by Liz Kessler
“Yeah, but not with me, you haven’t.”
That’s how it is with Autumn. As soon as we’re doing one thing, she’s ready to move on to something else. I follow her as she dances along the path. On the way, I tell her about Craig being sick on the way up and about the book I’m reading, and I point out the leaves that have gone red like they always do. Silly stuff, really, but there’s something about sharing things with Autumn that’s important. As though nothing’s quite real until I have.
It’s just starting to get dark when we get back to the condos. The steam train puffs through the woods across the river, letting out its comic little “Toot!” before it disappears under a bridge.
“I wouldn’t believe that train was for real if we hadn’t actually been on it,” Autumn says. “It’s like something out of a cartoon.”
“Yep. It’s definitely real,” I say, remembering last year when Craig and Mikey stuck their heads out the window and tooted at the tops of their voices, making an elderly lady jump out of her skin. I thought they’d given her a heart attack.
“It’s all so organized here, isn’t it?” Autumn continues. “Not like normal life.”
“It’s certainly nothing like your life!” I say with a laugh. “Nothing’s organized at your house!”
“Don’t you ever think it’s not like the real world here?” Autumn grabs my arm, her eyes dancing. She hops backward as she talks. “Hey, maybe it’s an alternate universe!” Her tone gets higher; her eyes become even more animated. “Or a movie! Maybe we’re in one and we don’t even know it! Like the one where that guy keeps living the exact same day over and over again.”
“Or the one where he finds out that his whole life is really a television show?”
“That’s it! Nothing’s real up here. It’s all just a TV show!” Autumn leaps behind a bush, pretending to hold a camera as she jumps out next to me, filming me as I walk along.
“Yeah, right.” I laugh. “Who’d want to make a film of me?”
Autumn keeps filming. “Maybe you’re not really you but a clone of yourself, and the real you is carrying on a parallel life somewhere else!”
A cold shiver flashes up my back and neck. What if something like that was really possible? Then I laugh. “You’ve been reading too much science fiction,” I say.
Autumn pretends to throw the camera over her shoulder. “You’re right,” she says, laughing. “Did I tell you about the book I’m reading now?”
And the conversation’s forgotten as she recounts the story of a boy who lives his whole life not knowing that he’s a clone of his dead brother. Creepy.
We’ve reached her building.
“You coming in?”
“I’d better get back,” I say. “Dad’ll start looking if I’m not in soon.”
“See you tomorrow, then,” Autumn calls as she pushes the big glass door open. “Enjoy Monopoly!” She blows me an elaborate kiss and waves as I leave.
A second later, I hear a loud clanking noise from inside, like something falling. Autumn!
I run into the foyer. It’s all marble and water features. Autumn’s building is different from the others: fancier and older. The elevator’s on one side, next to another, older elevator that doesn’t work, and there’s a big arch leading to the first-floor hallway opposite. An ornate mirror hangs on the wall across from the entrance, in between a couple of other doors. One of them is open.
“Hello?” I call. “Autumn?”
No answer. She’s gone; there’s no one around, and there’s nothing out of place, either. I turn to leave, but just as I’m about to open the door, I look back to see someone coming out of the old elevator. He’s got a pile of logs in his arms, so high I can’t see his face, and an ax gripped under his elbow. Must be the caretaker.
But then I notice his hair over the top of the logs. It’s Mr. Barraclough! What’s he doing here? I mean, I know he does do a few odd jobs around the place — doesn’t mind “rolling up his sleeves,” as he puts it — but why is he taking the logs out of the elevator?
It’s one of those really old-fashioned ones with a big metal gate that you have to pull across. It’s never worked, as far as I know, and it’s just used as a storage space. The new elevator next to it works fine, so I don’t think anyone’s ever bothered to try to get it working.
“Hi,” I say from the doorway. As he glances up at me, a couple of logs fall from his arms.
“Drat,” he mutters, bending to pick them up, but dropping more in the process.
