Dissonance (25 page)

“Mom, Simon Lane. Simon, this is my mom.”

He stood and shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you as well. I wish I'd known we were having company.” She gave me a look implying I had fallen down on the job.

Simon covered his heart with his hand, miming hurt. “Trying to keep me under wraps?”

He had no idea how many secrets I was keeping about him. I waved toward the staff paper on the piano bench. “We're working on a project for music. Counterpoint.”

“Del's specialty,” my mom said. “Are you two hungry? I made zucchini bread.”

“I love zucchini bread,” Simon said, but I put my hands up.

“We're fine, Mom. And we've got a lot to do, so . . .”

Her eyebrows arched. “I'll let you get back to work. Dad should be home soon, by the way. I'm sure he'll love meeting your . . . friend.”

If there'd been a pivot handy, I would have Walked through and stayed until I was fifty, because it would take that long for me to get over my embarrassment. Simon seemed fascinated by the pattern of the rug, and neither of us moved until we heard the door of her office shut.

“So that's your mom,” he said finally. “Where's the rest of the family?”

“My dad's working. My grandfather's upstairs, which is kind of weird. He's usually pretty social.” I wasn't complaining. My mom's ability to mortify me paled in comparison to Monty's skill set. “My sister's working in her room.” Writing up the report on our Walk. I wondered what she would say about Monty refusing to join us.

“Nice,” he said softly. “Having so much family.”

“Your dad . . .”

“Took off right after I was born.” He swiveled away so I couldn't read his face.

“Ah.” Unsure of how much to push, I said, “That sucks.”

He picked up my violin, plinked one of the strings. “Don't worry about it. I don't.”

“No?”

“Nope. More important things on the radar,” he said, and turned back to me.

The most powerful choices are the ones that disrupt the status quo—that break free of momentum and push into the unknown.

They're also the most terrifying.

I could let Simon's remark slide and continue on with our project. Or I could ask the question, knowing it would change us regardless of his answer.

“Things like your mom?”

He set the violin down. I waited, hoping he'd fill the silence between us with the truth.

“Who told you?”

“Nobody. I had a feeling.”

He sat next to me and struck a single note on the piano, an E flat, over and over. “The cancer came back. We found out a couple of months ago.”

I'd never wanted to be wrong so badly. “I'm sorry. Is it . . .”

His expression turned haggard. “Yeah. They don't know how much longer she has. A year. Eighteen months, if we're lucky.”

Strange to call it luck. In less than two years he'd be an orphan.

“What are you going to do?” I picked out a minor melody, pianissimo.

“Take care of her,” he said, jaw set. “Right now she's tired more than anything. Later . . . there are people who can come in and help. That's what the doctors said, anyway.”

The circles under his eyes made sense to me now; his insistence on getting good grades for his mom's sake. His wish for siblings. The charm he displayed every day had vanished, replaced by brittle composure. The transformation made my heart ache.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to have no one left in my family—not even Addie. How quiet the house would be. I envisioned myself in those empty, echoing rooms, and my eyelids prickled.

“Why haven't you told anyone?”

“I told Coach. A couple of guys on the team. A few teachers.”

“That's it? What about the rest of your friends?”

“Not yet.” I must have looked startled, because he said, “It changes how people look at you. How they treat you.”

“Maybe not.”

“It happened before,” he replied, and I remembered the year of casseroles and phone trees and bake sales. Of course he knew how everyone would react. “Once they find out, I'm not
me
anymore—I'm the kid with the mom who's dying.”

I'd watched Simon for years, charming and flirting and joking, winning people over at every turn. I'd never stopped to consider what hard work it must have been, convincing everyone to love him instead of pity him. That veneer had never slipped until now, never cracked. The Simon sitting next to me, simultaneously vulnerable and guarded, was as foreign as an Echo, but more real than he'd ever been.

“You told me,” I pointed out.

His brow furrowed. “You asked.”

