Mission Multiverse

by Rebecca Caprara

  Disappointed, he stepped gingerly out of his fort and across the room, trying his hardest to place his clumsy feet as far away from the trip wires and glitter launchers as possible. It was never a good idea to leave a loaded prank unattended, but he didn’t have the heart to dismantle the whole thing now.

  By the time he made it downstairs, his brothers were shoveling the last bites of breakfast into their mouths. “Thanks for saving me some,” he muttered, dodging their punches and grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl on the center island.

  “Hello, Kingston,” his mother said absentmindedly, scrolling through the neighborhood chat site, keeping up with whatever the Joneses were brag-posting about now.

  “I’m Lewiston, Mom,” he said, taking the farthest seat away from his brothers at the table.

  “Yes, of course you are, dear.” She never lifted her eyes from her phone.

  Barrel-chested Victor Wynner strode into the room, dressed in a crisp navy-blue suit. All three boys sat up straighter. The ground shook with each of Victor’s steps. Or was that another quiver? Lewis couldn’t tell. Those little mini-quakes happened so frequently no one really paid much attention, except his friends Isaiah and Zoey.

  “That looks good. Thank you, son.” Victor lifted the banana straight out of Lewis’s hand.

  “Dad, hey, wait—”

  “A busy man like me needs potassium. Big board meeting this morning, then hitting the links with the executive team.” He crossed the room and began zippering his golf bag. The clubs shone.

  “You’ll be at our games tonight though, right?” Winston asked.

  “Sorry, champ. Headed to Oarsville.” Lewis watched as disappointment flashed across his brothers’ brows. “I’m accepting an award for Top Sales Executive Management Strategic Consultant of the Year.”

  Lewis didn’t have the slightest clue what that title meant, but his mother gushed, “Darling, that’s remarkable. We are so proud! Boys, your father is such a winner.” She snapped a photo of Victor with her phone, then immediately posted it online.

  Lewis rolled his eyes.

  His father smiled broadly, then gave Winston and Kingston thumps on the back. “You boys score a goal or two for me today, okay? Actually, make it a hat trick.”

  “You got it.” Kingston flexed his muscles.

  “And me?” Lewis asked hesitantly.

  “You? Ahh … hmm.” Victor scratched his head, like Lewis was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit with the rest. “Do you have a track meet today?”

  Lewis shrugged. “No, but I am going on a field trip.”

  “Right! Then I want you to win that field trip!”

  “You can’t win a field trip, Dad. It’s not a competition,” Lewis replied.

  His father gave a toothy smile. “Everything is a competition. And don’t forget: Wynners never lose!” That obnoxious family motto was actually embroidered onto pillows in the living room. Lewis despised it. What was so bad about losing, making mistakes, failing? Mrs. Minuzzi always said mistakes were part of learning. That made Lewis feel better, because he was really good at making them.

  Without further ado, Victor Wynner gathered his briefcase and golf clubs, then marched out the door to load up his sleek, top-of-the-line sedan. Winston and Kingston followed.

  “I’d better get going, too,” his mother said breezily, putting her phone down long enough to sweep her blond hair into a ponytail. “Yoga class at nine. Pedicure at ten thirty. Charity lunch at noon. Laser facial at two …” It was hard work being the fittest, most fashionable housewife in Conroy.

  “Did you pack me anything for lunch?” Lewis asked, grabbing a second banana. He scarfed it down before anyone could steal it away.

  “I did. It’s right here.” She pointed, but the counter was empty. Just then, they heard the peal of gravel and the honk of Kingston’s Jeep horn.

  Great. He’d lost his lunch and his ride to school.

  His mother flipped through her wallet. “Here. See if the lunch lady can make change, okay?” She slid a hundred-dollar bill across the granite countertop. Lewis wasn’t sure if there would be a food court or cafeteria at the Gwen Research Center, but he pocketed the bill quickly. A rumbling stomach would be a small price to pay, considering this outrageous lunch money could buy the latest Maxcroft game pack or a week’s supply of candy for the entire marching band.

  “I can drop you at school on my way to yoga,” his mom said, mussing his shaggy locks. “Now, where are my keys?” She rummaged through her designer gym bag.

