“Oh my god, are you okay?” I ask when she sits down. Her brown eyes are watery and her face is so pale she’s practically translucent.
“Totally fine,” she says, taking a sip of her soda. “I thought I was going to pee my pants.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because I thought I heard you—”
“Throw up?” she interrupts. Then she leans closer and whispers, “There was another girl in there hurling her brains out. Maybe she’s bulimic or something.”
I glance at the door, wanting to believe my new friend, hoping some super-skinny girl with the telltale round face will walk out looking guilty. Except that I don’t believe Audrey, not at all. The story was fine—good, even—but when she leaned in to whisper, her breath gave her away.
Vomit.
When we get back to school, a tall blond guy halfway across the commons approaches us, eyeing Audrey. The way he looks at her is nothing like one typical teen checking out another: He looks sad. Maybe even more than sad. Wrecked. The guy stops in front of us and opens his mouth to say something to her. The pain in his eyes makes me want to listen, but Audrey grabs my arm and pulls me around him and quickens her pace. Kids all around us watch the silent scene with funny looks on their faces as we work our way through the post-lunch crowd.
“What was that all about?” I ask quietly when we’ve made it to the hallway where our lockers are.
“Just an old boyfriend,” she says.
“Wow, he’s gorgeous.”
Audrey’s quiet for a second. Then she says, “He used to be.”
The bell rings, so I don’t get the chance to ask what she means.
On the way home from school, Audrey asks me to go to a movie tonight, which I take as a return to normal after a confusing afternoon. But then I walk into my house, throw down my bag, and head downstairs to say hi to Mason. And he screws things up again.
“We’re going to Kansas City this weekend,” he says, barely looking up from what he’s working on.
“I know,” I say. “You told me this morning. Are you getting Alzheimer’s?” I smile at my own joke, but Mason ignores it. He seems stressed. He meets my gaze.
“I told you that Cassie and I are leaving tomorrow, not that you’re going with us.”
“Noooooo!” I protest. “You’re going to test Wade!”
Wade Zimmerman, formerly Wade Sergeant, is hands-down the most annoying of the bus kids. He’s only a year older than me, but he tries to act like he’s an adult. He has this condescending way of talking. But what bugs me the most about Wade is that he won’t acknowledge our shared past. In fact, he won’t talk to me about the program at all. It’s totally weird.
“Wade is a nice young man,” Mason says, shaking his head at me and writing something down. Cassie sneezes and I jump because I hadn’t even registered that she was in the room.
“Wade’s obnoxious,” I say, ignoring Cassie’s sniffles. “And you always let me decide whether I want to go with you to do the tests. Why are you making my decision for me this time?”
Mason sighs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Something’s bothering me, and I can’t put my finger on it. Call it instinct or paranoia. I’d like to keep you close this weekend.”
Apparently, Mason is one of God’s favorite Disciples because of Mason’s (borderline eerie) sixth sense about things. Knowing Mason is worried about something makes the hair on my arms stand up.
“Can I at least go to the movie with Audrey tonight?” I ask.
Pause.
“Yes,” Mason says, but the frown on his face tells me that he’d rather I didn’t.
I go anyway, so the detour from Normalville continues.
Mason claims he was already planning to go out for groceries, so he insists on dropping me off at Audrey’s instead of letting her pick me up at home. In the car on the way over, he warns me, again, about getting too close to my new friend.
“Daisy, I don’t want you to think that I’m against you having friends,” he says slowly. “But I do want to remind you what’s at stake here.”
“And I want to remind you that I’ve been in the program almost as long as you have,” I retort. “I get it.”