“That you claim to have seen at three in the morning after you had a sweeps-week moment with the guy you like, and that mysteriously disappeared after you saw it.”
“Are you saying that I imagined the file?” I ask seriously.
“Or dreamed it,” Megan says, matching my tone.
“It was there,” I say flatly, annoyed that she’s challenging me on this.
“Okay, I believe you,” she says, too quickly, which is even more annoying.
“If you’re going to cave so easily, why argue in the first place?” I ask, rolling my eyes at her. She doesn’t answer, so I continue. “Anyway, the file for Case Twenty-two says that the subject was Revived. As in dead and brought back to life.”
“Even if the file’s real, that entry could be fake, to cover up the money.”
“Or it could be real,” I say.
Megan shakes her head at me. “So, let me get this straight in my Wade-sized brain,” she says. “You’re saying that Nora saw you in that mall and told somebody, threatening to expose the program. And you’re saying that God found out about it and actually killed Nora so that he could Revive her and relocate her, all to make sure she didn’t talk?” Megan lifts her perfectly manicured eyebrows expectantly. “That’s your theory?”
>Pause.
“Really? You know such random things. So anyway, they just moved to Franklin, so you could like figure it out with a newly hooked-up Internet connection or something, right?”
Pause.
“Hacking the city’s water company is even better! You’re a genius!”
Pause. Giggle.
“Sure, sure, I know you’re busy. But I’ll be forever in your debt, and…”
Pause.
“You know what? I’m not even sure!” Megan bursts out laughing, and I can hear David laughing on the other end of the line as well. When they recover, I hear David’s muted voice say something else.
“Okay, great. Thanks for your help.”
Pause.
“You, too. Bye.”
“What was so hilarious?” I ask after Megan ends the call.
She smiles broadly. “He picked up on the fact that I wasn’t saying ‘he’ or ‘she,’ ‘him’ or ‘her,’ ” Megan says. “He asked whether he’s looking for a boy or a girl.”
I laugh, getting it as she says it.
“He knows I participated in an online party for transgender kids last weekend, so he totally bought it when I said that I honestly had no idea.”
“You’re brilliant,” I say, hugging my friend.
“Ditto, Miss D.”
I’m staying at Megan’s tonight, like I always do when we’re in Seattle. In flannel pajama bottoms and ironic T-shirts, splayed out on her fluffy pink rug with bowls of popcorn on our tummies, Megan and I watch TV, then argue for half an hour about the pros and cons of slutty Halloween costumes.
“Save it for the blog!” I shout at her as I leave the room to pee. When I come back, she’s at her desk, typing furiously.
“I didn’t mean that you should blog right now,” I say as I flop onto the bed. I roll over on my back and laugh at the poster of Jake Gyllenhaal on the ceiling. Apparently, my friends make up the Jake G. fan club. I don’t really get it. I mean, he’s sort of old.
“David came through,” Megan says excitedly.