Don't You Wish

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Can’t. I have to stay at Crap for Missy.”

  “I don’t get the connection. Why?”

  He looks at me like he’s not even sure where to begin.

  “She told me a little about the accident,” I offer, to help him out. “And I know that you guys—well, you and your mom, like you told me—were on the news and that’s how you got your scholarship. But how does Missy fit into Croppe?”

  “After the accident, my mom pretty much lost everything trying to take care of Missy. Before that, we lived in an apartment in Cutler Ridge, and my mom taught sixth-grade science. Then … everything changed in an instant. Insurance covered a lot of it, but still the medical bills wiped us out. We got some help here and there, but eventually we couldn’t stay in the apartment, so we found a few shelters—you have to move after a certain amount of time—that could accommodate Missy’s special bed.” He pauses for a minute, rolling the Coke can in his hands. “I stayed out of school as long as I could before some government agency made me go back. When I did, I won the Miami-Dade County Science Fair, competing against seniors in high school, and I was basically in eighth grade. And I also won state.”

  “Wow. No wonder they did a news story.”

  “Yeah, and that’s when Croppe got involved.”

  “Offering the scholarship.”

  He shrugs. “That’s just a little side PR benefit for them, but it’s part of the whole deal.”

  “What deal?”

  “John J. Croppe isn’t just the name of a private school in Miami, Ayla. John J. might be the granddaddy who built the school, but Croppe Pharmaceuticals and Medical Devices is an international company, and research—like what they’re doing with Missy—is where they mine for money in the future.”

  “What are they doing with her?”

  “Missy has a rare kind of spinal cord injury. Before, she needed a ventilator to breathe, which is the worst thing imaginable, believe me. But Croppe is testing this device that provides electrical stimulation to the muscles in her diaphragm, and it allows her to breathe on her own. Her voice is funny, but before, she could hardly talk at all.”

  “Really? I would never have known something was helping her breathe.”

  He leans forward, excited. “It’s a huge medical breakthrough, but they don’t want the competition to know how far along they are. The FDA knows, of course, and they are constantly sending people here to check on her. And she gets all kinds of attention from doctors and scientists from Croppe, and they’ve made it possible for us to have a home and live without my mom working full-time, although she cleans offices at Croppe Pharm because she hates feeling like a charity case.”

  “Not a charity case if they’re going to profit from the research,” I say. “But why do you have to go to Croppe?”

  “For the good PR they get about how they’re helping this ‘homeless’ family.” He puts the word in quotes, but that does nothing to erase the ugly way it sounds on his lips. “They want me there as part of the deal. I can’t take a chance they’ll back down and stop providing the medical treatment for Missy. So, I endure the homeless jokes.”

  “But you weren’t homeless,” I say. “You had extraordinary circumstances.”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “God, Ayla, I had no idea you were such a … sweet girl.”

  “Ditto,” I say. “Except for the girl part. You’re an awfully good brother.”

  He shrugs modestly. “She’s my twin. My other half. I’d be in that chair if I hadn’t been a jerk and insisted on the front seat. The air bag saved me from any serious injury. She wasn’t so lucky.” Guilt drips off every word.

  “Are you ever going to forgive yourself?”

  “Probably not, and neither will my mom. It was our fault,” he says simply. “She made a dumb move, and I should have been in the back.”

  “You can’t second-guess history,” I say. Then I shift on the sofa and turn to him, ready. “Although, sometimes, life can surprise you by doing that for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I bite my lip and realize I’m squeezing my hands together. “I have to tell you something, Charlie.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s big.”

  He laughs and points at the violin. “After that, nothing could surprise me.”

  “This will. But you have to make me a promise … and I understand keeping promises is your superpower.”

  “I do what I can,” he says. “What do you want me to promise? To keep it secret? You don’t even have to ask.”

  “I need you to promise not to tell me I’m crazy—”

  “No problem.”

  “Or lying or an alien or manipulating you or making this up in any way, shape, or form.” I’m rushing the words because it is so important to me now. “I want you to promise that.”

  “I promise.”

  I believe him. How can I not? I’ve seen what he’s made of, I’ve heard his sister’s testimony. And I’ve never felt more comfortable or, oddly enough, more like Annie than since I walked into this house.

  “I’m not Ayla Monroe,” I say quietly.

  His head angles a little, like my dog Watson when I used to ask him a question he couldn’t possibly understand. “Is that why you called yourself Annie?”

  Relief rolls through me. “Yes. My name is Annie Nutter, and about a week or so ago, I was in my house on Rolling Rock Road in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, just as ordinary as I could be. Then there was a lightning strike and I woke up living and breathing in Ayla Monroe’s world. In her body, actually.”

  He pales a little. “You did?”

  Encouraged by a response that doesn’t include wild accusations or running from the room screaming, I power on. “I did. I was one girl, living one life, not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. But everything was completely normal. Then I was in Walmart, and my mother—who is the same mother I have now, by the way—was crying about Jim Monroe’s house in Architectural Digest, and we got home and my dad had invented some bizarre mirror thing where you can put perfect features together to create a new you, and my mom broke it and they had this big fight and I had pancakes for dinner and there was a storm, and I think lightning hit the house or something, because I woke up here.”

