“Hey, Dad,” I say. The dad must have alerted him to someone else’s presence in my room—I only call Mason “Mason” at home—because when he opens the door, he’s all father. I can hear cupboards opening and closing in the kitchen downstairs; Cassie’s probably baking a casserole after seeing Matt’s car out front.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says to me. “Hello, Matt.”
Matt waves.
“Hey,” I say. “We were studying English.”
At this point, everyone in the room knows it’s a lie—there aren’t even any schoolbooks around—but Mason doesn’t know I told Matt about the program, and I’m determined to keep it that way.
“I see,” Mason says. “I hope you got a lot done, but it’s getting a little late for a school night. It’s probably about time for Matt to go home.”
I glance at the clock and realize that it’s almost nine. Six hours with Matt have passed like six minutes.
Matt starts climbing out of the beanbag and Mason turns to leave.
“Good to see you, young man,” he says. “I hope your sister is feeling better.”
“Thanks,” Matt says before Mason leaves.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “They’re home early.”
Matt crosses the room and stops about a foot from me. “It’s so weird knowing that he’s not your real dad,” he says. “He really acts like a normal father. He deserves an Oscar.”
“Wait ’til you meet my mom,” I say with a dramatic eye roll.
Matt laughs that perfect laugh of his and in that moment, despite my confusion over the program, I’m glad that I told him everything. I feel closer to him than ever.
When he leans in and kisses me this time, there’s something new between us. Instead of first-kiss-with-a-hot-guy giddiness, there’s something deeper. I can feel it in my toes and in my belly button.
And in my heart.
When Matt leaves, I log on to my regular computer and see if Megan’s online. I message her and tell her cryptically about the evening. At least the part with Matt.
Megan: You did WHAT????
Daisy: know.
Megan: M’s going to kill you.
Daisy: Maybe
Megan: Worth it?
Daisy: Yes, if nothing more than for the kiss at the end of the day.
Megan: Spill…
We chat for an hour, until Megan has to do homework and I have to update the blog. Before signing off, she writes:
Megan: Don’t forget to comment on my latest post.
Curious, I type in the address for Anything Autopsy. Megan’s post is called “The Autopsy of the Queue” and is all about the personalities people reveal while standing in line (the cutters versus the cutees and the oblivious people in the middle who should have stayed home because they always seem so surprised when the clerk shouts “NEXT!”). Megan’s position is in defense of the cutter, who is just trying to make the most of her day. I spend an hour perfecting a platform for the cutee, which is built on the idea of karma. Practice patience and be rewarded with extra butter on your popcorn; cut and find yourself in the one seat in the theater with chocolate melted into the fabric.
I post my rebuttal, then get ready for bed. When I get back to my room, there’s a text waiting from Matt.
>“There were others who really benefited from Revive, too,” I say to Matt. “I already told you how Megan’s life got better. And Tyler and Joshua Hill—they’re identical twins. Both were Revived. They live in Utah. It would have been so terrible if just one didn’t make it, but they both did. Oh, and Elizabeth Monroe’s younger sister was supposed to have been on the bus that day but wasn’t; she stayed home sick. But Elizabeth was Revived, so her sister will never have the guilt of being the lucky one. I mean, can you imagine having to live each day knowing that your sibling won’t get to…”
I’m so concerned with running from moral dilemmas and trying to defend the program that I don’t realize what I’m saying until it’s out of my mouth. But then it hits me like a sledgehammer to the heart. Shocked by my own words, I look quickly, wide-eyed, at Matt.