“Danny.”
The ground rushes up to meet me and I land. Hard. I gasp. Choke. She’s leaning over me, her hands on my shoulders.
“Eevee?”
I touch the grass. Reach up and touch her face.
What was that?
She helps me sit up, then holds both of my hands in hers. “You must have drifted off and had a nightmare.”
Pinpricks of cold race up my arms and circle my chest.
I don’t think that was a dream.
Warren sets up the tubing while I dish out the custard powder. The chemistry lab whirs away with all fourteen ventilation hoods running, which is good. Missy’s lab station isn’t far from ours and we can’t risk her listening in.
“Indicators definitely point to an EMP detonation,” he says.
“And others on the underground agree?”
“Dark Web, Solomon.” He tightens the lid on the jar. “The Underground is the subway system in London.”
“Whatever. They agree?”
“They not only agree, they’re spinning theories left and right. Some think he’s Edgar Cayce returned. Others, that he’s escaped from a mental hospital. The Dark Web’s all abuzz with ideas about the parallel boy.”
Mac holds up his hands (the universal teacher signal for Your attention, please) and the noise level in the room drops. If there’s one teacher at Palo Brea who gets respect, it’s Mac. “Everyone, please be sure your venting hoods are turned on. Robert and Logan here just turned theirs off and nearly caused the school a code violation. When all stations are ready, we’ll start the show.”
The noise level rises again. I clamp the funnel to the stand. Warren pours in the custard powder. “Most of the theories are ridiculous, of course. One guy suggested he was the time traveler in that Charlie Chaplin film.”
“Are you serious?”
“He even posted the video so I could decide whether or not the traveler looked like Danny.”
“Did it?”
“Sure. If at some point Danny gains about two hundred pounds and starts wearing dresses.”
“And you listen to these people?”
“Some of them.” He attaches the hose to the Bunsen burner. “Oh, and I talked to Jordan. He made us an appointment for Monday afternoon.”
I groan. “Now I just have to tell Danny.”
“You haven’t told him?”
“That we’re going to turn him into a pincushion? Sorry, I haven’t really found the right moment yet.”
“We’re not turning him into a pincushion.” Warren checks the burner’s setting. “It’s just a routine physical assessment at a community-college health fair. No big.”
I scratch the sparker across the burner but the flame doesn’t ignite. “You’re not the one on the examination table.” Warren shrugs. “What else is out there on your Dark Web?”
“Some think he’s an escapee from a secret government experiment, especially with all his talk about resistance.” Warren tries the sparker, too, then rechecks the burner, hose, knob.
“That’s creepy.”
“I know, but there’s no harm in looking at it from all angles.” He puts the burner back on the table and makes a grumpy face. “We must have missed something.”
“Like what? Clearly, it’s not the same world we’re in now.”
“No, I mean with the burner.”
I walk through the setup again. Everything looks right.
“How’s it going?” Warren asks.
“Well, I don’t see what we’ve done wrong here.” I crouch to check the lines running under the table.
“I mean with him.”
“Oh.” My tongue trips me up and all I can get out is a squeaky “Fine.” I stand again. “This should work. Is anyone else having problems?” I look around the room. The other tables are set up and ready.
Warren pulls the gas line from the burner and reattaches it. “We definitely need to talk to Mac.”
“Okay.” I turn to walk over to him, but Warren pulls me back.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to talk to Mac.”
“Not now.”
“But you said…” I point at the defective burner.
“I meant talk to him about the situation.”
Mac appears on the other side of our lab table. “What situation?”
“Can’t get the burner to light,” I say.
Mac fiddles with the parts, the lines and knobs. He crouches under the table and bangs on the pipes, then picks up the clicker and scratches it. Poof. A perfect flame. “Voilà. Now, what situation? The fact that you two want to attempt something completely dangerous and illegal for the science fair?”
I glare at Warren. “What did you do?”
“Turned in our application.” He ducks as if I’m going to hit him, and then looks confused when I don’t.
“How about we talk after class.” Mac knocks twice on our table and walks to the back of the room. “Stations ready? Safety goggles on? Fire shields up?” He holds his hand on the light switch, waiting for the go-ahead from the class. “As always, please remember this is a controlled experiment that should only be conducted in a safe environment with proper supervision. Now, drumroll, please.”
The room goes dark and Mac begins the countdown. “Three. Two…”
On one, twenty-eight students behind safety shields release custard powder into fourteen Bunsen-burner flames. Fourteen spectacular flashes of fire light up the darkened room. I jump back. Missy screams. It’s by far one of the coolest experiments we’ve done. We don’t usually get to blow things up.
“It isn’t the custard powder that ignites, but rather the corn flour in the mix. When the dust cloud disperses and mixes with the ample oxygen supply, you get flash combustion. Sometimes it isn’t the obvious factor that causes the reaction.”
Mac switches the lights back on. “You can turn off the vents. Be sure to follow proper cleanup procedures.”
Warren and I break down our station, putting the different parts away in the storage cabinets.
“I can’t believe you turned in that application,” I whisper, pulling the tube from the Bunsen burner.
