Now That You're Here (Duplexity, Part I) (17 page)

Saturday morning Mom proposes we do something together, enjoy some mother-daughter quality time.

“Let's go to the mall.” She sits on the edge of my bed, still in her bathrobe, her hair in a ponytail. “Or see that new movie with what's-his-name.” She snaps her fingers to jog her memory. “You know. The one about the guy with the thing and the girl who helps him figure it out.”

Sounds like my life.

“I can't today, Mom. Warren and I are working on our project for the science fair.” Her face falls and I feel bad. “But we can go see what's-his-name when the project is done, if you want.” This helps. Her face brightens and I'm free to get on with my day, helping the guy with the thing.

We take turns pushing the cart through O'Malley's Hardware, passing the lightbulb aisle, window treatments and plumbing. Despite Mac's initial reluctance, we're moving ahead with our plan to build an EMP device. After all, we didn't even get a chance to argue our case before the suits showed up. Warren and I decided we'll either convince Mac of the necessity, or impress him with our creation. Besides, what other choice do we have?

Danny stops the cart. “Hop in.”

I'm not the most graceful girl in the world, but I manage to crawl up into it without falling on my face or scraping my knees. Danny pushes off, his shoes squeaking against the polished concrete floors. I squeal as we career toward the paint section, narrowly dodging a forklift.

Danny slides to a sudden stop. I press my feet against the cart to keep from slamming into the metal basket. Warren jogs up as Danny picks a bunch of color sample cards from the paint display. Purples, magentas, greens. He tucks them into his back pocket and notices us watching him. “What? I like those colors.” And we're off again, racing toward lumber.

Even with Warren's diagrams and shopping list, it takes forever to locate the right kind of wood, the right sizes. I wander around the lighting section while the guys watch an employee cut two-by-fours to the lengths we need. I like looking at the chandeliers. They make me think of stars. Finally, Warren and Danny come wheeling down the aisle, the cart full of supplies.

We pay for everything with Warren's freelance game-scripting fees and my birthday stash. Then we push the cart and carry our bags out to where Mrs. Fletcher is waiting with the minivan windows down and classical music playing. She has the patience of a saint. Of course it helps that Warren has convinced her we're gathering materials to conduct a groundbreaking experiment that will virtually guarantee his acceptance to MIT. Which might not be altogether untrue. We load the goods into the back, maneuvering the lumber through the seats all the way to the front.

When we get to Warren's, we reverse the process, unloading and carrying everything to the garage. Lucky for us, his parents are used to him doing wacky, large-scale experiments at home. Trebuchet, Jacob's ladder, replica TARDIS. They're so used to it, they've cleaned out half of the garage as his workspace and built a second shed in back to house his creations. They deserve some kind of award for being the coolest parents ever.

“Is that everything?” Mrs. Fletcher asks, her hands on her hips.

“Looks like it,” I say, surveying the pile of stuff we've amassed. Warren nods.

“Good luck.” She disappears into the house.

Coolest parents
ever.

Warren looks at his watch. “Only have a couple of hours, but maybe we can get the framing done.”

“You have plans?”

He looks away, then jumps in to help Danny sort the two-by-fours. “I'm going out.”

“Out?” I cut the plastic wrapping from the rolls of chicken wire. “Out, like, to Arkham's Attic for comics?”

“No. Out, as in out.”

“You mean a
date
?” I notice now that he's got his aviators on again, and he's wearing his favorite shirt—a ringer tee with a cartoon of Tesla on the front.

His answer is quiet. “Maybe.”

I don't have to see his face to know he's blushing. “With Missy?”

That sets him off. He crosses his arms. “Yes, okay? I have a date with Missy. Is that such a big deal? Sheesh. It's not like it's the first time we've gone out.”

“What?”
I can't believe what I'm hearing. When did this start? How have I not noticed?

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” he says, his voice acerbic, “but I don't have to get your permission to have a social life, Solomon.”

From the look on his face, I can tell I've stepped way out of line. “I'm sorry,” I say with as much sincerity as possible. “Of course you don't need my permission. I hope you two have a nice time.”

But I can't help thinking about how she's been hanging around us. How yesterday she asked Danny about our science project. Warren wouldn't tell her, would he?

That night we walk circles around the neighborhood, listening to the cicadas sing and talking about nothing in particular. An orange half-moon hangs low on the horizon. Danny squeezes my hand. “Who else do you hope you are in your parallel worlds?”

The question throws me. I hadn't thought about it before, but he's obviously been thinking about it for a while.

How many versions of me are there out there? Theoretically, there could be an infinite number. Is it possible there's one for every dream I've had in my life here as myself? When I was a kid, I wanted to be a dancer, a teacher, an opera singer, an astronaut.

I think of her. The one other Eevee I
do
know about. Sometimes I want to be her.

It's taking me way too long to answer, so I choose the last thing I remember wanting to be before I fell in love with physics. “An archeologist.” I kick a rock down the sidewalk. It rolls into a neighbor's yard. “Digging around ruins in Ireland or Rome. You?”

“Curator. At the Louvre.”

“You have a Louvre, too?”

“We do.”

I sigh. “I'd like to see the Louvre someday.”

“Maybe you already have. Just not
you
you.”