“I’m Alba, by the way,” she tells me.
This time I manage to stutter out my own name in reply.
“I’m Albie.”
Alba laughs.
“That figures,” she says. “After Albert Einstein, right? Mum and Dad were never that creative when it came to names. Dad even called my pet hamster Hawking after the famous scientist.”
I hear a familiar squeak from the desk behind her and catch a glimpse of Hawking scurrying around his wheel.
“Me too!” I tell her excitedly.
For a second we just grin at each other. In this parallel universe I might have turned into a girl, but at least my hamster is still alive. But there’s one thing I can’t figure out.
“If you know all about the Quantum Banana Theory, then why haven’t you tried it yourself?” I ask Alba. “You could have traveled to a parallel universe too.”
Alba pushes her chair back from the desk, and I notice for the first time that it has wheels instead of legs.
“Since I ended up in this, I haven’t felt like risking the trip,” she tells me, the grin on her face slowly fading away.
I can’t stop myself from staring at her wheelchair.
“What happened?”
“It was a car accident,” Alba replies. “Mum was driving us to the airport to meet Dad, who was coming back from a filming trip. It was a foggy morning and there was a crash on the motorway—a drunk man driving a white van on the wrong side of the road. He smashed straight into us. I don’t remember much after that. The car was a complete wreck, and Dad told me it took the firefighters three hours to cut us out.” A tear starts to creep out of the corner of her eye. “I was lucky—I was just paralyzed from the waist down, but Mum didn’t make it.”
My brain is flashing up an error message, unable to make sense of what Alba’s just told me. This can’t be right. I’ve found my way to another parallel universe, but it’s another world without my mum.
“What about your universe?” Alba asks me, rubbing her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “You can still walk. Did Mum survive the accident there?”
Still dazed, I shake my head, almost feeling guilty that I can walk and Alba can’t.
“There was no car accident,” I tell her.
“So Mum’s still alive in your universe?” she asks eagerly. I recognize the spark of hope that suddenly lights up her eyes.
I shake my head again, not wanting to say the words out loud. This only makes them feel more real.
“No,” I finally force myself to reply. “She died of cancer two weeks ago.”
Alba’s face crumples again, the tears in her eyes a mirror image of my own. I feel like we’ve both been cheated. Why can’t there be a universe where Mum’s still alive? We stare at each other, sharing our sadness in silence. Then the sound of Granddad Joe’s voice comes up the stairs.
“Are you ready yet?”
Alba and I reply simultaneously, “I’m coming!”
The sound of our voices calling out together creates a weird echo, and I clap my hand over my mouth when I realize what I’ve done. Then I hear the sound of Granddad Joe’s footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Have you got a boy up there, Alba?”
Alba looks at me, her eyes now wide with panic.
“Hide,” she hisses.
I look around the room. It’s just as messy as mine. There’s only one place I can hide—the same spot that got me here in the first place. As Granddad Joe opens the door, I dive inside the cardboard box.
“I thought I heard a boy’s voice.”
Granddad Joe sounds puzzled, like he’s trying to work out how Alba replied to him in stereo. Luckily Alba’s already thought up an explanation.
“I was just singing along to the radio while I was getting ready, Granddad.”
I stay quiet inside the cardboard box. The banana is only centimeters away from my face, the light from the laptop screen making it glow green. Silently I pull out the USB cable, frightened that the click of the Geiger counter might give me away.
“He didn’t sound like much of a singer to me,” Granddad Joe sniffed. “You should listen to some proper music, like Bob Dylan. Now, that was a singer.”
I wince, remembering when Granddad Joe drove me to the hospital to see Mum with Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits playing on the car stereo. I’d never heard of Bob Dylan before, but I think he must have been named after Dylan the cat—at least, that’s what he sang like.
“Anyway, you need to get a move on, Alba, if you want me to take you to the party. It’s nearly eight o’clock.” Granddad Joe pauses for a second. “Have you been crying?” he asks.
“It’s just hay fever,” Alba replies quickly, and I hear her blow her nose. “I’ll be down in a second, Granddad. I’ve just got to finish getting ready.”
