Revived (Cat Patrick)

locker. Some girls are chatting at the locker next to mine. They stop talking when I approach and step aside so I can get through.
    “Hi, Daisy,” one of them says quietly.
    “Hi,” I say. I don’t know her name.
    I swap out my books and try very hard not to look at Audrey’s locker as I walk away, but it doesn’t work. I see it, and I imagine her standing there, smiling at me on the first day of school. Complimenting my shoes. Asking me to lunch.
    Breathing.
    Living.
    As if I have emotional food poisoning, all of my tears and snot and even a shrill scream come out of me at once. Everyone in the hallway stops and stares. I run to the nurse’s office and get excused from school.
    The hall pass reads, “Distressed.”
    I block out the world for two days, or at least I think I do. When Mason’s had enough, he picks the lock on my bedroom door.
    “You have a visitor,” he says. I have a pillow over my face so I can’t see him or anyone else.
    “Tell whoever it is to go away.”
    “You’ll have to do that yourself,” Mason says. I hear him leave the room. Someone else comes in. Whoever it is sits on the end of my bed but doesn’t say anything. I don’t move the pillow: I breathe into it and wait. The moisture of my breath, trapped between me and the fabric, makes me feel like I’m in a sauna, but I don’t move. And still, silence. Eventually, I start to get perturbed. Why come into my room and just sit there? Frustrated, I toss aside the pillow. And then I see someone I never thought I’d see again.
    “Sydney?”
    “Hi, sweetie,” she says in the voice that always made everything better. “I hear you’re having a tough time.”
    The acknowledgment of my pain brings it all out again; I begin to sob. Sydney moves closer—right next to me—and wraps her arms around me. She’s wearing a gray sweater that I’m pretty sure I ruin with snot, but she doesn’t seem to mind. We sit there like that, her smoothing my ratty hair and me crying on her shoulder, until I don’t have any tears left.
    After that, we talk for hours. I tell her all about Audrey—every minute I remember. I tell her a lot, but not everything, about Matt. I share that I feel guilty for being with Megan when Audrey was dying. That I think there’s something going on with the program that’s stressing Mason out. That there’s even more that I don’t want to talk about right now.
    “You’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Sydney says. “I can see why you needed some time to yourself.”
    “I wish Mason was as understanding as you are,” I say.
    “Oh, Daisy, you need to give him a little credit,” she says. “He may not have known what to do, but he knew enough to call someone who might. And I think he’s more in tune with what you’re going through than you might think.”
    “Maybe…” I say, not really believing it. Mason’s a science guy, not a feelings guy. “I just don’t know what to do now. I don’t know how to be without Audrey. What should I do?”
    “Daisy, I wish I could fix everything for you,” Sydney says. “I’m so sorry to see you hurting. But the hard truth is that the only thing that can mend a broken heart is time.”
    I’m quiet, frowning because she sounds like a condolence card. I tell her as much.
    “Well, it’s good advice,” she says. “That’s why it’s on so many cards.”
    I half smile at her; she takes my hand.
    “There are little things you can do,” she says.
    “Like what?” I ask, craving a prescription that will cure my heartbreak.
    “Well, like first thing in the morning, when you wake up and remember that Audrey’s gone, instead of dwelling on what she won’t get the chance to do, think of something really great that she did do. Honor her a little, and then move on.”
    “Easier said than done,” I say. “What else?”
    Sydney shrugs. “Take a shower. Go to school. Pay attention. Do the things you used to like to do; eventually, they’ll get fun again. Call Megan and talk to her about your feelings. When he’s ready, try to reconnect with Matt.”
    I’m quiet, so she continues.
    “Unfortunately, there’s no formula for making the pain of death go away sooner. No matter what, you’re going to carry this with you for the rest of your life. But how you carry it is up to you. You can choose to dwell on the sadness of losing Audrey, or you can choose to celebrate the time you had with her.”
    “You sound like her,” I say.
    “She