Up All Night

by Laura Silverman

  Owen shrugged. “I don’t think so, but maybe she suspected? Did she know about you?”

  “Absolutely not. No way.” I thought back to the movie theater lobby, when she had held me while I cried over her brother and realized maybe not everyone was as oblivious to my own feelings as I was. “Okay, it’s possible she had figured it out.”

  He laughed, the sound ringing through the room. “So my sister is a terrible wingwoman. Noted. The good news is neither of us should be needing her services any time soon.” A pause, a flash of doubt. “Right?”

  I leaned in and kissed him again. I could do that now, I thought. Kiss him. So I did it one more time before saying, “Right.”

  In the morning, the sun came up and the sky was so blue and the ground was so white and the light reflected off of absolutely everything.

  Neither one of us looked away.

  Con Nights, Parallel Hearts

  by Marieke Nijkamp

  1.

  Alessia: When you’re faced with endless universes, how do you know which choice to make and which to unmake? How do you know what the right outcome is?

  Connor: We don’t. Every choice we make has consequences, good and bad. We can only hope the good outweighs the bad.

  Parallel Hearts S01E03: Concrete Jungle

  The concrete is cold and hard underneath our sleeping bags. My backpack, which I’m using as a pillow, is anything but comfortable. And to make things worse, it’s starting to drizzle. Not a whole lot, just enough that if it continues through the night, we’ll be soaked by the time the doors open.

  “Isn’t this exciting, Quinn?” Clara whispers, lying on her back, staring up at the con center.

  “It’s wet,” I reply.

  “It’s cold,” McKenna mutters, drawing their coat up higher.

  “It’s worth it.” Clara beams.

  She clearly has a very different understanding of exciting than either McKenna or me. But to be fair, I know where she’s coming from. I’m not looking forward to tonight, but tomorrow is going to make it all worth it. Tomorrow, I’m finally going to cross paths with the highly elusive Jocelyn Cheng, creator of Parallel Hearts. Just me, her, and five thousand of my closest friends.

  And McKenna, of course. We’ll lose Clara to her friends in Artist Alley the moment we’re inside—she warned us about that when we booked the tickets—but McKenna is sticking by my side. For Parallel Hearts, for Jocelyn Cheng. For me, perhaps? It’s our thing, after all.

  Parallel Hearts is a pretty niche show. I wouldn’t have even known about it if McKenna hadn’t come crashing into my room one night, when they were staying over because their parents were traveling again. Stumbling over the words, they told me about this show their cousin in Scotland watches, with time travel and parallel universes and superpowered teens, and they didn’t know if we could stream it somewhere, but there had to be a way, because it sounded right up my alley.

  Turned out, it was.

  My mom wasn’t home, and my brother was out doing whatever it was he was doing, so we sat on my bed, cross-legged, knees ever so slightly touching, and binged the entire first season. A week later, we’d caught up to the current season three. A week after that, I had fan art and fanfic bookmarked for days.

  Of course, I also found a lot of people online who claimed the production value was low and the special effects were outdated, and honestly? Maybe that’s true. But the acting. The writing. The emotions. There are plenty of series out there with high production value, and that’s cool, but I don’t just watch shows because the SFX are shiny. I watch them to be moved.

  So when, by the end of the first episode, one of the main characters—Alessia—had to choose between going back home to her normal life and leaving it all behind to travel, McKenna and I were ready to leave everything behind too. And sure, maybe that feeling wasn’t entirely because of the show either, but it was absolutely one of those right time, right place things.

  “So what will you do once you have an autograph?” Clara asks us. She’s tossing and turning, and I wonder if she plans to sleep at all tonight. “And what are you even going to say to her?”

