Pause. Then she asks:
Megan: First day go okay?
Daisy: I think so. Do you ever wonder whether you’re making real friends if you have to lie to them about your life?
Megan: No. You made a FRIEND?
Daisy: Maybe
Megan: Not some geek in a study group, right? A real, living, breathing friend?
Daisy: The geeks were friends
Megan: You know what I mean.
Daisy: I do…. No, she’s cool. Her name is Audrey
Megan: Hey, D?
Daisy: Yeah?
Megan: Don’t question this to death, okay?
Daisy: I’ll try not to.
Megan: Okay good. Gotta go prove you wrong on the blog. Love you madly
Daisy: Love you more. Bye
six
“You don’t have plans today, do you?” Mason asks when I creep into the kitchen after too little sleep. Last night, I made the mistake of picking up the latest book in a sci-fi series at eight thirty. By ten o’clock, I was way too absorbed to put it down. I finally went to bed at two AM.
“No plans,” I grumble, easing into a chair. Mason flips over a pancake. “You’re cooking,” I observe. Mason’s actually a really good cook, but he rarely does it.
“You need a solid breakfast,” he replies. “We’re doing your annual checkup today.”
“Seriously?” I ask in protest. “No warning? And on Saturday?”
“Sorry, Daisy,” Mason says sympathetically. “I think it’s better if you don’t have warning; you don’t have time to get worried about it this way.”
“But why now?” I ask. “Testing doesn’t usually happen until closer to the anniversary.” The bus that went off the bridge into an icy lake and killed twenty-one people—seven for good—did so in early December. Testing usually happens at one-year intervals, as close to December 5 as possible.
Mason has a funny look on his face. “God asked for them early this year,” he says.
“That’s odd,” I say. “I don’t remember this ever happening before…. Has it?”
“No,” Mason says.
“Bizarre.”
“I think so, too, but I’m sure he has his reasons.” Mason drops three pancakes onto my plate.
“Can we do it next weekend?” I whine before taking a bite. “I’m tired,” I say, mouth full. After swallowing, I continue. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense to do the test so early.”
Mason looks at me, frying pan and spatula in his hands. “Whatever our opinions are, it’s not optional,” he says, surprising me with his abrasive tone. Mason’s usually more chill. He turns toward the sink and, as he’s walking away, he adds loudly, “We’re doing the test today. End of discussion.”
I read once about the extensive testing that astronauts go through before they get their ticket to space. In my humble opinion, the annual Revive exam is even more rigorous.