Revived (Cat Patrick)

must have been a smart girl,” Sydney jokes.
    For the first time in days, a small laugh comes out of me.
    “Are you going to get in trouble for coming here?” I ask.
    “What God doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Sydney says. “And besides, my best girl needed me. You may not know it, but I’m always here for you, Daisy.”
    Sydney leaves after dinner, and it’s like she takes some of my angst with her. By talking openly about Audrey, I feel like I’ve released a lead balloon. I’m a little bit lighter. A little bit better.
    I go to bed at nine and sleep like a baby. When I wake up in the morning, the memory of Audrey’s funeral slams into my brain. I push it aside, choosing to think instead about the time she thought she saw Jake Gyllenhaal outside Starbucks downtown. Sad and happy tears stream down my face as I laugh out loud about her reaction: She really thought it was him.
    “You’re totally Gyll-obsessed,” I say aloud to Audrey, wherever she is.
    And then, I go take a shower.
    I walk to school, hoping that the fresh air and vitamin D will help perk me up even more. On the way, I dial Megan’s number.
    “I’m sorry for not calling you,” I say.
    “Don’t apologize to me,” she says. “Your best friend just died. I’m impressed that you’re even functioning.”
    “I wasn’t there for a few days,” I say.
    “I know,” Megan says quietly. “Mason called my mom for advice.”
    “Sometimes I think they love each other,” I say, smiling.
    “Same.”
    “It’s a good thing we love each other, too,” I say. “Just in case they ever own it and get married or something.”
    “We’re already sisters, anyway,” Megan says.
    We’re quiet for a few seconds.
    “Hey, Megs?”
    “What’s up?”
    “I feel… guilty,” I say.
    Megan is quiet, encouraging me to go on.
    “I feel like I’ve been given so many chances, and Audrey didn’t even get one,” I say. “I feel horrible about it.”
    “You have survivor’s guilt,” Megan says softly. “It’s normal.”
    “Yeah, but it’s more than that,” I say. “I feel like I should have done more for her. I feel guilty for being in Seattle when Audrey was going downhill. I feel like I abandoned her or something. I actually feel bad for being with you.”
    Megan is silent for so long I think the phone might have lost service.
    “I can see how you might feel that way,” she says finally.
    “You do?” I ask.
    “Of course,” she says. “But stop worrying about things like that. You didn’t give Audrey cancer, and you couldn’t make it go away, either. Audrey knew you loved her, and you guys were good. There’s no way you could have predicted when it would happen. It’s not your fault.”
    When Megan says those last four words, my heart implodes. Not until this moment have I realized that I’ve been blaming myself. I mean, sure, Audrey had cancer, which was totally out of my control. But in a way, I thought—I hoped—that my friendship was helping her to stay strong.
    “You’re right,” I say quietly. “It’s not my fault.”
    “I’ll tell you what is your fault, though,” Megan says, a little tinge of teasing in her voice.
    “Oh, really?” I say, okay with thinking about something besides death for a while.
    “It’s totally your fault that our blog is lopsided right now because of a serious lack of coverage out of Middle America.”
    “I might be able to solve that problem,” I say.
    “I can’t wait to see what Flower Girl has to say.”
    Feeling lighter after my call with Megan, I reach Victory with a little time to spare. As I walk through the doors, an idea pops into my head. Before classes start, I go to the computer lab and print out the lyrics to “The Way I Am.” It’s the song Audrey sang to Matt and me when she was joking around about our crush. But I realize that it sums up our friendship, too.
    With a bunch of curious students watching, I tape the lyrics to the front of Audrey’s locker, then, smiling, head to English alone. Matt’s chair is still empty, but I know he’ll come back soon.
    When I visit my locker again before lunch, there are more lyrics taped to Audrey’s. By the end of the day, her locker is completely covered by handwritten and printed scraps of songs tacked on in Audrey’s honor. As I read through the lyrics, I finally understand.
    Everyone misses Audrey; they weren’t faking it.
    I’m not alone.

thirty-four
    A little over a week later, responding to Megan’s