  Out the window, Lewis caught a glimpse of a short kid with wavy brown hair swinging a bundled-up instrument case. He was wearing earbuds and sort of walk-dancing down the sidewalk. Dev wasn’t anything like Lewis’s brothers, and Lewis liked that. He was soft-spoken and a little shy, but he was funny and smart and a total wiz when it came to electronics. Just last week, he’d repaired Lewis’s broken gaming console when his brothers accidentally crushed it while wrestling in the living room. Best of all, Dev didn’t put Lewis on some dumb Wynner pedestal and compare him to the rest of his family.

  “Thanks, but I’ll walk. See ya!” He tossed his backpack over his shoulder, grabbed his drumsticks, and ran to catch up with Dev.

  2

  EARTH

  “Please tell me you are not wearing that today.” Tessa eyed her twin sister’s clunky beige sneakers, tall white socks, boring black leggings, and boxy T-shirt. “We may be identical, but clearly all the style genes went to me.”

  Like her sister, Zoey had warm brown skin and wore her long hair in dozens of thin braids, but that’s where the similarities stopped. “What’s so bad about this?” Zoey asked. “It’s functional. I can move in it. I can groove.” She twirled and busted some marching band dance moves.

  Tessa crinkled her nose. “Let me explain in nerd terms so you understand: In the theory of infinite universes, somewhere I am a brain surgeon, somewhere Chihuahuas are the dominant species, somewhere we were never born, and maybe, possibly, somewhere those shoes are fashionable. But here on Earth, that ensemble is just not working.”

  Zoey blinked.

  “If you wear that, I’ll be unstylish by association,” Tessa said flatly. She turned to her reflection in the mirror and carefully blended a swipe of shimmery highlighter over her cheekbones.

  “Aha. So this isn’t about me, it’s actually about you. Surprise, surprise. How could I forgot that planet Earth revolves around the one and only Tessa Hawthorne-Scott?”

  Tessa dabbed her lips with gloss. “Don’t hate me ’cause you ain’t me.”

  “I have a field trip and marching band practice today. What’s wrong with being comfortable? You want me to dress like I’m going to a pageant? How can you even walk in those things?” She pointed at her sister’s feet.

  “What? You mean my studded kitten heel booties? They’re fabulous. A little pain is a small price to pay.” She flashed a mega-watt smile, but there was an emptiness, a sadness behind it. “Plus, you never know when the press might snap a photo.” Ever since their mother had been elected mayor of Conroy, the Hawthorne-Scott family had been under a microscope. The pressure was … a lot.

  Tessa slipped a purple eChron smartwatch onto her right wrist. After the girls’ phones had been hacked two months ago, their mother insisted they use these devices instead. From the outside, they looked like normal watches, except the eChrons were government-issued with encrypted data storage and special software that allowed the family to message each other over a secure network. Tessa and Zoey mostly used them to send each other snarky texts and goofy cat GIFs.

  On her other wrist, Tessa clasped a wide, silver cuff bracelet to hide her scar. Beneath the puckered skin, a metal plate and pins held her damaged bones together, the result of an accident when she was seven.

  “You don’t have to wear that,” Zoey said tenderly, pointing to the bracelet. All these years later, she still felt guilty. It had been her idea to play on the tractor at their grandmother’s farm, back when
Conroy was still known for its abundant corn and soybean crops.

  “It’s my signature accessory,” Tessa sassed back. “Plus, I don’t want my friends to think I’m a freak.” She ran a finger glumly over the bracelet.

  “Real friends wouldn’t think that.”

  “Yeah? What would you know about real friends? Please tell me you don’t mean your band buddies, like that conspiracy-theory weirdo, Isaiah? And what’s the redhead’s name? Mallory? Maxine?”

  The sympathy Zoey felt for her sister a moment earlier dissolved. “Her name is Maeve. You are rude. And she is not my buddy.” Zoey bit her lip. “Not anymore at least.” She didn’t want to talk about Maeve. Ever since the incident at the pharmacy, things had been complicated. And when Maeve went out for drum major—and got it!—their friendship became more strained than ever.

