Revived

twelve

“Daisy? Are you awake?” Mason calls from across the food court at the mall. He’s sitting at a table with Cassie and Nora Fitzgerald, and they’re all staring at me. He knocks twice on the table, like he’s rapping out some kind of code. He knocks a third time, then looks at me expectantly like I’m supposed to know what he’s saying.

“Daisy?” he calls again.

Confused, I look across the table. Matt is there.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Answer him.”

And then a firm hand on my shoulder pulls me from the dream.

I open my eyes to a startling but welcome sight: Matt is lying on his side, facing me, in real life. I suck in my breath at the sight of him.

“Answer your dad,” he whispers calmly. I furrow my eyebrows.

“Answer him or he’ll want to come in,” Matt explains.

Getting it, I try to call back, but nothing comes out. I clear my throat, which reminds me of Mr. Jefferson. I wonder if his issue is that he drinks. Finally, I manage to find my voice.

“I’m awake,” I say loudly, cringing.

I stare into Matt’s dark eyes; he stares into mine. I’d ask what he’s doing here if words didn’t hurt.

“Good,” Mason calls back through the wall. “Cassie and I are going to get some eggs at the hotel restaurant before heading to the Zimmermans’. We need to be there at eight. Are you coming?”

I wonder for a moment if Matt thinks it’s weird that my dad would call my mom “Cassie” instead of “your mother,” but he doesn’t seem to notice. Then my stomach sloshes in a very bad way and I quit wondering.

“Ask if you can stay here today,” Matt whispers. I nod.

Concerned about dragon breath, I turn my head away from Matt when I speak.

“Would it be okay if I hung around here today?” I ask the wall. There’s silence on the other side of the door. “I want to catch up on some reading,” I add, trying to sound normal but feeling anything but. Mason doesn’t answer for a bit, as if he’s considering what I’ve asked. Finally, he says:

“Stay inside the hotel.”

“Okay,” I call out. “Thanks.”

My stomach lurches again and I curl into the fetal position.

“Are you going to be sick again?” Matt whispers.

“I don’t know,” I whisper back.

“We’ll be back at seven,” Mason says through the wall. “We’ll eat together.”

Wishing Mason would stop talking about food, I gather all my strength to answer, “Okay, sounds good.” My stomach lurches again.

“Want to go to the bathroom?” Matt says quietly.

“I don’t want to move,” I whisper. Matt smiles weakly and brushes a piece of hair off my forehead.

“Then don’t.”

I gasp awake, heart pounding, eyes wide. Matt’s still here, next to me on the bed. He’s on his back now, staring up at the ceiling. I watch as he turns toward me, concerned.

“Bad dream?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, because whatever ripped me from slumber is already out of reach. Without moving to know for sure, I can tell that my body is on the mend. I smack my lips and deeply inhale and exhale.

“So… I called you last night?” I say.

Matt rolls to his side again, facing me, smirking. “You drunk texted me.”

“What did it say?” I ask self-consciously.

“Something like ‘save me from frat boys,’ ” Matt says. I see a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Jealousy?

“What else?”

“I called you when I got the text and you said you went out with a gay guy named Wade and—”

“I said Wade was gay?” I interrupt, frowning.

“Well, you kept saying over and over that he needs to come out of the closet,” Matt replies.

I laugh in a quick exhale. “I think I meant that about something else…. Anyway, keep going.”

“Okay, so you gave me this totally cryptic description of where you were,” Matt says. “You said you were at Freckler with the moose.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask, embarrassed about my weird language and about getting drunk in the first place. It’s not me.

“Eventually, I figured out that you meant Specter Hall,” he explains. “They have holiday reindeer on their lawn, all lit up and everything. One is really huge and could be mistaken for a moose.”

“It’s September,” I say.

“Yes, it is,” Matt says back. “Anyway, that made it easier.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No worries—it was sort of fun,” Matt says. “I pretended I was on one of those reality challenges… like I only had three hours to get to you or I’d lose out on a million dollars.”

