When You and I Collide

by Kate Norris

  Winnie could think of many words to describe herself—reserved, intelligent, hardworking—but had no idea how those lifeless adjectives actually played out for those around her. Many people were “smart” and “shy” without being anything like Winnie.

  She didn’t know her double, which in some way was to be expected, since they just met. But it made her wonder—did she really know herself?

  * * *

  • • •

  It took Winnie a moment to recognize Dora. She was sitting alone at the kitchen table, wearing baggy jeans cuffed up higher than her bobby socks and a sweater made of some heavy knit that did her figure no favors. Winnie didn’t care much about clothes, but Dora certainly did, and this was an outfit her Dora wouldn’t be caught dead in.

  This girl wore her best friend’s face, but she was a stranger.

  How was Winnie supposed to pretend to know her?

  “Um, hello,” Winnie said. She hoped her surprise at Dora’s appearance didn’t show, and that she sounded like her double.

  Dora jumped up and hurried over to give her a hug. Winnie threw up her arms and cried “Wait!” but she wasn’t quick enough—Dora already had her arms around her. Winnie waited for the headache, or nosebleed, but nothing happened. Even so, Dora pulled back and gave her a curious look.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you!” Dora exclaimed. “When you—when she—called, I thought she must be joking. But obviously, you’re really not Winnie, are you?”

  For a moment, Winnie was too stunned to say anything. Her double had told! What was the point of the haircut, the fine clothes, all that silly makeup, if her double was going to give her away immediately anyway?

  Winnie was an excellent secret keeper. She hadn’t told her Dora about seeing splinters, even after being best friends for years. She was disappointed that her double couldn’t keep this secret from Dora for even a day.

  “She told you who I am?” Winnie asked finally. “What did she say?”

  “Not much,” Dora said, sounding a bit apologetic. “Just that you’re here from another world by mistake, and that we have to try to get you back there.”

  It must have been some sort of misunderstanding. When she made Winnie promise not to say anything to her father, she thought it went without saying to not tell anyone else either, but now she realized she hadn’t actually said that.

  “She did tell you not to say anything about me to anyone else though, right?”

  “Who would I tell?” Dora asked with a shrug, smiling. “But yes—she was quite explicit.”

  That, at least, was a relief.

  Now that her surprise had passed, Winnie realized she was glad that Dora was another ally, rather than someone else she had to hide from. And this was her double’s world, after all—Winnie had to assume she knew best. Although she doubted her own Dora would accept such a strange scenario with such little explanation.

  Winnie pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. She wouldn’t say she was relaxed, but this was probably the closest she’d come since arriving in their world. Winnie had always felt at home in that kitchen. Unlike the rest of the posh penthouse, it was utilitarian—since it was meant to be used by staff, not family—and all the spick-and-span surfaces and modern equipment reminded Winnie a bit of a lab. She reached up to cover her mouth as she yawned. Now that she’d stopped moving, she realized how tired she was.

  “What should I call you?” Dora asked suddenly.

  And just like that, Winnie was on edge again.

  “Call me Winnie. It’s my name.”

  “Won’t that get confusing?”

  Winnie shrugged. It probably would. But she had already given up enough of her identity.

  There was a sandwich on the table for her, and Winnie took a tentative bite. It was a small thing, but she was deeply relieved to discover that Martha’s roast beef and Swiss on rye tasted just like it did in her own world.

  “You really do look like her,” Dora said.

  “I didn’t when I got here. Do you really think I can pass for her now?”

  “Absolutely! And I’ll help however I can, of course—you just have to tell me what to do.”

  It was a generous offer—more readily given than the assistance from her own double, Winnie thought with a twinge of some feeling she could not yet name—but it left her unsettled. Back home, she never told Dora what to do, and Dora certainly never asked her to. In fact, Winnie had often questioned herself for letting Dora walk all over her, but she just told herself she went along with what Dora wanted because the stakes were never high enough to bother kicking up a fuss. What difference did it make to her what picture they went to see, where they went to drink their malts, who they sat with in the school cafeteria? This world’s Winnie and Dora seemed to have a different dynamic.

  Instead of being irritated that her double had told Dora the truth, Winnie began to question why her first impulse was always to lie.

  Here she was with a whole new world to acclimate to, but she couldn’t just learn about this new place and these new people without feeling like everything she encountered said something about her. It was already exhausting, constantly having what she thought she knew called into question. She thought back to that morning, getting out of bed, going to school—how blithely unaware she had been of what the day had in store! Had that really been the same day—the same life? Winnie set down the remaining half of her sandwich, her appetite suddenly and completely gone.

  “I’m glad that you’re so willing to help,” she said. “But I don’t even know what I’m going to do yet.”

  “Well, to start with, maybe get some sleep?”

  Winnie glanced at the kitchen clock and was surprised to see that it was already after ten. She wasn’t normally quite so tired by that time, but she didn’t normally have evenings so jam-packed with revelation and disaster either. She nodded. “Sleep sounds good.”

