Don't You Wish (23 page)

“Oh, my God, beyond exciting.”

“It’s crazy, though, right?” I say. “But it happened. It really did. And I have no idea what’s going on or how this happened.”

He pulls me a little closer. “I do.”

My jaw drops. “You do?”

“Of course I do. This is my passion. This is my
real
superpower.”

“What is?”

“Quantum physics and particle theory. Atomic collisions and multiverses.”

“What?”

He laughs and squeezes my hands. “You did the most amazing thing a person can do, Ayla. I mean, Annie.” He thinks about that for a second, searching my face, a slow smile breaking across his. “Annie Nutter.” Oh, my God. I love the way he says it. Like it’s the prettiest name ever. “ ‘Annie’ fits you, somehow. Much better than ‘Ayla.’ ”

“Thanks, I think.” I curl my fingers through his, my pulse jumping like crazy. “Can you please tell me what this amazing thing I did is?”

He leans closer. “You made the ultimate journey from one universe to another.”

“I did?” I shoot back, reeling. “How?”

“Well, we’ll have to figure that out. My guess is the Heisenberg uncertainty principle and hyper-dimensional physics in a level three or four parallel universe.”

What?
The only word I got in that was
uncertainty
. My life has been nothing but uncertain since this happened. “What are you talking about?” I say. “Parallel universes?”

“Yes!” He’s as excited as Missy was when I said I could play the violin. In fact, at this moment, I can see they’re twins. “Of course, we’ll need to do some research to figure that out. You’ll need to tell me exactly what happened, when, and how. I know a quantum physics genius at UM who’s involved with some major particle colliding projects. He might—”

“You can’t tell anyone!”

“How else are we going to help you?”

“Help me? Help me what?”

He finally lets go of my hands, easing away, the first real confusion registering on his face. “Help you get back.”

I collapse a little, staring at him. “I can go back?”

“Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“Oh, Charlie.” I cover my mouth as the possibility washes over me.
I can go home
. I can give up this perfect world, this lucky life, this wonderful boy … and I can be Annie Nutter again.

“You want to go back, don’t you?”

I have to answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

A few hours later, I’m leaning back in the Jeep as we cross the causeway to Star Island, with the canvas top stripped off to let the warm Biscayne Bay breeze blow our hair. Charlie is holding my hand over the stack of science books between us, and jazz music plays on the car radio.

I close my eyes, but behind my lids all I can see is universe bubbles, images of stars, wormholes, laser lights, dancing electrons, photons, and something I’ve never heard of, a graviton.

My master course in quantum mechanics and cosmology did little but confuse me.

“Everything makes so much sense now,” Charlie muses, letting go of my hand to turn the music down.

“You’re kidding, right? Nothing makes sense, Charlie. I
still don’t understand the four levels of parallel universes or how there could be one right here”—I grab a handful of air—“and we can’t see or smell or hear it because it’s in another dimension where laws of physics don’t apply.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, the dimple appears, and my toes curl like they’ve been pulled on a string. “I mean about you,” Charlie says. “Everything makes sense about you now.”

I don’t answer but bask in his glance, fast but full of admiration.

“You were never Ayla Monroe, not from the minute you walked into school that day you were late. I could just sense it.”

“But I am,” I insist. “This is Ayla.” I point to myself, then to the entrance of Star Island. “And that’s where she lives.”

“This is Annie.” He taps my breastbone, a few inches above my heart. “And
that
’s where she lives.”

How is it that he got that already? Just knowing that makes me feel better.

The Star Island guard gives the Jeep an evil eye, but lets us by when he sees me.

“It’s not a bad way to live,” I say, somehow feeling I have to defend Ayla’s lifestyle. “And, except for the idiots like Ryder, being popular and pretty instead of an invisible nobody doesn’t suck.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Of course I’m serious, Charlie. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t like to wake up in a luxurious house, a whole improved you, and not have to be bullied and treated like crap by the likes of Lunch Lady.”

He slows down in front of the gate to my house but doesn’t
press in the numbers. Instead he stares straight ahead, that amazing brain of his whirring, I can tell.

“Lunch Lady doesn’t exist for me, luxury doesn’t matter, and the assholes can’t hurt me if I don’t let them.” He turns to me. “You know the only thing I’d barter with the devil to change.”

