“Here.” I pointed to a picture of her wearing a bathing suit and big sunglasses. Her hair was all puffy and hairsprayed. That’s why she always refuses to go in the water—doesn’t want to ruin her hair. Or her makeup. Or her jewelry.
“Where is this?” Halli asked.
“My grandmother’s community pool.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure if she understood what I meant, but she was already flipping the page to other photos.
“And where’s this one?”
I looked over her shoulder. “This dress store she really likes. She was trying to get me to try stuff on.” I quickly flipped the page. I didn’t need reminding of that particular trip. Grandma Marion made my mom and me shop with her practically every day.
Halli pressed her hand against the new page. “My father,” she said, smoothing the plastic over the photo so she could see him better. “How old are you here?”
“I don’t know, maybe eleven?” I was surprised that photo was in there. My parents were divorced by then. It was my first summer visitation—two weeks with him and the girlfriend he had at the time, at my dad’s new house in San Diego.
The picture was of my dad and me at the zoo. We were in the bird display. I had some birdseed on my open palm, and a big bird of some kind sat on my shoulder ready to hop down and peck my fingers off. I didn’t look very happy. But my dad gave the camera his best charmer smile while his girlfriend took our picture.
“It’s so strange,” Halli said, studying my father. “I know our parents are the same, but still . . .”
“I know,” I agreed. “It’s weird.”
“Do you like him? Your father?”
“Yeah, I guess. Sure.” Aside from the string of obnoxious girlfriends and the fact that he never pays child support on time. But I didn’t feel the need to say that to Halli.
She flipped through both albums, searching for any photos of my Grandma Marion. There weren’t many. And I’m pretty sure that the more Halli saw of my grandmother, the less she was reminded of her own.
Finally Halli closed both books. She seemed a little deflated.
“Do you have anything to eat?” she asked. “I’m starved.”
Snacks are something we always have. My mom and I live off of Doritos.
I took Halli into the kitchen and pulled out a fresh bag of them from the cupboard.
“What’s that?”
“Tortilla chips.”
“What’s the . . . orange on them?”
“Cheesy . . . something,” I said.
“Oh.” Halli gazed past me into the cupboard. She shifted a few things around to see the stuff in the back.
“Do you mind if I make pancakes?” she asked.
Uh, did I mind if someone actually cooked real food? Our kitchen might never recover from the shock.
While I sat at our yellow table (my mom’s and my most recent repainting project), Halli measured and mixed, heated and poured, cooked and flipped.
“Would you grab that peanut butter I saw in there?” she asked. “And the syrup?”
Peanut butter and syrup? She was from a different universe.
She rooted around in cupboards and drawers until she found plates and a supply of utensils. I loved how comfortable she felt in my kitchen—I never would have been able to do that in someone else’s.
Finally she sliced up two bananas, and then laid out our whole feast.
“Do you have anything hot to drink?”
“Um, there’s coffee,” I said. I showed her the giant can of instant my mother buys at the warehouse store.
Halli lifted the lid and gave it a sniff. “Eck. Disgusting. We’re better than this.”
That made me laugh.
“What?” she said. “It’s true.”
She sat down across the table from me, then forked the first three pancakes off the stack for herself. She smeared each one with peanut butter, dotted them with banana slices, restacked them, then poured syrup over the whole concoction.
And before she could take even one bite, she completely disappeared.
15
I tried to get her back for the next hour, but eventually I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I fell asleep sitting up in bed.
By the time I woke up this morning, there were already four messages on my cell phone. Which made me feel a little guilty, since they were all from my mom, but also a little pleased with myself, because not one of them had interrupted my session with Halli last night.
“Hi, honey,” she said when I called her back. “I’ve been trying you since last night—”
“I know—I’m sorry. I shut off my phone early. I was just really, really tired.”
“How are things?” she asked.
“Good, good. I went over to Will and Lydia’s last night . . .” and then I filled her in on the rest. Minus any of the juicier parts, like having to resist stabbing Gemma in the forehead with Elena’s sewing needle, and the fact that I’d had a huge scientific breakthrough that involved my body appearing in two places at the same time.
Some things are just too weird to say over the phone.
When I finally hung up, I had to ask myself: When am I going to tell her? And what am I going to say?
But the answers were not today, and I’ll figure it out later.
For now I had more important things to worry about.
I took a shower and then put on my robe while I tried to decide what to wear. I couldn’t keep relying on Halli to dress me. Somewhere in that closet I had to have something that was suitable to wear on a mountain top.
I changed into jeans, a long-sleeved flannel shirt that used to be my dad’s (how long had that been in there?), the thickest socks I could find, and some old tennis shoes. At the last minute I added my only winter coat—I wasn’t sure what the weather was going to be like over there today. It would be better to come prepared.
And then I assumed the position on my bed, headphones on, and tried to slip back into the groove.
When I got there, Halli’s camp was in shambles.
16
“What happened?”
“I’m hoping you can tell me,” Halli said.
