Now That You're Here (Duplexity, Part I) (23 page)

And then, after six blissful, drama-free days, the storm breaks.

Danny and I walk across Mom's yard after a long day of avoiding school to spend time together. I hear Warren call my name and turn to see him running across the street, backpack bouncing behind him. His goggles are crooked and his words run together.

“Wherehave
youbeen?”

“What?”

“Beenlooki
ngforyoual
lday.” He leans over and holds his knees.

“Slow down,” I say. “What's wrong?”

“Mac,” he says, panting. “He's gone.”

“What do you mean—”

“Fired.” He stands up and adjusts his backpack. “Murray fired him.”

“What?!” I grab Danny's arm. “What for?”

“Rumor is, he set up an illegal lab on campus. Some are saying drugs.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“You know what I think?” He tries to catch his breath. “It's those guys in suits. And whatever's going on at his house. If only we'd been able to talk to him before this.” He lifts his goggles to wipe his face and mutters about Mac's terrible timing for being MIA. His goggles snap back into place. “And get this: someone got past my firewall and jacked my hard drive.”

Oh no. “Do you think it was because of the…?”

He nods, his lips forming a thin line. “The EMP.”

Still reeling, I walk through the front door and stop. Mom and Dad are seated at Mom's kitchen table, and Dad has that look on his face.

I've only seen the look two other times, once when I forgot to lock my bike and someone took it; and once when I stole Phoebe Markel's Sassy doll. My parents decided those dolls instilled the wrong ideas in young girls' minds and forbade me to play with them.

I hated giving that doll back.

“What's wrong?” I set my bag down by the couch and hear Danny shut the door behind me. Mom looks at Dad. Dad nods at Mom. Mom puts her phone on speaker and turns up the volume.

“Ms. Bennett, this is Stacy Wright, guidance counselor at Palo Brea High School. I'm calling in reference to the recent changes in Eve's behavior. She's had some unexcused absences and her teachers have notified me of their concern about her grades. Obviously, given Eve's outstanding achievements, these changes have raised flags. Please call me back so we can set up a time to discuss this matter. Thank you.”

The look on Dad's face says it all. I'm doomed.

“So tell me.” He crosses his arms. “Just how many days have you been absent, young lady?”

I open my mouth to answer and my brain tumbles, trying to figure out the number. I don't even know what day it is. “Two? I think?”

He explodes. “You don't even know?!” Mom puts her hand to her mouth. “And where were you during these however-many days?”

“I…” I really don't want to answer the question. I don't know how. So I close my mouth and stare at my feet.

Danny clears his throat. “Mr. Solomon?”

Dad holds up his hand. “This doesn't concern…” Then his eyes narrow. “Danny, can
you
tell us where Eve was the days she wasn't at school?”

“She was with me, sir.”

“I see.”

Mom walks toward me. “Eevee, it's normal to want to express your will and push boundar—”

“Bullshit,” Dad says. “What's happened to your grades, Eve?”

“I was talking, Sid.”

“You were giving her an out.” He turns back to me. “Your grades, young lady.”

I can't look him in the eye. “I missed a test in chemistry. And I have three late assignments. Two in physics and one in history.” He looks devastated. Grades are Dad's lifeblood. I scramble for something good to tell him. “But my grade in English is actually better, thanks to Danny. And I'm almost caught up on the other work.”

It doesn't help. He still looks like he's going to kill me.

“Whatever's going on here…” He points back and forth between me and Danny. “This sneaking around. It stops now. No more.”

“Yes, sir,” Danny says.

“And you.” He takes a step toward Danny. “I trusted you. You told me you could follow the rule.”

“Sid,” Mom says.

He puts his finger in Danny's face. “Eve is my daughter and I will not let her future be ruined because some delinquent—”

“Sid!” Mom yells. “That's enough. You're in my house. Sit down.”

He walks toward me, his face contorted, and he says the worst thing possible. “I'm really disappointed in you, Eve. I thought we'd raised you better than this.” Then he walks back to the table and crosses his arms. He doesn't sit.

“You don't know what's really going on,” I say, finally finding my voice. “You don't understand.”

Something I said catches Mom's attention. She takes me aside. “Honey,” she whispers, “are you…in trouble?”

“What?”

“I mean…” She looks embarrassed.

Oh my God. “No, Mom.” I push her arm away. “Nothing like that. It's…” I close my eyes. “Danny has this. Thing. Where he.”

I hear the front door close. Danny is gone.

All hell breaks loose.

I leave. Turn away from them and walk out. Stupid, sure; but everything I can think of to say would only make it worse. The whole thing is my fault.

The skateboard feels solid under my feet and I relax a little as I ride. Maybe they'll go easier on her without me there. I'll just get some fresh air and go back later, after things have died down.

It's late. Rush-hour traffic crowds Thunderbird Road. Fiery sunspots glint off chrome and glass. I'm so wired I don't think I could sit still right now if I tried. It feels good to ride. To be out. To be moving. The city air is full of car exhaust and desert dust. This is freedom. This is the way Phoenix should feel.

I know it's a long shot, but I skate all the way to Germ's house. By the time I get there, my legs are like rubber. This time, though, it's worth it. There's a beat-up Nova in the driveway and the porch light is on. The door opens and Germ walks out of the house. Behind him is another guy I've never seen before.

