Shake

by Chris Mandeville

  Everyone laughs politely.

  “Allison,” the colonel says, bringing the attention back to me. “What was your favorite part of the visit?”

  He’s definitely putting me on the spot for a reason. Without knowing what it is, I could accidentally play into his hands.

  “My favorite was the kitten, too,” I say, choosing the only answer that doesn’t seem dangerous.

  There’s more polite laughter.

  “Yes, of course,” the colonel says. “But in all seriousness, tell us about showing the first daughters the facility.”

  He won’t let it go! I nudge Bel under the table.

  “I enjoyed showing them the science labs,” Bel says. “Maybe one of them will grow up to be a groundbreaking scientist, like you, Monsieur Tuolome.”

  “You flatter me,” the VP’s husband says with a very French accent.

  “Sil vous plait, monsieur,” Bel continues, “tell us what you’re working on currently.”

  “Surely you are not interested in atmospheric physics,” he replies.

  “We absolutely are,” I say enthusiastically.

  He launches into a description of a project that has something to do with the rain forest and the ozone layer. It’s way over my head and so boring it hurts, but I lean forward, listening intently, so I don’t have to look at the colonel.

  My body tenses in case he tries to grope me under the table. But I don’t get the creeper vibe. He wants information.

  The scientist talks on and on until he’s interrupted by a man’s voice coming over a microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention. We’re pleased to present…Vanilla Jasmine and the Static Syndicate.”

  A portion of the wall raises like a garage door and the crowd applauds as a stage extends into the room. On stage is a slender woman in black whose skin looks lavender in the strange light. Behind her, there’s a man at a piano and a string quartet. The musicians start playing, and the woman begins to sing.

  “Allison,” the colonel says. “Would you care to dance?”

  “Dance? No one’s danc—” I look out to see people streaming into the open space in front of the stage. “I mean, I don’t dance.”

  “Nonsense.” He stands and extends his hand to me.

  I look to Bel, wide-eyed.

  “She’s shy,” Bel says. “But I’ll dance with you.”

  He stares down at me. “Allison, I insist.”

  “I guess he’s not taking no for an answer,” Bel says, shrugging.

  There’s a lump in my throat the size of a baseball, and sweat breaks out along my hairline as he leads me onto the dance floor.

  Ballroom dancing looks the same here as in my time, at least from my limited experience seeing it on TV. But that doesn’t mean I have the first clue how to do it.

  The colonel steps in front of me and takes my right hand in his left. I put my free hand on his shoulder like the other women are doing, and he places his other hand on my waist. Ew.

  He takes a step backward, pulling me forward, then reverses, pushing me back. I stumble and he grips me tighter.

  “I’m a terrible dancer,” I say. “We really should sit this out.”

  “Follow my lead,” he says sternly, continuing to move back and forth.

  I try to follow, but I keep stepping on his shoes. “Can’t we please go back to the table?”

  “So you can ignore me again?”

  “I was being polite to the other guests,” I say, trying to deflect. But I can tell it’s not going to work. He wants something from me, and he’s not going to stop until he gets it.

  “Tell me about your life, Allison.”

  “My life?” Wait, he’s not asking about the visit with the girls. This changes things. I shift my thinking—what can I say that won’t give me away as an outsider? “I’m pretty good at academics—both math and English. And not terrible at science.”

  I pause, but he doesn’t say anything, so I keep going.

  “Never been great at athletics. Like dancing.” I laugh.

  He gives a perfunctory laugh. “What about in your leisure time? What do you like to do?”

  “Read,” I say without hesitation. “I spend a lot of time in the library. It’s like home.” Oh crap. Do they have libraries?

  “Mmmm,” he says, noncommittally. “And you like animals—you mentioned the kitten.”

  Phew. It’s okay—he moved on. “Yes, I love puppies and kittens. Who doesn’t? Bunnies are cool, too. Turtles. Parrots. All kinds of pets, though I’ve never had one myself.” I half-consider mentioning the synth pets, but it’s too risky. Besides, he seems to be buying everything, so no need to try harder.

  “What about larger animals?” he asks. “Apes, elephants…lions.”

  The bottom drops out from my stomach. “Excuse me?”

  “Wondering what your favorite zoo creature is.”

  He can’t be making casual conversation. He knows.

  “I’m not feeling well,” I say. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  He jerks me closer. “What’s wrong,” he says directly in my ear, his breath hot. “You don’t want to tell me a story about the zoo?”

  “I’m going to throw up,” I say, my voice high.

  He backs up and I yank myself free, hurrying toward our table as fast as I can without causing a scene. I feel him right behind me.

  Bel sees me coming and stands. I go straight over and put my arms around her, as if in a hug. “Bathroom, now.”

  She laughs like I said something funny, then turns to the table at large. “Please excuse us for a moment.” Then she takes my elbow and leads me away.

  I glance back and the colonel is pissed, but not pursuing.

  At the giraffe doors Bel whispers, “Do you really need the lav?”

  “We need to talk.”

  She steers me into the hallway to our right. There are doors that say “men’s” and “women’s,” but I beeline for the one that says “storage.” It’s unlocked.