The door to her tent had been shredded. The whole thing hung there in ribbons.
“Hi, boy, happy to see you, too,” I said absent-mindedly as the dog whirled and jumped in pleasure. “Who did this?” I asked Halli.
She pointed at Red.
“What? Why?”
“All I know,” Halli said, “is I was sitting with you there in your kitchen, and the next moment I hear this poor dog howling his lungs out, tearing around the camp like a wild thing.”
“Why?” I asked. “Do you know?”
“The only thing I can figure out,” Halli said, “is that Red woke up at some point last night and realized I was gone. Which means maybe it isn’t really bilocation—maybe we both traveled with our whole bodies yesterday.”
I sat down next to the waning coals of the fire. “Wait a minute—I have to think.”
“Well, think about this, too: ever since Ginny died, Red can’t stand to be away from me. I think he feels his pack went from three to two, and he’s not going to lose another one.”
“Do dogs really think that way?” I asked.
“Sure they do,” Halli said. “They can count. At least to that extent.”
“Has he ever done something like this before?”
“Twice,” Halli said, “before I learned my lesson. I left him alone in an apartment once while I ran out to talk to someone on the street, and by the time I got back—maybe five or ten minutes later—he’d completely ripped through the whole apartment, knocking things over, digging into the carpet, and I could hear him howling as I came up the stairs. Just like last night.”
“So wait,” I said, trying to get a grip on the whole thing. “So you heard him somehow—from my house. From my universe.”
“No, I didn’t. Not until I came back.”
“But then why did that make
you disappear from my house? How did it break the connection?”
“That’s what I’m asking you,” she said.
Halli went back to packing up her things. I noticed she’d already put all the cookware away, probably somewhere into her backpack. We wouldn’t be enjoying a leisurely cup of tea this morning.
I also noticed that I’d been successful in showing up with all my clothes—all the way down to the heavy coat. But once again, just like the previous two times, my headphones never made it.
I wondered if that was because they had metal in them. But why should that matter?
I had a lot to think about. Starting with Red’s reaction.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” I told Halli. “You must have heard him somehow. It’s like when Lydia called me on the phone yesterday—I thought I heard it ring while I was still here. In fact, I’m sure I did—didn’t I?”
Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t really remember.
“Like I said,” Halli repeated, “maybe I was wrong. Maybe we didn’t bilocate. Maybe each of us came all the way over.”
I stood up and started pacing. “But that’s so much mass!” I told her. “Do you know how hard that would be? You’re talking about taking a whole human body and somehow transporting it across two separate three-branes—”
“Maybe there aren’t really three-branes,” Halli pointed out. “Didn’t you say that was just a theory?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
Yeah, but what? Wasn’t that the whole point of theories? You throw them out there for other scientists to pick apart and prove whether you’re right or wrong.
But it couldn’t be. I wasn’t going to be the person to prove Professor Hawkins wrong. As between the two of us, who was more likely not to understand the intricacies of parallel universes and cyclic cosmology? Obviously I was the one who was confused.
Red had been watching me, nervously, the whole time I paced around. I felt bad for the guy—he’d already been through enough. I sat back down and let him snuggle up to me while I petted his fur and thought.
And one of the thoughts was random.
“Why does he act this way toward me, do you think?”
Halli shrugged. “New toy. Another member of his pack—could be a lot of different reasons. Red is his own dog.”
“Did he howl yesterday when I disappeared?”
Halli thought about it for a second. “No.”
I tried not to let that hurt my feelings.
“Did he look for me?” I asked. “Act like he even noticed I was gone?”
“He did look for you,” Halli assured me. “But he seemed to take it in stride.”
“Huh.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, either, or if it were even connected. The whole thing was a puzzle.
I finally realized I’d been sitting there or pacing around instead of helping Halli pack up. “Can I do anything?”
Halli paused and rolled her shoulders. It gave me a chance to notice how much wider than mine they really are. Her whole body is like Audie 2.0—like she popped out of a larger, more muscular mold.
“Just talk to me, I guess,” she said. “It’s nice to have the company.”
I stayed there for a couple of hours, throwing the stick for Red, batting around ideas with Halli. Even when someone doesn’t know physics, it can still be helpful to brainstorm with them. So much of physics relies on practical questions about how the world works. And Halli had a great one.
“Why did my clothes stay here?” she asked.
“Huh?” I picked up the stick where Red had dropped it. That dog was tireless in the pursuit of fetch.
“The clothes I let you borrow yesterday,” Halli said. “When you left—both times—they stayed here.”
“Huh. I don’t know. That’s a good point.” I told her about my headphones. Neither of us understood why.
But the main question—the one we kept going around and around about—was why Red reacted the way he did. The only possible conclusion was that Halli had disappeared. Or had changed in some way that radically upset the dog.
“Maybe you glowed or something,” I guessed. “Or made some sort of vibrating noise.”
Nothing seemed too implausible.
“Is there any way we can test it?” Halli asked.
