Revived

“There was banter,” he says.



“Which is what we’re doing right now,” I reply. I fold my hands over my stomach.



“And exorcise,” Matt says.



“Exercise?” I ask. “That was a vocabulary word?”



“No, not like running on a treadmill, like exorcising demons.”



“Oh,” I say. “Okay. Do another one.”



“Inculpate.”



“No clue.”



“I think it means to blame someone for something,” Matt says. “Or to teach? Or maybe the teaching one is inculcate.”



“What else?”



“There were some about books,” Matt continues. “Prologue and tome.”



“Too easy,” I say. “What was the challenge word?”



Mr. Jefferson likes to give us a challenge word of the day. If we get it right, we earn points. Enough points equals a free period.



“Halcyon,” Matt says.



“Halcyon,” I repeat. “Cool word. No clue what it means.”



“I didn’t know, either,” Matt says. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow when the answer’s on the board.”



“Or we could look it up.” I sit up, shove off the bed, and walk across the room to the bookshelf. My books are cataloged by color, and my dictionary is in the red section along with a DIY book about home décor, two romances, a thriller, and The Lord of the Rings. I grab the dictionary and flip through until I find it.



“It’s a mythical bird,” I say. “Oh, or it’s an adjective meaning calm, peaceful, prosperous, joyful, or carefree.”



“Good word,” Matt says. “I’ll never forget it now.”



“Really?” I ask, shutting the dictionary and joining him back on my bed. This time I lie on my side, and either I’m closer to Matt or it just feels that way because I can see him better. “How come?”



“Because carefree, peaceful… those words reminds me of you,” Matt says without hesitation, surprising me with his frankness. He looks away from the ceiling and into my eyes; his gaze is like lightning. “That’s how I feel when I’m with you.”



In a flash, I know what I didn’t before: His words are more than flattering; they’re the answer to the questions I’ve been asking myself for days.



Does he like me as much as I like him?



Can I trust him?



Should I tell him?



Now I know. I have the answer.



Yes. Yes. Yes.



Wholeheartedly, absolutely, yes.



eighteen



“Uh…” Matt says, looking around Mason’s office a few minutes later. “What are we doing in here?”



“Sit down,” I say, gesturing to the chairs across from the massive desk. “Please,” I add, not wanting to sound bossy.



As I ease into the desk chair, I swallow down my anxiety and breathe deeply to calm myself. I try to focus on the positive side of the situation—that I feel so safe with Matt that I’m willing to risk everything—but the negatives muscle their way into my brain, too. I’m about to reveal a government secret that could have implications for nearly everyone I know. I’m getting ready to tell the guy I like that I’ve been lying to him. And finally, I’m about to tell the brother of a dying girl that there’s a drug that saves people… oh, but that his sister can’t have it.



It feels so overwhelming that for the blink of an eye, I consider backing out. But then I remember what Matt said:



Carefree, peaceful… those words remind me of you.



He has the right to know who I really am.



“Matt, there’s something I want to tell you,” I begin. “It’s about me. About my life.”



“Okay,” he says, eyeing me curiously. “And it’s something we have to talk about in your dad’s office?” he jokes, gesturing around at the stale white walls and brown furniture.



“Sort of,” I say. “Yes. But I’ll get to that part in a minute.”



“Okay.”



Pause.



“I’m not sure where to start.”



“The beginning?” Matt suggests, still smiling.



I exhale loudly, then decide to go for it. “I’m sworn not to tell you what I’m about to say,” I begin. Matt sits up a little straighter in his chair, his interest piqued. He nods, as if agreeing not to share my secret. “So, before a drug gets approved and can be sold to people, it goes through a bunch of testing. A lot of the time, the public knows about the drug while it’s being tested, but sometimes, with really controversial drugs, the tests are done secretly. They can take years, often decades.” I pause, giving myself one final out. Then I just say it: “I’m part of one of those programs.”



“Cool. What’s it for?” Matt asks without skipping a beat. The look on his face is so… excited. I wait a moment before continuing, holding on to that look for as long as I can. I feel like I’m about to crush him, but how can I keep hanging out with him if he doesn’t know the real me?



“It’s a drug called Revive,” I say finally. “It brings people back from the dead.” Matt’s brows pinch together in confusion. “I died when I was four years old,” I clarify. “The drug brought me back to life.”



“That’s… Are you messing with me?” Matt asks.



“No,” I say seriously.



Matt’s eyes look playful as they search mine for a trace of teasing. When he finds none, his expression becomes somber.



“How did you die?” he asks, concerned.



“I was in a school-bus crash in Iowa,” I say. “The bus skidded off a bridge into a lake.”



I can practically see the wheels turning in Matt’s brain.



“Not the one they made the miniseries about?” he asks, taking it in.



I nod.



“So…” he begins, the pieces clicking together for him. His eyebrows knit tighter and he shifts in his chair a little. After a few moments of puzzling, Matt asks what I’ve been waiting for him to ask: “Audrey?”



He says only her name, not daring to speak the rest.



I shake my head, not wanting to go there at all. But I realize that I have to.



“It’s not…” I say, my voice trailing off. I regroup and try again. “It doesn’t work on people with diseases or really serious injuries. It can’t regrow damaged tissue. It’s more like an electric pulse to your entire system at once. It shocks you back to life from the inside out. Revive can’t help bodies that weren’t healthy when the person died.”



Visibly processing the information, Matt says, “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.” He’s borderline monotone, distracted, looking from me to the desk to the walls and back, searching for answers. He swallows hard; I think he’s shell-shocked.



“I know.”



“And… I don’t… I mean, I’m not sure if I even want to know about this,” he admits. He fidgets, then wipes his palms on his pants. “I mean, what am I supposed to do with this stuff? If it can’t do anything for Audrey, I mean, what good is me knowing about it? It’s not really fair.” Matt stops talking and looks down at his hands. The sadness in his eyes makes me wonder if I’ve done the right thing.