Someday

by David Levithan

  “I want you to let Wyatt go.”

  “And I am not subject to your or anyone else’s wants.”

  I stand up. “Then I guess I’ll be going.”

  “Oh, don’t ruin this, A. Your bleeding heart is getting blood in your ears. You’re not listening when you should be listening the most.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I do. So I know you’ll be back tomorrow. I would think less of you if you weren’t resisting. But I do think the resistance is just a show you’re putting on for yourself. Eventually the show will be over, and I’ll really be able to teach you things.”

  When I get to the door, I turn around and say to him, “One last time, I’m going to ask you to not be Wyatt when I see you tomorrow.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. Then he returns to his drink, as if I’ve already gone.

  I go.

  A

  Day 6142

  I need to buy time, so I tell X I have Junior State activities all day because the convention is wrapping up that night. Which is true enough, though Marlon’s friends notice that he’s a little distracted from the activities at hand. They give him a particularly hard time when one of their debate opponents flirts madly with him afterward, and he barely registers it.

  “Where’s your mind?” one of the friends asks.

  I have no way of telling him that my mind is on a last conversation I’m about to have. Because no matter how the plan goes, I am sure that I’m never going to speak to X again.

  It should feel like a relief, but it doesn’t. I have to keep reminding myself of Wyatt. If it’s a contest between having more questions answered and a person getting his life back—it shouldn’t be a contest at all. The priority is clear.

  It’s just after five when I get to X’s hotel. I message Rhiannon and let her know that I’m going in, and that I won’t be able to check the phone again in X’s presence. She says to put Marlon’s phone on vibrate; she’ll call when it’s time.

  I have about twenty minutes, maybe thirty, to have any last questions answered.

  There’s only one thing that could call it off: if I knock on X’s door and it’s answered by someone other than Wyatt. I find myself hoping for this as I stand and wait.

  But it’s Wyatt who opens the door.

  “At last,” X says.

  I can’t look him in the eye. Not yet. “Sorry. Debates ran late.”

  “Did you win?”

  I honestly can’t remember. But I tell him yes.

  “Well, then. At least there’s that.”

  He walks ahead of me and I make sure the door is left open a crack, unlocked. Then I follow him to the sitting area. He’s left a ginger ale out for me.

  We settle in and talk a little bit about our days—he says he went back to the National Gallery to look at the Rothkos again, but I don’t totally believe him. I think he’s only telling me what he thinks I want to hear.

  Maybe he’s been doing that all along.

  I’m telling him I’m lucky that Marlon’s school isn’t leaving DC until tomorrow when he interrupts me.

  “I notice,” he says, “that you’ve yet to ask me how I manage to stay in other people’s bodies for so long.”

  “Are there magic words I need to know?” I say, trying to keep the tone light.

  “No. But as with all things, there are strategies.”

  I’m curious. Of course I’m curious. But I remind myself that staying too long in someone’s body can only lead to damage. So it’s better not to know.

  I need to ask something else. What comes out is, “Have you ever killed someone?”

  X laughs. “Where did that come from? Are you still thinking of Reverend Poole?”

  And from that, I know: He killed Reverend Poole.

  “No, I’m just…”

  “It’s okay. I never thought I’d be asked that question so directly—it just reinforces the bond we have. And I’ll answer you truthfully: It depends on your definition of killed. Have people ended up dead because of my actions? Certainly. Do I know the total number? Not at all. But have I deliberately killed someone? Murdered them in cold blood, knowing I could get away with it simply by waking up the next morning? No, I have not. But I have definitely enjoyed the notion that I could. It is the extreme manifestation of our condition, the ultimate advantage. You will see this soon enough.”

  The glee with which he says this—it feels like he’s speaking from knowledge, not the speculation of the hypothetical.

  “Have you hurt people?” I ask.

  “Yes. But never more than they deserve. I need to be provoked. Humans, alas, are accidental experts at provocation. Especially when they drink.”

  “And you’ve never met anyone else like us?”

  “I see you’ve been compiling your list, A. But I’m up for your cross-examination. The answer is no, I have not. I have heard from people who claim to live as we do, but either they’re hoaxes or they disappear before I can properly follow up. You are the only one who left enough of a trail to follow. And I am grateful that it led us here.”

  “But why? What do you think we’ll do together?”

  “Since this is DC, I should probably answer ‘world domination’ and then laugh maniacally. I wish my goals were so lofty. And maybe someday they will be, with enough of us. The way I see it, doubling our power doubles the opportunity. If I could amass what I have from my life, we could amass twice as much together.”

  “By stealing?”

  “By living. By being at the right place at the right time. Whether that’s New York or Tokyo or Paris. Would you like to go to Paris?”

  “I’ve never even thought about it.” Because I didn’t imagine it was possible, without having to stay there forever.

