“I… I guess so,” I say, slightly embarrassed.
“Of course I believe you,” he says with a quiet intensity, holding my stare for a few moments. Electric currents seem to pass between us as we survey each other, and somehow the warmth I get from them makes this whole situation seem okay.
“But I still want to see the cool stuff,” Matt says finally, breaking the tension and with an easy smile. I laugh a little, then wave him closer.
“Drag that chair over here behind the computer. I’m about to blow your mind.”
nineteen
I wave my hand to activate the computer, then touch the monitor so it recognizes my fingerprints. It prompts me for a password and I say the first three-syllable word I think of: xenophobe. Matt chuckles because he probably thinks the password is real when, really, the computer just needs me to speak more than two syllables so that it can use voice-recognition software to verify my identity.
“Duck for a second,” I say to Matt. He looks at me funny but crouches down a bit, enough for the computer’s “eye” to scan just me. When it’s satisfied that I’m Daisy and not some imposter, the computer lets me into the directory for Program F-339145.
The God Project.
“They let all the kids in the program mess around in the files?” Matt asks.
“No,” I murmur as I navigate the welcome screens with my hands instead of a mouse. “Like I said, I’m the only one who lives with agents. Mason in particular is really open. He says that I’m almost an agent myself, and that I should be able to access information if I want to. He trusts me.”
>“I’m sorry for telling you,” I say, a little hurt that he doesn’t understand why I did it. “I just thought… Well, I wanted to give you something. Like a part of me. I felt like I wanted you to know the real me. But I understand why you don’t want to know about Revive.”
“No, I get that,” Matt says, his eyes softening when he looks up and meets my gaze. “It’s just that I’m conflicted, you know? I want to get to know you, but it’s hard hearing about something like this without thinking about Audrey. Without feeling like crap because it can’t help her, too.”
“I understand,” I reiterate. “Believe me, I agree with you,” I say, standing. “Let’s just go hang out in my room some more. I’m really sorry for bringing it up.”
Matt watches me stand but stays in his seat.
“Daisy?”
“Yeah?”
He pauses, then forces a half smile that makes my chest feel like it’s caving in.
“I want to hear it,” he says. “Tell me about your life.”
Thoughts jumbled, I’m all over the place in the beginning, jumping from our move to Omaha to the fact that the program is managed by the Food and Drug Administration to the rigorous annual tests and back again. I know from the look on Matt’s face that he’s having a hard time following the story, but when I start to describe the agents and their function, the wall crumbles and it seems like he’s not only getting it, but he’s genuinely interested, too.
“The program was formed about a year before the bus crash,” I say. “Basically, they were waiting for something to happen so they’d have human test subjects. The agents were handpicked across industries for their specialties, and I’m sure they were anxious to get going.”
“Where did they come from?” Matt asks.
“Other branches of the government,” I say, shrugging. “Or civilian jobs. Some were recruited out of school,” I say, thinking of Cassie.
“What do they do?” Matt asks. “Now, I mean.”
“Some are scientists in the main lab in Virginia,” I say. “All those guys do is death science. Others are like bodyguards—watchers for the kids in the program. My friend Megan’s watcher is also a computer expert. He trolls the Internet for any flags about the program. He’s got the personality of a computer on a slow connection, but he’s a genius. He hacked the FBI mainframe as a teenager and once sent an email from a former president’s account, just because he could. I swear, if he wasn’t part of the Revive program, he’d probably be in prison—”
“Wait,” Matt interrupts. “Your friend Megan… you mean Fabulous? From the blog? She died in that crash, too?”
“Yep.”
He shakes his head. “This is insane.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “It must seem so strange to you. But this is me. I’m only being honest.”
“I’m glad you are,” he says, but his expression is uneasy. He takes a deep breath. “Keep going.”
“Okay. So, like I said, the agents all have jobs,” I say. “Mason and Cassie both have medical backgrounds, so their job is monitoring the health and well-being of the bus kids—”