The Similars

by Rebecca Hanover

  I continue to flip through the topics on the screen until I notice another folder on the main home page. It’s labeled “Personal.” Inside, I find hundreds of other folders, each one labeled “Memory” with a descriptor beside it. I’ve read about this somewhere—or maybe I heard my father talking about it once with a business associate. The storage of memories through virtual reality technology. It’s not yet widely used, but it’s also not surprising that Gravelle would already have a fully realized version of the technology.

  I dig in the back of my brain, trying to remember. Gravelle made his initial fortune starting an augmented reality company nearly twenty years ago. This is his field.

  Though there are hundreds of folders, only a few are highlighted. The unhighlighted ones don’t open when I click on them, so I assume I don’t have access. I select the first highlighted folder in the group—“Memory: Early Darkwood.” The room darkens like inside a movie theater. Images swirl around me, not in one static spot, like the flowers, but all over. I’m transported from the bed in this white room to a dorm room, much like my room at school. I take in my surroundings, knowing full well I’m not there, not really. I’m still confined to this bed. Yet this dorm room feels so real. Real, and entirely frightening, because I know in my gut there’s no way out until the memory is over. For the foreseeable future, the past is my very real present.

  The Memory

  A boy lounges on one of the twin beds, leaning back against the wall, his laptop computer on his knees. The laptop is my first clue that we’re a couple of decades in the past. It’s oversize and clunky, a relic you’d see in a pawn shop. The boy is typing furiously, the grin on his face half-hidden by the long brown bangs that fall in his eyes. He is so wrapped up in his typing that he barely notices when another boy walks in, hesitating awkwardly at the threshold. This second boy carries a beat-up duffel and a weathered paper shopping bag.

  “Um, hi?” says the second boy.

  The boy on the bed glances up from his laptop, an impish smile still on his face. He’s good-looking. He has an ease about him that’s magnetic, and I’m immediately drawn to him. It’s almost like I know him, but I know that’s silly. This memory probably took place before I was born.

  “Hey,” says this boy on the bed. He studies the boy in the doorway, noticing the boy’s too-short khaki pants and threadbare shirt. His clothes are ill-fitting and worn, but they look like they’ve been ironed. There’s not a wrinkle on them.

  The second boy fidgets, his angular face etched with discomfort. His jet-black hair is greased unattractively behind his ears, yet he has strong, attractive, even intelligent features.

  The boy sitting on the bed grins and hops up, extending a hand.

  “Welcome to the rest of your life.” He waits for the second boy to shake his hand. After a moment, he does.

  “John Underwood,” says the second boy. “Everyone calls me Johnny.”

  “Colin,” the first boy answers jauntily, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Colin Chance. Nice to meet you.”

  The air goes out of me like I’m a giant balloon. It’s the first time since I entered this memory that I’ve even thought of myself, of my own body.

  This boy, Colin Chance, is my father.

  I’m watching my own father when he was a student at Darkwood.

  But I don’t have time to process this. I turn my attention back to the scene. I don’t want to miss a second of it.

  “That’s your bed,” my father—I mean, Colin—tells his new roommate. “Where’s the rest of your luggage? In the car?”

  “The rest?” Johnny says. “No, this is it.” He sets down his bags, then sits stiffly on his bed.

  “That’s all you brought with you?” Colin stares at the duffel and paper bag in confusion.

  Johnny grabs the handles of the paper bag and dumps its contents on the bed. It’s all textbooks. They’re used, and not gently. Some are missing covers. Johnny unzips his duffel and removes the contents: a few clothes, one extra pair of shoes, and a Ziplock bag containing his toothbrush and medicinals.

  “I like to travel light.” He places the clothes in a dresser drawer, slides the shoes under his bed, and sets the toiletry bag on his desk. My father looks from the dresser to the bed, something clicking in his mind.

  “Good call leaving the rest of your stuff at home,” Colin says generously, even though Johnny quite obviously doesn’t have other stuff. “Half the junk the kids here bring is a big waste of space, if you ask me.” I let out a breath, relieved my father has chosen, in this situation, to be kind.