“And I can’t believe you’re having a problem with this. We’re going to tell him anyway.” Warren carries the funnel and tubing. We take our time, hanging around, waiting for everyone to finish cleaning up and clearing out.
Missy hangs around, too. I pretend to search through my chemistry book for some piece of important information so I can stay within earshot.
“What’s it like, knowing you’ll probably win the science fair this year?” She holds her hands behind her back and bats her blue eyes at Warren.
He clears his throat. “I. Well. You never know. We might not win.” I look up, surprised. And not just because he thinks we might lose. Until recently, Warren could hardly form a complete thought in her presence. Why the change?
“Of course you will.” She reaches out to smooth his collar. “You’re so smart.” Then her face changes to surprise. “I know. Maybe you could help me figure out my project for the fair.”
Warren’s mouth opens and shuts. I want to snap, She can do her own work!, but instead I bite my tongue and turn another page in the chem text. Mac finishes talking to a student and walks over to his desk. Now’s our chance. I close the book loud enough to get Warren’s attention, then nod at Mac. Warren swallows hard. “Um. Yeah. Maybe. Um. I gotta go, Missy.”
“Oh.” She picks up her books. “Well, let me know, okay?” She smiles and turns to leave, her braids snapping like whips behind her.
When she’s gone, I whisper, “Ready?”
Warren looks up, his face still red from blushing. “Let’s do this.” We walk together to the back of the room, where Mac is sorting papers at his desk.
“So…” Mac’s glasses are perched up on his forehead. “The effects of EMPs on biological life forms. What sparked that idea?”
I start to answer, but two men in suits walk into
the classroom. “Marcus McAllister?”
Mac frowns. “Yes?”
One of the men reaches into his coat and pulls out an ID. Just like in the movies. “We’d like a minute of your time.”
Mac sets his hand on my shoulder and lowers his voice. “We’ll continue this conversation later, but for now, the answer is no.”
“No?” Warren sounds dumbfounded.
“Too risky. Find something else.” Mac clears his throat and begins walking toward the suits. “What can I do for you?”
“Can we come by this weekend?” Warren asks.
Mac turns back and shakes his head. “Not a good time,” he says.
No and not this weekend? Dejected and troubled, we grab our bags and shuffle from the room.
“Who were those guys?” I whisper as soon as the door shuts behind us.
“I don’t know, but I wonder if it has something to do with Principal Murray hounding him on Friday. When you were out sick. Did you see the note I wrote on your homework?”
The weirdness.
“What happened?”
“He stood at the back of the room with his arms crossed, glaring at Mac the entire class period. I waited around as long as I could. As soon as the door shut, I heard Murray lay into him.”
We wind our way through the crowds of students. I keep my voice low. “Do you think he’s in some kind of trouble?”
“I hope not.”
“Me too.”
I suggested we do something interesting today, like take the bike out again and explore the part of town where the harbor should be. But instead, I navigated another day at Palo Brea, pretending to be someone I’m not. Got lost on the way to Spanish class. Fought to keep my eyes open through history.
Awesome.
But soon it will be over. Eevee will walk out of her last class and we’ll be free to have fun again. Well, other than homework. But around Eevee, even homework isn’t so bad.
I lean back against the soda machine—our designated meeting place—and close my eyes. What was up with that weird nondream last night? I saw my Phoenix. Even though it was a crazy mess, I knew that’s where I was. I could feel it.
I think all the time about getting back there, but for the first time since I got here, it actually seems possible. Like I have a real shot. That I’ll see my parents and Germ again. Maybe even Red Dress Eevee.
The last bell rings. Students spill out of classrooms onto the sidewalks, a wave of sound crashing the quiet. Not long to go now.
The weird thing is, what I felt first when I landed back on Eevee’s lawn was relief. I should have been grasping to hang on to what I’d seen. What I’d lost. But all I could think about was Eevee in her ratty tennis shoes and how happy I was to be next to her.
The girl from the library, the one with the braids, walks toward me. I step to the side so she can get a soda, but she steps to the side, too. She doesn’t want a drink. She wants me.
She shifts her books and sticks out her hand. “Hi, my name is Missy. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” So formal.
“I’m Danny.”
“Pleased to meet you, Danny.” She hugs her books in front of her. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Warren and Eve.”
Eve? I thought only Sid called her that. “I have.”
“What are you guys working on?”
Who is this girl and why does she want to know? And what can I possibly tell her? Funny you should ask, Missy. I’m from a universe far, far away, and we’re trying to figure out how to get me back there. It’s super secret, though, so you can’t tell anyone.
I clear my throat. “Nothing.”
“Oh.” She twirls one of her braids around her finger and looks at me like she’s trying to read my mind. Or make up her own. She opens the cover of one of her textbooks and pulls out a folded paper. “Will you give this to Warren for me, please?”
“Sure.” I turn the note over in my hands. It’s fancy-folded into an octagon.
She gives me a stern look. “Don’t read it.” Then she turns and walks away.
Read it? I don’t think I can even figure out how to open it.
