Parallelogram Omnibus Edition

by Brande, Robin

  And maybe Halli would still be alive if I hadn’t.

  Or maybe she would have died because I wasn’t there to save her.

  If I did, in fact, save her. If I didn’t just push her out of this body and take it over, leaving her no place to go.

  “Halli?” Jake says. “You all right?”

  I’ve got my hand to my forehead, my eyes closed. I can’t keep having these thoughts. They won’t help. They just make me feel hopeless.

  “I’m fine,” I say, forcing myself to act normal and keep walking. “Go on. I want to hear your story.”

  “She told me about you,” Jake says. “I already knew who you were from the histories, but she told me some stories I’d never heard.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the time she lost you in the jungle, and you sat down and cleared a circle around you so you’d be able to see if any snakes crossed it. She said you never cried, you never called for her, you just waited. When she found you, there was some kind of poisonous snake hanging right above you, but you never saw it. And she never told you.”

  “Huh.”

  I want to ask him how old Halli was when Ginny took her into the jungle, but I can’t, because I should know that. At least I know she was younger than eight, since that’s when Jake first heard the story.

  Which is just so amazing to me. How does a little girl have the kinds of experiences Halli had, and not turn out completely different from the girl I am? Halli was always so great and accepting of me and my frailties compared to her, and now I’m just even more grateful for that.

  I miss her. I didn’t even realize how much. Please let her be alive.

  I clear my throat. “What else?” I ask Jake. “What else did Ginny say?”

  “Well, she told me about the time you broke your arm—”

  I look down at Halli’s arms, trying to guess which one.

  “—and how you broke your ankle—”

  They both feel fine to me now.

  “—and that your favorite fruit was strawberry, your favorite color was red, your favorite horse was named Samson, and you hated taking a bath and would only do it once a week, and only if you could wear your dive mask and snorkel.”

  Jake tips back his head and laughs. I crack a smile. Even though I’m supposed to know all this about myself already.

  “By the end of the day,” Jake says, “I’m sure your grandmother knew she’d made me fall in love with you. Poor kid—heart lost to the famous girl explorer. I’m sure I wasn’t the first.”

  He laughs at himself, and our eyes meet for just a moment, and I see something there, and Jake probably knows it.

  Because he quickly bends down for the stick and throws it out into the ocean, then stands there staring at the dog splashing in the water instead of looking back at me.

  And I have an ache here, a pain, right where there’s a fresh wound to my heart. It’s like an indentation—like a thumbprint in the middle of a cookie. Or like someone plunging his pointy-tipped flag into the earth at the top of a mountain: Jake Demetrios was here. Mark it.

  “I’ve waited a long time to meet you,” he says quietly, still gazing over the water.

  “I . . .” And then my voice trails off. Because if Halli were here, I’m sure she’d be just as touched as I am by what he just said. And I’m sure she’d know what to say back. But unfortunately that response isn’t programmed into the body I’m wearing, so I just have to stand here frozen and mute.

  And then Jake has to make it worse. He turns his head slightly, locks eyes with me again, and gives me that half-smile.

  And adds, “I’d have to say you were worth it.”

  5

  The voice comes from behind us. “Good afternoon, Miss Markham. I’m Al—”

  I spin around and spurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. “Lydia! Your hair!” Then I slap my hand over my mouth to keep it from saying more.

  Because she’s not Lydia—of course she’s not. My best friend—Will’s twin sister—is still safely back at home in my own universe, and this person in front of me is an imposter.

  She’s Jake’s twin sister here—of course she is. That makes sense. I just hadn’t expected to see her. But now it’s all coming together in my mind.

  If Jake has lived here since he was seven, obviously he didn’t come alone. He would have come with his family—his mother and sister. His mother must work here somewhere. Which is a happy thought, since back home Will and Lydia’s mother Elena has been like a second mom to me. I’d love to see the version of her here.

