“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.
“Did he call?” I ask, eyes still on the ceiling.
“Yes, he called! He found the name. And I just found our girl!”
I pop up off the bed and hurry to the desk. I look over Megan’s shoulder: She’s on Facebook, typing a witty comment to go with her friend request. I read it and laugh, then my eyes find the profile picture and my laughter is gone.
The hair is shorter and a different color, but the face is the same.
It’s…
Oh my god.
Oh my GOD.
“What’s her name?” I ask, monotone. They never change first names. This will confirm it.
Megan looks up from her note and smiles.
“Oh, it’s so cute; she’s a little Irish lass. Her name is Nora.”
I lap Megan’s bedroom three times before she gets me to sit down.
“Girl, you’re tripping,” she says, sitting facing me. “Now what’s up?”
I sigh loudly, grabbing one of Megan’s pillows and clutching it to my chest.
“I went to school with that girl in Frozen Hills,” I say, pointing at the computer accusingly. “She’s the one who spotted me in the mall.”
“Daisy!” Megan says, rolling her eyes. “That profile picture is tiny by tiny—it could be me. You’re freaking out for no reason.”
“I’m not,” I say firmly. “I know what she looks like. She lived down the street from me.”
“Wait, what?” Megan asks. “How is this the first I’m hearing about her?”
“Because we weren’t friends,” I explain. “We weren’t anything. She was popular and I was… well, you know.”
“Wait, wait,” Megan says. “I’m confused. Tell me the whole story. Speak slowly; pretend I’m Wade.” Megan winks and it makes me laugh, which takes away some of my anxiety.
“Okay,” I say, hugging the pillow tighter. “Nora Fitzgerald lived down the street from us in Frozen Hills. She invited me to her birthday party when we first moved there, but I didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Totally irrelevant.”
“Why not?”
“I felt inferior. She was rich and had an apron-wearing mom and wore clothes that matched head to toe.”
Megan nods once like she understands.
“So anyway, Nora turned out to be popular, and I did my own thing. Then I got stung and we moved.” I pause for breath; I feel like I’ve been running. “Then that night in Omaha, I went out with Matt and Audrey and I saw Nora—she was randomly visiting relatives or something—and she might have seen me…. But she might not have. Regardless, Mason kidnapped me that night and took me to Kansas City—”
“Poor Wade.”
“Shut up,” I say, tossing a pillow at Megan’s face. She catches it. “On the way, I asked Mason what God would do about Nora, and he said they’d watch and wait and see what she did.”
“What does that mean?” Megan asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “We didn’t really talk about it again. I found out about Audrey and went back to Omaha and sort of forgot about it.”
“And then you got all lovey-dovey with Matt and really forgot about it,” Megan teases.
“Yeah, but it makes sense,” I say, ignoring her comment about Matt. “What if Nora did see me, and she told someone? What if God relocated her and her family so she’d keep quiet?”
“That’s a little far-fetched, but for the sake of argument, why would they agree to be relocated?” Megan asks.
“Maybe they didn’t,” I say. “Maybe God threatened them.”
“Or paid them off,” Megan says excitedly. “Maybe he gave them millions of dollars in hush money.”
“Maybe,” I say, genuinely considering it. “Except you’re forgetting the file.”
“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?”
“Yes,” I say decisively. “That’s my theory.”
Megan’s quiet for a few moments, considering. She squints her eyes at the ceiling and bites her pinkie nail. Then finally, she speaks: “I guess it could work.”
“You’re totally annoying,” I say.
“But you love me.”
“I do.”
“What should we do now?” Megan asks. “I mean, if your theory is true and God’s killing anyone who knows about the project…”
I suck in my breath so hard I think my lungs might explode. It makes Megan jump.
“What?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“Do you think Matt could be in danger?” I say, realizing what I might have done to the guy I like.
“No,” Megan says reflexively to reassure me. But the concerned look on her face tells me otherwise. “And the difference is that if this is true, Nora was threatening to out the program. No one knows that Matt knows, and he won’t tell anyone.” She pauses. “Right?”
“No,” I say uneasily. “At least I thought he wouldn’t.”
“He won’t,” Megan says quietly, as if she knows him. “You have good instincts with people. I’m sure you can still trust him, even if he’s being a child right now.”
“I hope so,” I say, worried anyway. “But oh my god, what about Nora? If it’s true, seeing me in that mall ruined her life.”
“You can’t take all the credit,” Megan says. “People make their own decisions. Maybe she saw you. But she could have minded her own business and stayed right there in Michigan. And besides, I’m not even one hundred percent convinced.”
“Look up Nora Fitzgerald on Facebook,” I command, fed up with the back-and-forth. Megan crawls off the bed and searches for Nora.
“No account,” she reports. “But maybe she’s one of those dorks who’s taking a stand against social networks. We should totally blog about that, by the way.”
“She’s not,” I say. “But just in case, search for Gina Geiger. She’s Nora’s best friend.”
“Okay, here’s Gina,” Megan says. “Whoa, check out that red lipstick. Is she a tranny?”
“Focus,” I say. “Look through her friend list.”
“Love to, but I can’t without friending her. Want me to?”
“No, let’s figure it out another way.”
“Should I go back to the original plan of friending Nora directly?” Megan asks.
“Shh,” I say, holding up a hand. “I’m thinking.”