  “You just woke up in a different world.” He cuts off my word spew with a statement, not a question. A glorious, reasonable statement.

  “You believe me?” I can see he’s having a little trouble. At least, he can’t quite catch his breath or form a word. “I knew you wouldn’t be—”

  “Of course I believe you,” he interjects. “Holy crap, this is the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard.”

  I laugh a little, like someone has shot endorphins straight into my brain. Charlie believes me! I barely realize I’m holding both his hands, gripping him, and he’s gripping back. “Exciting?” I repeat.

  “Oh, my God, beyond exciting.”

  “It’s crazy, though, right?” I say. “But it happened. It really did. And I have no idea what’s going on or how this happened.”

  He pulls me a little closer. “I do.”

  My jaw drops. “You do?”

  “Of course I do. This is my passion. This is my real superpower.”

  “What is?”

  “Quantum physics and particle theory. Atomic collisions and multiverses.”

  “What?”

  He laughs and squeezes my hands. “You did the most amazing thing a person can do, Ayla. I mean, Annie.” He thinks about that for a second, searching my face, a slow smile breaking across his. “Annie Nutter.” Oh, my God. I love the way he says it. Like it’s the prettiest name ever. “ ‘Annie’ fits you, somehow. Much better than ‘Ayla.’ ”

  “Thanks, I think.” I curl my fingers through his, my pulse jumping like crazy. “Can you please tell me what this amazing thing I did is?”

  He leans closer. “You made the ultimate journey from one universe to another.”

  “I did?” I shoot back, reel
ing. “How?”

  “Well, we’ll have to figure that out. My guess is the Heisenberg uncertainty principle and hyper-dimensional physics in a level three or four parallel universe.”

  What? The only word I got in that was uncertainty. My life has been nothing but uncertain since this happened. “What are you talking about?” I say. “Parallel universes?”

  “Yes!” He’s as excited as Missy was when I said I could play the violin. In fact, at this moment, I can see they’re twins. “Of course, we’ll need to do some research to figure that out. You’ll need to tell me exactly what happened, when, and how. I know a quantum physics genius at UM who’s involved with some major particle colliding projects. He might—”

  “You can’t tell anyone!”

  “How else are we going to help you?”

  “Help me? Help me what?”

  He finally lets go of my hands, easing away, the first real confusion registering on his face. “Help you get back.”

  I collapse a little, staring at him. “I can go back?”

  “Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

  “Oh, Charlie.” I cover my mouth as the possibility washes over me. I can go home. I can give up this perfect world, this lucky life, this wonderful boy … and I can be Annie Nutter again.

  “You want to go back, don’t you?”

  I have to answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A few hours later, I’m leaning back in the Jeep as we cross the causeway to Star Island, with the canvas top stripped off to let the warm Biscayne Bay breeze blow our hair. Charlie is holding my hand over the stack of science books between us, and jazz music plays on the car radio.

  I close my eyes, but behind my lids all I can see is universe bubbles, images of stars, wormholes, laser lights, dancing electrons, photons, and something I’ve never heard of, a graviton.

  My master course in quantum mechanics and cosmology did little but confuse me.

  “Everything makes so much sense now,” Charlie muses, letting go of my hand to turn the music down.

  “You’re kidding, right? Nothing makes sense, Charlie. I still don’t understand the four levels of parallel universes or how there could be one right here”—I grab a handful of air—“and we can’t see or smell or hear it because it’s in another dimension where laws of physics don’t apply.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts, the dimple appears, and my toes curl like they’ve been pulled on a string. “I mean about you,” Charlie says. “Everything makes sense about you now.”

  I don’t answer but bask in his glance, fast but full of admiration.

  “You were never Ayla Monroe, not from the minute you walked into school that day you were late. I could just sense it.”

  “But I am,” I insist. “This is Ayla.” I point to myself, then to the entrance of Star Island. “And that’s where she lives.”

  “This is Annie.” He taps my breastbone, a few inches above my heart. “And that’s where she lives.”

  How is it that he got that already? Just knowing that makes me feel better.

  The Star Island guard gives the Jeep an evil eye, but lets us by when he sees me.

  “It’s not a bad way to live,” I say, somehow feeling I have to defend Ayla’s lifestyle. “And, except for the idiots like Ryder, being popular and pretty instead of an invisible nobody doesn’t suck.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious, Charlie. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t like to wake up in a luxurious house, a whole improved you, and not have to be bullied and treated like crap by the likes of Lunch Lady.”

  He slows down in front of the gate to my house but doesn’t press in the numbers. Instead he stares straight ahead, that amazing brain of his whirring, I can tell.

  “Lunch Lady doesn’t exist for me, luxury doesn’t matter, and the assholes can’t hurt me if I don’t let them.” He turns to me. “You know the only thing I’d barter with the devil to change.”

  Missy. My gut twists. I guess I’m being ridiculously shallow for worrying about money and popularity when his sister …

  “I didn’t barter with the devil,” I say softly. “I just had a few fantasies, pictured a perfect life, and a lightning bolt took me there.”

