Collide

by Michelle Madow

  “I shouldn’t have done that.” I stared longingly at the place where my hand had rested on his. “I shouldn’t have thought…”

  “You shouldn’t have thought what?”

  “That I could make you remember.” My hands shook as I gathered my stuff and stepped out of the car. Then I leaned down and added, “But when everything happens on the show like I said it would, you know how to find me.”

  With that, I shut the door and he drove away.

  Tuesday, October 28

  Claire’s car was already in Zac’s driveway when I arrived for our meeting, so I parked on the street. Zac had such a big personality that I’d imagined him living in a huge house, but this neighborhood was so normal. It was all two-story townhouses with two car garages and a slim line of grass in front each one.

  I sat in my car, remembering the hurt splattered over Zac’s face as he realized that I had no memories of dating him. No matter what, I would be a disappointment to him. Because I was me—not Annabelle. The girl he wanted was gone. Possibly forever.

  But while I might not remember him, he cared about me. He believed me. And he wanted to help. I didn’t know him well, but I did trust him. I shouldn’t be nervous to see him.

  So I got out of my car and walked up to his house, trying to remain calm. The front door was decorated for Halloween, with carved pumpkins, fake cobwebs, a hanging ghost, and a crumbling tombstone. One of the pumpkins looked like the type I would carve, and I realized it was highly possible that I had carved it.

  Chills traveled down my spine, and I knocked on the door, not wanting to look at the reminder of Annabelle for one second longer.

  A woman with long blonde hair answered. She was dressed casually—in jeans and a t-shirt—and even though she looked young to have a teenage son, she shared Zac’s tan skin and strong cheekbones. She must be his mom.

  “Hey, Annabelle,” she said, letting me inside. “Zac and Claire are upstairs studying.”

  “Okay.” I glanced around, glad that the staircase was in sight. At least I wouldn’t get obviously lost. “Thanks, Mrs. Michaels.”

  “Mrs. Michaels?” Her forehead crinkled, and she laughed nervously. “What do you mean by that?”

  I pulled at the bottoms of my sleeves, wishing I could run up the stairs and avoid whatever mistake I’d made. Was she one of those moms who liked to be called by her first name? Or one who didn’t take her husband’s last name? I didn’t know, but she looked pretty offended by what I’d said.

  Luckily, Zac rushed down and wrapped me in a hug. “Hey, Annabelle,” he said, and I hugged him back, grateful for a reason not to look at his mom. He glanced at his mom, who still looked irritated, and he stepped back. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Annabelle called me ‘Mrs. Michaels,’” she said, scrunching her nose. “Is this some kind of joke that I don’t know about?”

  “She’s having a weird week,” Zac said. “I’ll explain later.”

  Before she could answer, he pulled me up the stairs and led me into his room. Claire already had her shoes off and had made herself comfortable on his bed.

  He shut the door and doubled over in laughter. “Mrs. Michaels,” he repeated between breaths. “She looked so pissed. I have no idea how I’m going to explain that one.”

  “I guess your mom goes by her first name?” I perched on the end of his bed, next to Claire’s feet.

  “His mom?” Claire gasped. “Kara’s his sister.”

  “Your sister?” My mouth dropped open, and I thought back to how shocked she looked when I called her Mrs. Michaels. Now that I knew why, I laughed as well. “I didn’t realize… I mean, I couldn’t tell how old she was…”

  “She’s thirty two,” Zac said, still laughing.

  “She’s his half sister,” Claire explained. “From his dad’s first marriage.”

  “Wow.” I smiled, realizing this was the first time I’d really laughed since waking up here yesterday morning. “I’m sorry. I just assumed your mom looked really young for her age. How was I supposed to know?”

  Zac stopped laughing, and the sudden silence made me shift in place. “Annabelle knew,” he said. “Kara separated from her husband a few months ago, and she moved back home for now. The two of you are friends.”

