secrets with Matt, but ashamed because I know Mason would be disappointed if he knew about it.
    But mostly, I’m lifted by the fact that Matt and I have a new, strong connection.
    In English, I can feel that connection across the room. In the halls, we’re in color and everyone else is in black-and-white. In the noisy cafeteria, I hear everything he says as clearly as if I’m wearing earbuds and he’s my playlist.
    Audrey notices it, too.
    “Not to be gross or anything, but did you and my brother do it or something?” she whispers in the hallway between fifth and sixth periods.
    “What?” I say, shocked. “No! Oh my god, no!”
    “Okay,” she says, laughing and holding up her hands. “I get it. You didn’t. You two just seem overly gooey today.”
    “Oh,” I say, turning to face my locker, embarrassed. “We had some nice conversations yesterday.” I feel bad about lying to Audrey, but Matt’s right: It’s not fair to tell her about Revive.
    “I see,” she says, eyeing me skeptically. “Conversations about doing—”
    “Audrey!” I shout, laughing. “Shut up!”
    “Fine, fine,” she says. “But for the record, I think you’re lying.”
    “And for the record, I think you’re nutso.”
    “Well, you’re probably right on that one,” Audrey says, flipping her lovely hair off her shoulder and beaming at me. Her teeth are bright white and her dark eyes are