“Didn't mean you had to answer.”

He looked straight at me, the intensity of his gaze making me forget which world we were in, which Simon I was dealing with.

“I had a feeling too,” he said, the words so low they resonated in my chest, and his hand slid to cover mine on the keys.

“I'm glad,” I whispered.

“Simon?” called my mom, and he drew away. My pulse beat in a wild, unsteady rhythm. Mom poked her head around the corner. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It's chicken parmesan tonight. You're welcome to join us.”

I rolled my eyes. We'd had pizza or sandwiches every night this week. Simon's presence was the only explanation for a return to real food.

“It sounds great, but I can't,” Simon said, standing up and grabbing his notebook. “I have a . . .” His eyes slid away. “I have plans.”

“Plans” could mean only one thing. A specific plan, with a specific individual.

“Some other time,” Mom said. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” he said. “And thanks for the offer.”

“Of course.” She disappeared back into the kitchen, but the damage was done, the sense of connection shattered.

“Hot date?” I asked. I was going for nonchalance:
See how much I don't care you'll be kissing someone else tonight?
But inside, my heartbeat slowed to the tempo of a dirge. He'd confided in me, trusted me with the most awful truth imaginable, but I wasn't the one he wanted. “Bet I can guess who.”

He released the arm on the old-fashioned metronome we kept next to the piano, and the steady ticking filled the silence. “Bree's nice,” he said eventually. “And it's not serious.”

“It never is.” Why was he telling me his secrets one minute, and leaving to see her the next? Maybe I'd imagined the connection between us. Maybe he told everyone, making them feel as special as I had. The idea made me feel hot, then cold, and then very, very stupid.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone knows you don't stick. When was the last time you had a serious girlfriend?” I kept my voice light.

“They know what they're getting into.”

“And they all talk about what a great guy you are.” They talked about other things, too, but I wasn't about to feed his ego. “I'm not judging. But I'd have to be blind not to see you've got someone new on your arm every six weeks. And
you're
blind if you think Bree's not after something more serious this time around.”

“You want to talk about blind? What about the guy in music class? Lee?”

“Eliot? I told you, we're friends.”

Simon scoffed. “If you say so. I've got to run.”

“Be careful,” I called as he left, surprised at how hurt I felt. “Bree's looking to be more than the flavor of the month.”

The door slammed.

I wandered back into the music room, studying the score we'd worked on. I picked up my violin, tightened the bow, and
ran through my part. Without Simon's half it sounded thin and lonely.

“Not your usual work,” said Monty.

“Hey, Grandpa. It's a project for school. I have to compose with someone else.”

“Simon,” he said with a knowing smile. “Where'd he go?”

“Date,” I mumbled, and shifted to Bach.

“Hmph,” he said. “You let him slip away.”

I stopped playing with a screech. “What was I supposed to do, sit on him? Steal his keys?”

Actually, I could have lifted his keys. But I wanted him to choose to stay.

I wanted Simon to choose
me
.

Monty shook his head mournfully. “Do you think Rose fell into my lap like an apple from a tree? Make an effort.”

“He's not a Walker.”

“So?”

“So, isn't that kind of . . . frowned on?”

Monty sucked in air through his dentures. “Since when has that ever stopped you? You've got a connection with this boy, haven't you? When the multiverse tries to tell you something, it's best to listen.”

The multiverse was giving me mixed signals. Much like Simon himself. “He's on a date with another girl.”

“Find a way around. You can, if you want to badly enough.” He played a quick ditty on the piano and pushed up from the bench. “Dinner?”

“In a minute.” I stared at the score Simon and I had written together. He couldn't draw a treble clef to save his life. He was dating Bree again. He wasn't a Walker. Bad enough I'd hooked up with his Echo. Falling for his Original would be an even bigger mess.

And it was too late.

W
HAT'S ON TAP
for this week?” I asked Addie as I set the table that night. “More inversions?”