  “Oh.” I glanced at his nightstand, where he had a photo of him and me on a boat. His arms were wrapped around me, and we were both smiling, the wind making my hair fly in all directions. “I’m sorry I don’t remember her.”

  “I should have realized you wouldn’t.” He sat in the big office chair at his desk, kicked off his shoes, and glanced at the photo of us. “You look just like her—like my Annabelle. It’s hard to remember that you’re not her.”

  “I am, though,” I said. “Sort of. I’m the same person. Just with different memories of the past few months.”

  “But don’t our experiences and our memories of them make us who we are?” He watched me so intensely that my breath caught, and I looked down, unsure how to respond. Because I might not be the Annabelle he shared all those memories with, but at the core of my being, I was still the same person. Wasn’t I?

  But I couldn’t say anything that might get his hopes up. Because I owed it to Jake—to my Jake—to fight for us. And that was exactly what I was going to do.

  “I guess,” I said. “But we can’t forget why we’re here. We need to talk about Friday night.”

  “Of course.” Claire gathered her hair over her shoulder. “But first, how’d it go telling Jake this afternoon?”

  Zac whipped his head around to look at me. “You told Jake?” he asked.

  “I had to,” I said. “Jake was the first one shot. He could die. I had to tell him the truth.”

  “He’s not going to die,” Zac said. “I promised I would help you figure out how to stop this. Don’t you trust me?”

  “I do,” I said, and I meant it. “But since Jake was shot, we know he wasn’t the shooter. What if he can help us figure out who is?”

  “So he believed you?” Claire asked.

  “He was skeptical.” I shrugged and glanced down at my feet. “But he’ll believe me by tomorrow night.”

  “Why?” Zac asked. “Did you tell him another news story like the bath salt zombie?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t regularly follow the news—I only knew about the bath salt zombie because everyone made such a big deal about it at school.”

  “Then what did you tell him?”

  “I told him what’s going to happen tomorrow night on Doomed.”

  “No way.” Zac leaned forward. “You know what’s going to happen? I mean, of course you know what’s going to happen. You’ve seen it already. But don’t ruin it for me, all right?” He clasped his hands over his ears, as if he were afraid of hearing spoilers.

  I tilted my head, unsure if I was hearing this correctly. “You watch Doomed?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He smirked. “I watch it with you—with Annabelle—every week.”

  “Hm,” I said, taking a moment to process that. “Was it your idea to start watching it?”

  “It was yours,” he said. “You said that someone you trusted loved the show, and that we should see what it’s about.”

  “That person must have been Jake.”

  “No way.” Claire shook her head. “You—I mean Annabelle—haven’t talked to Jake in months. She doesn’t even like him.”

  “What?” I asked, confused about how that could be possible. But then I thought back to my conversation with Jake in the car—how he’d been so guarded around me—and I realized there might have been a reason for that. “Annabelle wasn’t mean to him, was she?”

  “Not to him,” Claire said. “To Marisa. You always make fun of her—her makeup, her clothes, her hair, those bracelets she wears. It’s always something. Naturally, Jake wasn’t too happy about that.”

  I shook my head, unable to believe it. Those were the same bracelets that Jake had made for me in my world. I loved those
bracelets. And Marisa was my friend. I wouldn’t do that to her.

  “It wasn’t me who did that—it was Annabelle,” I said. “I would never make fun of Marisa. I would never make fun of anyone.”

  “If it helps, you don’t make fun of anyone else,” Claire said. “Only Marisa.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.” I pulled my legs up to my chest, hugging them tight. “Why did Annabelle hate Marisa? What happened between them?”

  “I don’t know.” Claire shrugged. “She never told me. She just said that Marisa was a selfish bitch, and that she wouldn’t be friends with her if she was the last person on Earth.”

