“That’s great,” I said to Sarah, pushing the screen in her direction. “Thanks for showing me.” I hoped she would take the hint. I hoped she would turn it off.
There must have been something in my voice, because Daniel sensed something was wrong. “Where’s Martin?” he asked Sarah. “I’m surprised you’ve left him alone for this long.”
She tossed her hair behind her shoulders—the first time I’d seen her do anything even vaguely Gemma-ish.
“He went off to the springs for a bath. None too soon, I assure you.”
“Care to take a walk?” Daniel asked me, carefully maneuvering himself up from the table. “Halli said I should put more weight on my ankle today—it needs to be well by Sunday.”
“Sunday?” I said.
“We’re leaving,” Sarah said. “Day after tomorrow. Back to London, back to school. It’s horrid.”
It was horrid. Just two more days together, all of us, and I was going to miss a major portion of it while I flew to Colorado. It wasn’t fair.
I stood up and waited for Daniel to steady himself against my shoulder, but he was going to try it on his own. Sarah sat there at the table for a moment, eyeing us both.
“I’ll stay here,” she said. “I can see I’m not needed.” Then she winked at me. She was turning into Gemma before my eyes.
No, I take that back—totally unfair. I’m sure statistically it was bound to happen that two iterations of the same person might every now and then use the same gestures. I suppose people might sometimes mistake me for Halli. Although I sincerely doubt it.
“Can you leave your tab, Dan?” she asked. “I’ll watch some more histories while I wait for Martin.”
“Actually,” Daniel said, “I thought I’d take it with us. Audie might want to see more.”
“All right,” Sarah answered, slightly pouting. “But it’s very boring here, you know. No Halli Markham, no Karl the handsome pilot, no Martin, no amateur young lovers such as yourselves to spy upon—what shall I do?”
“You’ll find something,” Daniel said, leading me away. “Try sitting quietly, for a change.”
“Try kissing your girlfriend, for a change!” she shot back. “You haven’t got all year, you know. Try acting like a normal bloke for once . . .”
50
It was crazy, of course.
Worse than meeting a guy on vacation, having a little fling, and then saying, “Goodbye, I promise I’ll write.”
We couldn’t write. We would never see each other. He lived in England, Halli lived in Colorado—when would we ever see each other again?
I suppose we could conduct some sort of holo-relationship where I phoned him using Halli’s comm, and we could at least see each other that way—swirling lights turning into each other’s heads above the screen—but it’s not like we would ever be around each other again, unless he decided to come where Halli was or she went to him. He was in school. He had a life. Halli did, too.
Hopeless. No question about that.
“Champion idea,” Daniel said as soon as we’d made it to the hermit’s hut. He backed me against the wall and laid such a kiss on me I thought my own ankles would buckle underneath me. He held my face between his hands, then wove his fingers through my hair, and I swear, if he hadn’t been holding me up while he kept on kissing me, I would have just liquified right into the dirt. Man, that guy can kiss. Why didn’t we start doing that days ago?
It took me a little while to regain speech. When I did, the best I could say was, “Whaaa . . .” And then I gave up on making sense, and went back to kissing him. Sarah was right: not much time. Forget spending it talking.
Eventually a person has to breathe. And sit. And let the swirling lights in her head settle down.
We slid down with our backs against the wall, holding hands and looking out at the woods. The hirsch didn’t have too much to say this time of morning. Just as well—I was already on sensory overload.
“Why were you upset back there?” Daniel asked.
“Hm?” My head felt foggy. My lips felt puffy and warm.
“When we were watching the holo of Halli,” he said.
It seemed so long ago, but somehow I could vaguely remember.
“Oh, just the usual,” I said. “Feeling like such a loser compared to her. It happens all the time.”
Daniel laughed. “Why?”
“Because I haven’t done a single interesting thing in my life,” I said. “Never.”
Daniel nudged me. “Where are you right now?”
I sighed. I knew what he was trying to do. I wasn’t buying it.
“Yes, I know—Halli says that, too. But you know what I mean.”
“No,” Daniel said, “I don’t.”
“This—” I waved my arms around us. “This is obviously fantastic. I’m not saying it isn’t. But this is basically an accident. I couldn’t have done it if Halli weren’t meditating on a rock in the mountains that day. I just would have kept trying and trying, and nothing would have happened.”
“It happened,” Daniel said, “precisely because you kept trying and trying. How many other people would do that?”
“Daniel—”
He lifted my hand up to his lips and kissed it. My brain floated right out of my skull.
“You fail to see what I see,” Daniel said.
“Huh?” I had to shake my head to clear it.
“You,” Daniel said. “We’re speaking of you.”
“Look,” I said, “I know you’re trying to be nice. Thank you. But I think we can both admit that Halli Markham is the most amazing person either of us has ever met. And yes, there are times when I can’t help but feel completely useless by comparison.”
“You’re seventeen,” Daniel said.
“Yes. But so is Halli—”
“And I am eighteen,” he interrupted. “Ask me what I’ve done in my eighteen years.”