“Can I help?” I ask, hurrying to pick the logs up for him.
“Thanks.” He points to the open door. “I’m transferring all these things into that closet.”
“Why are you doing that?” I ask, stacking the logs on a shelf in the closet.
Mr. Barraclough shakes his head slowly as he returns to the old elevator for another stash. “Good question,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. Almost in a whisper, he adds, “Trying to get the old thing working, like the silly fool that I am.” He gets a wrench out of his pocket and waves it at me. “Broken wires, you see. Thought I’d have a go at fixing them. Silly,” he says with a laugh. “But you never know. It just might have . . .” His voice fades away. He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. It doesn’t even feel as though he’s talking to me.
He stands there, looking down at his feet, till I start to feel awkward. Has he lost his mind? He’s not making the slightest bit of sense.
“Um, I’d better be . . . um . . .” I point to the entrance, my voice trailing away.
Mr. Barraclough suddenly seems to remember I’m there. “Yes, of course.” He fixes a quick smile in my direction. “Sorry. Ignore me — silly old fool. Thanks for your help. Off you go, now.”
“Right. Bye,” I say before I scurry away, wondering if perhaps he’d had a tad too much champagne at the welcome meeting. It was as though he’d slipped off into another world — sort of like he did at the meeting, too.
And I don’t know if it’s because of the sci-fi story or all those things Autumn was talking about, but the thought suddenly fires up my imagination. What if we could slip into another world, just by thinking about it? What if we could travel into a different dimension whenever we wanted, travel through space and time with a click of the fingers?
For a second, the idea grips me so hard, it makes my whole body twitch and prickle, and I can’t wait to share it with Autumn. But when I try to imagine putting it into words, the idea seems to dissolve and slip away from me, and a moment later, I can’t recapture it at all.
As I walk back to our condo, I laugh at myself. That’s what hanging out with Autumn does to you — makes you start believing in impossible things. I mean, fantasy worlds and different dimensions — as if!
Mom pokes her head around the door.
“Jenni, are you going to have some breakfast?”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I groan. She takes this as an invitation to come in and open the curtains. A chink of bright light cuts across the room. “Mom!” I pull the covers farther over my head.
“Come on. We want to figure out our plans for the day,” she says as she closes the door behind her.
I don’t normally sleep in. It’s this place. It always takes me hours to get to sleep on the first night. You can hear the river running outside the window. At home, we live near railroad tracks. I can quite happily sleep through cargo trains going past three times a night, but a river? Too noisy.
Once I do get to sleep, it always seems much deeper here. I have vivid technicolor dreams, and then I wake up in a daze and can’t drag myself out of bed.
I reach for my diary. I like to write in the mornings, right after I wake up. When I finally make it into the living room, it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Craig’s sitting cross-legged on the floor about four inches away from the television, watching a cartoon. Mom’s on the sofa with the Sunday newspaper spread out around her. Dad’s doing the dishes.
“Afternoon,” Dad says without lo
oking up.
“Sorry, couldn’t wake up,” I say as I pour some cereal into a bowl. “Happy anniversary,” I add, handing Mom a card.
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s nice of you,” she says, smiling. Dad dries his hands and joins her on the sofa so they can open the card together. It’s got two teddy bears on it, sitting in a boat.
“Thanks, sweet pea,” Dad says with a wink before going back to the dishes.
“So, shall we plan our day, now that we’re all here?” Mom asks. “We’ve got the restaurant booked for tonight, haven’t we, Tom?”
Dad nods. Their anniversary dinner. They always go to this fancy restaurant to celebrate. Usually, someone babysits me and Craig, but Mom insists we all go this year. She wants it to be a celebration of the family, she says, not just her and Dad. I guess with the little one on the way, this is one of the last times that going out as a family will mean just the four of us.
“I’m going horseback riding this afternoon, remember,” I call from the table as I shovel cereal into my mouth.
“And I’m playing squash,” Dad calls from the sink.
“What time?” Mom asks.
“Four fifteen, why?”