  “Ohh, so she’s, like, your arch nemesis now?” Tessa prodded, sniffing for gossip.

  Zoey frowned. “Not exactly.”

  “Frenemy?”

  “Drop it, okay? You don’t know anything about her.”

  “I know she’s the most obnoxious girl in seventh grade. Maybe in the whole school. Plus, Hailey heard from Blake that—”

  “Enough, Tess!”

  “I’m just looking out for your reputation,” Tessa said.

  “I can handle myself just fine, thanks,” Zoey shot back, her skin tingling with anger. “And speaking of reputation, what would happen to yours if everyone found out where you got those earrings? Or that lip gloss?”

  Tessa gaped, shocked by the sudden turn in conversation. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Do you really want to find out?” Zoey planted her hands on her hips.

  “You’re the worst!”

  “At least I’m not a kleptomaniac. Imagine if the press got wind of that? Mom would literally disown you.”

  Tessa glared, her hazel eyes narrowing to furious slits. Her twin sister did the same.

  “It was a dare. It was one time.”

  Zoey tilted her head, unconvinced. She knew her sister could never resist a dare.

  “Fine. Maybe twice,” Tessa said. “But it was harmless. Okay? And you swore—you promised—you wouldn’t say anything.”

  “My silence was contingent upon your benevolence.”

  “Ugh.” Tessa rolled her eyes. “Just because you’re in honors English and I’m not doesn’t mean you have to be so, so …” She struggled to find the word.

  “Condescending?” Zoey said in a know-it-all voice.

  “Some days I can’t even believe we’re related,” Tessa snapped.

  “Same, sis. Same.”

  There was a crack of thunder outside. Both girls jumped. Rain sluiced down their bedroom windows in heavy sheets. It had been sunny half an hour ago, but the weather in Conroy was seriously moody.

  Tessa stood and straightened her cropped denim jacket as though it were a suit of armor. “I think you’re jealous that I’m more popular than you.”

  Zoey scoffed. “You couldn’t pay me to hang out with Gage and Blake. Maybe you’re jealous that I have better grades. I’m the one with real potential, remember?” she blurted, repeating a line from an interview her mother had given the media during her last campaign.

  Tessa froze, her perfectly made-up face drooping into a frown. “That quote was taken out of context, and you know it. Now you’re just being mean.”

  Thunder boomed outside. The lights dimmed, then brightened.

  Zoey’s voice rose louder. “You pretend to be soooo cool, but really, you’re desperate for everyone else’s approval. And you think you can get it by wearing fancy labels, or putting down the people who actually care about you.” She shook her head, dark braids whipping her flushed cheeks. “Good luck, Tess. See how far that gets you!”

  “Girls! Volume, please.” Their father appeared in the doorway, his shirt streaked with colorful paint from his latest mural. His expression was unusually stern. He held a finger to his lips. “Your mother is on an important call down the hall. The local news station is asking for an official statement about the rolling blackouts.”

  “You mean the flickers?” Zoey glanced at the light fixture overhead. “They’re nothing. They last a few seconds, minutes at most, and then the power gets restored.” Her friend Isaiah had been tracking them in his Journal of Strange Occurrences, but so far, he hadn’t detected any discernable patterns.

  “Even so, they’re happening more frequently. It’s starting to affect small business owners, especially those without solar generators.”

  “Why is that Mom’s problem?” Tessa asked.

  “If it concerns the city of Conroy, it concerns your mother. Which means it also concerns us.” He looked at both girls kindly. “You know I don’t mind you speaking your minds or exercising your vocal cords, but when Mom is working, you two need to take it down a notch.”

  “Mom is always working,” Tessa said under her breath.

  He nodded. “Yes, your mother works hard. For our family. For the people of our city. Let’s be supportive. Okay?”

  “By supportive, you mean quiet,” Tessa replied sullenly.

  “At this particular moment, yes.” He studied her face. “Is there something bigger going on here that I should know about?”

  Just then, Valerie Hawthorne stepped into the room. At five feet ten inches tall, she cut a striking figure, feminine and strong, in a crimson pantsuit with a silk scarf draped smartly around her neck. She focused inquisitive eyes on her dueling daughters.

  Tessa gulped.