  Without answering, he taps in the code just as a car pulls up behind us. I look in the side mirror and recognize my mother’s silver Mercedes.

  “That’s my mom,” I say, a whole bunch of mixed feelings stirring inside me. I don’t want or need to tell her the truth anymore, but I do want to straighten out her misconception that I read her email.

  And I really want to know what she said to Mel Nutter, and what he said to her.

  “Want me to pull over so you can drive in with her?” he asks, seeing me look longingly at Mom’s car in the side mirror.

  “No, I’ll catch her inside. Do you want to come in with me?”

  He shakes his head, heading into the wide paved drive and pulling over to let my mom pass. I catch her eye as she drives by; she looks pensive and sad—and worried. I give her a little wave, and she attempts a smile in return.

  “She was happier in that other universe,” I say as Charlie parks next to a cluster of palm trees. “I mean, she cried that day in Walmart, but most of the time, my mom would sing when she cooked or talk to the fish when she fed them.” I feel that homesick lump building in my throat, a semipermanent resident lately. “She didn’t fight that much with my dad, either. I wish she were happy now. I wish she didn’t want a divorce or drink in the afternoon or act like I don’t want her in my room. I wish …”

  My voice cracks, and Charlie puts his hand on mine, turning in the seat to face me. “You cry a lot.”

  “I didn’t used to. I blushed. How do you explain that? Not all the particles that blasted through the wormhole came through right?”

  “Blushing and tearfulness are inherited traits,” he says, all scientific and serious.

  “And playing the violin?”

  He brushes my cheek, wiping a tear. “From the soul or whatever indefinable part of you makes you Annie. I like that part.” The pad of his thumb circles my cheekbone, and I can’t take my eyes off his. “Yes, you are pretty, and when you pictured perfect, you came damn close, but the part of you I like the most is inside.”

  Oh. Oh. “That could be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I whisper.

  He smiles and leans close enough to let our foreheads touch, and I feel connected to him like this is a Vulcan mind meld or something.

  “I’m going over to UM right now to talk to Doc Pritchard. I’ll call you tonight when I find out more.”

  “Is he going to want to meet me and experiment on me?”

  Charlie smiles. “No testing on Annie, I promise.” He takes my chin and lifts my face toward his. “Just so we’re clear on this, I like Annie a lot.”

  I almost nod, but I’m pretty paralyzed with affection for him at the moment. Our lips are close, and I know he’s going to kiss me. I want him to so badly that my lips actually hurt.

  When he doesn’t, I ask, “Do you want me to go back, Charlie?”

  “I want you to be happy. If you’re happier here, then you should stay.”

  “I promised your sister I wouldn’t disappear. If I go back, she might think she scared me off.”

  He looks at me, his eyes so warm and dear. “I’ll take care of her.”

  “You already do,” I say, unable to keep the admiration out of my voice. “You’re a good brother.”

  “I’d be a better boyfriend.”

  I smile at him. “Charlie Zelinsky, are you asking me out?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even though we’re from … different universes?”

  “Yep.”

  I smile and give him a quick peck on the cheek, saving a bigger, better kiss for somewhere other than my driveway. “Yes, you can be my boyfriend. In this or any universe.”

  “Deal.” He giv
es me a warm hug, and then lets go so I can climb out of the Jeep. While I watch him drive away, I realize that for the first time since I woke up in wonderland, I’m truly happy. So, why would I want to leave?

  * * *

  I stop in the kitchen for a snack, hoping to talk to Mom, but she has already disappeared upstairs. Tillie tries to make conversation with me, but after a while, I drift away. When I hear Mom talking on the phone, I head toward her room. Just as she hangs up, I tap on the open door.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  She turns and meets my gaze, and then I see that her room is covered with open suitcases and clothes.

  “Who was that boy?” she asks.

  “Just a kid from school. We’re … working on a science project together.” For once, my age-old excuse is true.

  She gives me a rare smile. “Well, it looked like some definite chemistry going on out there.”

  I nod and indicate the suitcases. “Looks like some definite packing going on in here.”

  “I’m going away,” she says quietly.

  Oh. I feel the impact of that in my stomach first, then all the way down to my toes. Moms don’t leave. “Where?”

  “I’m staying with my friend Deirdre at her condo in Boca for a while.”

  “And then?”

  She shrugs. “I’m still deciding.”

  I take a step inside, studying her, trying to determine her mood. Like always, she seems closed up, protected, and … tight. Like always, I can’t believe how much marriage to the wrong man affected her.

  It’s a lesson to me: marry wisely.

  The image of Charlie—my sweet, caring, smart boyfriend—flits through my brain, but I put him away for now, concentrating on what I want to say to Mom.

  “Listen, about that question I asked you about Mel—”

  She waves a hand to silence me. “I’m sorry I lost my temper with you, Ayla.”

  “Well, you thought I was snooping—”

  “You were snooping.”

  “But I wasn’t.” I can’t stand it. I have to know where history changed in this universe. Encouraged that she hasn’t kicked me out yet, I prop myself on a silk vanity bench. “Mom, can I ask you something?”