“OK, but you need to be quick. The party started at seven, didn’t it? And when you get back, we can talk about you tidying up this room.”
I hear the bedroom door close, followed by the sound of footsteps heading downstairs. Then Alba lifts up the flap of the box, twisting her head at a ninety-degree angle to peer inside.
“I’ve got to go,” she whispers, keeping her voice low in case Granddad Joe’s got his hearing aid switched on. “It’s Victoria Barnes’s birthday party at the village hall tonight. Granddad’s dropping me off and I’ve got a ride home for us, but you need to come and meet me there. I’ve got so much to tell you. If the Quantum Banana Theory really works, I think I know what you need to do to find Mum again.”
“Alba!” yells Granddad Joe.
With a small, hopeful smile, Alba drops the cardboard flap, and then I hear her wheel her chair toward the door.
Inside the box, a blur of zeroes and ones are still flashing across the laptop screen, the data from the Large Hadron Collider somehow still streaming into the computer from across the universe. I hold the Geiger counter in my hand. If I plug it in, any moment now a radioactive particle in the banana is bound to decay, and the Quantum Banana Theory will send me to another parallel universe. And maybe this one will have my mum in it.
Outside the bedroom door I hear a loud beep, followed by a whirring noise that sounds like an elevator going down. At first I can’t work out what it is, and then I remember. If Alba’s in a wheelchair, she must have a stairlift to help her get up and down the stairs.
I shake my head. It’s just not fair. We’ve both lost Mum, but at least I can still walk.
Leaving the Geiger counter unplugged, I crawl out of the box. Alba said she knew what I needed to do to find Mum again. I’m not going to run away to another parallel universe without giving her the chance to tell me what it is.
I hear the front door slam shut downstairs. Alba is on her way to Victoria Barnes’s birthday party, and I’m going to meet her there.
—
I can hear the party even before I get to the village hall, the thud of a song playing at full blast rumbling down the street. I recognize the song straightaway even though the words are all wrong.
Tiny changes—that’s what my dad’s book said I’d find in every parallel universe. Even in a song I’ve heard a thousand times before.
Outside the village hall, there are more balloons hung up than even Buzz Lightyear would need to make it into orbit, and through the window I can see a tsunami of colored lights spinning across the ceiling.
“Albie!” Alba calls out to me from the door, pulling her wheelchair around in a nifty three-point turn. “You made it.” She smiles.
It’s kind of strange seeing her again. This time I’m noticing all the things that make her a girl. Her hair’s a bit longer than mine to start with; her eyelashes are thicker; and even though our eyes, nose, and mouth all look pretty much the same, there’s still some tiny differences that make Alba look like a girl and me a boy. We look the same, but different. Not an identical twin, but a sister, maybe, if I’d ever had one.
“We’ve got to go in right now,” Alba says, looking a littl
e bit stressed. “Victoria’s going nuts because some people haven’t turned up. She’s two couples down for her dance competition.”
I thought Alba just wanted to meet me here. I didn’t think I’d actually have to go to Victoria Barnes’s birthday party. Can’t we just go and sit in the bus shelter, and Alba can tell me what I need to know?
Alba notices the sudden panic in my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ve asked Victoria’s mum if I can bring my cousin to the party, and she’s says it’s OK.”
“Your cousin?”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly say to her, ‘Can I bring another Alba from a parallel universe?’, could I?” she replies sarcastically. “ ‘Oh, and by the way, he’s a boy.’ ”
When she puts it like that, I kind of see her point.
As a new song booms out through the open door, I follow Alba inside the hall, only to find my worst nightmare waiting for me there.
My school report says I’ve got two left feet. When we did traditional dances from history in PE, the rest of Class 6 all danced the waltz, the jive, the two-step, and the tango, but Miss Benjamin told me that I had to stick to the birdie dance. She said this was the best dance for a beginner like me, but I couldn’t even get that right and ended up elbowing Timothy Chase in the face when I was trying to flap my wings in time. I forged a sick note from Granddad Joe to get me out of PE after that, but I still have nightmares in which Miss Benjamin is forcing me to dance the fox-trot.