  So I can adjust to seeing this duplicate of Lydia, but still—why did she have to ruin her hair? What kind of nutcase would get rid of that long, luxurious cape of black hair that goes all the way down Lydia’s back?

  And it’s not like it’s even a stylish cut. It’s this crazy, severe bob that’s even shorter than Jake’s hair. It looks like a little black helmet.

  “As I said,” she tries again, “I’m Alexa Demetrios. Your mother has asked me to show you to your room.”

  Her whole outfit is wrong, too. Lydia likes to wear these stretchy, flowy kind of yoga clothes, but Alexa is dressed like a little corporate soldier, all crisp white shirt and straight black skirt and impractical and probably painfully tight shoes. No wonder she looks so pinched.

  “Your mother was concerned about the time,” Alexa says, casting a scornful look at her brother. “She thought maybe the two of you got lost.”

  Jake pretends to ignore her and throws the stick again for Red.

  “So, I should probably go,” I tell Jake. Even though his words are still reverberating in my ear. I was worth the wait?

  No, Halli was worth the wait.

  But he hasn’t met Halli, he’s met me.

  Those stories Ginny told him were about Halli. That’s the girl he’s been waiting for.

  And by the way, don’t you have a boyfriend?

  “See you at dinner,” Jake tells me.

  “Yeah—s-see you.” I can hear myself, and it’s a familiar sound. It’s me all tongue-tied, trying to talk to Will. It’s me trying not to let him see how madly in love with him I am.

  Ugh. Audie. Snap out of it.

  “Come on, Red,” I say, and I can tell the dog doesn’t want to leave any more than I do. He’s completely mesmerized by Jake and the guy’s infinite capacity for throwing the stick.

  “Come on,” I say impatiently, and this time Red obeys. But even as he follows Alexa and me away from the beach, he can’t help but look back longingly at Jake.

  Yeah, I know. I get it.

  “It’s this way,” Alexa tells me.

  I’m glad for the distraction.

  Now I understand how she sneaked up on us. The woods grow almost all the way onto the beach. Alexa leads Red and me through a narrow break in the trees, up a path to a paved road. Something that looks like a modified golf cart sits there waiting for us.

  The cart has no steering wheel. Alexa tells it, “Main house,” and it starts up on its own, turns around at the first opportunity, and gently drives us back to the mansion.

  It was like that this morning, when Jake drove us away from Halli’s house. His car had a steering wheel, and he used it all the way up her dirt road, until we hit the pavement. Then the car took over, driving us at a steady pace all the way to the airport.

  There were other cars on the road, all of them going at the same pace, too. No one seemed impatient, no one tried to pass— it was almost like everyone was in their own individual cars on the same train track, and we’d all get there when we got there.

  I had to act like it was all perfectly normal to me, of course, even though my eyes were darting from the car’s control panel to the street then to the other cars, trying to figure out how the whole thing worked. And all the while Jake just relaxed and leaned back against his door, and tried to make conversation with a girl who wasn’t talking.

  But now I’m glad I’ve already had that experience, so I can forget ab
out the mechanics and look around at the scenery instead.

  There are more buildings here on the ground than I could see from up in the air. Which makes sense, since the trees grow everywhere—up and over and in between. Whoever designed this whole place obviously either loved nature or loved privacy.

  Here and there from some of the buildings, people come out to wave to me. Some of them call, “Welcome, Miss Halli,” some say, “Welcome, Miss Markham,” and some just stand there checking me out.

  I wave back, because it seems like what Halli would do, but the whole thing feels really weird. I’m not used to being any kind of celebrity. I don’t know how Halli ever got used to it.

  Alexa hasn’t said anything to me this whole ride, so I glance over to see what she’s doing. She’s engrossed in the tablet on her lap, poking at it, swishing her fingers across the screen, reading it—

  And suddenly I realize I am such an idiot.

  Because didn’t I see Halli’s tablet on her desk at home? Not her roll-up one that she took with her to the Alps, but a different one, just sitting there waiting for me to grab it. But instead I left it behind.

