Dissonance (33 page)

“He's sharing memories with his Echoes,” I said. “Not
just feelings. Memories. Entire events. Special enough?”

Eliot whistled, long and low. “He told you this?”

I shifted. “Kind of.”

“Kind of? Did he say, ‘Funny thing, I keep having crazy super-detailed déjà vu'?”

“It came up in conversation.”

“Hell of a conversation,” he said tightly. “Fine. He has SRT. Why is this a problem for us?”

“When I interact with one of Simon's Echoes, his Original zones out. He thinks he's dreaming, but he's actually seeing through his Echo's eyes.”

Eliot's face went cool and remote, analyzing my words. “And he's seeing you.”

I picked at a loose thread on my sweater. “His Echoes notice me. They remember me. When I go back, they ask where I've been.”

“Why would you go back?” There was a long, excruciating silence, and then he jerked away from me. “You're hooking up with his Echo.”

I cringed. “I know, I know. I'm a horrible person. Can we focus on what's important here, please?”

“This
is
important. You promised me you wouldn't Walk by yourself. You gave me your word.”

I covered my face with my hands.

“I don't understand. They're not even real.” He sprang up, disgust lacing his words. “Why would you do it?”

How could I explain that the rush I got from being with
Simon was nearly as strong as the thrill of Walking? Better, even. When I Walked, I felt free, but the Consort could snatch it away at any moment. With Simon, I was myself, and it was enough, and that was a kind of freedom I'd never had before.

“He makes me happy.”

“Happy?” Eliot's mouth twisted like he'd tasted something foul. “You risked your entire future for him. Our future.”

“Our future?” I looked at him, misery and betrayal written across his face, feet braced wide and arms folded like he was trying to ward off a blow or hold one back.

“Oh, Eliot.” I pressed a fist against my heart. “I didn't—”
I didn't know,
I'd been about to say, but that was a lie. I hadn't
wanted
to know.

“You've thought about it. You must have thought about it. We're good together. We're an amazing team, Del. Everyone says so. Even you.”

“We're the best,” I said, cutting him off, afraid to hear any more. We couldn't undo this conversation. We couldn't forget it. And I knew, with a sickening certainty, it would change us in ways I never wanted. “It doesn't mean . . .”

“I'm the best when you need help. When you need someone to cover for you, or fix a problem. I'm good enough to use, but not enough to love,” he spat.

“I do love you,” I said, searching for the balance of honesty and kindness. “Just . . . not that way.”

“No, you save that for Simon. What else are you saving for him? Or did you already give it up?”

“Stop it!” I shoved him, hard.

His mouth snapped shut, and he drew a long, shaky breath. We stared at each other in silence, my chest hollow and aching as if my heart had been knocked out.

Finally he spoke, voice harsh. “Those girls are a game to him. They're conquests, and now you're one of them. I hope it was good.”

“He's not like that.” My own temper reared up then, much more satisfying to hang on to than the guilt and hurt bleeding through me. “And so what if I did sleep with him? It doesn't make me less. It doesn't mean I'm
damaged
.”

“I have been in love with you since first grade,” he said, breath coming fast and shallow. “When you threw up on Tommy Bradshaw's shoes after he stole my lunch money. More than half my life. I thought if I waited . . . but you won't even give us a shot, because Simon Lane has some crazy hold over you.”

“I didn't mean for it to happen. Any of it.”

“You never do.” I flinched, but he kept talking. “He's going to make you miserable. He's going to treat you like one of those girls. I won't fix it. I won't fix you. Not this time.”

“I never asked you to.” It was like running toward a cliff full tilt and skidding to a stop at the edge, fighting momentum to keep from plunging over into nothingness. I needed to slow us down. To make Eliot see reason. I grabbed for his hand, but he evaded me. I tried again. “I'm sorry. I should have told you about Simon, but I was afraid.”

“You were afraid I'd stop you. Like I could. You don't listen
to anyone else. You don't
think
about anyone else. You don't think about the consequences. You care about yourself, and that's it.”

I was used to disappointing my family. I didn't care what my teachers thought. But this was Eliot, hurting and hurtful, and my already-battered heart was breaking into pieces at the sight. I'd done this to him. Useless to cry, I reminded myself, and swiped a hand over my eyes. “Fine. I'm a bitch. But I'm right, too. The anomaly my parents have been looking for is related to Simon. We have to do something.”

He looked at me like I was a stranger. “The only thing you need to do is leave.”

“Don't make this about us. Please.”

“It's about you, Del. Same as always. But I'm not interested.” He made a sound like a laugh, only strangled and horrible. “Now you know how it feels.”

E
LIOT AVOIDED ME
at school all morning, so I wasn't surprised when he was a no-show at lunch. I sat at our usual table anyway, endlessly twisting the metal tab on my Coke. I was as selfish and self-centered as he'd said. For years, he'd dropped hints but I'd ignored them or laughed them off because they'd made me uncomfortable. Because he was my dearest friend, but only a friend, and telling him so might have ruined us.

Now we were beyond ruined. I didn't know how to make it up to him. The one thing he wanted was impossible for me to give.

People milled around the cafeteria, and I watched as they made choice after choice, world after world, ignorant of the weight their decisions carried. I didn't know whether to envy them or feel sorry for them. Could I have chosen differently? Eliot and I made a great team, but I'd never thought of him that way. He'd never made my heart skip and my head swim the way Simon did.

But I could have been honest.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to relieve the aching behind them, and took a shuddering breath.

“Missed you this morning.” Simon's voice came from overhead. “I thought maybe you'd disappeared.”

I opened my eyes, my pulse kicking up at the sight of him. “Right here,” I said, smiling despite myself.

He dragged a chair over and straddled it, folding his arms over the back, all easy confidence and long limbs. “Are we good?”