My feet hit the sidewalk, leaving the board behind. “Germ!”

He eyes me as he slips a baseball cap backward over his scruffy hair. The other guy says something I can't hear and Germ shakes his head.

“Man,” I say when I'm closer, “what a crazy ride.”

“Yeah,” he says. He takes the toothpick out of his mouth and spits in the grass. “How's it going?”

The other guy—gangly and covered in tats—starts to speak, but Germ elbows him.

“Same old.” I stare at my best friend. His hair is longer, dirtier, and he's skinnier than ever. “Trying to figure some things out.”

“Cool.” He rolls the toothpick across his lips with his tongue. “Zinc and I were just going out. Wanna come?”

Zinc protests again. Germ shuts him up. “Would you chill, man? Be cool.” Zinc turns away, annoyed. There's a name stitched onto the pocket of his work shirt:
Neil.

The Zinc-Neil guy is twitchier than I am. And there's something in Germ's eyes. Something I can't put my finger on. Whatever. I shake off the bad vibes and go with it. “Yeah, man. I'm in.”

“All right then.” Germ spits the toothpick into the grass and climbs into the beater. Zinc takes shotgun. The back door sticks, but I get it open on the third try. The engine roars like a sick beast and we're off to who knows where.

Sunset blazes across the downtown skyline as Germ sails the highway overpass. A jet takes off from Sky Harbor, an orange phoenix rising from the city.

“Where we headed?” I yell to the front seat. The windows are down and the wind is fierce. As we round a curve, I slide across the vinyl seats from the center to the passenger side. A truck cuts us off and Germ lays on the horn. He's right on the guy's tail. Zinc and the other driver exchange hand signals.

“Where we headed, Zinc?” Germ asks.

“Party, man.”

Germ laughs.

It's like there's a joke, and I'm not getting it. But it's okay. He may not be my Germ, but he's still Jeremy Bulman. And he knows me. I decide to test the waters, figure out where this Germ overlaps with my friend.

“You going out for swim team this year?” I ask.

They both turn around and look at me. The car lists and Germ turns back just in time to correct. “What?”

“You on the swim team, man?” Zinc asks me. He makes swimming motions with his hands, plugs his nose like he's going under.

I shake my head. Idiot.

Germ takes the off-ramp at 7th Street. Lifts his foot from the gas and the engine moans like it's tired of being whipped. He smacks Zinc across the chest with the back of his hand and points at a gas station. “Gonna stock up.”

He pulls the car into an empty spot by the ice machines and leaves the engine running. “Hey, swimmy. Watch the wheels.” His door slams before I can respond.

Zinc turns to me. “That means you wait here. Sit in the driver's seat so no one jacks our ride.” And then he's gone, too. A lot of fun this is.

I climb over the bench seat to the front and sit behind the wheel. The seat's warm and it grosses me out. I watch Germ's baseball hat through the store's windows until he moves out of sight.

What am I doing? I should have stayed at Eevee's. This is stupid.

My head falls back against the headrest and the car rumbles beneath me. My eyes spaz behind closed lids. I try to relax, to just breathe, but the pulsing starts up and my chest goes tight. A slow static fills my head. Voices swim in and out.

Do I give up? Or fight to push through, to push harder than the other Danny? Without Eevee, what reason do I have to stay here?

The car door slams and I gasp. My eyes dart open. Someone's legs are going over the seat to the back.

“Go! Go! Kill it, man!”

I throw the stick into reverse and peel from the lot. Zinc and Germ both scream in my ears. I don't check for oncoming. Just pull out onto 7th Street going south, choking on spit and shock. Coughing, half-blinded to the road with my brain spinning.

They high-five over the bench seat. Germ whoops. Zinc howls and drums his hands on the ceiling.

As soon as I can breathe, I yell, “What the hell?!”

Germ pushes the back of my head. “Just giving you shit, man. It's cool. Go south here until you hit Baseline. Watch your speed.”

“Tell me where we're going.”

“I told you. A party.”

“Where?”

“What are you, my mother? Shit, man. Lighten up.”

I hear the fresh pop of a can opening. Not good. I drop my speed to three under and scan the road for cops. “Put that away.”

“Just be a good driver, Granny, and we'll be fine.”

We only get a couple of miles south when the lights flash behind me.

Germ turns to look at the squad car and yells, “Gun it!”

My arms shake and everything moves in slow-mo. This can't be happening.

“Go! Go!”

I take my foot off the gas. Turn on my signal.

“What are you doing, man?” Zinc's hot breath is in my face. Germ pounds on my seat back and smacks me in the head. Zinc pounds his foot over mine on the gas pedal and the car jolts forward.

The sirens wail and the cop's so close I can see him calling for backup. I push Zinc's face away with one hand and steer with the other. Work to wiggle my foot out from under his. The car swerves. Stinks like beer. I plant both feet on the brake. The engine races and the tires smoke.

For a split second, I think of throwing myself out of the car, but there's no way. I can't take my foot from the brake. If I do, the car zooms forward and takes me with it. Zinc and I push each other, struggling for control of the gearshift. I shove it into neutral just as something heavy clocks me in the head. Blinking out of consciousness, I see the cop in the rearview approaching with his gun drawn.