3:59 (7 page)

As soon as she got home, Josie made a beeline for her bedroom.

Time to purge.

Penelope was right. She’d been pining away for Nick, waiting for him to realize how miserable he was without her and to ask if she’d take him back. But no more.

She plugged her iPod into portable speakers and scrolled through her song list until she found suitably angry music. P!nk. Perfect breakup music. She pumped up the volume and hit play.

Josie grabbed her plastic garbage can and planted it in the middle of her room. Everywhere she looked, something reminded her of Nick. A memento, a tchotchke, a gag gift. Little things, sentimental only because she’d given them that power.

The movie ticket from their first date was pinned on her corkboard. She ripped it down, sending the pushpin spiraling off to the other side of the room, and dropped the ticket in the trash.

She caught sight of the three-inch-tall lime-green bunny that sat on her dresser. Nick had won it at the county fair in one of those rigged ringtoss games and given it to her. Josie snatched it up and launched it into the garbage.

“Two points!”

This was turning out to be more fun than she’d thought.

Photos, gone. Concert-ticket stubs from his favorite band, gone. On the dresser, Josie grabbed an old vase with a red silk rose sticking out of it. They’d gone to Ocean Beach for the day and he’d bought the fake rose from a boardwalk peddler while they were chowing down on hot dogs and French fries beachside. Josie had put it in her favorite vase—an old fifth-grade art project that converted a wine bottle into a mosaic piece of “art”—and given it a spot of honor on her dresser. Now she wanted nothing more than for both flower and vase to be out of her sight. She was about to dump both in the trash when she paused.

The vase was different.

Crazy, Josie realized. A standard wine bottle, probably one of her mom’s favorite chardonnays that seemed to fill up the recycling bin with alarming frequency these days. It had been covered with small squares of chopped-up glossy magazine pages—bits of color and texture, movement, and shadow all layered upon one another to form a pop-culture mosaic. The bottles had then been covered in two thick layers of glue, left to dry for what seemed like months, and finally sent home on the last day of school as the prized fifth-grade “art” project.

But Josie had loved that stupid thing. She remembered how her parents had donated magazines to the cause. Her dad’s
Newsweek
stack and her mom’s bedside collection of
InStyle
—both had been ravaged for just the right colors and patterns. And the fruit of her labor had sat on her dresser for years.

Only this wasn’t it.

Sure, it looked similar, but right away, Josie could tell it wasn’t hers. The color scheme was off—all pastels and muted colors, while Josie’s bottle had been covered with vibrant hues. And it was clean. Every other item on Josie’s dresser was blanketed in a light coating of dust, but this vase and the silk flower it held had been recently dusted.

Josie was still pondering the weirdness of the vase that was hers and yet wasn’t, when her cell phone rang. She didn’t even look to see who it was before she answered.

“Hey, Josie.”

Blood thundered in Josie’s ears, blocking out P!nk, and all of the bravado and girl-power strength she’d managed to conjure up during her purge drained from her body in an instant at the sound of Nick’s voice.

“ARE YOU THERE?” NICK ASKED.

Josie’s mouth was dry. “Yeah.”

“Oh. Good.” Nick paused. After a few seconds, Josie heard him clear his throat. “I’m glad you finally took my call.” He paused again as if waiting for Josie to respond, but she couldn’t have if she wanted to. Her brain had seized up, and all ability for rational thought had abandoned her.

“I wanted to talk to you before you saw me at school. I mean saw
us
at school. Madison and me, but . . .” His voice trailed off. “But yeah, I understand why you didn’t want to talk.”

Yeah, sure he did.

“I feel . . .” Josie heard him swallow. “Bad.”

Bad?
He
felt bad?

Nick didn’t wait for a response. “I guess I just want you to know that I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Oh. Okay.” How exactly was Josie supposed to respond to that?

“I know I should have told you that Madison and I had been spending time together after you started working at the Coffee Crush. I mean, it wasn’t anything at first—I just really needed someone to talk to. And then . . . well . . .”

