The particular stretch of road we’re on has a funny tread: The sound of the tires against the pavement makes me think of a zipper quickly going up and down, over and over. The strange rhythm lulls me into a zoned-out state where all I can do is listen to my internal dialogue.
Audrey’s dying.
She’s really dying.
I ran off without telling Mason.
I want to help Audrey.
There’s nothing I can do about Audrey.
Wow… it all makes sense. The hurling. Her mom letting her do everything she wants. The sad looks at school.
Is it terminal?
It has to be terminal. Yes, Matt’s face says it is.
I’m going to get in trouble.
Getting in trouble is insignificant compared to what Audrey’s going through.
I’ve never been in trouble.
Stop acting like a child. Audrey’s DYING!
Yes, but…
Wow. I have a warped view of death.
And finally:
I want to tell Matt about Revive.
The last thought startles me. I gasp, but the sound of the road blocks it from Matt’s ears. Never in my life have I dared to consider telling anyone about the program, and yet it would be so easy to open my mouth and let it out right now. I could tell him that I’m not exactly normal when it comes to thoughts on death. I could explain that being part of a program that makes death optional is sort of like wearing a protective suit through life. That it gives me confidence that other kids don’t have. Like when I was younger and I took swimming lessons, I didn’t bawl on the side of the pool like everyone else did because I wasn’t afraid of drowning. Sure, I didn’t want to drown—I knew what it felt like—but there was no finality about it to me.
Not wanting to die is very different from being paralyzed by the fear of it.
I could tell Matt how conflicted I feel right now, that I can’t believe my one non-program friend has cancer. That my instinct is to try to save her, but I know it’s futile: Even if Mason agreed to Revive someone outside the program, it doesn’t work on gunshot victims or cancer patients. But maybe…
>“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—”