  “We can go there next. Bring Rhiannon. It’s very romantic.”

  For a moment, I picture it—running through the cinematic avenues, holding her hand as we gaze at the Eiffel Tower in twilight.

  Only…who am I in this picture?

  Whose body have I taken?

  “Will you still be Wyatt?” I ask.

  “I imagine it would be more advantageous for me to be older,” X answers. “You too. We’ll work on that.”

  “How do you get to move between ages when I can’t?”

  X shrugs. “You’d have to ask God or the algorithm or the twenty-fourth-century boy with the science project. Once I started staying for longer than a day, I fell out of the pattern. Much to my great regret, I still can’t direct who I’m going to be next—but that, I believe, is the next step. Once we conquer that, can you imagine what we can do?”

  “What you might do and what I might do are, I think, different things,” I venture.

  X laughs. “For now. You haven’t gotten a taste of it yet. Once you do, you’ll never stop being hungry for more.”

  The phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. It might as well be ringing, it’s so loud.

  “Do you have to get that?” X asks.

  “Nah,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I’m sure it’s someone from his school, looking for him.”

  “Best not to answer, then.”

  I have time for one more question.

  I can’t think of any.

  Instead I say, “I want there to be more of us.”

  X looks at me strangely, then says, “Me too.”

  There’s a knock on the door.

  X stands, confused, and calls out a hello.

  I stand as well. Between X and the bedroom door.

  The door opens. Nathan comes limping in.

  “Well, hello, Xenon,” he says.

  Wyatt’s parents and brother are behind him.

  “Wyatt,” I say, “you are trapped in your own body. You have to fight against that right now. You have to take co
ntrol.”

  “What are you doing?” X turns to me and says.

  He tries to bolt into the bedroom, but I block him. I wrap my arms around him.

  “Wyatt!” Mrs. Giddings cries.

  Mr. Giddings looks stunned.

  Wyatt’s brother, North, runs over and puts his arms around Wyatt, too. X is struggling, raging.

  “Wyatt!” North yells. “Wyatt, we need you to fight.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Giddings join us.

  We hold on.

  “His name is Xenon,” I tell Wyatt. “Get him out of there.”

  WYATT

  “Wyatt, can

  “You

  “Wyatt

  “in there”

  “We love you. Come back to

  “Wyatt, it’s

  “Find your

  “Wyatt!”

  North?

  “right here”

  Mom?

  “We need you back. He’s hurting you. You need to come

  Who is that?

  “Oh, Wyatt”

  Don’t cry, Mom.

  “fight”

  What?

  “know you’re in there. We can see you. Can you see us?”

  “WYATT.”

  Tired.

  “We need you, Wyatt. We need you here. Tell Xenon to go away. You are our son. He is not our son. You are the one who needs us. He’ll hurt us, Wyatt. We need you, Wyatt.”

  I’m here.

  Right?

  Am I here?

  “We love you, Wyatt. We love you so much.”

  I know, Mom.

  “We do, Wyatt. We love you and need you here.”

  Dad?

  Wow, Dad.

  “Come on, Wyatt. We need you. The team needs you. I need you.”

  “Wyatt, don’t be such a dork.”

  You’re the dork, North.

  “We can’t hold on much longer. We need you, Wyatt. We need you back. We need you

  said, do you want to be here?”

  Who are you?

  “Wyatt, do you want to be here?”

  Yes.

  “Do you miss them?”

  Yes.

  “Do you want to be here with your mom and your dad and North and all of your friends?”

  Yes.

  “They need you.”

  I’m here.

  “Show us you’re in there, Wyatt. Show us

  I’m here.

  It hurts.

  “WYATT!”

  Mom.

  “WYATT!”

  It really hurts. It really hurts.

  I want

  to breathe.

  “What’s happening?”

  It’s okay, North.

  It’s okay.

  A

  Day 6142 (continued)

  “Is he alive?” Nathan asks.

  “He’s breathing,” North says.

  I am standing there over them, standing as if he’s still in my arms. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything scarier than the moment he went from struggling to completely slack, like a rope that had just been cut from the ceiling.

  Wyatt’s mother cries out.

  He’s opened his eyes.

  She says his name over and over again.

  He coughs. “Mom?”

  He is covered with sweat. Shaky. Breathing hard.

  “It’s like he had a heart attack,” Nathan says.

  “Only his heart returned,” I say.

  “Let’s hope.”

  I see the look in his eyes as his family hovers over him, crying.

  I see the look in his eyes, and know it can’t be X.

  “I think he’s gone,” I tell Nathan. “X is gone.”

  “Or did he just jump into another body?”

  I shake my head and tell Nathan, “I don’t think a person can live without a body. Not even for a second.”

  I really think he’s gone.

