Now That You're Here (Duplexity, Part I) (19 page)

“Are you sure about this?” I look back to make sure Mrs. Fletcher is still parked at the curb. She's reading a book, clearly not concerned.

But I am. Probably because while I'm off on a treasure hunt with Warren, Danny is risking his neck at the foster home. I was an idiot suggesting he go there. Just like I'm an idiot for agreeing to come with Warren to some stranger's house on a Tuesday afternoon to get supplies for Project DELIVR.

We decided to give what we're doing a code name, in case anyone is snooping (like Missy, though Warren denies it). DELIVR stands for Device Engineered to Launch Inter-universal Visitation and Return. The Return part isn't really in the plan, but we needed something for the
R.
Warren lobbied for “DELIVERANCE” but there were just too many letters.

I'm glad Mrs. Fletcher is watching out for us. Warren told her it would take us ten minutes to make the trade, but she said if we're not out in fifteen max, she's coming in. Apparently they argued a bit about the necessity of this trip. I guess despite being used to Warren's eccentrici
ties, even she has her limits.

Warren walks up the short path to the fourth condo on the left, number 412. The door is blue. “Of course I'm sure. I've known Darwin's Dog for years.”

“You met him online. You don't even know what his real name is.”

“Well, it's time to find out.” He rings the doorbell. A dog barks, but I can't tell if it's coming from inside or the condo next door. They're so close together. The curtains in the window of 412 move, the handle of the blue door turns, and I brace myself for…what am I expecting, anyway? An ax murderer? A drug-dealing Mafia kingpin? A spooky death clown? I take a step back, as if Warren's stick-figure body is going to protect me.

The door opens an inch before a chain stops it. The barking dog yaps its head off. The guy answering the door grumbles at it before peering through the inch gap. Sunlight glints off his sunglasses. Who wears sunglasses indoors? I'm ready to turn and run when he asks in a low voice, “What two things are infinite?”

“The universe and human stupidity,” Warren answers. “And I'm not sure about the universe.”

An Einstein quote as a password. Nice.

The door shuts and there's the sound of the chain being unlatched before the door opens again, wide enough to see the guy we've come to trade with. Except the person behind the sunglasses isn't a guy.

“Darwin's Dog?” Warren sounds surprised, too.

She stands just a little taller than me, wearing an Arizona State University T-shirt. Her black hair is pulled into a ponytail, her face serious. “Are you Mastermind?”

I snort and they both glare at me. “Sorry.”

“Don't mind her,” Warren says. “She's innocuous.” He gives me a
Don't mess this up
look.

“Did you bring it?” Darwin's Dog asks. Warren nods and takes the backpack from his shoulder. “Not out here,” she hisses, and she opens the door wider. I take one last look at Mrs. Fletcher, still reading her book, before following Warren inside. The clock is ticking.

I've never been in a college student's apartment, but this is what I kind of expected. Mismatched beanbag chairs. Milk crates for bookshelves. Scuffed-up coffee table strewn with empty plates and game controllers. The walls, though, are covered with really cool modern art. Stuff like Danny might paint.

Danny. A sizzle of panic races through me. He should be at the foster home by now. Is he safe?

Darwin's Dog walks to the kitchen, where sunlight streams through bay windows overlooking a patch of yellowed grass. On the table sits a sewing machine and neatly folded fabric. She slides the silver cloth across the table toward Warren. “I serged the seams and edges. Wasn't sure what you're using it for—
and I don't want to know.
All the same, I didn't want the seams coming apart on you.”

“I appreciate that.” Warren unfolds a section and looks at it closely. “Excellent.” He sets his backpack on the floor and unzips the main pocket. A guy with serious bedhead walks into the kitchen from a door behind me and I gasp, startled. He nods at Darwin's Dog and goes to the fridge, pours himself a cup of orange juice and exits out another door. Warren, unfazed by the random visitor, pulls a manila envelope from his backpack and sets it on the table.

“Can I do the honors?” Darwin's Dog asks.

“Sure,” Warren says. “It's yours now.”

Suddenly I feel very third wheel. I don't have a fancy code name. I have nothing to trade. I'm just an accessory. Innocuous, as Mastermind said.

If I did have a secret code name, what would it be? EV, like Danny painted under the bridge? I like that, except it sounds just like my real name. Not much of a secret.

With delicate hands, Darwin's Dog opens the envelope flap and slides out the contents: cardboard. Then she lifts the top piece of cardboard and a smile consumes the part of her face not covered by the sunglasses. “Unbelieva
ble,” she whispers. She picks up the plastic-encased comic book for a closer look. “
Strange Tales,
number 110.”