Missy. My gut twists. I guess I’m being ridiculously shallow for worrying about money and popularity when his sister …

“I didn’t barter with the devil,” I say softly. “I just had a few fantasies, pictured a perfect life, and a lightning bolt took me there.”

Without answering, he taps in the code just as a car pulls up behind us. I look in the side mirror and recognize my mother’s silver Mercedes.

“That’s my mom,” I say, a whole bunch of mixed feelings stirring inside me. I don’t want or need to tell her the truth anymore, but I do want to straighten out her misconception that I read her email.

And I
really
want to know what she said to Mel Nutter, and what he said to her.

“Want me to pull over so you can drive in with her?” he asks, seeing me look longingly at Mom’s car in the side mirror.

“No, I’ll catch her inside. Do you want to come in with me?”

He shakes his head, heading into the wide paved drive and pulling over to let my mom pass. I catch her eye as she drives by; she looks pensive and sad—and worried. I give her a little wave, and she attempts a smile in return.

“She was happier in that other universe,” I say as Charlie
parks next to a cluster of palm trees. “I mean, she cried that day in Walmart, but most of the time, my mom would sing when she cooked or talk to the fish when she fed them.” I feel that homesick lump building in my throat, a semipermanent resident lately. “She didn’t fight that much with my dad, either. I wish she were happy now. I wish she didn’t want a divorce or drink in the afternoon or act like I don’t want her in my room. I wish …”

My voice cracks, and Charlie puts his hand on mine, turning in the seat to face me. “You cry a lot.”

“I didn’t used to. I blushed. How do you explain that? Not all the particles that blasted through the wormhole came through right?”

“Blushing and tearfulness are inherited traits,” he says, all scientific and serious.

“And playing the violin?”

He brushes my cheek, wiping a tear. “From the soul or whatever indefinable part of you makes you Annie. I like that part.” The pad of his thumb circles my cheekbone, and I can’t take my eyes off his. “Yes, you are pretty, and when you pictured perfect, you came damn close, but the part of you I like the most is inside.”

Oh.
Oh
. “That could be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I whisper.

He smiles and leans close enough to let our foreheads touch, and I feel connected to him like this is a Vulcan mind meld or something.

“I’m going over to UM right now to talk to Doc Pritchard. I’ll call you tonight when I find out more.”

“Is he going to want to meet me and experiment on me?”

Charlie smiles. “No testing on Annie, I promise.” He takes my chin and lifts my face toward his. “Just so we’re clear on this, I like Annie a lot.”

I almost nod, but I’m pretty paralyzed with affection for him at the moment. Our lips are close, and I know he’s going to kiss me. I want him to so badly that my lips actually hurt.

When he doesn’t, I ask, “Do you want me to go back, Charlie?”

“I want you to be happy. If you’re happier here, then you should stay.”

“I promised your sister I wouldn’t disappear. If I go back, she might think she scared me off.”

He looks at me, his eyes so warm and dear. “I’ll take care of her.”

“You already do,” I say, unable to keep the admiration out of my voice. “You’re a good brother.”

“I’d be a better boyfriend.”

I smile at him. “Charlie Zelinsky, are you asking me out?”

“Yep.”

“Even though we’re from … different universes?”

“Yep.”

I smile and give him a quick peck on the cheek, saving a bigger, better kiss for somewhere other than my driveway. “Yes, you can be my boyfriend. In this or any universe.”

“Deal.” He gives me a warm hug, and then lets go so I can climb out of the Jeep. While I watch him drive away, I realize that for the first time since I woke up in wonderland, I’m truly happy. So, why would I want to leave?

* * *

I stop in the kitchen for a snack, hoping to talk to Mom, but she has already disappeared upstairs. Tillie tries to make conversation with me, but after a while, I drift away. When I hear Mom talking on the phone, I head toward her room. Just as she hangs up, I tap on the open door.

“Hey, Mom.”

She turns and meets my gaze, and then I see that her room is covered with open suitcases and clothes.

“Who was that boy?” she asks.

“Just a kid from school. We’re … working on a science project together.” For once, my age-old excuse is true.