  “Um.” Honestly I don’t have the first clue what I’m going to say to Jocelyn Cheng. I’ve been going over this meeting half a million times in my head since the con announced she was coming, but I come up blank every time I try to form the right words. We’re overnighting to make sure McKenna and I get autograph tickets, because apparently they’re only releasing fifty. But let’s face it, I’m probably just going to stand there and gawk. What are we going to do after meeting Jocelyn Cheng? Get in line for the Parallel Hearts panel that isn’t until the end of the day, maybe. Do people get in line early for that sort of thing too?

  I’m normally an absolutely Type-A personality in all other aspects of my life. I have three different bullet journals, for school, sports, and free time. Yes, I plan my free time. I start studying for tests the moment I learn of their existence. I make flashcards for all of my fencing opponents’ strategies.

  But this is too personal for strategy.

  McKenna nudges me and draws me back to Clara’s question. “Depending on how long it takes, we’ll find you in Artist Alley,” they say. “I want to buy more pins.”

  “Your entire jacket is pins.”

  “So?”

  “Fair point.”

  “Plus, maybe we can find some cool Hearts fan art,” I put in.

  Clara laughs. “You and your obsessions. You know not everything is Parallel Hearts, right?”

  I feel a touch of heat curl up my cheeks. I know it isn’t, but at the same time . . . isn’t it? I love that Alessia, Lyra, and Connor can travel through time to undo mistakes and right wrongs. Test theories and change universes. That there’s nothing broken that can’t be fixed, and nothing so irreparably damaged that it can’t be given a second chance. That they can survive. If history functioned like that, we’d all be a lot better off.

  I throw a look in McKenna’s direction. “You get it, right? You were the one to introduce me to the show. You’re here for Jocelyn Cheng too.”

  “I like the show, sure,” McKenna starts, and off the bat it sounds like a breakup conversation. My shoulders tighten. “The concept is really cool and some of the characters appeal to me. And even though Lyra’s and my experiences aren’t the same, it matters a lot seeing a trans main character in a show like this. So it absolutely holds a special place in my heart. But I’m here for a thousand other things too. And I’m mostly here for Jocelyn Cheng because you are.”

  “Oh.” Um. I’m not entirely sure how to respond. It’s the sweetest worst thing anyone has ever said to me.

  A hint of the terror I feel must be visible on my face, because McKenna winces.

  “Quinn, I’m just messing with you,” Clara says gently. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “The first time I was here, it was purely for Tortall Heroes and I didn’t notice anything else. I was overwhelmed and bright eyed and very nearly missed the second day because I completely forgot to eat or drink. So maybe don’t do what I did? But also, I get it, and so does everyone here.” She motions around her, at the dozens of sleeping bags and backpacks and whispered conversations and suitcases full of cosplay and the group right at the front who are playing filk songs on a ukulele and the girls behind us who are invested in some kind of midnight RPG. “It’s okay.”

  I bite my lip. Nod.

  “I mean, there are far too many people here, but that’s also kind of beautiful, isn’t it?” McKenna says. They glance at me. “Especially if all of them are here for different things. Even though I know, I still didn’t realize there were so many fandoms out there.”

  “Oh you sweet summer child.” Clara smiles. “We’re infinite.” She yawns once and turns onto her side, her head resting in the crook of her elbow. With her free hand, she pulls her crutches close and almost cradles them as she falls asleep immediately.

  McK
enna stares. “Screw parallel universes and time travel. That’s a superpower I want to have.”

  “I know, right?” I fake a yawn. The concrete is still unrelenting and the backpack pokes my face. Let’s face it, there’s no way I’m actually falling asleep anytime soon. I have a hard enough time with that on normal nights, in a comfortable bed, in a quiet, darkened room.

  Tonight, I don’t have to count the shadows, but my brain is a mess of nerves, anticipation, worry, what-if-I-said-the-wrong- thing-will-they-still-like-me.

  We both lie in silence for a bit, listening to the girls and their roleplaying. It apparently involves bikes, mysteries, and a particle accelerator loop or something. They don’t seem to mind the rain, though I hope they’re not using paper character sheets.