“First appearance of Doctor Strange,” Warren says for my benefit. “Mint condition.”

“Where did you find it?” she asks.

Warren's face hardens. “You don't name your sources. I don't name mine.”

“Right,” she says, remembering herself. “Of course.”

“It's a trade, then?” Warren asks.

“Absolutely.”

He picks up the fabric, folds it to fit in his backpack and closes the zipper. The
Star Wars
Cantina song fills the kitchen. Darwin's Dog and I look at each other, confused. Warren pulls out his cell phone and looks at the screen. “Voyager One is ready for departure.” He slings the backpack over his shoulder and extends his hand to Darwin's Dog. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

She nods and walks us to the door. “See you online, Mastermind.”

And like that, our mission is complete.

“How much was that comic book worth?” I ask Mastermind as we walk back to the car. I half expect to see a white van waiting for us. But there's only Mrs. Fletcher with the engine running and a pleasant look on her face.

“It was a fair trade.”

“Really? Seems like the comic book would have been worth a lot more than fabric.”

“Metallic weave can be very pricey, especially the kind made with copper.” Warren shrugs. “Doesn't matter, though. I have an even better copy of
Strange Tales
110 back home in the vault.”

I stop and stare at this friend I've known for so many years. What other secrets does he have locked away?

There's a boy in the front yard poking the dirt with a stick. He looks up when I get closer. Smiles huge. Runs over and wraps his arms around my legs.

“Danny.” He squeezes like mad.

“Hey, you.” I muss his hair and try to remember if he was in the pictures hanging on the fridge.

“Why'd you go away?”

My heart caves. I crouch down and he wraps his arms around my neck. “Sorry, little man. I had some stuff to do.”

“Work stuff?”

“Yeah.” I hug him back. “Something like that.” He's super skinny. I can feel his ribs.

He won't let go, so I stand up and we walk into the house like that, with him hanging around my neck, squealing.

The place stinks like onions and mildew. The screen door slams and a woman steps out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She looks pissed. I lean down, but the little guy won't let go.

“Get off him, Ben.”

Ben. I poke him in the armpits and he squirms away. Runs over and grabs a toy airplane and zooms it around.

“Where the hell have you been?” the woman asks. “What is it, Tuesday? Haven't seen you in more than a week.”

“Had some stuff to figure out.”

“Oh. Well, how nice for you.” She sniffs and walks back to the kitchen. “Sam called. Fired you for not showing up. Way to go.” She picks up a knife and pulverizes an onion.

“I'll, uh, go talk to him. See if I can get it back.”

“Him?”

“Her?”

She stops chopping and glares at me. “Are you hanging out with that Neil again?”

Who? “No.”

“Better not be.” The knife pounds the cutting board. Ben orbits around. She points the blade at me. “If we find out you are…”

“I'm not. I swear.” I hope I'm not lying.

She sniffs again. Scoops the onion into a pot and puts it on the stove. “Brent'll be home soon. Better make yourself invisible until dinner.”

I walk down the hall toward Danny's room. One of the other doors is open. A girl with headphones sits cross-legged on a bed. She doesn't look up. I close Danny's door behind me.

Coming here was a bad idea. The bastard is going to show up and beat the snot out of me.

Right. No point in sticking around for the show.

I rifle through the dresser. May as well take what I can and get the hell out.

I'm looking under the bed when I hear the door open. Ben walks into the room, zooms the plane around, buzzing his lips for engines. I sit up on my knees. He sits on the bed. “Wanna play?”

“Sure, Ben.”

He looks at me, his brows scrunched. “You call me Benny.”

“I do? I mean, right. Benny.” I make an airplane with my hand and fly it around. Crash it into the mattress and make explosion sounds. Benny cackles like it's the funniest thing he's ever seen. He crashes his plane into the bed and explodes spit all over the place. I think about Brent and my stomach clenches.

“Hey, Benny?”

His airplane is in the air again. Zoom. Zoom.

“Does Brent ever get mad at you?”

His eyebrows scrunch down for a split second. Then he crashes the plane and explodes it and laughs. Raises the plane up again.

“Benny? Does he ever—”

“I don't want to play.” He hops off the bed and runs out the door.

I punch the bed, then the wall. I can't leave knowing my having been here will piss Brent off. There's no way. Better to stay and take the hits.

There's a phone on the nightstand. I dial Eevee's cell but her voice mail picks up. “Hey, Eevee. It's me.” My voice sounds strange in my ears. “I'm going to stick around here for a bit. Through dinner at least. Just to make sure things are cool.”