  Johnny shrugs, surveying Colin’s side of the room, which has everything from snacks to a mini-fridge and even a bike, propped up on one wheel by the window.

  “Where’re you from?” Colin asks as he flops back onto his bed, picking up a soccer ball and lazily passing it back and forth between his hands.

  “New York.” Johnny watches the ball. “Not the city. Upstate.”

  “Sounds…nice?”

  “Sure, if you like cemeteries. Our house was built on one. When I was a kid, I used to watch the hearse bringing the coffins up the hill. Once, there were sixteen funerals in a twelve-hour period. There’d been a fire at the local pub. That was a pretty interesting day.”

  I focus on Colin’s face. Johnny’s finally made an impression, and not a good one. He drops the soccer ball.

  “Oh,” he says quietly.

  A voice rings out, cutting through the silence. “You made it!”

  Colin and Johnny turn. A skinny kid stands in the doorway, his hair tousled like it’s been brushed once, ages ago, his clothes mismatched and wrinkled. He grips a messy notebook under his arm. Clunky, tortoise-shell glasses with thick lenses sit on his nose.

  Johnny springs from the bed. “Hey.”

  “What’s up, Al?” says Colin, who welcomes the distraction.

  “Albert,” mumbles the kid. “I prefer Albert.”

  “Yeah, sorry.” Colin laughs. “I forgot. Al—I mean, Albert, this is my new roommate. Johnny Underwood from New York.”

  “He knows my name,” says Johnny to my dad, though he looks straight at Albert.

  “Oh.” Colin looks between the two boys, confused. “You two met already?”

  “You could say that,” says Johnny, his voice measured.

  Johnny and Albert stare at each other another beat. Then, out of nowhere, Albert throws open his arms, his notebook falling to the ground as he pulls Johnny into a bear hug. Albert’s glasses hit Johnny’s shoulder and knock askew as he embraces him. Johnny doesn’t hug Albert back. He just stands there, stiffly. But he doesn’t push Albert away either.

  Albert breaks the hug. Now I can clearly see his face. He’s grinning, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Johnny, my man! Long time no talk. Wait till you see what I’ve been cooking up in the lab. I don’t want to get anyone prematurely excited, but the cafeteria food is gonna taste a whole lot better once I get my beta enhancers in it…”

  Johnny shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you say, Albert.”

  “Show me a little enthusiasm, buddy. I’m going to vastly improve that mush they call dinner—”

  “I haven’t tried the dinner yet, remember?” Johnny says, sounding agitated. “I just got here. A year later than you. Because I couldn’t—because this is my first year,” Johnny amends. I know what he was going to say. Because he couldn’t afford it.

  “How’d you two meet again?” Colin asks, and I want to tell my father to butt out, but I don’t because he can’t see or hear me. This is only a memory, after all. I’m an invisible bystander.

  “We didn’t meet. We’ve known each other our whole lives. We’re brothers, okay?” Albert snaps. The blood drains from Johnny’s face at the revelation.

  “Half brothers,” Johnny says carefully. “We’re half brothers.”

 
My father looks from Johnny to Albert, and back to Johnny. The impish smile creeps over his face.

  “Brothers!” he says excitedly. “Why didn’t you say so, you big dweebs?”

  “We aren’t that close,” Johnny says quietly.

  Albert grimaces, collecting his notebook and papers from the floor. “We’re close enough.”

  “We didn’t grow up together, is what I meant.” Johnny walks to the window and stares out. I see a hint of Dark Lake through the glass. It’s twilight.

  “We have different mothers,” says Albert matter-of-factly.

  “Different lives,” Johnny adds, his back to Colin and Albert.

  “Well, I think it’s neato,” says Colin. “You should’ve told me you’ve got family here, Johnny. It’ll make Darkwood homier, won’t it?”

  Johnny turns on his heel, his eyes flashing as he stares down Colin.

  “Didn’t I just tell you that Albert and I didn’t grow up together? That our lives, up until this point, have been as different as they could possibly be?”

