“Tell me what?” I ask, annoyed. “It’s so lame when people keep secrets. I—”
And then he says it.
“Audrey has cancer.”
thirteen
At three o’clock, there’s a note waiting under Mason’s door at the hotel in Kansas City, and Matt and I are more than halfway to Omaha.
We haven’t spoken for miles, but it’s a comfortable silence, not the kind when you’re scrambling for something to say. I can’t explain how it happened, but sometime between waking up with him in my bed and riding next to him now, my nervousness with Matt has faded. It’s not quite automatic, like it is with Audrey or Megan, but when Matt and I talk, it’s easier. And when we don’t talk, it’s easier then, too. Even though my chest feels full, my knee is still and my breathing is steady. Despite the heavy thoughts in my head, Matt’s presence is making me calm.
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…
My stomach twists tight at the thought of sharing secrets. My mouth dries out as I start to ponder the right words. Matt and I are all alone, with miles to go; I obviously like him and I think he likes me. I could do this. My heart begins to race as I seriously consider…
BUMP!
Like it was sent to stop me, the road suddenly mellows to smooth, fresh pavement, and with the noise gone I can hear my conscience. And what it’s saying is that exposing the program is not only wrong—it’s stupid, too. I barely know Matt: How can I trust him with something as monumental as this?