And then you slept with her.
Yeah, Josie had that part pretty clear in her mind.

“Not that I’m making excuses,” Nick continued. “I know I hurt you. But . . . I don’t know. Maybe you’ll be better off without me.”

Josie laughed out loud. She couldn’t help it.

“What’s so funny?” Nick sounded hurt.

“Are you actually trying to tell me that I’m better off because you cheated on me?” Josie said through bursts of laughter.

“I don’t know. Maybe?” She could picture his nonchalant shrug, which only pissed her off.

“Maybe? Like maybe you did me a favor by cheating on me? Toughened me up by breaking my heart? Saved me from pain by giving
my
necklace to
her
?”

“I didn’t give it to her,” Nick snapped.

“Oh yeah? Then why is the necklace you bought for me hanging around your new girlfriend’s neck, huh?”

Nick was silent for a moment. “I was going to return it.” His voice was strained. “But she found it in my room and wanted it.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t know she was going to tell everyone I’d given it to her. That wasn’t my fault.”

“Right,” Josie said, her temper flaring once more. “Because none of this is your fault, right? You’re Boyfriend of the Year.”

“Look,” Nick said. He sounded angry. “How would you even know I bought the necklace for you? It’s not like you remembered our anniversary.”

Josie’s face burned. He was right. She’d totally forgotten their anniversary in the middle of everything else in her world falling apart. She was about to apologize when she remembered that whatever gift Nick had bought to celebrate their year together, he’d still been sleeping with Madison for almost two months. Suddenly, the gesture seemed hollow.

“So now you’re trying to blame this on me?”

“No,” Nick said quickly. “But you did forget our anniversary.”

Josie set her jaw. “You’re trying to make yourself feel better. I get it. But understand this—there is no scenario in this universe or any other that makes what you and Madison did acceptable, okay? There’s a special place in hell for backstabbing friends and cheating boyfriends, and the two of you have reservations.”

“You want this to all be my fault,” Nick said. “Fine.”

“It
is
all your fault,” Josie interrupted.

“Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Josie. There were two of us in that relationship. Ever think that maybe this is partially
your
fault?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You haven’t exactly been available lately, you know,” Nick said bitterly.

“Well, gee, Nick. My parents are going through a divorce.” Josie let the sarcasm drip from every syllable. “What did you expect?”

“You think you’re the only one with problems?” Now Nick was getting pissed off. “We’ve all got shit going on. Did you even know my brother has cancer?”

Josie caught her breath. Tony had cancer? How did she not know that?

“We found out two months ago. I wanted to tell you, but you never had time. I felt like you had too much going on, so when Madison and I were hanging out one night, I told her. The rest just . . . happened.”

So it was her fault, in a way. Nick cheated on her because he felt like she wasn’t there for him. Ugh, why hadn’t he told her? Or had he tried and she just didn’t notice? She’d been so wrapped up in her own drama, it was a real possibility.

Nick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look, I don’t want to fight. I just needed you to know that I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Josie felt deflated. Her quick burst of anger had evaporated as soon as she heard about Tony’s cancer. “Thank you,” she said somewhat lamely.

“Good-bye, Josie.”

“Bye.”

Josie’s hands were shaking as she tossed her cell phone onto the bed.

She wasn’t the only one going through life drama, but in her own pain and grief she’d managed to box out the one person in her life she cared about most. She pictured Nick’s face Monday during their last conversation. There had been something wrong, something he desperately wanted to talk to his girlfriend about, and Josie didn’t have time.

Josie leaned against the windowsill and stared out into the backyard. The yew bushes that lined the fence on all three sides were ridiculously overgrown. The lawn was mostly weeds, dotted with barren patches of dirt and a minefield of gopher holes. It seemed like everything was falling apart: yard, house, life . . .

Josie’s heart ached for Nick. He and his older brother were very close, and though Nick wasn’t always the best at expressing his feelings, Josie knew he must be devastated at the thought of losing Tony.