When I nodded, he surveyed the table, empty except for my can of pop. “This is not a proper lunch.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Guess not. Where's Eliot?”

I couldn't get the words out, but he must have understood, because he stood up and tugged at my hand. “Come on.”

“You wanted to sit with the jocks?” I eyed the table brimming with letter jackets and school spirit.

“Another time. Today you need a break.”

We'd gone only a few feet when Bree stopped us.

“Hey, stranger.” She gave Simon a friendly push, but her smile was strained. “Duncan wants to talk to you about some sports boosters fund-raiser. Got a minute?”

Simon's hand tightened on mine. “Not right now. Sorry.”

“But I saved you a seat,” she said, a plaintive note to her voice.

“Give it to someone else,” he said gently, and led me away without waiting for her response.

I blinked. “You didn't need to—”

“Yeah, I did.”

I felt the stares as he led me through the maze of tables and out the side doors, but Simon didn't seem to care. What must
it be like to be so sure of yourself and your place in the world? I'd thought I had that, once, but my certainty had unraveled weeks ago.

“Where are we going?”

“Equipment room,” he said. “Nobody's in there this time of day.”

I stopped short and gave him a dubious look.

“It's the only place in the building where we don't need a hall pass. I'm in there all the time for team stuff, and since I'm captain . . .” He reached into his pocket. “I've got a key.”

He looked so pleased with himself I decided not to mention I didn't need a key.

“How'd you end up as captain when you're only a junior?” I asked. “Isn't it usually for seniors?”

“My cocaptain's a senior,” he said, and pointed at the trophy case nearby. “But I was on varsity last year, and we won State, so . . .”

He kept talking, but something in the display caught my attention. I eased closer, nodding as if I were listening.

One of the net-draped trophies winked out of existence, replaced by a smaller, far less showy one. In an instant they swapped again, and everything looked exactly the way it should.

Another inversion in the Key World. Another one connected to Simon.

“I just remembered,” I said, smacking my forehead. “I have to turn in a library book.”

“Now?”

“It's way late. Fines in the double digits, and the librarian's
threatening me with another detention.” I shooed him off. “You go ahead and I'll catch up.”

The frown cleared. “Del, chill out. I wasn't going to put the moves on you. At least, not a lot.”

“I'm looking forward to your moves. I'll meet you in a few minutes.”

Easy enough to say I got caught without a hall pass, or that the librarian had made me shelve books as a way to pay off my fine. I'd come up with a story, but for now, I needed to get rid of him.

Reluctantly he let go of my hand. “Go on,” I said, shoving at him. I made a show of heading in the opposite direction, toward my locker, glancing back to check his progress.

Once he was safely out of sight, I raced back, shielding the trophy with my body. My pulse drummed in my ears as I pulled out the lock picks and got to work. With any luck, the few passersby would think I'd suddenly become a basketball fan.

As soon as the lobby was empty, I shoved the panel of glass aside and reached for the blinking net, listening for its shifting pitch.

Nimble fingers, open mind.
I caught the frequency on the second try, drawing it closer, out of the display case. With light, careful movements I enlarged the pivot enough to squeeze through.

One last check around the deserted lobby, and I stepped into the rift, holding my breath at the tight fit.

When I emerged on the other side of the pivot, the trophies were smaller and the room was dotted with people who took no
notice of me. One look at the team picture explained the difference. Simon had never moved up to the varsity squad, and the team had never made it to State.

If the inversion took root in the Key World, would my Simon lose his place as captain? Would people treat him the same way? Would he forget me again? I wasn't sure how he'd be affected, but it wouldn't be good.

I touched the trophy, trying to find the strings that contained the inversion. Over and over, my fingers slipped. My hands ached from searching so meticulously through the threads, testing each one without altering it, and my head pounded. No wonder my dad had contracted frequency poisoning.

My shaking fingers snagged on a thread, and I froze. If even one line snapped, it could cause another cleaving. I had to empty my mind of everything—Simon, my dad's illness, the anomaly threatening the Key World. The only thing I could think about was finding the bad strings.

Nimble fingers, open mind.

And there they were. Once I found the first, the rest were easy to locate. I coaxed them back into tune, painfully aware that the filaments beneath my fingers were connected to this Echo's Simon. I wondered how my actions would alter him, if it would cause him to choose differently, or nullify the decisions he'd already made. It was too much power for one person to have over another, Echo or Original.

The frequency shifted, a grinding, grating, reluctant drop, and I checked my watch. Not bad for fifteen minutes' work.

The empty lobby was both a surprise and a relief. Both the net and trophy were back in place, resonating at the Key World frequency, exactly as they should be. I slid the glass door shut and reached in my bag for the pick that would relock it.

“If you wanted to see it up close,” Simon said, stepping out from behind the vending machine, “all you had to do was ask.”

T
HERE ARE THREE
reasons Walkers are almost never caught:

They're good.

They're careful.

People don't pay attention.

As long as you had two out of three, you could usually escape detection. I was good, but not careful. And Simon was definitely paying attention.

Basically, I was screwed.

“Don't we have a date in the equipment room?” I said, scrambling for a distraction, hoping he hadn't seen the truth.

One look at his face dashed those hopes. “Nobody who cuts class as often as you worries about library fines. Did you really think I was going to buy that story?”

I lifted a shoulder. “Saying yes doesn't make either of us look good.”

“None of this makes you look good, Del. Start talking.”

“It's complicated.” The idea of telling him made my stomach roil.

“So talk slow. Use small words. But start talking, because what I saw was impossible.”

“Nothing's impossible,” I murmured, but he folded his arms and stared until I caved. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

“Equipment room,” he said grimly. “The truth this time. All of it.”