“I’m not talking about—”
“Me?” Daniel finished. “But I am.” He released my hand and pulled his tablet out of his pocket. He poked and pressed at the screen.
“Here,” he said, tilting the tablet so I could see it. “This is me.”
It was him. There was his picture. Not a hologram, just a picture. He pressed a space underneath it.
It wasn’t a bad biography. Details about his parents (his mother was an archaeologist, his father something called a “history producer”), his schooling, his sibling (one, Sarah), his victories at something called “yorking.” He had participated in several science exhibitions in the past few years, and even won a prize for building something called a “crescograph.”
“What’s a crescograph?” I asked. “You never told me about that. You never said anything about being in a science competition—you said you only know a bit.”
“A bit about plants,” he said. “Not physics. Now let’s look for someone else.”
Daniel pressed and swept at the screen, then held it out for me again. “His name is Raad Rabiah. Same age as I am. Read.”
Yeah, okay, I could see where a guy like that might make a person insecure. Honors in biology, chemistry, physics. Honors in translation of ancient texts. Admission to Oxford at age fifteen. Author of three books. Honorary professor of—
“Seen enough?” Daniel asked, gently taking the screen back. He pressed it on the edge and it went black.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“We all know him. Every boy’s parents know him. Every teacher knows him. Our ears are full of him.”
“So you don’t like him.”
“I admire him, certainly,” Daniel said. “But do I aspire to be him? No. Do I feel the lack of not being him? No. I recognize that there are Raad Rabiahs, and there are Daniel Everetts. I cannot help but be the latter.”
“It’s different for me,” I said softly. “I really could be Halli. That’s the whole point.”
“Could you be her?” Daniel challenged. “Did you have a grandmother like Virginia Markh
am then?”
“No, not exactly.”
“Have you spent your life traveling across the world with a woman known for attempting what others might never do—particularly with a young child in their care?”
“No, but—”
“Are your parents exactly, in every way, like Regina Markham and Jameson Bellows?”
“I mean, I’m sure they look the same—”
“Audie, unless you can duplicate the conditions of your environment, your heritage, your upbringing, and your experiences to within a millionth of a millionth of variation from those of Halli Markham’s, you have absolutely no basis for comparing yourself unfavorably or otherwise in regards to your accomplishments or your qualities. Do you understand?”
The truth was, no. He’d said it so quickly and eloquently and with such authority, my overloaded mind was still trying to register the meaning. Plus I was wishing he’d kiss me again. But whatever he’d just said, I was pretty sure I’d be foolish to argue with him.
“Can you at least understand me?” I asked. “I look at Halli—”
“And you see yourself,” Daniel finished. “And all the things you are not. And how do you know Halli Markham doesn’t feel the same when she looks at you?”
I made a snorting sound. Very attractive of me, I’m sure.
“We only see ourselves and our inadequacies,” Daniel said. “Everyone is the same.”
“You think Raad Rabiah would be jealous of you?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” Daniel said. “He has never won at yorking.”
“What is york—”
My alarm sounded at home. My body flew back.
AAAAAARRRRGGGGG!!!
I lay there in my bed for a moment, trying to reorient myself. I was home. It was half past midnight. I’d set my alarm for even earlier than usual so I could get more of a full night’s sleep before I went to Colorado. I figured it would be better to show up there alert than to spend another hour or two hanging out with Daniel and Sarah and Martin.
Of course, that was before I knew Daniel might spend the hours kissing me. What a stupid choice I’d made.
And now I was stuck. Halli wouldn’t be looking for me until tomorrow morning—her Saturday night. There was no way I could go back, even if I wanted to. And I desperately wanted to.
I rolled over and groaned into my pillow. Why had I wasted so much of Daniel’s and my time together tonight talking about my insecurities? He’s leaving the day after tomorrow. No matter how much we might decide we like each other, it doesn’t matter—it’s about to be over.
This is why you don’t get involved with guys from another universe. This is why you never let yourself fall for someone you’re probably never going to see again. It hurts too much. The ache was palpable. I could feel it on my lips and in my chest.
How can I keep making this mistake, no matter what universe I’m in? Why do I keep falling for guys I can’t have?
51
Professor Whitfield met me at the airport. He was wearing jeans and hiking boots and a dark gray hoodie that said Mountain State. There was no mistaking who he was. I gave him a little wave. He looked confused. Let the lying begin.
“Where’s your mother?”
I handed him the note. “She said she’s so, so sorry, but she had to go on this last-minute emergency trip to Philadelphia for her work. She said to go ahead and do all our testing—she’ll want to hear about all of it afterward.”
Professor Whitfield read the note. I looked around the airport and tried to act casual. He folded up the note and looked at me. Looked at me a little longer than I was comfortable with.
“Oh, well,” he finally said. “I’m sorry I won’t get to meet her.”
“You will, one day, I’m sure,” I said cheerfully. I wondered if he could see how relieved I was.
He took my bag from me and led me out to the parking lot, to his white Ford Explorer. Surprisingly tidy inside.