Mom turns to me. “What time does horseback riding finish, Jenni?”
“Four thirty.”
“Well, that’s it, then,” she says to Dad. “You’ll have to cancel squash.”
“What? How d’you work that out?”
“I told Autumn’s parents we’d pick up the girls. They’re dropping them off; it’s only fair.”
“Oh, no! Can’t you pick them up?”
“I signed up for the candle museum tour with Craig.”
“Well, I signed up for squash,” Dad says. He dries his hands on a dish towel and comes back to the sofa to snuggle up with Mom. He tickles her cheek and kisses her neck. “I think you might even find that I signed up for squash first,” he says. “Although if it’s too much for you . . .”
Mom slaps his hand away from her cheek. “I don’t really know why you bother with squash. It’s not as though you’re any good at it,” she says, laughing.
“Hey!” He tickles her harder, till Mom begs him to stop.
“OK, OK, I’ll do it!” she screeches eventually.
Dad turns serious. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re definitely up to it?”
“I’m only pregnant; I’m not incapacitated,” she says. “It’s fine. I’ll take Craig to the museum in the car, and then we won’t have to wait for the bus back.”
“Look, neither of you needs to cancel anything,” I say. “We can get a bus, you know.”
“No, you can’t,” Dad says. “Not on your own.”
“Dad, I’m twelve. I’m not a baby.”
“I know, sweet pea, but it’s a long way, and you’ve never been before. We don’t even know if there is a bus.”
“I’ll pick you up. It’s fine, honestly,” Mom says.
I rinse my bowl. Why do they always have to treat me like a little kid? I suddenly feel crowded and claustrophobic. “I’m going to see Autumn.”
“Do you need to spend every minute with Autumn?” Dad asks. “You’re seeing her this afternoon.” He gets up off the sofa to follow me out of the room. “I had actually wondered if we might all go for a walk this morning.” He nearly trips over Craig, still motionless on the floor, his jaw open, eyes fixed on cartoon aliens. “Craig, you’ve watched enough of that,” Dad says. “Turn it off now.”
“It’s just getting to a good part,” Craig whines.
“I said off.” Dad walks over to the TV and switches it off.
Craig instantly breaks into a wail. He sounds like an air-raid siren.
“I’m outta here,” I say, heading for the door. I pause. “Is that OK? Maybe we can have a walk later?”
Dad lets out a breath. “Never mind. I’ll take Craig, and your mom can rest.”
“Do I have to?” Craig bleats. “Can’t I go with Jenni?”
“No, you can’t,” I say. The last thing I want right now is my little brother at my heels.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” I add, and head over to Autumn’s building.
I stand in Autumn’s foyer, waiting for the elevator, feeling frustrated and fed up. It isn’t coming. I’ve pressed the button, but nothing’s happening. The stairs are on the other side of the building, so I hardly ever use them. A young couple passes me, holding hands and smiling into each other’s eyes as they leave the building. They don’t even notice me. I bet they’re here on their honeymoon.
I’ll have to use the stairs. I can’t wait to talk to Autumn. She’s the only person who understands me. I mean my family’s all right, as families go. But it’s still a family, isn’t it? Still parents who treat you like you’re a little kid and don’t trust you to do anything yourself.
What’s the matter with the elevator?
I’ll just have to use the stairs, I guess. Just as I’m thinking this, I pass the old elevator, the one that’s never worked. I bang my fist on its door. “Stupid elevator,” I say.
And then I hear something. A whirring noise, and a thumping and banging from inside the elevator. Then a tapping noise, getting louder, coming nearer! I stand back. Finally — CLANK! Mr. Barraclough must have fixed the elevator after all!
I pull the heavy metal door open. Behind it, there’s another door, also metal, with concertina brass bars ridged across it, like a gate.
I pull it open and go into the elevator. It’s so old and run-down, I don’t believe for a minute it could work. What if I get inside and it plummets down for miles, taking me with it?