I set the phone down and think of what she'd said. About making things better for Danny. Maybe she's right. Maybe there's a way.

I find Benny in the backyard, already over our conversation. We run races. Blow bubbles and chase them around the dead grass. Swing on the rickety set. Ben laughs himself into hiccups.

The woman—I don't even know her name—drags a garbage can out the back door. I leave Benny on the swing set and run over to her. “Let me.”

She looks shocked, but nods and goes back inside.

I empty the garbage into the dumpster in the alley and walk the can back to the kitchen. Whatever she's cooking covers the stink of the house. I peek inside the cabinets, not sure where to put the thing back.

“Here.” She opens the door next to the sink and I slide it in place.

“Anything else I can help you with?”

She looks at me hard. “No,” she says. And then, in a quieter voice, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

When I find him in the sandbox, Benny's still hiccuping.

We're sitting around the table when Brent walks through the front door. He takes one look at me and laughs. Not a fun kind of laugh. A laugh that stops everyone at the table cold. Marta—the girl with the headphones
—drops her fork. It clangs on the plate and everyone jumps.

“Sorry,” she says under her breath.

Brent throws his hat on the counter and grabs a brew from the fridge. Sits at the table and cracks open the can. He never takes his eyes off me.

“How was work?” the woman asks. The kids—there are five of us—eat in silence.

“Don't want to talk about that. When did he show up?”

“After school,” she says.

I scoop up the chili and pretend not to hear him. Deflect attention. Nothing to see here.

“Danny and me did bubbles,” Ben says, but the woman shushes him and he pouts.

Brent takes another swig and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Belches. “Where you been?”

I chew to buy time. Remind myself this is for Danny's sake. Benny's, too. And Marta, and the twin boys with their white-blond hair and haunted faces. “At a friend's house.”

“Which one?”

“I don't think you know her.”

“Her?” He laughs and spit dribbles down his chin. He wipes it on his shoulder. “A girl?”

They all look at me. “Yes, sir.”

He nudges the woman with the back of his hand. “Did you get that?
Sir.
” He raises the can to drain it. “Get me another one, Sooz.”

Sooz goes to the kitchen and returns with another brew. Before she sits, she opens it for him.

“Got yourself a girlfriend, eh?” His stomach shakes as he laughs. “What would any girl see in a loser like you?”

I breathe in, breathe out.

“She must be a real basket case.”

My hand goes tight around my spoon. I look at Ben. Focus on his fuzzy mop of curls. “Actually, she's really nice. Smart, too.”

“Right.” Brent scoops up his chili. A pig guzzling slop.

“She is.” I take a sip of water. “One of the smartest girls at school.”

“Don't take that tone with me.”

Sheesh. “I'm sorry.” I keep my voice as blank as I can.

“Yeah.” He wipes his mouth again and sits back in his chair. “You are.”

“May I please be excused?” Marta asks. Sooz nods and the girl slips away from the table without a sound.

“Can you do us all a favor, Danny?” Brent says. “Don't get this girl knocked up. We don't need any more little losers in the welfare line.”

I imagine taking the spoon and scooping out his eyes. Really slow. But instead I take a bite of chili and look at Sooz. “This is really good.”

She nods and gives me a confused look.

I want to tell her—tell both of them—that I know this game. That he's baiting me. Wants a fight. Wants it more than anything else.

But I'm not playing. Not tonight.

I scrape the bowl. It really is good chili. Eevee's probably having dinner with her mom right now. I wonder if she told Sid I wouldn't be there. I hope she got my message.

“May I please be excused?” I ask as politely as I can.

“No.” Brent's laugh is like a rake up my back. “You can sit right where you are and tell us where you've really been.”

“I told you.”

“What's this girl's name?”

“Eve.”

His laughter explodes and the boys flinch. “This gets better by the minute. Does she live in a garden?”

I sit on my hands so I don't wring his neck. “She lives on—” I stop myself. “Down off Thunderbird Road.”

“You're telling the truth,” Sooz says, like she can't believe it.

“I am.”

But Brent won't let up. “Call her.”

Really? I tighten my jaw to control my face. Force a smile. “Okay.”

It takes me a minute to find the phone with all the crap cluttering the kitchen counter. I dial Eevee's number, hoping she doesn't pick up, but knowing if she doesn't, I'm toast. It rings. Rings. Rings.

And she answers.

I swallow. “Hi.” Brent watches me with his eyes half-sunk in disgust. Or a beer fog. Can't tell which.

“Hey,” Eevee says. “I got your message. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I keep my voice low. “Just wanted to say hi.”