  “Seriously?” She follows me in, flips on a light, and pulls the door shut. “What is going on?”

  “The colonel. He knows something.”

  “Like what? What did he say?”

  “He asked me about my favorite animals.”

  “That’s what got you buggy? You’ve got to toughen up.”

  “He brought up lions. I think Maisie must have talked, and he knows about her getting lost.”

  “What? What do lions have to do with anything?” she asks.

  “When I found Maisie, I told her a story about when I was little and I got lost at the lion exhibit at the zoo.”

  “A zoo?” Bel grips my arms. “Do not tell me you said you were at a zoo.”

  “I…is that bad?”

  “We don’t have zoos.”

  Oh God. “So this is way worse than him finding out we lost Maisie. He’ll know I’m not from here. And if he already has suspicions about time travel…”

  “Wait, back up,” Bel says. “Maybe it’s not that bad. Did you say anything to the colonel about a zoo? Anything at all? This is important.”

  I close my eyes, replaying the conversation in my mind. “No. I didn’t talk about any zoo animals or say the word zoo. I’m positive.”

  “Then we might be okay. We could say you talked to Maisie about a zoo from a storybook and she misunderstood.”

  “You think that will work?”

  “Don’t underestimate my mom. She’ll handle it. This will bring more scrutiny, and she won’t be happy with you, but it does not mean we’re blown. Actually, it’s goo, if you think about it. It explains why the colonel is suspicious.”

  I meet her gaze. “But your mom still won’t be happy with me. You know what that means. What she’ll do to me.”

  Bel looks away and the silence stretches.

  Of course she doesn’t care if I’m recycled. She didn’t care before, and nothing’s changed. I was a fool to think any of the bonding was real f
or her, just because it was—a little—for me.

  “Fine, I’m out of here.” I reach for the door.

  “Wait,” Bel says. “I won’t let her recycle you.”

  I turn back. “You can stop her?”

  “I have to tell her something so she can deal with the colonel,” she says. “But I won’t tell her it was you.”

  I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. “You’re going to say it was you?”

  She laughs. “Of course not.” She shakes her head like it’s the most ridiculous thing ever—typical Bel. “I’ll bring it up in casual conversation that, after seeing that kitten, we were pretending to be kitties. And then it evolved into a game of lion tamer at the zoo. She’ll absolutely believe it because I used to pretend to be a kitty a lot when I was little.”

  “But…she doesn’t remember when you were little.”

  She waves me off. “I’ll go through old vid-pics with her and bring it up nat-like. It’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you,” I say genuinely. I’m relieved but also encouraged. The bonding efforts are working. “What do you say we leave now. I don’t want to face the colonel again.”

  “Suck it up because we have to to back in there.”

  “Why?”

  “When you were dancing, my mom told me the first daughters were asking for us.”

  “They’re here? I didn’t see them.”

  “In the presidential box.”

  “The what?”

  “Come on. If we’re gone any longer, it will be suspicious.”

  “But what if the colonel corners me again?”

  “Ease out. I won’t leave your side. And I’ll tell mom we’re leaving after we see the president.”

  “We’re going to see the president?”

  “Duh.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Back in the ballroom, Bel and I head straight for Dietrich. I stay glued to Bel’s side and keep my gaze down.

  Bel whispers in Dietrich’s ear. Immediately, Dietrich stands.

  “It was so lovely to dine with you,” she says to the others at the table, without a hint of unease on her face. “We’re going to pay our respects to the president, then we must be getting back. Good night.”

  The colonel stands. “I’ll accompany you.”

  “No, thank you,” Dietrich says. “The president wishes to see the girls alone.”

  I don’t know if this is true, but the colonel sits back down.

  “Very well.” He doesn’t look happy. “I’ll speak with you again. Soon.”

  A shiver runs up my spine. I hope soon never comes.

  I stay close to Bel as we follow Dietrich toward the front of the room.

  When we’re out of earshot, I whisper to Bel, “What did you tell her?”

  “That he was being nosy.” She whispers so loudly I cringe, but Dietrich doesn’t look back.

  “Does she think he’s a threat?”

  “Being cautious. She doesn’t trust anyone.”

  As we approach the front of the ballroom, I see a window in the wall. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. Beyond the glass a man is sitting at a table with Maisie and Liddy.

  “What the heck?” I ask Bel.

  “Security. Act like it’s norm. Act like everything is norm.”

  On our side of the glass are two large men in suits. Dietrich goes up to them.

  “Allison and Bel to see the president,” she says.

  “Yes, ma’am, we’re expecting them,” one of the men replies, opening a door.

  The other man goes through the door into a chamber that has nothing but another door on the other end.

  “I’ll wait here,” Dietrich says.

  Bel steps in without hesitation. I follow with my heart in my throat, and the door closes behind me.

  Inside the chamber there’s a humming sound, then a bright flash, blinding me. Surprised, I gasp. Bel squeezes my arm—a warning. Right. Act like it’s normal.

  “You’re clear.” The man opens the other door. “Proceed.”

  I guess it’s a good thing I hid my personal device before we came.

  Bel nudges me through the door ahead of her.

