“They’d never do that,” Megan says, sipping her latte. “They’d be too afraid you’d rat out the whole program.”
“I never thought of it like that,” I admit.
“Listen, Daisy, I’m not knocking Revive or what it gave me and my mom. In fact, I’m grateful. But that doesn’t mean I have to let them brainwash me into thinking that every little move they make is right. It doesn’t mean I have to let them control me.” She holds my gaze for a few seconds. “You shouldn’t let them control you, either.”
“So, what, you think I should steal it?” I ask, nervous.
“I think you should do what you think is right, not what God tells you to do.”
The mention of God reminds me of the new lab. Expansion. Which reminds me of Case 22.
“I have to tell you something else,” I whisper.
“Ooh, juicy!” Megan says, leaning in.
Minutes later, every secret I have is out.
“We have to find Case Twenty-two,” Megan says when I’m finished. “The only way we can get the details is to ask the Convert directly.”
“How on earth do you propose we do that?” I ask. My coffee’s gone, and I’m sad about it.
“Get another one,” Megan says when she sees me eyeing my empty cup unhappily. “You’re on vacation.”
I buy a second cup and a scone and come back to the table.
“So how do you propose we find out who this person is?” I ask.
“What else do you remember about the file?” Megan asks.
“Nothing much,” I say. “I was stuck on it being the twenty-second case. I wasn’t paying too much attention to the rest. Oh—it did say the name of the relo town. It’s called Franklin, Nevada. I have no idea where that is.”
Megan types it into her phone.
“That’s because it’s barely a town,” she says. “Poor, poor kid has to grow up in a population of… oh my god, three thousand. Daisy, that’s our break. All we have to do is ask someone. It’s so small, surely anyone would notice the new family in town.”
Within minutes, my genius friend has come up with a plan to call the night desk at the local newspaper. She’ll tell whoever answers that it’s her job to do a write-up for the school website about the new family in town, but she’s so bad at journalism that she already forgot the family’s last name.
It’s so ridiculous, it works.
“That’s right, Emerson!” Megan says excitedly into the phone. “Oh, Bill, thank you so much. You have a great evening, too.”
“Now what?” I ask. “What do we do with just a last name?”
“We search Facebook, of course,” Megan says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“You should be an agent,” I say.
“That’s what David says, too,” Megan says coyly. I know she likes her handler.
“Well, he’s right,” I say. “Let’s go.”
There’s no one with the last name Emerson in Franklin on Facebook, and there are too many Emersons when we search the entire state of Nevada. I’m ready to give up when Megan calls David.
“Will you do me a favor?” she purrs into the phone. I’m a little embarrassed, but a lot curious about what she’s going to ask.
Megan pauses to listen to David.
“Of course, but this should be no big deal. See, there’s this kid I met at that online party last weekend. We bonded, and I wanted to get in touch on Facebook. The only thing is that I don’t remember the first name.”