“That's the only one Lattimer told me about,” she said. “But I've got fun stuff planned.”

I was afraid to ask what constituted Addie's idea of fun. Then again, Lattimer had told her to ramp up my training, and she wouldn't ignore a directive from the Consort.

“What's fun?” asked my mom, dropping into her chair. “I could use some fun.”

My dad rubbed her shoulders. “Sorry I missed your friend today, Del. Will we be seeing him again?”

“No idea,” I replied, and turned to my mom. “What's wrong?”

“It's nothing,” Mom replied. My dad opened his mouth and closed it again.

“We're not little kids anymore,” Addie said. “You don't need to protect us.”

“What are you guys looking for?” I asked. Dad gaped at me, and I shrugged. “Why else would you need Eliot's map?”

“It's classified,” he said.

“And completely manageable,” added my mother.

A completely manageable problem wouldn't have turned my mom's skin waxy with fatigue, or threaded strands of silver in my father's sandy hair. It wouldn't have meant whispered conversations and locked doors, late nights and short tempers. Whatever they were dealing with was the opposite of completely manageable.

“Let us help,” Addie said. “I'm nearly done with my training, and Del doesn't completely suck.”

“Hey!”

My dad shook his head. “Too dangerous. What we need from you two is to be careful. To keep an eye out for anything strange, especially on the Key World side.”

“You know you can talk to us,” Mom said. “About anything.”

At that, I rolled my eyes. Parents
said
you could always talk to them, but whenever you took them up on their offer, it was less of a talk and more of a lecture. I got enough of those as it was.

A thick, uncomfortable silence blanketed the room. Finally my mom pushed up from the table, her dinner untouched. “You two keep on doing what you're doing, and things will be back to normal soon enough.”

My dad ruffled my hair and followed her upstairs. Addie surveyed the table, the food lying uneaten at each place. “They're lying.”

“Duh.”

“Inversions,” Addie said, green eyes thoughtful. “He wants to know if we're seeing inversions in the Key World. That's definitely serious enough for the Consort to freak out.”

“They're going about it backward, as usual,” said Monty. He crammed a piece of garlic bread in his mouth. “Inversions are a symptom.”

Addie watched him closely. “What would you do?”

“I've been out of the game too long to do much of anything,” he said, and Addie sat back, disappointed. He lifted his eyebrows. “But if I were a younger man, I'd be more curious about the disease, wouldn't you?”

She nodded slowly. “Del, you're on dishes tonight.”

“You have plans for this evening?” Monty asked when she'd left. He slanted a look at my backpack, sitting next to the back door.

I poked at my now-cold dinner. “I was thinking about it.”

“Be a doer, Del, not a thinker.” He winked. “Is it too late for a cruller?”

There was no way the doughnut shop was open at this hour, but I understood him perfectly. “I'll find out.”

•  •  •

There was probably a lesson to be learned about the foolishness of Walking without a plan. Walking to Doughnut World was becoming second nature. Even the frequency, stronger than my last visit, was less irritating. But it wasn't until I was standing outside Simon's house that it hit me: He could be out with Bree in this Echo too. Or at a party. Or at Grundy's, or anywhere. A few make-out sessions didn't make this Simon mine, and it wasn't like we'd spent a lot of our time talking, either.

The Jeep was gone, and the shades were already pulled. It
was the same cozy ranch as in the Key World, but it was missing the Washington High pennant hanging in the front window, and the shutters were a glossy green, not red. Neat rows of solar lights lined the front walk, and the hedge along the driveway was carefully trimmed.

I made myself as comfortable as possible on the cement steps. It could be a long wait, and I contented myself with folding star after star, stringing them along a piece of kitchen twine. The temperature was dropping steadily, and I pulled on my fingerless gloves.

This had been a stupid idea. My parents were going to be furious. Addie would know something was up. I'd risked everything, again, and all because I'd been hurt Simon had chosen Bree over me.
Again
.