Saturday morning Mom proposes we do something together, enjoy some mother-daughter quality time.
“Let’s go to the mall.” She sits on the edge of my bed, still in her bathrobe, her hair in a ponytail. “Or see that new movie with what’s-his-name.” She snaps her fingers to jog her memory. “You know. The one about the guy with the thing and the girl who helps him figure it out.”
Sounds like my life.
“I can’t today, Mom. Warren and I are working on our project for the science fair.” Her face falls and I feel bad. “But we can go see what’s-his-name when the project is done, if you want.” This helps. Her face brightens and I’m free to get on with my day, helping the guy with the thing.
We take turns pushing the cart through O’Malley’s Hardware, passing the lightbulb aisle, window treatments and plumbing. Despite Mac’s initial reluctance, we’re moving ahead with our plan to build an EMP device. After all, we didn’t even get a chance to argue our case before the suits showed up. Warren and I decided we’ll either convince Mac of the necessity, or impress him with our creation. Besides, what other choice do we have?
Danny stops the cart. “Hop in.”
I’m not the most graceful girl in the world, but I manage to crawl up into it without falling on my face or scraping my knees. Danny pushes off, his shoes squeaking against the polished concrete floors. I squeal as we career toward the paint section, narrowly dodging a forklift.
Danny slides to a sudden stop. I press my feet against the cart to keep from slamming into the metal basket. Warren jogs up as Danny picks a bunch of color sample cards from the paint display. Purples, magentas, greens. He tucks them into his back pocket and notices us watching him. “What? I like those colors.” And we’re off again, racing toward lumber.
Even with Warren’s diagrams and shopping list, it takes forever to locate the right kind of wood, the right sizes. I wander around the lighting section while the guys watch an employee cut two-by-fours to the lengths we need. I like looking at the chandeliers. They make me think of stars. Finally, Warren and Danny come wheeling down the aisle, the cart full of supplies.
We pay for everything with Warren’s freelance game-scripting fees and my birthday stash. Then we push the cart and carry our bags out to where Mrs. Fletcher is waiting with the minivan windows down and classical music playing. She has the patience of a saint. Of course it helps that Warren has convinced her we’re gathering materials to conduct a groundbreaking experiment that will virtually guarantee his acceptance to MIT. Which might not be altogether untrue. We load the goods into the back, maneuvering the lumber through the seats all the way to the front.
When we get to Warren’s, we reverse the process, unloading and carrying everything to the garage. Lucky for us, his parents are used to him doing wacky, large-scale experiments at home. Trebuchet, Jacob’s ladder, replica TARDIS. They’re so used to it, they’ve cleaned out half of the garage as his workspace and built a second shed in back to house his creations. They deserve some kind of award for being the coolest parents ever.
“Is that everything?” Mrs. Fletcher asks, her hands on her hips.
“Looks like it,” I say, surveying the pile of stuff we’ve amassed. Warren nods.
“Good luck.” She disappears into the house.
Coolest parents ever.
Warren looks at his watch. “Only have a couple of hours, but maybe we can get the framing done.”
“You have plans?”
He looks away, then jumps in to help Danny sort the two-by-fours. “I’m going out.”
“Out?” I cut the plastic wrapping from the rolls of chicken wire. “Out, like, to Arkham’s Attic for comics?”
“No. Out, as in out.”
“You mean a date?” I notice now that he’s got his aviators on again, and he’s wearing his favorite shirt—a ringer tee wi
th a cartoon of Tesla on the front.
His answer is quiet. “Maybe.”
I don’t have to see his face to know he’s blushing. “With Missy?”
That sets him off. He crosses his arms. “Yes, okay? I have a date with Missy. Is that such a big deal? Sheesh. It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve gone out.”
“What?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. When did this start? How have I not noticed?
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, his voice acerbic, “but I don’t have to get your permission to have a social life, Solomon.”
From the look on his face, I can tell I’ve stepped way out of line. “I’m sorry,” I say with as much sincerity as possible. “Of course you don’t need my permission. I hope you two have a nice time.”
But I can’t help thinking about how she’s been hanging around us. How yesterday she asked Danny about our science project. Warren wouldn’t tell her, would he?
That night we walk circles around the neighborhood, listening to the cicadas sing and talking about nothing in particular. An orange half-moon hangs low on the horizon. Danny squeezes my hand. “Who else do you hope you are in your parallel worlds?”
The question throws me. I hadn’t thought about it before, but he’s obviously been thinking about it for a while.
How many versions of me are there out there? Theoretically, there could be an infinite number. Is it possible there’s one for every dream I’ve had in my life here as myself? When I was a kid, I wanted to be a dancer, a teacher, an opera singer, an astronaut.
I think of her. The one other Eevee I do know about. Sometimes I want to be her.
It’s taking me way too long to answer, so I choose the last thing I remember wanting to be before I fell in love with physics. “An archeologist.” I kick a rock down the sidewalk. It rolls into a neighbor’s yard. “Digging around ruins in Ireland or Rome. You?”
Now That You're Here (Duplexity, Part I) Page 11