  “Allie!” Maisie cries, leaping up and running into my arms.

  “Hi,” Liddy says. It looks like she wants to jump up, too, but she stays seated, glancing to her father for approval.

  “Ladies, I’ve heard so much about you,” the president says, standing. He’s tall and skinny, and younger than I expected—maybe forty—with a dark beard and close-trimmed black hair. His smile is easy.

  Maisie pulls me to the table. “This is Allie.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. President,” I say, shaking his hand.

  His grip is firm, but he doesn’t try to crush me.

  “Nice to meet you, Bel,” he says, extending his hand to her.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” she says.

  “I wanted to thank you for escorting my daughters today,” he says, still standing. “You made quite the impression.”

  “It was our pleasure, sir,” Bel says.

  Maisie tugs on my skirt. She’s staring at me with an odd expression, like she needs to tell me something—probably that she blabbed about getting lost. I hug her to my side, silently reassuring her it’s okay, even though it might not be.

  “We had a really fun time,” Liddy says. “Especially with the kitten.”

  “You and that kitten are all they’ve talked about,” the president says. “I believe a kitten is in our future.”

  “And you guys, too,” Maisie says to me.

  “Us?” In their future? How?

  “What she means,” the president says with a chuckle, “is they’d like to see you again.”

  “Soon,” Liddy says.

  “We’d love that,” Bel says, giving Liddy a genuine smile.

  “We’ll be in touch,” the president says.

  “Soon,” Liddy says again.

  “John will see you out.” The president gestures to the man who brought us in.

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” Bel says. She does a little nod-curtsy thing, then walks toward the door.

  Maisie throws her arms around me again, and I hug her back.

  “’Bye girls,” I say. “Nice to meet you, sir.” I nod, but I don’t try the curtsy with Maisie still attached.

  “Come here, dolly,” the president says. “You need to let your friend go.” He pulls Maisie into his lap and nuzzles her with his beard until she giggles and squirms.

  He seems like such a nice man.

  I change into pajamas in “my” room, trying to psych myself up. I’m out of time. I have to talk to Bel now.

  “Allie, come in here,” Bel calls from her room. “I’ve got some clothes for you.”

  Perfect—another of those girlfriend milestones. I head into her room. Her bed is piled with clothes a foot deep.

  “What the…?” I say. “You’ve been here like three days—how can you have this much stuff?”

  “Fine, okay? I kinda went haywire-house when my mom realized I was her daughter and told me to fill up my closet. But then this afternoon during my run, I realized, since you’re sticking around….” She quirks a grin. “You’re going to need more stuff. Good stuff. For when we hang out.”

  Bam. This is what I’ve been trying to accomplish.

  But something’s off. Her words have a tinge of desperation….

  Then I remember: without me, she’s alone. Despite being in her real time, despite her mother acknowledging her, she didn’t really come home. Now no one knows her. And you can’t be Queen Bee by yourself.

  This feeds perfectly into my plan—her using me, choosing me, to prop herself up.

  But even though I know this in my head, my heart’s not in on the con. It remembers all those times I ever wished I fit in, wanted to be popular, to belong. All the times I was desperate to be chosen, but wasn’t.

  Now, in this moment, I am chosen. And I feel myself bei
ng caught in Bel’s gravitational pull.

  “Isn’t it phee,” she says, gesturing to the pile of clothes. “You don’t ever have to wear those horr-awful jumpers again. I mean, the thought of Sharrow in that mint green atrocity makes me want to retch.”

  And she’s back. The spell is broken and I’m in my right mind again. The con is on.

  “Right?” I say. “Those jumpers are beyond lame.”

  “Don’t just stand there. I need my bed back.”

  “Thanks, Bel.” I smile.

  She smiles back. “No prob. I’ll help haul this stuff to your closet.”

  Time’s running out, and it’s not going to get better than this.

  “Cool, but first, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  She holds up a finger for me to wait. “Oh, I love this song!” she says loudly. Then she does something on her personal and the music that’s been playing in the background gets a lot louder. I can’t see any speakers, but they must be built into the room because it sounds like the music is all around us.

  Bel pushes some clothes out of the way and sits on the bed. I sit beside her and she leans in close.

  “You can’t be too careful,” she says in a low voice. “What’s up?”

  I’d been planning to appeal to her about saving the crew, but I realize that nothing is more important to Bel than Bel. It has to be about her.

  “I can tell that things are not as good for you here as they were before history changed.” I see on her face that my words hit home. “You’ve been so good to me, and I want to return the favor and help you get your old life back.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If I go back to 1906 and—”

  “You can’t—”

  “Hear me out. If I stop you from shooting Maxen, then you’ll be born like normal. Time will roll forward the way it was meant to, and you’ll have your life back.”

  Bel’s cultivated eyebrows bunch in a scowl. “Interesting, but nothing’s changed—my mom’s not going to let us go. Besides, even if she did, we can’t get involved in 1906 without seeing our other selves.”

  I’m about to tell her that seeing ourselves is not actually a problem, but I bite my tongue. If she knows the truth about that, it will call into question why Beck couldn’t show himself at the wormhole. And there’s no way I can tell her the real reason.