  Maybe I never would have needed these people at all. I’m sure I could have figured out how to access Halli’s tracking information on her own tablet, if I’d only worked at it a little while.

  But instead I’m at these people’s mercy. Instead I’m going to have to trick someone—probably Jake—into showing me the information.

  I’m such a dope.

  The cart stops in front of the mansion and Alexa gets out. The muffin man—Lyman, I think Jake called him—is standing in front of the enormous wooden doors. He gives us a little bow, then opens the doors for us. I say thank you. Alexa doesn’t.

  “This is the Grand Hallway,” she says, gesturing to the enormous space we’ve just walked into. “To the left is the dining area. Right is the kitchen and some of the living quarters of the staff. This is the Grand Staircase. Your room is on the top floor. Follow me.”

  She’s already ascending the stairs, but I’m not ready to follow yet. I’m still taking in the bottom floor.

  Artwork everywhere. Paintings and statues, luxurious-looking rugs, pedestals holding delicate vases filled with flowers from the garden.

  I don’t recognize any of the paintings, but something about them just tells me they’re super-expensive. Everything in this room probably cost millions. I doubt Halli’s parents are like my mom and me, picking up cheap artwork at garage sales and hanging it in our living room just because we think it’s pretty.

  “Miss Markham?”

  “Coming.”

  Red and I follow Alexa up the stairs. Which is another artistic wonder. The Grand Staircase is as wide as one you’d see in a courthouse or a government building. And the wooden banister is so thick and wide and smoothly-polished, it looks like you could slide down it all the way from the top floor.

  I’ll bet Alexa has never done that in her life.

  But I’ll bet Jake has.

  “Bedrooms on the second and third floors,” Alexa is saying, “guest quarters on the fourth.” She looks back and frowns at the sight of Red dripping onto every step. His nails click against the wood. I’m guessing they don’t get too many dogs in here. The whole place looks too pristine.

  Once we reach the top floor, Alexa turns right. She leads me halfway down the hall, then opens a heavy door. “Here we are,” she says. “I hope you’ll find it suitable.”

  I steal a glance at her to see if she’s joking.

  Because what human on earth could not find this suitable? The room is as big as my entire house. I can picture our kitchen fitting in over there, our living room here, my bedroom and my mom’s bedroom over there—

  “It has a holomusic template,” Alexa tells me, “autoadjusting climate, voice-responding request system, integrated bioreactionary induction system . . .”

  And five to ten other features I’ve never heard of and wouldn’t know how to work if I tried. I just stand there and try to pretend it’s all normal.

  Alexa moves on to less technical matters.

  “I see that you brought minimal clothes.” She smirks toward the battered, scruffy duffel sitting on top of the perfectly white bedspread on the perfectly enormous bed. Someone must have brought it up here for me.

  “Dr. Markham always prefers that we dress for dinner,” Alexa says. “If you feel that what you packed might not be adequate—”

  She walks a great distance away, then finally swings open the door to the closet. Which is easily the size of our garage. Inside are enough outfits to see someone through an entire year. Dresses, gowns, pants, shirts, coats, sweaters, shoes, shoes, shoes.

  As if hearing that last thought, Alexa turns her gaze down toward Halli’s dirty, well-worn hiking boots that I’ve been wearing this whole time. I try to hide one of them behind me. Suddenly I feel very protective of these boots. I might have to wear them with a dress.

  Alexa points to a little couch in the middle of the closet. It’s good someone thought to put that in there—people probably pass out all the time just from looking at all the clothes.

  But what she’s really pointing at is the neatly-stacked pile of extra clothes on the couch, in case the ones hanging up aren’t enough.

  “I’ve included a few items you might be comfortable with for your sessions with Ferguson. He’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”

  I have no idea who Ferguson is. And I hope she means seven at night.

  “Will there be anything else?” Alexa asks.

  “Yes,” I say, recovering the power of speech. I point to the tablet she’s holding. “Can I get—is there a spare one of those?”

