Now That You're Here (Duplexity, Part I) (13 page)

I protest. “But—”

“No worries. If it helps, awesome. If it doesn't, then nothing's changed.” Danny tosses the apple and catches it. “Now who's being logical?”

“You didn't consider the third outcome.” I keep my voice even.

“What's that?”

“We really do give you brain damage.”

“Oh.” He takes a bite of the apple. “Yeah, that would suck.”

It turns out Danny is really good at English. I have the proof in my bag. Last night after the haircut, he helped me rewrite my essay. Then we sat outside and talked until we were both yawning and Dad had to flash the porch light to signal it was time for me to go home.

The Fish's belly has grown gargantuan, and with it her crankiness. She scowls when Danny and I enter the room. We made it to class just before the late bell. A first for Danny. She seems more annoyed that he's there on time than she ever was when he was late.

I sit down, tap Kyle's leg and brush Sarah's hair off my desk. Sarah turns around again and again to look at Danny. Each time, her hair falls back on my desk. A few more students walk in late and The Fish leaps into her usual tirade about what awful students we are and how many days she has before her maternity leave. As if we aren't counting down, too.

“Those of you who had to rewrite your essays may put them on my desk now,” she grumbles. “Meanwhile, I'll be passing around the review packet for the test.”

I pull my sparkly new essay out of my bag and smile at Danny. I have to wait for The Fish to waddle past before going up front and adding it to the stack. Seems I'm not the only one who hadn't met her standards.

When I get back to my desk, Sarah's whispering something to Danny. I break through their conversation to sit down. She raises her hand. “Ms. Fish—uh—Fi
schbach? Danny doesn't have a book. Can I share mine with him?”

The Fish, annoyed at the disruption, glares at Danny. “If it is your intention to take initiative in this class, Mr. Ogden, you will need your textbook. For now, you may look on with Sarah.
If
you remain quiet.”

Sarah beams, but then Danny asks, “Is it okay if I look on with Eve?” and her mouth falls into a pout.

The Fish waves a hand—“Fine, fine”—and continues to pass out review sheets.

Sarah swishes her hair and turns away. Kyle grunts and unwinds his feet from my desk. I scoot toward Danny, glad to be free of both the stink and the jiggle. If only I could be free of The Fish.

I open my textbook and set it on the spot where our desks touch. The tissue-thin pages crinkle as he turns to the first story listed on the review sheet, “The Story of an Hour,” by Kate Chopin. We work side by side, pointing out the answers for each story and filling out the sheet. When we get to “The Open Boat,” he grabs my paper, flips it over and starts drawing. I watch, amazed, as he pencils the lines of a pirate ship, shading in the billowing sails and Jolly Roger. Waves crash against the figurehead and ripple along the prow. He hands the paper back to me and returns to his review sheet like nothing happened.

I tap his foot, and mouth
Wow.
He shrugs. The Fish clears her throat and we get to work on “The Yellow Wall-Paper.” That story freaked me out, a woman locked up and losing her mind, seeing things in the walls. I snatch Danny's packet, flip it over and use the edge of my own packet to draw the first line at a 37-degree angle. Then I close my eyes and see the rest of the fractal bloom, a flower of numbers and lines sprouting with mathematical precision, each new section materializing as a perfect replica of the one that came before. My hand goes to work, transferring the image in my mind onto the paper before I even open my eyes.

When the fractal is done, I hand the packet to him and focus on “The Yellow Wall-Paper.”

He taps my foot, but I ignore him, trying not to smile as I search out answers in the book. He taps my foot again. When I don't respond, he bumps me hard with his leg.
WOW
is scribbled across the top of his paper. He draws a circle around the word and adds an exclamation point. I shrug.

Sarah's had enough of our fun. “They're distracting me,” she whines, her finger pointing at us, revenge in her eyes.

I feign innocence. “We're just doing our work.”

The Fish makes a big production of getting out of her chair and waddling over to our desks with one hand supporting her lower back. Everyone watches her pick up my review packet first, then Danny's. She flips through the pages, turns them over, turns them sideways and cocks her head to the right. Without a word, she tears both packets in two.

“You.” She points at Danny. “Out.”

“You.” She points at me. “Put your desk back and stay silent the rest of the class.”