  “I don’t get it.” I picked at a hangnail, trying to figure out why Annabelle would hate Marisa. The only thing I could think of was that Annabelle was jealous that Marisa was with Jake. Lashing out at Marisa didn’t sound like something I would do, but apparently the differences between me and Annabelle were more extreme than I’d realized.

  “I guess it explains why Jake was so defensive when I talked to him today,” I said.

  “Yeah.” Claire nodded. “Do you really think he’ll believe you because you know what’s going to happen on some TV show?”

  “It’s not just ‘some TV show,’” Zac said. “It’s Doomed. It has insane plot twists, and production keeps everything under wraps so no spoilers get out. If Jake knows anything about the show—which from what Annabelle said, he does—he’ll have to believe her after the episode airs.”

  “Maybe.” Claire sounded skeptical. “But is he going to tell Marisa?”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “Marisa gets super jealous. He didn’t even want her to know that we talked after school.”

  “Good,” Zac said. “Because you didn’t see Marisa when the shooting was happening, right?”

  “She was on the bleachers with me beforehand,” I said. “But no, I didn’t see her while it was happening. Why?”

  “You said she gets jealous.” He pressed the pads of his fingers together, his gaze intense. “Do you think she was jealous of you and Jake?”

  I gasped and leaned away from him. “You’re not saying… you don’t think that Marisa was the shooter,” I said. “Do you?”

  “All I’m saying is that you can’t discount her, since you didn’t see her when the shooting happened.” He stood up and paced around the room. “And whoever it was shot Jake, and then shot you. We have to consider that the two of you might have been intentional targets.”

  “No way.” I shook my head. “That’s impossible. Jake and I never did anything that would make someone want us dead.”

  “But someone brought a gun to the dance, and you were two of the victims.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But there were other shots too.”

  “Right.” Zac rolled his chair across the room so it was directly across from me and sat down. “Why don’t you walk me through everything that happened again?”

  I wound my fingers together, not wanting to re-live that night.

  But I had to if I wanted to be helpful.

  “One of my favorite slow songs came on, and Jake and I went to the center of the dance floor,” I started. “At first everything was perfect.” My voice caught as I remembered that final happy moment between us, but I forced myself to continue. “Then there was the first shot, and there was blood all over my dress. Jake fell down, and I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was coming from his chest and it wouldn’t stop. I heard other shots—two of them—but I didn’t see who was hit. All I could think about was helping Jake. But he died… and I couldn’t do anything to save him.”

  “It’s okay,” Claire said, pulling me into a hug. “He’s alive here. And we’re going to save him, all right?”

  I nodded and blinked away tears, because while Claire and Zac were doing everything they could to help, nothing was guaranteed. Jake was still at risk. I was, too.

  “You didn’t see any hints of who else was hit?” Zac asked. “And you didn’t try to see where the shots were coming from, so you could know who was shooting?”

  “No.” I glared at him. “Jake was on the ground dying. All I could think about was saving him. I screamed for help and nobody listened. Everyone wanted to save themselves. It was chaos. Even you and Claire—you pulled her with you and ran out of there.”

  His brow creased. “I didn’t try to pull you out too?”

  “In my world, you don’t know me,” I reminded him.

  “We’ve been in the same classes together since middle school,” he said. “I’ve always noticed you. If I’d seen you there that night I would have tried to save you—even if I had to put myself in the line of fire to do it.”

  My hands dropped to my sides, and I nodded as I took in the intensity of what he’d said.

  Zac would risk his life to save mine.

  “Then you must not have seen me,” I said, shaking off whatever feelings I’d just had for him.

  “I must have been focused on the exit,” he said. “If shots are fired, the best thing to do is run to safety. Runners have the highest survival rate in shootings. Then once you’re in a secure location, call 911. But you have to wait until you’re safe, because calling for help in front of the shooter will make you an immediate target.”

  “How do you know so much about this?” I asked.

  “My dad’s a cop,” he reminded me. “Since I was a kid, he’s made sure I know what to do in life or death situations.”