She gives me a rare smile. “Well, it looked like some definite chemistry going on out there.”

I nod and indicate the suitcases. “Looks like some definite packing going on in here.”

“I’m going away,” she says quietly.

Oh. I feel the impact of that in my stomach first, then all the way down to my toes. Moms don’t
leave
. “Where?”

“I’m staying with my friend Deirdre at her condo in Boca for a while.”

“And then?”

She shrugs. “I’m still deciding.”

I take a step inside, studying her, trying to determine her mood. Like always, she seems closed up, protected, and … tight. Like always, I can’t believe how much marriage to the wrong man affected her.

It’s a lesson to me: marry wisely.

The image of Charlie—my sweet, caring, smart boyfriend—flits through my brain, but I put him away for now, concentrating on what I want to say to Mom.

“Listen, about that question I asked you about Mel—”

She waves a hand to silence me. “I’m sorry I lost my temper with you, Ayla.”

“Well, you thought I was snooping—”

“You were snooping.”

“But I wasn’t.” I can’t stand it. I have to know where history changed in this universe. Encouraged that she hasn’t kicked me out yet, I prop myself on a silk vanity bench. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

She nods, but her attention is on another top she’s taking off a hanger.

“If you could do it all again differently, would you?”

That gets her to look up, her expression surprised. “Why?”

I shrug. “Just curious. If you could have chosen a different path, a different …”—
husband
—“life, would you?”

“I don’t know. I can’t.”

“Would you have married Mel Nutter?”

She closes her eyes, the fight that was in them when I mentioned his name the other day gone now. “I never got a chance to figure that out,” she says.

“Why not?”

She swallows and turns, disappearing into a closet. “I had my reasons.”

I have to know. I follow her into a clothes cave that makes mine look like a kitchen cabinet by comparison. “What were they?”

She’s way in the back, around a corner, in a shoe store. “None of your business.”

“It is my business.”

Scooping up an armful of shoes, she lets out a bitter laugh. “No, Ayla, it isn’t. Your job of spying and digging for my missteps is over now. Dad won; I’m leaving, and I won’t try to take one dime more than the state of Florida or the board of Forever Flawless deems appropriate.”

“What were your reasons?” I ask again, not interested in her divorce settlement at all.

“Do the math,” she finally says, clutching the shoes to her chest as she looks at me. “Trent was my reason.”

Just like … my real mom. Only she got pregnant with me. This mom got pregnant with Trent, and me a year later. “You got pregnant?” I state the obvious, hoping it will get her to explain more. “But … you already knew Mel, didn’t you? So how did that happen with Jim?”

“The usual way. Which is why I wanted you to protect yourself with Ryder.”

“That’s not what I mean. How did you end up with one man when you were seeing someone else?”

“I came down here to tell your father that I’d made a decision and I wanted to completely end things. He was very good at stringing me along. Still is. Anyway, I’d met Mel and … and, well, Jim talked me out of it. He’s persuasive like that.” She brushes by me, dropping a shoe as she goes. “My mistake.”

I pick up the fallen stiletto and follow her. “What was your mistake?” Dropping the shoe? Getting pregnant? Leaving Mel?

“Marrying your father. I’ve never been good enough for him.” She dumps the pile of shoes onto the bed and then
systematically begins to smash them into corners of a suitcase one by one.

“I’ve never been young enough.” She stuffs a shoe. “Pretty enough.” And another one. “Smart enough.” And another. “Witty enough.”

I hand her the last shoe. “You’re all those things, Mom. And if Jim Monroe doesn’t realize that, he’s an idiot.”

She looks at me, and I see a world of pain in her tear-filled eyes. A world I never saw before. “Thank you, Ayla. I never thought you noticed.”

“Of course I notice,” I tell her, watching a tear fall just like it did that day in Walmart, when she cried because she wasn’t rich enough, or whatever
enough
she longed to be. “You’re a fantastic mom. You know that? You are patient and funny and loving.”

She makes a soft, strangled sound, blinking more tears over her face, smearing her expensive makeup over her polished cheeks. “Why are you doing this, Ayla? You haven’t had a kind word for me in ten years. You’ve always been … his. Daddy’s girl and Mommy’s enemy.”