Maybe Nick was right. Maybe Josie was partially to blame. Maybe she did need to take a look at herself. Josie turned away from the window toward the old mirror.

Only Josie didn’t see her own reflection.

From where she stood at the window, the antique mirror reflected her bed. And there, snuggled under the same blue-and-white floral comforter cover, was a girl. She wore a sleep mask, but even with it obscuring part of her face, in the bright lights of the room, Josie realized she was staring at someone who looked exactly like her. A doppelgänger asleep in her bed.

Josie glanced at her bed. Nope, it was empty, the covers and pillows a disheveled mess, just the way she’d left them that morning. But there, in the mirror, she could clearly see the image of herself sound asleep in her room.

Wait, was it her room? The girl, the bedclothes, even the nightstand were the same. But the room in the reflection clearly wasn’t Josie’s. The floor was different—lush, cream-colored carpet where the hardwood floors in Josie’s room were covered in worn, striped throw rugs. The giant print of Seurat’s
A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte
that hung above Josie’s bed wasn’t in the reflection, replaced by a black-and-white panoramic photo of Paris. And the alarm clock on the nightstand wasn’t Josie’s old hand-me-down from her mom, but a sleek, modern clock with solid blue numbers that cut through the brightly lit room.

Numbers?
Josie took a step closer to the mirror and squinted at the clock. It took her brain a moment to register the time it showed and the realization dawned on her slowly. 3:59.

Wait, didn’t she just have this exact same dream? But in reverse? Josie whipped her head around to look at her own alarm clock and caught the readout just as it clicked over to 4:00. 3:59? Again?

Josie turned back to the mirror.

The girl in the bed was gone.

JOSIE SAT ON THE EDGE OF HER BED AND STARED at the mirror for what felt like an eternity. The dreams she could explain away: stress, exhaustion, fantasy fulfillment. But this? She was wide awake, sober, functional. And she’d seen the reflection of herself, sleeping on her bed, in her room.

Only it wasn’t her room or her bed. Similar, but not the same. Not at all. And obviously it wasn’t her reflection.

Was she losing her mind? Josie needed to talk to someone about it, someone who would listen and wouldn’t judge and might just be able to offer some insight. There was only one person who fit that bill.

Josie’s dad picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Jo Jo,” he said. She could almost picture the crooked, boyish smile spreading across his face. “How’s my favorite daughter?”

“Your only daughter,” Josie said.

“Semantics.”

Josie laughed. They’d played out that same interchange a bazillion times.

“So what’s going on, sweetie?” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Um . . . I have today off.” That was a conversation for another time. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Jo Jo. Shoot.”

Josie took a deep breath. “Is there any history of mental illness in our family?”

Her dad snorted. “Well, I’m completely nuts. Clearly.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Oh.” Her dad was instantly serious. “Okay. Well, I think one of my grandfather’s brothers ended up in a sanitarium. Is that what you mean?”

“Maybe.” He could have been a schizophrenic, which would explain Josie’s dreams and visions. “What about on Mom’s side?”

“Is there something wrong with your mother?” he said quickly.

Josie hesitated. She shouldn’t have. She should have just said, “No, of course not, Dad. She’s totally fine.” But she didn’t. Just a half second while the memory of the previous night’s incident raced through her brain, but that was all her dad needed.

“I knew it. Josie, look, I didn’t want to say anything before, but I think there’s something seriously wrong with your mom. Has been for some time. I read an article about how brain cancer can radically alter a person’s personality: their likes and dislikes, even their voice and mannerisms.”

Josie gripped the phone. “You think Mom has brain cancer?”

“Maybe.”

All the blood drained out of Josie’s face. “What?” Her voice faltered.

“Er . . .” Her dad caught himself. “I mean, of course not.” He paused, and Josie could hear him drinking something on the other end of the line. “But since I brought it up, has she been complaining of headaches recently? Had any dizzy spells or blackouts?”