  “Don’t worry—I bet things will seem more manageable in the morning.”

  How many times had Winnie gone to sleep using that same sentiment as her own private lullaby?

  You’ll make friends tomorrow. They laughed at you today, but tomorrow is a fresh start.

  Father will be sober by morning. You can both pretend none of this happened, and everything can go back to normal.

  Tomorrow you’ll be brave. You’ll tell Scott how you feel about him.

  It was never true.

  How different this new world was—it disturbed her, but it also proved that change was possible. Winnie thought she might be able to make different stuff out of her own life, given the chance.

  But she was beginning to realize that chances weren’t given; they were made. And now the stakes were higher than ever.

  For Scott, you can do it. You can. For him—and for yourself.

  She didn’t fully believe it, but she believed it a little. And that was a start.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Winnie awoke to the sight of Dora’s frilly pink Swiss-dot canopy, instead of the sloped attic ceiling of her own familiar room. She jolted upright, momentarily disoriented.

  Then it all came back to her.

  If only it had all been an awful dream! But no. Scott’s death, her transport, Winnie and her double’s uncanny bloody noses—unfortunately, it was all real.

  Today began the tough work of undoing it.

  And Winnie had never been afraid of a bit of hard work.

  Winnie and Dora ate a hurried breakfast, then headed off to school, just like normal—or so Louisa would assume. As soon as they turned the corner, away from Dora’s high-rise, they parted ways. Dora really was going to school, but Winnie obviously couldn’t join Dora—and her double—there.

  “Good luck!” Dora said with a jaunty wave. “I’ll see you tonight!”

  Winnie gave a little wave in return. She was on her
own.

  She planned to hide out in the library for the day, hoping to do some research and begin figuring out how to duplicate the accident that brought her there—without the whole someone-getting-electrocuted part, of course.

  It was a crisp, sunny day, and walking the eighteen or so blocks to the main branch of the library did wonders for Winnie’s spirits. The sun seemed to say, Anything is possible. Winnie felt a warmth flowing through her. She had made the leap between realities once. She could do it again.

  When she reached the library, she was happy to see the two massive lion sculptures, affectionately named Patience and Fortitude, guarding the library entrance there, just like back home. As she entered the building, she noticed a large, colorful poster hanging on the corkboard in the lobby. It was a caricature of Hitler, comically bucktoothed and in possession of a remarkable underbite.

  for CARELESSNESS,

  I gif nice MEDAL

  the cartoon exclaimed.

  This was a common theme: if we make the tiniest slipup, it’s a win for the Germans. Winnie saw the logic of it. The United States and Germany were enemies; obviously, what hurt one helped the other and vice versa.

  So why did posters like that make Winnie so uneasy?

  She was German by birth, but that awful little man certainly wasn’t her ruler. She hated the Third Reich, the same as Father did. Hitler was a conman, playing on people’s fears until they agreed that oppression and aggression were not only acceptable, but necessary.

  But Germany wasn’t just Hitler’s soldiers, and America wasn’t at war with only the Third Reich—they were also at war with any innocent Germans along for the ride.

  People like her grandparents.

  She hadn’t seen them in many years, but Winnie remembered them as kind, and they had continued to send her thoughtful letters and photographs over the years.

  What did they make of Hitler, and of the war?

  Did they see him as a violent dictator? Or as a noble führer—as Winnie was sure the German papers must paint him?

  Maybe it was silly, but on top of all this, Winnie was bothered by that “gif.” That was Brunhilde’s “gif.” It was her own accent, when she was flustered. Seeing it mocked on a poster was a reminder that no matter how much she considered herself an American, to some, she would always be an outsider.

  * * *

  • • •

  Winnie turned away from the upsetting poster and waded into the hushed lobby. The particular quiet of libraries always felt very full to Winnie, and almost holy. Entering a library felt like entering a church, especially when it had ceilings as high as this one’s—a church of knowledge. Winnie wanted to believe that this was someplace she belonged, in any world.

  She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for, so she skipped the card catalog and walked up to the reference desk.

  “Excuse me,” Winnie said, smiling brightly at the reference librarian, an older man in a tidy tweed suit. “I was wondering if you could help me find some materials about alternate realities?”

  “Ah! Really? Funny reading for a girl!” he said, and gave her an indulgent smile. “I’m sure you could find something in one of the pulps, but we don’t index the topics on those. Have you tried looking through Astounding Stories?”

  “No,” Winnie said, a bit frustrated by his patronizing tone. “Actually, I’m looking for something serious.”

  “Perhaps some classic science fiction, like Verne? Or Wells? Let me see . . .”

  “No, something scholarly,” Winnie said, annoyed. She heard her German accent creeping into her speech and grew even more irritated. The librarian’s face lost its friendliness. Oh well—at least it lost its condescension too. “I’m looking for articles in scientific journals about the possibility of alternate realities—or better yet, the possibility of traveling between them. Articles referencing time dilation would be helpful too.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  Winnie could have cursed herself. She wished she’d just gone straight to the stacks. She hadn’t wanted to draw attention—and she was sure she wouldn’t have, if not for her unwelcome accent. Winnie suspected that quiet, respectful, American teens could spend a day playing hooky at the library, no questions asked.