  “Speaking of the cops,” Claire said. “What if we call them anonymously on Friday and tip them off to what’s going to happen?”

  “Then the dance will get cancelled and no one will get hurt.” I smiled at how easy it would be, but reality came crashing down a moment later. “Except if we did that, the shooter would still be out there and we would be no closer to figuring out their identity.”

  “Annabelle’s right.” Zac leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. “He—or she—could attack another time. Then we’ve lost our edge, and we’re just as behind as everyone else.”

  “So if we want to catch the shooter, we need to do it on Friday night,” I said. “Which means we have no other choice—we have to go to that dance.”

  Tuesday, October 28

  “Not only do we have to go to the dance, but we have to keep things as close to possible to the way Annabelle remembered them being the first time around,” Zac said. “We have an advantage right now because we know what’s coming. But the more we change, the more likely it’ll be that those changes will butterfly out and create even bigger changes. If that happens, we’ll lose our edge.”

  “But so much has already changed,” I pointed out. “For instance, in my world you were dancing with Claire to cheer her up because she’d just gotten in a fight with Robby.”

  “Why would I be fighting with Robby?” Claire asked. “We barely know each other. I only agreed to go to the dance with him because I didn’t like how you were suddenly telling me that I couldn’t go.” She held her hands up, her eyes full of guilt. “Sorry. It sounds obnoxious now that I know the real reason why you didn’t want me to go.”

  “You were at the dance with Robby because in my world, you’re dating him,” I said. “You’ve been dating him for months.”

  “No way.” Claire crinkled her nose. “I mean, I was interested in him months ago, but I’ve thought he was disgusting since that party last summer when you caught him putting shots of vodka into my beer…” Her gaze went far off, and realization dawned on her face.

  “In my world, I wasn’t at that party.” I scooted closer to her. “I wasn’t there to tell you he was putting vodka in your beer.”

  “So what happened that night?” She shuddered. “I didn’t hook up with him, did I?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “We’d already been drifting apart, and it was so soon after my mom passed away.”

  “So I wouldn’t have wanted to worry you with my own problems.”

  “Probably not,” I said. “But I never understood why
you put up with him. He was so controlling. I had a run in with him at the dance...” I gasped, wondering why I hadn’t thought to mention it earlier. “I saw something metallic in his jacket, and I assumed it was a flask. But what if it were a gun?”

  “No way,” Zac said. “Robby might be a jerk, but he’s not a killer. He’s been my teammate since freshman year.”

  “And Marisa’s been my friend since middle school,” I pointed out. “But you had no problem thinking that she might be the shooter. I don’t see how this is any different. Actually, there’s more of a chance that it’s Robby, since what I saw in his jacket could have been a gun.”

  “But if we’re assuming that the shooter targeted you and Jake for a reason, then Marisa has a motive,” Zac said. “You said she gets jealous easily.”

  “There’s a difference between getting jealous easily and being a killer,” I said. “Besides, in this world Marisa’s dating Jake—not me. She has no reason to be jealous.”

  “You’re right.” He nodded. “Best case scenario is that the ripple effect of your mom still being alive made it so the shooting won’t happen on Friday night. But we can’t assume the best case scenario. We have to assume that this will all happen the same way as you remember. It’s our only shot at catching whoever did this. Well, whoever’s going to do this.”

  “Robby might have a motive as well,” I pointed out.

  “What sort of motive?” he asked.

  “We’ve never liked each other,” I said. “Our personalities just… clash. Before my mom died—meaning this happened in both of our worlds—I stopped him from driving Claire home from a party when they were both drunk. He’s hated me ever since.”

  “But the first shot hit Jake, not you,” Zac said.

  “Jake and I were dancing close together,” I told him. “What if he were aiming for me, but missed and shot Jake instead? Plus, I didn’t see him while the shooting was happening, and I saw something metallic in his jacket that night. That’s a lot more of a lead than we have for anyone else.”