“It’s awesome,” I say before taking a moment to look out each of my three bedroom windows.
“Even though it’s not in Omaha?” Mason asks.
I take a deep breath of California air.
“Even though it’s not in Omaha.”
On the night before school starts, I knock on Mason’s bedroom door. He’s in pajama pants and a gray T-shirt. He sets aside the novel he’s reading and gives me his full attention.
“I was just wondering how things are going with the investigation,” I say, lingering in the doorway.
“Oh, Daisy, there’s nothing new,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “They’re still thinking it’s going to take months to sort out. Apparently neither of them is being cooperative, and a lot is still unclear.”
“So the program’s on hold until they figure it out?” I ask.
“Unfortunately so,” Mason says. “All the files and lab equipment and the drug itself will remain under tight security until the director can determine whether anyone else was involved.”
“What do you think he’s going to do after that?” I ask. “Kill the program?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but not likely,” Mason says. “The director has a science background. My hunch is that he’ll take it under his wing and finish off the thirty-year commitment to tracking the bus kids. At that point, though, he might decide to bury it.”
“Why?” I ask, surprised. “Wouldn’t he want to move forward? Besides God going mental, the program’s been a success, at least so far.”
Mason swallows hard and looks away.
“Hasn’t it?” I ask.
“It has,” Mason says. “But you were right.”
I think back to what I just said, to what he could possibly be talking about. When I don’t say anything, Mason clarifies.
“Daisy, God caused both Nora’s death and the original bus crash that started the program. He actually bragged about giving Revive the push it needed. You were right. In fact, it appears from his program files that he was looking for another ‘bus.’ Another large group of people to be the second test group. He had schematics for places like amusement parks and movie theaters at his office.”
>I’m quiet, unsure what to say. Mason looks at me with tired eyes.
“Daisy, I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s better this way.”
“What way?” I ask, anger rising in me.
“It’s better if we go quietly.”
“Better for who?” I ask, ready to burst. And then, with a few simple words, Mason changes everything.
“Matt,” he says. “It’s better for Matt.”
forty-three
The house in Omaha already feels foreign; I guess my brain knows when it’s time to go. This time, though, my heart wants to stay.
Mason gives me three hours to pack the critical items; the cleanup crew will ship the rest. I spend one hour halfheartedly tossing clothes and books into my suitcase, then I text Matt, asking him to pick me up down the block. I thump my suitcase down the stairs and leave it in the entryway for Mason to carry out to the car.
Mason’s in the basement when I leave. Maybe I’ll make it back before he surfaces; maybe I won’t. Either way, seeing Matt right now isn’t optional. I slip out the front door into the crisp afternoon air, then button my jacket, surprised by the wintery chill. I walk two blocks and stop on the corner, only long enough to blow on my hands once before Matt arrives.
The seconds after I climb into his car and shut the door are like the silence between songs on your most emotional playlist. It’s a break in the action; the world stops spinning for a few beats. But you know something’s coming.
And then it does.
Matt puts his hands on my cheeks, cupping my jawbones. His powerful eyes are more intense than I’ve ever seen them. Captivated, I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. He holds my face for a moment, staring. And then…