Revived

Pause.

“Yes, totally. The last name is Emerson, in Franklin, Nevada.”

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.

“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.