thought maybe you wouldn’t believe me unless I showed you proof.”
He looks at me, surprised. “You thought I wouldn’t believe you?” he asks.
“I… I guess so,” I say, slightly embarrassed.
“Of course I believe you,” he says with a quiet intensity, holding my stare for a few moments. Electric currents seem to pass between us as we survey each other, and somehow the warmth I get from them makes this whole situation seem okay.
“But I still want to see the cool stuff,” Matt says finally, breaking the tension and with an easy smile. I laugh a little, then wave him closer.
“Drag that chair over here behind the computer. I’m about to blow your mind.”
nineteen
I wave my hand to activate the computer, then touch the monitor so it recognizes my fingerprints. It prompts me for a password and I say the first three-syllable word I think of:
“Duck for a second,” I say to Matt. He looks at me funny but crouches down a bit, enough for the computer’s “eye” to scan just me. When it’s satisfied that I’m Daisy and not some imposter, the computer lets me into the directory for Program F-339145.
The God Project.
“They let all the kids in the program mess around in the files?” Matt asks.
“No,” I murmur as I navigate the welcome screens with my hands instead of a mouse. “Like I said, I’m the only one who lives with agents. Mason in particular is really open. He says that I’m almost an agent myself, and that I should be able to access information if I want to. He trusts me.”
“That’s so cool,” Matt says, mesmerized. I don’t answer, choking on the irony of my words.
I motion open the folder with the archived newspaper clippings from the Iowa crash. I choose the longest, most informative story, then scoot my chair aside so Matt can read.
I watch his chocolate eyes float back and forth across the screen. At first, they’re wide and bright: He’s engrossed in the story. Then they narrow, making him look pensive. Finally, when he winces and his face freezes in a pained, uncomfortable expression, I force myself to look away. With nothing else to look at, I read the story again myself.
TWENTY CHILDREN, DRIVER DEAD AFTER BUS CRASH ON HIGHWAY 13
By Jolie Papadopolis, Staff Writer
The Iowa Highway Patrol has not yet released the names of the minor children confirmed dead yesterday after a Brown Academy bus drove over the Highway 13 bridge and plummeted into icy Lake Confident below, killing all aboard. Police have not determined the cause of the collision; bus driver Peggy Miller, 22, of Briarwoods, also died in the crash.
Though paramedics arrived at the scene in less than 15 minutes, none of the 20 children aboard, ranging in age from four to eleven years old, nor Miller, could be resuscitated.
“It’s the worst tragedy this town has ever seen,” said Phillip D. Grobens, chief of police for the nearby city of Bern, where Brown Academy is located. “My heart breaks for the parents of these children, and for Ms. Miller, too.”
According to an eyewitness, the bus swerved to avoid an oncoming vehicle that had crossed over the center divider of the two-lane bridge. The witness speculated that icy conditions on the bridge could have contributed to Miller’s loss of control over the school bus. Witness Lacy Pine, 18, of Bern, said, “The bus fishtailed and it looked like she got control for a minute and then the back end swooshed hard to the left and the bus was going too fast and it went over. Broke clean through the guardrail. It was horrible. The ice ate it up and there was nothing anyone could do. It just sank.”
Despite Pine’s and corroborating eyewitness statements, Grobens says the county will perform an autopsy on Miller to rule out substance abuse or illness that might have contributed to the accident. Miller had been driving buses for only six months.
“With this many families destroyed, we have to investigate every possibility,” Grobens said.
The names of the children will be released once all of the families have been notified. According to Grobens, one child’s parents were out of the country at the time of the accident and have not yet been reached.
One of the state’s top private schools, Brown Academy matriculates children from preschool to senior high and has received accolades for both its high standardized test scores and its scholarship programs for low-income families. Brown Academy director Elizabeth Friend said in a statement: “Our hearts go out to the families and friends impacted by this most terrible tragedy. Every one of those children was special, and deserves a special place in our hearts forever.”
Brown Academy is closed this week and is offering free counseling for students and parents, as well as a meal service for families directly involved.
Police ask anyone who witnessed the crash to notify the Iowa Highway Patrol at 555-2301.
“Whoa,” Matt says after he finishes reading. “That’s heavy.”
“I know, but look at how it turned out. Nearly everyone was fine.”
“How many weren’t fine?” he asks.
“Uh,” I say, swiping aside the newspaper file and opening the document that contains the list of people who were on the school bus. “Six kids died for real. And the driver. So, seven people.”
Matt scans the names of the kids and I do, too.
Tia Abernathy, Michael Dekas(X), Andrew Evans(X), Timothy Evans(X), Nathan Francis(X), Cody Frost, Marissa Frost, Joshua Hill, Tyler Hill, David Katz, Daisy McDaniel, Elizabeth Monroe, Anne Marie Patterson(X), Marcus Pitts, Chase Rogers, David Salazar, Wade Sergeant, Gavin Silva, Kelsey Stroud(X), Nicole Yang.
I look at Matt and see that he’s still scrutinizing the names.
“Your real last name is McDaniel?”
“Yes,” I say.
“We would have sat near each other at graduation if you didn’t change your name,” he says, dreamlike. I can tell he’s fascinated by the list so I don’t wipe it off the screen just yet.
“You’re a year older than me,” I say. “We won’t graduate together.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forget because you’re in English.”
“And if I didn’t change my name—if I didn’t die—I wouldn’t be in Omaha.”
There’s a pause in the conversation when I really want to ask Matt what he’s thinking despite it being probably the most cliche thing to ask a guy. When Matt still doesn’t take his eyes off the names, I open my mouth to ask if he has any questions. He beats me to it.
“Where’s Megan?” he asks.
“Oh, she was Marcus Pitts then,” I say. “She was born a boy. Her dad took the accident as an opportunity to leave them, mostly because he couldn’t take the transgender thing. After they moved, Megan’s mom let her wear whatever—be whoever—she wanted. She dressed in girl clothes from then on out.”
“But she was only, what, like five?”
“I guess when you know, you know,” I say with a shrug.
“Oh,” Matt says. “So are the
“The ones who died,” I say, nodding.
“Were those kids brothers?” Matt asks. “The Evanses?”
“Yes.”
“And they both died?” Matt says, horrified.
“Yes.”
“That’s so rough. Their parents must have been devastated.”
“I’m sure they were.”