So when I step into the village hall to see an enormous dance floor with hundreds of flashing lights and a huge glitterball hanging overhead, it’s my worst nightmare come to life. On the dance floor, Wesley MacNamara is dancing with Victoria Barnes, the two of them cha-cha-cha-ing to a song that sounds kind of familiar but not quite right. Victoria’s wearing a sparkly red dress that seems to be made entirely out of sequins, while Wesley is wearing an all-in-one white jumpsuit, although it looks like he’s forgotten to button up his shirt.
As Wesley spins Victoria around for the final time, she finishes the song by doing the splits in the middle of the dance floor. The rest of Class 6, who are standing around the edge watching, break into a chorus of whoops and cheers. Next to the DJ, the spotlight falls on a panel of three judges—Miss Benjamin; Victoria’s mum; and the vicar, who’s wearing a gold lamé suit—each of them holding up a scorecard with a large number nine on it.
“What a surprise,” Alba mutters as she pushes her wheelchair toward the dance floor. “Victoria wins again.”
“I hate dancing,” I tell her. “There’s no scientific reason why people should dance.”
“I used to like it,” Alba replies, and I instantly feel like the stupidest person in the room. “Mum said to me that the atoms in our bodies are dancing all the time, so it’s only fair that we play them some music to dance along to. Before the accident we used to dance around the kitchen together inventing routines for some of Mum’s favorite songs.”
I remember dancing around the kitchen too, but that just reminds me why I’ve come here.
I’m looking around for a quiet corner where I can ask Alba exactly what she meant when she said she knew what I needed to do to see Mum again, when I spot a familiar face. It’s Kiran, standing waiting outside the party’s inflatable photo booth. For a second I forget that the Kiran in this universe doesn’t even know me, and I give him a friendly wave.
Kiran just stares straight past me like I’m the Invisible Man. Then he spots Alba, and I see the shy smile that appears on Kiran’s face every time a girl he likes walks into the room. He gives her a wave, and looking across I watch Alba wave back, wearing the same shy smile. I can’t stop myself from smiling too. At least the Albie in this universe has got the same best friend as me. Then a horrible thought creeps into my head—the question almost too terrifying to ask.
“Is Kiran your boyfriend?”
Alba turns a bright shade of beet.
“He’s just a friend,” she says quickly. “I mean, he did ask if I wanted to go and see Back to the Future IV at the cinema next week, but there’s a whole gang of us going along.” Alba looks up at me hopefully. “Do you think that means he likes me?”
Before this conversation can get any more embarrassing, Victoria Barnes arrives on the scene in a shimmy of red sequins, followed by Olivia, Kim, and the rest of her usual entourage. Just like Kiran, she stares straight past me, fixing her gaze on Alba instead.
“Albs,” she says, a fake smile plastered to her face. “So nice of you to make it here at last.”
“Sorry, Victoria,” Alba replies, sounding more nervous than I’ve heard her before. “Something came up at home, and I couldn’t get away.”
“And who’s this?” Victoria asks, finally turning her attention to me. “Your date?”
The last time I saw Victoria Barnes, she gave me a kiss in a parallel universe, but now she’s looking at me like I’ve just crawled out from under a stone.
“No, this is my cousin, erm—Albie,” Alba replies quickly. “He’s staying with me for the weekend. Your mum said it was OK for me to bring him along to the party.”
Victoria looks me up and down, her shimmering lips turning from a sneer into a smirk.
“Nice outfit for a party, lamebrain.”
That’s when I realize I’m still wearing my school uniform.
Olivia, Kim, and the rest of Victoria’s posse start to giggle as my face turns the same shade of beet as Alba’s. To be honest, I think I preferred the Victoria Barnes in the last universe.
“Anyway, Albs,” Victoria says, grabbing hold of the armrest of Alba’s wheelchair and twisting it so it faces her properly. “It’s your turn to bust some moves on the dance floor. Everyone else has, and the judges are waiting.”