  At least it’s nothing more than drizzle, and whatever smog comes from the city at night. Though somehow, that’s the thing I don’t mind. There’s something magical about being here, quite a ways away from our suburban, WASPy home, complete with its meticulously kept front lawn (courtesy of my brother saving up for a new BMX bike) and extremely kitschy lawn gnomes.

  The night isn’t so dark in the city and it even smells different. All hot concrete, exhaust fumes, yesterday’s garbage, and hell, whatever possibility smells like. Sure, the air is probably a whole lot less healthy, but I can breathe here.

  Perhaps that’s what I love most about Parallel Hearts. Possibility.

  And knowing that the choices we make—the choices that matter—aren’t just the big, sweeping ones. Sometimes a meaningful choice is a simple choice, as simple as five words.

  I take a breath and say, “It’s not just Parallel Hearts.”

  2.

  Or, Option A

  Alessia: Aren’t you tempted sometimes to flee from all the horror? Let history run its course without us meddling?

  Lyra: All the time.

  Alessia: Then why don’t you?

  Lyra: Because every time I imagine being the girl who runs away, I can’t help but think someone else will have to run into danger instead.

  Parallel Hearts S01E07: Choose Your Own Adventure

  There was a scene in the penultimate episode of the first season when Alessia talked about being an abuse survivor, and I’d never felt so seen before. I had never told anyone about being abused, but I wanted to tell McKenna, there and then. I’d rehearsed the words over and over again.

  But then Nate walked in, and—

  “What’s not just Parallel Hearts?” McKenna asks. They prop themself up on an elbow and tilt their head.

  Behind us, the particle accelerator RPG is ramping up again, with whispered arguments and uncontrollable laughter. The ukulele music has faded away, though someone, somewhere, still seems to be singing. We’re way past midnight now.

  I swallow.

  “It’s not just Parallel Hearts,” I repeat. I keep my voice down, so as not to wake Clara. My mind scrambles for what to say next. “It’s never just been about the show.”

  McKenna pushes themself up farther. “I know. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  I do, I do, I do. I wanted to that first night. I’ve wanted to so many times. I can’t.

  I am breathless, and even though I gulp in air, it doesn’t feel refreshing. I never told anyone and now the words won’t come. I’ve committed to another story, another Quinn. I’ve committed to lies so many times, and once lies have their teeth in you, it’s so hard to shake them loose.

  “I love that it’s ours.” As soon as the words are out, my heartrate calms and I feel my jaw unclench. I don’t feel better, I don’t feel lighter, but it’s the truth—too. “I know it wasn’t always easy to stay at our place. We were, and maybe even are, a mess.”

  McKenna was almost twelve the first time they stayed with us, their parents off to do research in a war zone, and sometimes it felt like our house was a war zone, too. Mom set up a cot in my room, because we didn’t know what a permanent fixture this would be yet.

  It was the first time someone had stayed over since Dad left and I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I was awake all night and kept stealing glances at this strange neighborhood kid whose parents needed them to have a relatively safe place to stay. I made sure McKenna didn’t see me, of course. I hid under the covers and only a mop of brown hair peeked out.

  They looked lost that whole week, ill and homesick. But it wasn’t so bad, the second time. Not for either of us.

  A year in, no one but me remembered a time when McKenna wasn’t staying at our house. When my mother worked late nights, they helped out with chores and meals. When my brother Nate and I fought—often—they were the one to broker peace. They made us feel like a family again, when we couldn’t figure it out ourselves.

  Three years in, they were as comfortable to me as breathing and I still trust McKenna more than I do myself. So I give them as much truth as I can. “When you shared Parallel Hearts with me,” I continue, “it felt like so much possibility. Like we could lose ourselves in this world, and it would be just ours. Everything is better there, when the real world is scary, you know? I’m tired of the hate and the anger and the fascism and the fact that the planet may not even be habitable anymore by the time we grow up. I don’t want people to hate me for who I love or you for who you are. This. You and me. Parallel Hearts feels like safety.”