  Colin stares at Johnny, taken aback by the sting in his voice.

  “You don’t have to freak out on me, man. I was only saying…”

  “I should get back to the lab,” Albert says evenly. “It’s good to see you, Johnny. I’ll look for you at dinner, okay?”

  Johnny shrugs. “Sure. See you later.”

  Albert leaves as quietly as he came.

  “I take it your brother—sorry, half brother—didn’t grow up on a cemetery?”

  “No,” says Johnny Underwood. “He didn’t.”

  * * *

  The scene in front of me changes, and I have to remind myself that none of this is real. It was real, but it’s not actually happening right now, and not to me. That was my father in his dorm room, years ago, with his roommate. And not just any roommate: Johnny Underwood. Now Augustus Gravelle—Oliver’s biological father. It’s all so surreal.

  Before me, the scene shows the Darkwood cafeteria. It’s dark outside, so it must be dinnertime, the first dinner of the semester. I can tell from the “Welcome Back” banner hanging over the entryway. It must still be the same day.

  My father—Colin—sits at a table with a polished-looking crew. An overly confident brown-haired boy flips some playing cards on the table, slapping them down like it’s part of a game. A thin girl joins in, and she reminds me of someone else I know. That’s when I realize it’s Bianca Huxley—Madison’s mother. She was Bianca Kravitz back then. I focus on the brown-haired boy playing with the cards and decide it’s Zeke Choate—Jake’s father. Another kid sits across from Zeke. He’s on the scrawny side but has striking features. It takes me only a moment to figure out it’s Jaeger Stanwick, Pru’s dad as a younger man.

  I don’t know why I’m so surprised to see them all here, sitting together. I knew they were all part of the Ten. I guess I didn’t realize they were good friends too.

  “Half brothers?” Zeke jeers, slapping down another card. I can see more clearly now. He and Bianca are playing war. “And here I thought the most interesting thing about Albert was the potion he made that helps me lie without giving myself away.”

  “How does it work?” asks Bianca.

  “Don’t you want to know.”

  Bianca doesn’t take her eyes off the cards. “When you lie, you sweat like a pig, Zeke, so I’ll have to assume the ‘potion’ Albert gave you was a good old-fashioned stick of antiperspirant.”

  Zeke laughs. “Too bad you’ll never get close enough to find out. I win, by the way. Look at my pile. Way more cards than you.”

  Bianca frowns. “Cheater.”

  Zeke howls with laughter.

  I focus on Jaeger, who clearly isn’t interested in this conversation. He looks like he’s still thinking about Colin’s news.

  “All this time, Albert never told us he had a half brother,” Jaeger says. “Are you sure you heard right?”

  Colin shrugs. “They have different mothers. It was all very clear.”

  “Didn’t you say this new boy’s on scholarship?” Bianca asks, spitting out the words like they might contaminate her tongue. I feel my blood boiling.

  “I didn’t say that,” Colin snaps. “And what’s it got to do with anything?”

  Bianca nudges Colin in the ribs. Johnny approaches their table, awkwardly balancing his tray and his school satchel.

  The four teens stare as he approaches, not one of them saying a word in greeting. When Johnny reaches the table, he stops, unsure of whether or not to sit.

  Finally, my father speaks. “Johnny Boy! I was just telling my friends about you. This is some of the crew. Zeke, Bianca, and Jaeger.”

  “Hi,” Johnny says, still frozen.

  “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, Johnny Boy.” Colin leans in conspiratorially. “They’ll never actually invite you to sit down.”

  Bianca pops a fry in her mouth. “If we invited everyone to sit with us”—she gestures, indicating the rest of the dining hall—“how would anyone be able to tell who’s actually important?”

  Johnny’s jaw tightens. His shoulders square. Without hesitating, Johnny squeezes his tray onto the table, directly between Colin and Zeke.

  “You’re going to make room for me, right?” says Johnny evenly.