I see a look of panic dart across Alba’s face.
“You can’t be serious,” she replies, her voice cracking a little. “How am I supposed to dance in this?”
Alba gestures down at the wheelchair she’s sitting in. From the look on her face I can see she’s on the verge of tears, biting her lip in the same way I do whenever things get to be too much. Then I look back at Victoria, unable to believe she could be so mean.
“Don’t be such a wuss, Alba,” Victoria tuts, waving Alba’s protest away in a shower of sequins. “Everyone else at my party has, and you’re the one who’s always going on about equality.”
The music has gone quiet now, and most of Class 6 are watching Victoria, waiting to see what happens next.
“Anyway,” she says, pointing her finger toward the borrowed Junior Dance Star leaderboard, her own name at the top with twenty-seven points. “Nobody expects you to win.”
Alba glares up at Victoria. If her reddened eyes were laser beams, Victoria would be toast right now.
“But I haven’t got anyone to dance with.”
Victoria turns to point at me.
“How about lamebrain here? Let’s face it, Alba, your cousin is probably the only person who’d want to dance with you anyway.”
Alba bites her lip so hard that it almost turns white, and I feel a flash of anger rising in my chest. Victoria has gone too far. I might have two left feet. I might be wearing my school uniform. But there’s no way I’m going to let her bully Alba and me in this parallel universe.
“I’d prefer to dance with Alba over you any day,” I tell Victoria, loud enough so the rest of Class 6 can hear. “That dress makes you look like a tomato.”
This gets a laugh from everyone, and even Olivia and Kim can’t stop themselves from giggling. Before Victoria has the chance to reply, I hold out my hand to Alba.
“Let’s show her how it’s done.”
Alba looks at me like I’ve just told her we’re flying a spaceship to Mars. But she follows me anyway, wheeling her high-tech chair one-handed as we head across the dance floor to where the DJ is waiting.
“What are you doing?” she hisses, keeping her voice low. “You already told me you think dancing is stupid. N
ow you want me to start twerking in this stupid wheelchair. Everyone’s going to laugh at me.”
I shake my head. I’ve got a plan. I might not be great at traditional dances from history, but there’s a few dance steps that I still remember. I only hope that in this universe, Alba remembers them too.
“You said you used to dance around the kitchen with Mum. Did she ever show you her old-school hip-hop moves?”
Looking puzzled, Alba nods. “The ones for that ‘Intergalactic’ song? I laughed so much I nearly choked on my pizza.” Then she stares at me with her eyes open wide. “Oh no, you can’t be serious.”
—
With a nod from the DJ, Alba and I take our positions in the middle of the dance floor. Around the edges, the rest of Class 6 is looking on—waiting to see how stupid we make ourselves look. Alba’s in her wheelchair to the right of me, her arms folded across her chest, while I’ve borrowed a baseball cap and put it on backward to give my school uniform more of a hip-hop flavor. If everyone’s going to laugh, I might as well give them something to laugh about.
Then the sample of a droning robotic voice kicks in, and I’m already moving in time to the beat as the song blares out.
Keeping my arms bent at ninety-degree angles, I swivel to the right, moving one muscle at a time as I jerk my arms in a stop-start rhythm before snapping my head in the same direction. I see Alba doing the same, both of us dancing like robots from the year 3000 as the intergalactic chorus of the song rings out again.
I push one shoulder up to my ear, tilt, and straighten from right to left and back again. A robotic wave rolls through our bodies as we pop, lock, and drop in perfect symmetry. In the front of the watching crowd, I see Victoria mutter something to Kim, who just giggles in reply. I couldn’t look any more stupid, but I just don’t care, my arms jerking in time with the dancing molecules in the air as the song fills the room.
As the DJ scratches, Alba and I drop straight into a frozen dance pose. One hand on the hip, the other pointing to the sky as the rappers babble out their lyrics in time with the techno beat. With each chorused line we switch position, arms folded in a hip-hop pose, then throwing out Tetris shapes as the robotic voice kicks in again.
The Many Worlds of Albie Bright Page 8