“Did you win?” I ask.

“No,” he admits. “But only by fifteen minutes.”

“I wonder what kind of trouble I was getting in while you were driving from Omaha,” I say.

“I think you were okay,” Matt says. “I talked to you a couple of times on the way. You were in that red room alone most of the time, except when you were in the bathroom, puking.”

Half-embarrassed, half-flattered that he took care of me, I keep quiet.

“You’re lucky your parents got you your own room,” Matt says.

“Yeah,” I agree weakly.

“Otherwise, you’d be in it for sure,” he continues. “That was pretty dumb of you, you know. Getting lit with strange guys in a strange city. You could have been…”

“I know,” I say quietly.

“Or, hell, even—”

“I know!” I say louder. “Shut up already!”

Matt looks at me, surprised, and we both can’t help but laugh a little. Then we grow quiet, staring at each other.

“Anyway, thank you,” I say.

“No problem,” Matt says. “But you should really be thanking me for washing barf out of your hair.”

My eyes widen before I pull the covers over my head and hide. I hear Matt laugh before he pokes me in the arm.

“I’m ordering food. What sounds good?”

“A cheeseburger,” I say quickly.

From my cocoon, I hear Matt call and order two cheeseburgers with fries and sodas.

“You ordered me regular instead of diet,” I say after he hangs up.

“So?” he asks. “I know that’s what you drink.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“That’s what you ordered at the movie.”

My stomach twists into a knot at the simple fact that Matt is paying attention. He yanks the covers off my face.

“You should probably shower,” he says. “It’ll make you feel better.”

His face is only inches from mine when he says it, which makes my stomach twist even tighter. We hold each other’s gaze for a moment, then a cleaning person knocks on the door and startles me out of la-la land. I walk on shaky legs to the door and tell her I’m all set with towels, then go to the bathroom to shower, feeling like I’m going to burst the whole time. Despite waking up feeling like hell, the day is turning out okay. Not only did I get out of hanging out with Wade, but Matt is here.

I can’t deny how much I like him. And if late-night reconnaissance missions and soda orders from memory are any indication, he might like me, too.

By one in the afternoon, I’m clean, fed, and almost human again. Matt starts a movie and we both sit back against the headboard to watch. I hug a pillow to my torso and try to pay attention during the first five, then ten, then fifteen minutes. But something is gnawing at me.

“Why hasn’t Audrey called?” I ask, my eyes still on the TV.

“Shh,” Matt says, waving a hand at me. I’m quiet for five more minutes, all the while wondering if I’ve royally screwed up my friendship with Audrey. But I can’t for the life of me figure out how.

“Seriously, Matt, is she mad at me or something?”

“No,” he replies without looking in my direction.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“I just know.”

I try to focus on the characters in the movie, but my thoughts turn to Friday night at the mall. It was only two days ago, but it feels like a lifetime. I think of the ride home, and of Audrey’s distractedness. If she’s not mad at me, then what could it be?

Then I remember Friday’s barfing taco incident, and the fact that she lied about it. And her raspy breath at the movie. Her sweaty forehead afterward.

“Is something wrong with Audrey?” I ask, grasping. Matt’s face snaps toward mine.

“What do you mean?” he asks, more confrontational than questioning. His defensiveness tells me that I’ve hit on something.

“It’s just that her voice always seems raspy and she gets tired easily and Friday, after the movie, she looked super out of it and…” My voice trails off. It sounds silly when I say it aloud. Except Matt is staring at me as if I just ran over his dog.

“What’s wrong?” I ask softly. Without thinking too much about it, I reach out and touch my fingertips to his. I’m surprised by my confidence, but I don’t move my fingers from his. Matt turns his head away, but he doesn’t move his fingers, either.

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” he says flatly.

“Tell me what?” I ask, annoyed. “It’s so lame when people keep secrets. I—”

And then he says it.

“Audrey has cancer.”