She mutters all the way back to her desk.

“Later.” Danny struts across the room and slams the door behind him.

Sarah flips her hair across my desk. Kyle tucks his feet in and jiggles my chair. Crap. I need that review if I'm going to pass the test.

After an eternity, class ends and I walk up to The Fish's desk, holding my books like a shield.

“What?” She looks disgusted to have me so close.

“May I have a new copy of the review sheet, please?”

She purses her lips and exhales through her nose before reaching into her desk.

“May I please have one for Danny, too?”

“He won't pass the class.”

“You never know.”

She hands me a second packet.

“Thank you.” I head for the door.

“Miss Solomon.”

I force myself to turn and look at her.

“Though English is not your strongest suit, I'm told you have great potential as a student. I suggest you take better care in choosing your friends.”

Instead of telling her off, I thank her and leave.

At the opposite end of the walkway between the English and history classrooms, I see Missy talking to Principal Murray. Whatever she's telling him, she's pretty animated about it. Her braids bob and her hands punctuate the air. He seems to mostly watch the students passing by, though, stopping one for running, another for littering. I wish I were close enough to hear what they were talking about. Danny materializes at my side. “You survived.”

“Barely. Look. New review packets.”

“I'm not going back in that room.”

“But—”

“Nope. No way I'm going to be pushed around by that woman again.”

“You'll fail.”

“Don't care.” He saunters down the sidewalk. “In fact, why don't we just leave this place?”

I hurry to catch up to him. “What do you mean? We can't do that.”

“Why?”

“We'll get caught.”

“And then what?”

“My dad will kill me.”

He tucks his hands into his pockets and looks at the sky. “You'd be surprised how people don't actually notice when you're gone.” We've almost reached the end of the sidewalk. “The secret is not making a big deal about it.”

The second bell rings. We keep walking.

“Just tell yourself no one can see you and they won't.” He steps off the curb into the parking lot and I follow, trying to convince myself I'm invisible.

We walk through the gate and—like that—we're ditching school.

I'm
ditching school, something I would never do.

But another me might.

“This way.” He turns right and takes the road leading south. “I want to show you something.”

I kind of feel guilty, but not too much. The sun is shining and there's a pretty girl beside me. We walk out of the school and I'm amazed again at how easy everything is here.

“No, really,” she says. “What do I do when I get caught?”

“You tell them you were sick in the bathroom.”

“They won't believe that.”

I walk backward to face her. “Sure they will. You're a good student. They'll trust anything you say. And Danny, well…” I turn back around. “No one cares if he's gone or not, right?”

I can tell she doesn't believe me.

“We'll go back in a bit, okay? Promise.”

She bites her lip, but nods and shifts the bag on her shoulder.

“Want me to carry that?”

“No, I've got it.”

We walk side by side. The only sounds are the garbage trucks picking up cans, and dogs barking behind fences. Halfway down the block, I stop.

“The best I can tell, this is where I was skating that morning,” I say, pointing to where we're standing. “There are some restaurants and shops over here, and a winding road that wraps around that way. And over there.” I turn around. “That whole area there is the mall. Or was.”

I can tell she's trying to envision it. If only I could somehow transfer the images from my brain to hers. Make her see my world.

“The fence I climbed would be somewhere over this way.” I walk farther down the sidewalk, imagining the people lined up to see the parade. The strip mall of shops. The smoking woman and ShopMart at the end. Eevee follows, listening as I tell her more about that morning. I look around at the houses with their gravel-and-cactus yards, the mailbox flags raised, letters ready for pickup. A woman shuffles her garbage can toward the curb.

We cross the street and walk onto the greens of the Bel Air Country Club. A couple of golfers watch us, two ratty kids interrupting their game. One tees off, and I yell, “Eight!”

She laughs. “Isn't it ‘fore'?”

“But there are two of us.” She gives me a look. “Oh, all right.” I yell again. “Four!”

A golfer waves us on and we walk through to the other side of the course.

“Tell me about Germ,” she says. “What's he like?”

Ducks swim in the water trap, quacking at each other. Every now and then one quacks really loud. Sounds like he's laughing. I close my eyes and see Germ skating away, the gym bag of supplies slung over his shoulder. Maybe he made it out. Maybe the blast only threw him like it threw me. Maybe it didn't reach him at all.