  “Everything copacetic?” she asked, which was more of a command than a question. As mayor of Conroy, their mother had a high-powered job, and she had equally high expectations of her daughters.

  Zoey stepped forward, playing the part of the good-mannered, responsible kid. “Yes, of course. Sorry about the noise, Mom. Someone was trying to give unsolicited fashion advice, which sort of … spiraled. It won’t happen again. We promise.”

  Tessa nodded in agreement.

  “Good.” Before their mother could say more, the phone rang. She left to answer it, with their father following behind.

  When they were alone again, Zoey turned to Tessa. She felt bad; her outburst had cut too deep. She loved her sister, but she didn’t always understand her. And no one could push her buttons the way Tessa did. She was about to apologize when Tessa narrowed her kohl-lined eyes.

  “You think you know me so well?” Tessa hissed, simmering. “You couldn’t last one day in my shoes.” She stamped a kitten-heeled foot.

  A new expression fell over Zoey’s face. It was the same look their mother had leveled at Hank Clementi the day he told her on live television that the city of Conroy would never elect a Black woman as mayor. It was a look that was always followed by action.

  “I couldn’t last a day in your shoes, huh? Is that … a dare?” Zoey countered.

  Just then, the ground beneath them shook.

  “Did you feel that? We’re doomed!” Isaiah Yoon declared, clutching his backpack to his chest as his mother pulled their electric station wagon up to a crumbling, desolate wasteland. He rubbed his eyes. No, wait. That was just the Conroy Middle School parking lot.

  “It’s only a field trip. Not the end of the world, Isaiah.” Sylvie Yoon said, trying to be patient with her son. The windshield wipers banged back and forth, pushing the deluge of rain away. She reached into the backseat of the car, which was stocked with boots, snow shovels, flashlights, hats, gloves, bug spray, sunscreen, and more. The weather changed so dramatically in Conroy that it never hurt to be prepared.

  “Here. Take this.” She handed him an umbrella.

  “Thanks, but I’m not worried about the rain, Mom.”

  “Try this then.” She passed him a honey granola bar from the stash in her purse.

  “I’m not hungry either. I’m worried that the ground could literally crack open and swallow us whole at any moment!” He pulled his journal out, jotting notes on an elaborate table he and
Zoey had drawn.

  “Oh, Isaiah.” His mother’s voice was gentle. “The quivers are minor seismic adjustments. Mostly harmless. Any geologist will attest to this.”

  It was true, but the quivers still unnerved him. When they struck, the earth trembled. Vases shook on shelves. Swimming pools sloshed. A car alarm might sound. That part was fine. But in recent months, the quivers had started sending vibrations through the air, too. Trees, buildings, even people seemed to warp and bend and shimmer before returning to normal.

  The first time it happened, Isaiah had freaked out. But no one else thought anything was awry. No one else seemed to see what he saw. Kids at school called him crazy; he didn’t like that. So he kept the visions to himself, confiding only in Zoey.

  Mere moments ago, it had happened again. The ground lurched and the parking lot blurred, transforming for a split second into a completely different landscape—parched, barren, apocalyptic. His mother was seated beside him and yet she barely blinked.

  “Are we going to talk about what’s really going on?” she asked.

  Wait, had she noticed the parking lot weirdness? Isaiah paused, trying to read her expression. He opted for a diversion. “If this is about my math grade, I already asked Ms. Breese about the extra credit assignment.”

  “Isaiah.” She looked at him in that nononsense way of hers. “You had a dream again last night, didn’t you?”

  “Mom, typical humans dream approximately seven times a night. But we only remember a fraction of them.” He zipped up his black sweatshirt and pulled the hood over his head.

  “You know what I mean. You’re always so skittish and edgy after those nightmares.”

  “I am not skittish or edgy.”

  “You have used the word doom approximately ten times this morning and it’s barely eight o’clock.”

  “Okay, fine. Guilty as charged!” He held up his hands. “Last night I had an anxiety dream, Mom. We have regional championships coming up for marching band. I have so much music to learn. Plus, midterms are looming, and Mr. Kimpton assigned a ten-page history paper. It’s just a lot to deal with, you know?”