  Zeke looks annoyed, Colin proud. “Sure thing, roomie!” Colin scoots over, giving Johnny space on the bench. “Cheer up, sour faces. This new kid might give us all a run for our money. And I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. Do you, Zeke?”

  Zeke shrugs. “Not if he can keep up.”

  Bianca spears a piece of melon with her fork. “Keeping up requires a certain image.” She eyes Johnny. “I doubt the new boy has what it takes.”

  “You don’t know anything about the new boy,” says Johnny. Bianca’s hand freezes midbite. Her eyes narrow. Then she laughs. “He’s got a sense of humor, that’s for sure.” She leans back in her chair, studying Johnny like a specimen. Then she shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to prove me wrong, new boy.”

  That’s when I notice two other students approaching in a whirlwind of energy. The girl is stunning, with strawberry-blond hair, blue eyes, and the kind of smile that doesn’t come from good dental work. She’s laughing as a boy next to her makes a joke, gesturing with his hands. He has a friendly face, dark skin, and curly black hair that he runs his hands through. I can’t hear myself over the simulation, but I gasp at the sight of them. It’s Jane Porter and Booker Ward. They are Oliver’s mom and stepfather, some twenty years ago. Of course they are. They were here too. They were part of the Ten.

  “You two look like you’re having a rollicking good time.” Bianca smirks, forgetting all about the new boy as the duo approaches. “Want to let us in on the joke?”

  The girl giggles. “Booker was just telling me the funniest story about…” She stops talking when Booker shoots her a look. It’s clear he doesn’t want her sharing his joke with the rest of the group.

  “Oh, never mind,” she says, and I’m certain she is who I think she is. She has the same relaxed, happy expression I’ve seen on Jane’s face a thousand times. Only not since the thing that happened.

  Jane flops down at the table next to Jaeger and across from Johnny.

  “Jane Porter,” she says to him, holding out her hand for him to shake. “Resident bookworm and miscreant extraordinaire.”

  Johnny appears surprised by the gesture, but quickly composes himself. “John Underwood. Everyone calls me Johnny. Except for your friend Bianca,” he adds. “She’s dubbed me the ‘new boy.’”

  Bianca snorts. Zeke smacks her leg. They both laugh.

  “That’s right,” Colin says as Jane smiles at Johnny, then digs into her dinner. “Johnny New Boy joins us from upstate New York.”

  “What the—!” Jane shouts after swallowing her casserole. “Wh
at’s in this glorious mess? Dead snails?” She pushes away her tray. “Who wants to sneak down to Bertie’s Diner for some real food?”

  “Count me in,” says Booker as he slides an arm around Jane. “Any of you kids wanna join? Or are you too chicken to play hooky?”

  “It’s not that we’re chicken. We don’t want to watch the two of you make out any more than we have to,” scoffs Bianca.

  This is all too painful—watching Jane and Booker so happy and carefree together. That changed after Oliver’s death. And yet, I want to watch. I have to.

  “I’ll go,” says a quiet, determined voice. Everyone looks over at Johnny. “To Bertie’s. I’m in.”

  Booker scowls. Jane grins. “We’ll pick you up at your room tonight. Nine p.m.”

  “You know you’ll be breaking about ten school rules, right?” Zeke says.

  Johnny shrugs. “So?”

  “So you could lose your scholarship,” Zeke replies.

  Johnny tenses at the word. “Who says I’m on a scholarship?”

  “An educated guess,” Zeke says, staring at him.

  “Hey,” says Jane. “Would you two shut up? They’re about to announce our strata.” With that, the view goes blank.

  * * *

  It’s dark. There’s enough light to see we’re outside, no longer in the dining hall. I squint to take in the scene. We’re behind one of the Darkwood dormitories. Two figures walk down the dimly lit path. As they get closer, I see it’s Jane Porter and Johnny Underwood.

  Johnny walks with his hands in his pockets. He’s standing taller than before. His clothes fit him better, and he’s more confident. I wonder how much time has passed. Weeks? Months? I don’t have long to wonder.

  “You can’t take half of what Zeke says seriously, you know,” Jane is saying.