  “We have the day off,” Winnie said nervously, her accent stronger than ever.

  The librarian looked not only unfriendly now, but suspicious. “I see,” he said, then Winnie saw his expression become eager at some epiphany. “Now, what did you say your name was?” he asked with a poor imitation of nonchalance, grabbing a slip of paper and holding a pen at the ready. “Give me your information, and a better description of these materials you’re looking for. I’ll see what I can find and then I’ll contact you.”

  He was going to report her, Winnie realized, stunned. For what, being German in the library? She had a feeling she was looking at the person who had hung that propaganda poster in the lobby.

  Back home, it would have almost been comical. Winnie Schulde: schoolgirl spy! And even if someone did take the idea seriously, she knew that Father would bring the full weight of his determination and ferocity against anyone who tried to hurt her. He’d done as much before, threatening the school administration when a bully started shoving Winnie around after she showed up in third grade, awkward and small and foreign, dressed in the painfully out-of-fashion clothing Brunhilde had picked out for her.

  But here, there was no one to defend her. And she couldn’t afford the scrutiny. A girl with no family, coming from nowhere, bearing a sinister resemblance to the daughter of a scientist who was working on a government project? Winnie would seem exactly like a spy.

  The only other possibility would be for them to believe her claim that she was from an alternate reality, in which case it would only be a matter of time until she was handed over to Hawthorn to “help” with Project Nightingale.

  Winnie didn’t know what would be worse: being a secret prisoner, kept captive for her uncanny abilities, or being a public enemy, imprisoned and tried for treason.

  She took an unconscious step back from the reference desk, the shuffle of her double’s heels on the polished floor echoing loudly in the cavernous space.

  “Um, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ll see what I can come up with myself in the stacks.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he said, but Winnie just smiled and turned to go.

  “Miss?” he called after her, but quietly.

  Winnie thanked her lucky stars this was a library. His soft call was easy to ignore, and she was able to duck into the stacks and get lost there before he could come after her. She doubled back toward the exit, shooting nervous looks behind her to make sure she wasn’t being followed, and finally pushed out the door, where she stood panting on the portico for a moment.

  Winnie descended the library’s outside stairs at a good clip, then headed off toward Central Park—she could be anonymous there.

  The night before, she had scolded herself for being slow to trust and quick to lie, unlike her double. Well, she’d learned her lesson. If anything, she needed to be more cautious—cautious enough to combat the wartime paranoia. But what could she do—stay out of sight? Talk to no one? How could she possibly accomplish that when she had to stay away from Dora’s apartment during the school day?

  Winnie tucked her hands deep into the pockets of her double’s coat and braced herself against a blast of chilly wind. Swirls of fall leaves danced around her feet. Central Park was beautiful this time of year, though far too cold for her to spend all day there.

  Dora had pressed two crisp dollar bills into her hand that morning—it hurt Winnie’s pride to have to accept them—but at least for today, she had more than enough money to linger over lunch somewhere, then move to a café later in the afternoon. And her double’s fine clothing meant that she coul
d spend hours window-shopping if need be, without seeming like an out-of-place ragamuffin. But goodness gracious, what a waste of a day—one that certainly wouldn’t bring her any closer to getting herself home or saving Scott! It was unavoidable now, but she couldn’t afford to make the same mistakes tomorrow.

  Winnie cut across a grassy swath between the park sidewalks, heading toward one of her and Dora’s favorite diners on West 68th Street. Suddenly, she began to feel—heavy. Her footsteps slowed. She felt like she was moving through molasses. It wasn’t painful, just very strange.

  Winnie lifted a foot with effort. When she put it down in front of her, her foot sank into the ground an inch or two. What on earth was going on?

  Winnie looked around the park. She saw a couple walking normally on the sidewalk a few dozen feet away, the wind rustling the remaining leaves on nearby trees, some starlings in unencumbered flight. Was this strange phenomenon only affecting her?

  No.

  Winnie noticed a little boy, perhaps five or six years old, standing stock-still ten feet away, holding a ball in two hands and staring right back at her. He had sunk into the earth up to his ankles.

  “Get out of that mud, Willy!” a woman called from a nearby bench.

  Then suddenly, Winnie could move normally again. The strange pressure was gone as quickly as it had arrived. The little boy ran back to his mama, and Winnie hurried on, unhurt but deeply shaken.

  Scott had warned that her presence in their world could knock things off kilter, but could she really affect gravity?

  Winnie was putting some kind of pressure on this reality, and the world—well, the world, it now seemed, was pressing back.

  That little boy seemed fine, but if he had been hurt? Winnie gave a sharp shake of her head and gritted her teeth.

  She had to figure out a way to isolate herself.

  And she had an idea of just how to do it.