  “Of course,” Alexa answers. She closes the closet door and speaks into the nearest wall. “Celeste, bring Miss Markham a tablet.”

  “Yes, Alexa,” a girl’s voice through the wall answers back.

  “Anything else?” Alexa asks me.

  “No, I think . . .” I’m still processing what just happened. Is this whole room bugged? If so, they’re not being very secretive about it.

  “Well, if that’s all,” Alexa prompts me.

  “Yeah,” I say. “That’s all.” I just want her to go. I’m feeling a desperate need to be alone right now and absorb everything that’s happened to me in the past several hours. There’s only so long you can keep going with something new coming at you every five seconds. I need to sit in the dark and be quiet.

  Alexa pauses at the door. And then gives me the sickest, fakest smile I’ve ever seen.

  “Welcome, Miss Markham,” she says. “We couldn’t be happier you’re here.”

  And with that, the world’s worst liar leaves the room.

  6

  It is twenty minutes after eight. I am wearing a very pretty pale blue dress with little white flowers on it. Halli’s feet fit perfectly into an off-white pair of flats. Before dinner I took a shower and washed her hair and combed some sort of conditioning oil through it so it gleamed. Now she looks very scrubbed and fresh and presentable, except for one thing:

  I am in very grave danger of throwing up.

  Because we are sitting on a ship. Not a literal ship, because that would be ridiculous here in the middle of the Grand Mansion, but as far as my inner ear can tell, the dining room is swaying on an ocean with waves rising as high as the windows—sorry, portholes—and it’s daytime rather than night, and the seagulls are cawing, and swooping down and up, and adding to the whole sensation of motion.

  And there are orcas and dolphins, of course. Splashing into perfect arcs alongside us, frolicking in the waves. The wooden sides of the ship creak in their weathered way, and Red keeps bolting up to bark at the gulls every minute and a half, and it’s all not very relaxing.

  I have to close my eyes to eat. Otherwise I’m going to be sick.

  I guess I should have understood what this mansion was capable of when I took my shower earlier. I stepped into the shower—an enclosure easily as big as my be
droom at home—and as soon as I shut the door behind me, the lights came on.

  Suddenly I was in the midst of a secluded forest, surrounded by moss-covered rocks and waist-high ferns. In front of me was a beautiful waterfall, spilling water over the edge of a cliff and splashing down into a misty pool.

  As I felt my way around, I realized the only real things were the rocks that made up the shower walls and floor, and the water pouring off a flat rock high above me. Everything else was a holographic illusion.

  So I guess I should have been prepared for this dining room, but somehow I’m not. My eyes can’t seem to adjust. Every time I see the water tilting outside the pretend portholes, I instinctively lean sideways in my chair. I want to go back to my room. I want to sit in the dark.

  We are a small party, here on our ship. Just Halli’s parents, Jake and Alexa, and a man who was introduced as Admiral Binghamton. I don’t know if that’s his real name or if he’s playing a part to go along with the show.

  The food looks delicious. I just can’t eat a bite.

  This dining table could easily fit fifty people. All six of us are crowded at one end. Which adds to the feeling of imbalance whenever the waves toss us backward in that direction.

  “The rest of the board will arrive tomorrow,” Halli’s mother tells me. “Several of the members are anxious to meet you. I hope you’ll be accommodating.”

  I nod. Even that makes me queasy.

  “Good. Alexa,” she continues, “please see to the schedule and make sure that Miss Halli receives her agenda tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Alexa answers. “Of course.”

  “Is your room sufficient?” Halli’s mother asks me.

  I nod. It feels better this time. Maybe because my eyes are closed.

  “Designed by Quala Ingram,” she says. “Each room in the house has a different theme.”

  Oh, really? Then I’d like to request the dining room that takes place on land, please.

  “Will she have time to ride tomorrow?” Jake asks. I peek open one eye to see him. He’s looking at Halli’s father.

  “I expect Miss Halli always does whatever she likes,” her father growls.