Except for the enormous mass of fur in the back seat.
“What is that?” I asked. “A Saint Bernard?” The dog was at least twice the size of Red.
“No, she’s a Bernese Mountain Dog,” Professor Whitfield said. “Say hello, Bess.”
She lifted her paw and let me shake it. I so want a dog.
“Hungry?” the professor asked me.
“Starving.”
Over plates of fajitas and refried beans, the two of us discussed our strategy.
“I have you for a day and a half, basically,” Professor Whitfield said. “But I know some of that time it will be night over where Halli is, so we’ll try to adjust our schedule to get the most out of your interaction. How does that sound?”
I told him I’d planned on meeting her at 5:00 tomorrow night her time, 9:00 AM ours.
“Good,” he said. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up early and give you a little tour of the facility first, then we’ll get to work.”
I nodded and ate another tortilla chip.
The professor studied me from across the booth. “Nervous?”
“Not really,” I said. “Just . . . ready. And curious.”
“Curious is an excellent place to be,” the professor said.
Okay, and yes, I was nervous—pretty seriously nervous, as a matter of fact—but I didn’t want the professor to know that. It’s just that sitting there with him, in person, after half a day of travel, suddenly made the whole thing seem very real. I wasn’t sure if I was totally ready.
“So . . . what are you going to do?” I asked.
The professor filled me in on some of the specifics. “We’ll be monitoring your heart rate, temperature, brain waves, oxygen level, room temperature, sound waves—”
“What do you mean?” I said. “Why room temperature and sound waves?”
“Because you might be creating a kind of . . . for lack of a better phrase, ‘energy field,’” Professor Whitfield said. “We don’t really know what goes on in your environment when you and Halli connect. I’m going to try to capture as much data as we can in these few days.”
Now I was really getting nervous. It was a long way from a simple experiment in my own bedroom.
Professor Whitfield signaled for the check. “I’d like you to get plenty of sleep tonight, Audie. We have a lot to do tomorrow, and it’s all going to depend on you. I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his hand. “Did you want dessert?”
Maybe I did before, but now I’d pretty much lost my appetite.
The professor dropped me off at a hotel near the campus and said he’d be back to pick me up at 7:30 in the morning. I reached around to the back seat and gave Bess a pat before I got out. I think I’d like a life where I could take my dog with me everywhere.
“Need anything else?” Professor Whitfield asked after he’d helped me check in.
“No, I don’t think so. Thanks.” I glanced at the clock in the hotel lobby: only 9:45. I could have met Halli tonight after all. More important, I could have seen Daniel. But there was nothing I could do about it now—Halli wouldn’t be looking for me again until tomorrow.
“Seven-thirty,” the professor repeated. “Get some sleep.”
“I will.”
I took the elevator up to my room and opened the door to go inside. It felt weird standing there all alone, just a big empty hotel room and me. Different from being home alone. Everything looked clean and new, but it also felt a little cold. Impersonal. Like it didn’t care whether it was me sleeping in one of the beds or some anonymous businessman on a trip.
Is this what it’s been like for Halli, now that Ginny isn’t around anymore? Sitting in her campsite, walking into some empty apartment in Munich, no one to talk to except Red? Until I show up, at least. Maybe Halli wasn’t just being nice when she told me that one time she was happy for the company. I can see how maybe a person could go crazy spending too much time alone.
But I can also see the adventurous part of it. Because I have to say you do feel pretty bold and independent being in some stran
ge city by yourself.
As long as you can still check in with your mom.
“Hello?” She sounded groggy. I forgot all about the time difference. It must have been around midnight where she was.
“Oh, sorry, Mom. I just wanted to say goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sweetie. Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah, it was fine.” I took two planes, sneaked off to another state, and right now I’m supposed to be getting a good night’s sleep in a hotel room so tomorrow some professor you don’t trust can run a bunch of tests to see whether it’s okay for me to keep traveling to another universe to hang out with my parallel self. All totally normal.
We talked a little more, but I could tell she was barely awake.
“I’ll let you go back to sleep,” I told her. “I just wanted to say hi.”
“I always love to hear your voice,” she said. “Goodnight, sweetie. Have a good day tomorrow.”
“You, too, Mom.”
As soon as I hung up the phone I knew: I have to tell her soon. I can’t keep lying to her like this. That’s not what our relationship is about. My dad lied to her and she’s never gotten over it. I can’t be the second person in our three-person family to do that to her. It just isn’t fair.
So I will tell her. Right after I get back. I’ll figure out what to say and I’ll say it.
And what if she freaks out and says I can never do it again? I can never see Halli or Daniel or any of them?
I’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Professor Whitfield and I have to prove it’s safe. That’s what this whole weekend’s about: proof.
Because if one thing’s clear to me, it’s that I’m not going to give up the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.
I’m just tired of lying to my mother to keep it.
52
“What do you think?” Professor Whitfield asked me, standing on a little hilltop overlooking the campus.
“It’s nice,” I said. “Really nice.”
Parallelogram Omnibus Edition Page 19