I swallow down my doubt, and think instead about all the insane antics we've gotten away with over the years. Building things just to burn them down. Pushing the boundaries as far as they could go. Not because we were looking for trouble, but because we were curious. What would happen if? What would it be like if? From that day we met in second grade, we were inseparable. Two kids with big ideas and just enough guts—or lack of brains—to give them a try.

When I open my eyes, the impossible golf course faces me again. I don't trust my voice. “Hard to put Germ into words. Like a brother.”

She nods like she gets it, but how can she? Can anyone?

“We're street artists.” I shove my hands in my pockets and start walking again. Moving makes it easier to talk.

“Do you mean, like, graffiti?”

“No. I mean, like, art.”

“But that's illegal.”

I shrug.

“Is it illegal where you're from?”

“It breaks compliance laws. But we find ways to do it anyway.”

“Is that where you learned your invisibility trick?”

I grin.

“Sounds like you have such a great life there,” she says. “Your parents…Germ…”

“You'd think so, right?” We wait for a car to pass and then cross another busy street. “But in my world, you can't ever let your guard down. You're always being watched. Listened to. Speak out about the wrong thing and you end up on someone's shit list. Make a wrong move and you're done. If anyone has it good, Eevee, it's you.” I hold my hands out and turn in a circle. “Look around. The sun is shining and you are free to do whatever you want.”

“Are you sure you want to go back there?”

I don't hesitate. “Of course. It's home.” And then I have an idea. “Let me show you one more thing and then we'll go back, okay?”

She agrees.

Our shoes shuffle along the sidewalk. The sun warms our backs as we cross the street and walk into the neighborhoods. After a while of just being quiet, she asks, “What happened that things went so bad there?”

“Well…” I run a hand through my hair and try to figure out where to start. “A long time ago, the Soviet Union launched a satellite into space.”

“Sputnik?”

“You've heard of it?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, well, Sputnik caused a lot of problems between the US and the Soviets. They got into a kind of pissing contest, each side scrambling to build bigger, better weapons to outgun the other guy. They also created new ways of spying on each other. Things got really tense when the Soviets planted nukes in Cuba. Suddenly the enemy was right at the doorstep. So the government created a system to track the bad guys, in case they found a way inside. It worked so well, they decided to keep it going, even after Cuba backed off. There was always a new threat, a new enemy. So they kept upgrading the system. Expanding it. Eventually they gave it the name Spectrum.”

“You've mentioned that a couple of times.”

“It's awful. A mix of technology and old-fashioned brute force. You never know how you're being tracked. Avoid the cameras, but the guy behind you in line might be listening. I've heard rumors they're working on a new upgrade. Spectrum 2.0.”

“That's really scary.”

“And effective. Most people are scared of stepping out of line. Others have just gotten used to living with it. Every now and then you hear about a protest or a conflict somewhere, but they stamp those out pretty quickly.”

“Like Red December?”

“Exactly.”

“How bizarre. Our Cold War ended when they tore down the Berlin Wall.”

“Ours didn't end. It turned into an ice age.”

We follow the road as it curves into Pascal. “There.” I point to the brown house that should be blue. A camping trailer sits in the driveway instead of a boat. “That one's mine. Except we have a huge eucalyptus tree growing in the front. Sheds like crazy. Dad's always asking me to rake up the mess.”

“Why do you keep doing that?” she asks.

“What?”

“Touching the collar of your shirt.”

I realize my hand is at my neck, reaching for what isn't there. “My mom gave me a necklace when I was a kid. I must have lost it.”

“No,” she says, “the other Danny is wearing it now.”

“That makes sense.” I look again at my should-be house. “I keep thinking maybe if I stand here long enough they'll walk out the front door.”

She touches my arm. “It's okay. You're going to see them again. We'll figure out a way.”

She doesn't sound very sure, but I let myself believe. She lifts the strap of her bag and resets it on her shoulder. Her neck is red where it's been rubbing.

“Please, let me carry that.”

This time she doesn't argue. I put it on my shoulder and pretend to stumble under the weight. “Too many books!”

She laughs and we retrace our steps back to the school.