“I thought of something on the way home,” he says instead of hi.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t get why you guys moved here,” he says. My stomach sinks. I’m not sure why the idea of telling him I’ve been Revived more than once feels so bad, but it does. I think he mistakes my nervous silence for hurt. “I mean, I’m really glad you guys moved here. I didn’t mean it like that at all. I just—”
“Oh, I know,” I interrupt. “I’m a little embarrassed to tell you why. But I guess I’ve shared a lot today, so why not put it all out there?”
“Okay…”
“I’ve died five times.”
Now Matt’s the one who’s silent.
“Are you still there?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Whoa.”
“I know,” I say, ashamed. “I mean really, it’s more like four—I had to be Revived twice after the bus crash—but technically, five vials means five deaths. After that first day… well, I’m really allergic to bees, and I guess I’m accident-prone, too.”
“No way,” Matt says. “What… I mean, what’s it like?”
“What?”
“Dying,” he says.
“Oh.”
“If you don’t mind talking about it,” he adds.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “Um… I don’t really remember that much about it, to be honest.” It’s a total lie: I remember many graphic details, but I don’t want to cause Matt more pain than I already have. He might think death talk is fascinating right now, but later, when Audrey’s time comes, he’ll be haunted by my stories of being afraid and in pain.
“Oh, okay,” Matt says, sounding a little disappointed. But he changes the subject anyway. “Are you going back to school tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Audrey, too.”
“Really?” I ask, excited.
“Yep, the doctor cleared her,” Matt says happily. “Only he wants her to be with people at all times in case she has a problem, so my mom won’t let her drive to school alone. We’re going together.” Pause. “Want us to pick you up?”
I smile at how normal the conversation is now, even though Matt knows a completely abnormal thing about me.
“Yes,” I say.
“Okay, we’ll be there at seven twenty.”
“Awesome.”
It’s late and that’s the logical end to the conversation, but I get the feeling that Matt wants to say something more. I wait patiently, my nervousness snowballing with each passing second. Finally, he speaks.
“Daisy…”
“Uh-huh?”
“That was one freaking weird afternoon,” he observes. His tone is low, intimate. It makes goose bumps pop up on my arms.
“I know.”