Free Revived (Cat Patrick) by Cat Patrick

pride.
    Overconfidence.
    “Cool,” I say, not really thinking so, but trying to be nice because Mason asked me to.
    After a few more pleasantries, scones, and one too many stories about scouts coming to see Wade play, I’m shown into the Zimmermans’ first-floor office to mess around online while Mason and Cassie go to work. I log on and check my email: no reply from Audrey. Trying not to obsess too much about it, I switch over to Anything Autopsy and blog about sensible versus nonsensical cars for teens, then do a “she said” reply to Megan’s diatribe about the newest YouTube pop sensation. Just as I’m hitting publish, Mason puts a hand on my shoulder.
    “Ah!” I shout, jumping out of the chair. Mason steps back and raises his palms.
    “Sorry, thought you heard me,” he says, holding back a laugh.
    “You’re like a ninja; how would I have heard you?”
    This makes Mason laugh for real, and I find it’s impossible to keep a straight face. His unfiltered happiness is a rare treat, like when comedians laugh themselves out of character while performing sketch comedy. It doesn’t happen all that often, but when it does, it’s contagious.
    “I wanted to make sure you’re okay down here,” he says after we’ve composed ourselves, waving a hand at the computer setup.
    “I’m fine,” I say, sitting down.
    “Okay, good. Because we’re ready to start now and won’t be taking a break for three hours,” Mason replies.
    “Great,” I say.
    Mason turns to leave.
    “Hey, Mason?” I say. He turns around and looks at me expectantly. “I think I’m getting attached to Omaha.” Admitting it feels good, like a weight off my shoulders. I feel even better when Mason responds.
    “Daisy, you’re an adaptable young woman, and that’s a great asset for the program,” he says. “But if you didn’t start getting attached to places or people at some point, I’d be worried. Honestly, hearing you say that is a relief.”
    “Let’s hope we don’t have to move again.”
    “I’ll do everything in my power to see that we don’t.”
    I smile and Mason leaves, and I sit at Wade’s computer wondering about what Mason said. I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not sure it will do any good. I’ve heard that God likes Mason, but ultimately, God is the one in control.
    If God says we move, there’s nothing Mason can do about it.
    If God says we move, we move.

eleven
    At dinner, the adults encourage Wade and me to hang out together tonight. I can see through Wade’s forced smile and gritted teeth that he’s as thrilled about the idea as I am. When Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman stand to clear plates and get dessert, Wade starts texting under the table and Mason leans over and whispers in my ear.
    “I really think you should do this,” he says.
    “I wanted to watch a movie at the hotel,” I protest. “And you know how I feel about…” I jerk my thumb in Wade’s direction so he doesn’t perk up at the sound of his own name.
    “That’s the point,” Mason says. “Maybe you just need to get to know each other better. I think it’s important that you have friends, and at least Wade understands your past. You can talk about it with him.”
    Mason looks at me pointedly, reminding me that I can’t talk about the program with Audrey or Matt.
    “Except that he’s in denial,” I mutter.
    “It’ll be fun,” Mason whispers before straightening up, signaling the end of the conversation. Mrs. Zimmerman returns carrying a coffeepot and Mr. Zimmerman trails behind with pie.
    “Who likes blueberry?” Mrs. Zimmerman asks. Normally it’s my favorite, but right now, facing a night with Wade, and with Audrey and Matt back in Omaha, where I want to be, not even blueberry pie can make me happy.
    An hour later, I’m riding shotgun in a car no teenager should own, listening to some weird rap-country hybrid on full blast, wishing upon wishing that I was a better debater when it comes to Mason. When there’s a break in the