“I could film myself,” I said. What a weird thing that would be to see—me sitting there on my bed one moment, then blip, gone the next. I had the feeling that might just freak me out.
“Or I can,” Halli said. “Set up a holonet. But that would still only answer it from my side—we should both probably do it.”
“But what about Red?” I said. “If you really disappear—”
“You’re right,” Halli answered. “I can’t put the poor boy through that again. Can I, Red?” She pulled the dog into her side and gave him a hearty pat. Red looked up at her with what can only be described as joy. That dog loved his girl.
I couldn’t take her away from him—even for science. Not until we really understood what was going on.
We made a plan for later in the evening. Halli was done packing up her camp, and seemed anxious to go.
“It’s four or five hours down to the base,” she explained. “Then the drive. I’d like to be home before dark.”
“What time do you think it is right now?” I asked.
Halli looked up at the sky. “Around 11:00, I’d say.”
“You don’t have a watch?”
She shrugged. “Don’t need one.”
“You can tell the time from the sky?” I asked.
“Usually. Within about half an hour. Unless it’s overcast—then I have to try a few other tricks.”
“Does your screen tell time?”
“My screen?” Halli thought for a moment, then said, “Oh, the tab—the tablet. It has a time feature. But I’m not really keen to turn it on. You saw what happened yesterday.”
“Oh. With your mother.”
“I usually try to stay off the comm field.”
“The what?”
“Oh, sorry,” Halli said, “communications. I keep forgetting you’re not from here.”
“Communications field,” I said. “Is that anything like the Internet?”
“The what?”
“I should make up a dictionary,” I said. “Cross-reference some of our words.” The idea suddenly sounded great. “Wow—I could do a whole anthropological study over here.” Wouldn’t Columbia love that?
“You should read the histories first,” Halli said. “Save yourself some time.”
There was so much to do, so much to figure out. My brain felt fuller than it ever has.
“So I’ll see you, then?” Halli asked, shouldering her pack. She whistled for Red. Instead of coming, he sat down in front of me and waited patiently for me to throw the stick.
“Maybe you should leave first,” Halli said. “Make it easier.”
“I’m not sure if I know how,” I said.
“You did it last night,” Halli pointed out. “When we decided to meet back at your house.”
I hadn’t even thought of that. At the time I’d been so excited about the prospect of her coming to my universe—and wondering whether that would actually work—I didn’t even notice how I got home. It felt as natural to me as saying goodbye to Lydia or Will and walking or driving away.
So I decided to go with that.
“Okay, then, see ya,” I said, trying to act and feel casual. La-dee-da, going back to my own universe now.
“Say goodbye, Red,” Halli said.
The dog held up a paw, and I was gone.
17
Halli was right about the time. It was a little after eleven when I got back.
Just enough time to shower, change into something special, and get to the office by noon.
Where a certain computer programmer was scheduled to be.
“Hey,” I said as I walked in.
“Hey.” Will didn’t look up. He sat there in his dark khaki cargo s
horts and plain black T-shirt furiously typing in code. His hair was all messy and his face was shadowed with stubble. He looked so good.
“I brought you some cereal,” I said. Will’s favorite food. Day or night.
He leaned back in the chair and stretched his neck and shoulders. I handed him the supplies I’d brought from home: bowl, spoon, Cap’n Crunch, milk.
Will sighed deeply and dug in.
I forced my eyes away from him and onto the computer screen. “How’s it looking?” I asked.
“Like they should have believed me two years ago and bought new computers back then.”
“Ugh. Don’t say that. We can’t afford it.” As Build a Fund for Good’s resident bookkeeper, I knew what I was talking about.
“There comes a point when you just have to put them out of their misery,” Will said. “Face it, Aud, the time has come.”
I love it when he calls me Aud. Even if it sounds like Odd.
“Don’t worry,” he said, chewing a mouthful of sugar and crunch, “I’ll get ’em cheap for you guys.”
“Thanks, Will.”
“Thanks for the cereal.”
Two more massive spoonfuls, then he handed me back the bowl and got back to work.
And as I stood there behind him, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say I wanted more than anything to kiss the back of his neck where the tips of his black hair were curling ever so slightly, and then throw the bowl aside, twist his chair around, and plant my mouth against his and maybe not come up for air until we both turned 21.
Instead I settled for this: I walked into the kitchen to rinse out the bowl, but didn’t quite rinse out the spoon. Instead . . . I licked it.
I KNOW! SHUT UP! Completely gross and unsanitary and pathetic, and if the Columbia admissions people ever found out about it, they’d ban me for life. But I’m sorry, it’s the closest I might ever come to kissing Will. I’ve been doing stuff like this for years—licking around a cup I know he drank from, reusing a fork I know was his—all these sad, ridiculous attempts to be closer to his lips.
It’s so humiliating I can’t even believe I do it. If he ever caught me, I’d shrivel up and die. But I still do it. It’s worth the risk.
Parallelogram Omnibus Edition Page 5