  McKenna tilts their head. Their dark brown eyes stare right through me. Tiny drops of rain cling to their green hair. “Oh.”

  The moment they look away, I think what I can’t add. “It—you—helped me survive. I can’t lose you.”

  McKenna looks at their fingernails, a faint blush on their cheeks. Almost as though they heard me. Then they say, “When I first stayed over, I wanted to be anywhere but there. I was worried about my parents, you just stared at me, and I . . . don’t know, I didn’t feel welcome. I felt like all of you wanted me to be somewhere else, and I felt like all of you wanted one another to be somewhere else too. It felt like there was something I didn’t know about”—they glance at me—“and sometimes it still feels that way.”

  It’s such a perfect opening. But the moment passes in the murmurs around us and the pitter-pattering of raindrops on a plastic bag.

  “It got better once we found those knight comics,” McKenna continues. “Remember those? KnightTime or something? The one Nate liked, too? I felt like that was something we could bond over, even if he mostly cared about the fights, and I mostly cared about the art and figuring out the page layouts, and you mostly cared about that one character who only showed up in the first three issues and then disappeared. What was her name again? I can’t even remember. But the point is, I get it. Sharing that, with the two of you, it made me feel like I could find a way to belong in your home too.” There’s a crack in their voice and a shadow in their eyes. They brush a strand of hair out of their face, and this time, they purposefully don’t look at me. “It always seemed like it was more than that for you though. You’ll probably hate me for saying this, but ever since Parallel Hearts, you seem . . . lighter. Happier.”

  They glance at me through their lashes, and it’s another opening. Another chance.

  I could try. I could take it.

  But I’m scared, and it would break this moment between us, and besides, I can’t stop thinking about Nate with his comics. I bite my lip. “It’s nice to be here together.”

  They smile at that, and if they want to say anything more, I’m saved by the dice.

  “Hey!” we hear from behind us. The girls have apparently reached the climax of their game, and they’re very awake, despite the shushing and complaining from others within earshot. “You mean there were actual monsters underneath the lake?”

  I have no idea what’s happening in their game, but it seems important.

  More than that, it’s enticing—I look at McKenna, who opens up their sleeping bag and pushes themself up to their knees.

  It’s an escape. �
��Do you think we can watch?” I ask. This is another something we could do, together.

  They pull their hoodie closer and move in the girls’ direction. “D’you mind if we stay and watch for a bit?”

  The girls immediately shuffle around to make room for us. I watch McKenna as they absorb it all. Their face lit up the moment the girls made room for us, and they are so completely in thrall. They respect the game enough to not interrupt, but I can see all the questions and wonderment on their face.

  It’s somewhere around two a.m. when the game finally ends, and McKenna and I crawl our way back to our sleeping bags. We’re both shivering in the near constant drizzle, but they’re grinning. “That was fun. We should try it sometime.”

  “We’ll pick up a copy of the rulebook once we’re done buying you pins,” I promise immediately.

  “Deal.”

  We snuggle up again, facing each other. Inside my sleeping bag, I wrap my arms around my chest, but my hands are ice cold. McKenna twists and turns to find a comfortable position.

  Once they have, they whisper, “Thanks for telling me, Q. About Hearts, I mean.”

  I feel a pang of guilt, but I push it away with a vengeance. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight.”

  “Me too.” The words are almost a slur, and McKenna falls asleep a moment later.

  And I can’t help but think I should’ve told them the truth. I owed it to them. But I didn’t have the words—and if I didn’t have them, how could I speak them?

  And it’s so much safer to keep my mouth shut. Some secrets are best kept close to the heart, where they can’t hurt anyone but me. I’ve been hurt before. I can take it.

  This friendship is worth all of me.

  Besides, every word I spoke was the truth. Not the whole truth, but nothing but the truth. If I repeat that often enough in the silence that stretches out around us, I might believe it by the time the sun rises.