  * * *

  —

  Nathan sends a text, and a minute later there’s a knock on the door.

  “Is it okay for me to come in?” Rhiannon asks.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “It’s safe now.”

  * * *

  —

  Wyatt has no idea where he is, or why. His family asks me to explain.

  I try.

  I’m sure it took a lot of convincing from Nathan and Rhiannon to get them here. I imagine that they didn’t really believe it, but were willing to do whatever it took to get them back to their son. Now they’re in a different kind of state of disbelief, one in which they know what they now know, even if it doesn’t make sense with the rest of their world.

  Wyatt is still stunned and disoriented, so I’m not sure how much of what I say sinks in. He doesn’t remember anything from the past week—doesn’t remember talking to me, doesn’t remember beating up Nathan. (Both he and his parents wince when that’s brought up—but I bring it up because I hope it was the most visceral, memorable act that X did while he was in Wyatt’s body.)

  I entreat Wyatt and his family not to tell anyone about this. Mr. Giddings actually laughs at that, and assures me that the secret is safe. As he says this, I start to see the shame creep into Wyatt’s consciousness. Nathan and Rhiannon must see it, too, because they jump in and say they’ll be happy to talk more to him about it, and about what it’s like.

  “You’re going to think nobody understands,” Nathan tells him. “But that’s not true. We understand.”

  Wyatt nods at that, but I think he’s still trying to figure out who we are.

  “How did he pay for this room?” North asks, looking around.

  “It wasn’t him. X, inside him, had his own means.”

  “Looks like he was loaded.”

  “Maybe.”

  For a second, I wonder if there’s a way to get the billing information from the front desk. To track down X’s accounts.

  Then I think: No. You do not want that.

  I look at the table next to the couch where Wyatt’s lying down, and I see the ginger ale just sitting there. My mind starts to feel like it’s being pulled to a dark place. As evil as X may have been, he was always nice to me. And now I’ve made him disappear. I’ve killed him.

  “Maybe we should leave you alone for a little bit,” I say to Wyatt and his family.

  “Yeah,” Rhiannon says.

  Mrs. Giddings protests, but not too vehemently. I think they all need to catch their breath a little.

  “Okay, then,” Nathan chirps.

  I’m not sure where we’ll go; I just want to get out of that room.

  While we’re waiting for the elevator, Nathan says, “That was awesome.”

  And I lose it.

  “No!” I yell at him. “That was not awesome. That was us erasing someone from the face of the earth. That was us saving someone, but it was also us making someone else vanish. I know it was the right thing to do, but it’s not a cause for celebration.”

  Nathan’s backed up, and it takes a moment for me to realize I’ve grabbed his shirt in my fist. I let it go.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “No, no—I get it,” he replies. “But maybe, you know, I’ll stay here and get a ride home with them, okay? I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on anyway.”

  I’m about to apologize again, but Rhiannon interrupts and says, “Yeah, sounds like a good plan.”

  The elevator arrives. Only two of us get on it.

  * * *

  —

  We’re quiet for a few blocks, as if we both know we need some time in our own heads. Then I start to tell Rhiannon what it was like, all of us with our arms wrapped around Wyatt so fiercely, telling him what was going on and urging him to help us, even as X screamed and howled and resisted. North, s
mart, had gone for his legs, so even when X lashed his arms free for a moment, he didn’t have anywhere to go.

  We find a bench in the National Gallery’s sculpture garden and sit across from a tall metallic tree.

  “You didn’t know it would work, did you?” Rhiannon asks.

  “No. Not at all.”

  “And it must feel weird that it did work.”

  “It’s not weird,” I tell her. “It’s terrifying.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  Rhiannon shakes her head. “No. Don’t think that way. That could never happen to you. Because you don’t do what he did. You care about the lives that you’re borrowing. They don’t need to push you out.”

  “But if they wanted to, they could.”

  “Only if they know you’re there.”

  “But you’re talking to me as me—how does Marlon not know?”

  “Because I’m not talking to him. I’m talking to you.”

  Her phone rings. She takes it out, looks at the screen, and says, “Nathan.” After talking to him for a minute, she turns to me and says, “They’re getting ready to go home—they want to say thank you. Nathan’s going to ride back with them.” She passes over the phone, and I talk awkwardly to each of the Giddingses. They are very grateful. I don’t know whether or not they realize the only reason X was anywhere near Wyatt was so he could get close to me.

  Once she hangs up, Rhiannon tells me she brought her own car just in case things went wrong.

  “I didn’t want to ride home with them if we failed to bring Wyatt back,” she admits.

  “Makes sense.”

  Now it’s Marlon’s phone that vibrates. His friends are wondering why he missed dinner, and where he is.

  “We’d better come up with a pretty good alibi,” I say. “What do you think Marlon likes?”