I laugh at myself. Sometimes my imagination really does work overtime. It’s not going to plummet anywhere. Besides, it’s not as if the other one looks like it’s coming — and I’ve always found this elevator fascinating.
There are four black buttons on the wall: 4, 3, 2, and 1. Underneath the buttons, a piece of plywood is nailed to the wall; above them there’s a bright-red button with ALARM written beside it. Above that, a notice says, “Please close both doors as you exit the elevator. Thank you.”
I pull the outer door closed, then slide the gate across, shutting out the light except for a tiny sliver poking through the grated window in the door.
I’ve never been in an old-fashioned elevator like this before. It makes me feel like I’m in an old spy movie. Maybe Autumn and I could invent a story about it. I make a mental note to add it to my list of things I want to talk to her about.
And then I press the button for the second floor.
For a moment, nothing happens. I wait in the gloom as a tiny ball of panic starts to uncurl in my stomach. Why didn’t I just take the stairs?
And then it moves. Clunking into action, it rattles upward, scraping and rumbling to the next floor. Then, with a giant THUD that makes my teeth rattle, it jumps to a halt.
I step out and shut the doors behind me.
Autumn’s condo is right at the end of the hallway. I knock our special rap on the door. Tap-tappity-tap-tap, pause, tap-tap.
Nothing.
I knock again and then peer over the railing to the parking lot. Three cars down there, but not Autumn’s. You don’t easily miss a bright-red Porsche. Where are they? I bang heavily on the door one last time before giving up and turning away.
I run down the stairs this time and out to the front of the building. For a second, I think I hear Autumn’s voice and I stop and listen, but I don’t hear it again. Maybe they’ve gone out for the morning.
I try our spot by the lake, but someone else is there. A group of young kids and two sets of parents. That’s our place! But I don’t stop to argue with them. It’s not as if there’s a law against other people going there.
The shore looks bigger than yesterday. It seems to reach even farther back, a whole beach of gray-and-white stones.
Maybe Autumn’s at the weir. I run down there and call her name. Two teenage boys seem to be trying to cross the weir. They must be nuts! It’s so high at t
he moment, they’re bound to kill themselves. I edge toward them. That’s when I see something really odd. The weir — it’s not rushing and gushing over the top like Niagara Falls anymore. It’s more like a little stream, a slow, shallow dribble over the long wall that stretches across the river.
How did that happen? I suppose it hasn’t rained overnight. Is that all it takes — one night of no rain?
On the way back to our condo, I have a quick look in the rec center. Maybe Autumn and her family have gone for a swim, especially since we didn’t have any plans till this afternoon. No one in that family ever sits down for longer than half a minute.
But they’re not there. They must have gone for a walk or something.
Without telling me?
I decide to try their condo one last time. My frustration seems to have given me energy, so I wander around to the other side of their building, run up the stairs, and march down the corridor to their condo.
Tap-tappity-tap-tap. Tap-tap.
Come on, Autumn. Be in. I don’t want to have to go home.
There’s a noise behind the door. “Who is it?” a voice calls. A strange voice. Pleasant and sweet, it reminds me of a birdcall — but it’s not the voice of anyone in Autumn’s family.
“It’s me,” I call back, slightly uncertainly. “Jenni.”
“Jenni who?” the voice sings back to me.
“Jenni! Um . . . do you want to let me in?” I ask, even more uncertainly. Whose voice is that?
The door opens. A woman I’ve never seen in my life is holding on to the doorknob. Probably in her fifties, she’s got graying hair tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a long, floaty red dress and gold flip-flops. She smiles at me. “Can I help you, dear?” she asks.
“Who are you?” I gasp, stepping back to check the door. Number 210. Autumn’s condo.
“Who are you?” the woman retorts.
“Autumn’s friend.”
“Autumn’s friend? What does that mean?”
“My friend’s parents own this condo.”
“I’m afraid they don’t. This is my condo. You must have made a mistake, dear. Sorry.” She smiles kindly at me and moves to close the door.
