Now That You're Here (Duplexity, Part I)

by Amy K. Nichols

  Logic derails and crashes to a halt.

  “Why does he look like himself?”

  Warren asks, “What?” as Mac asks, “Who?” and I realize I’ve said it out loud.

  “Uh, nothing.” I give a little laugh.

  Warren makes a weirdo face and they go back to their what-ifs. Mac checks the blueprints and points to a length of flatiron.

  “We should build a time machine for the science fair,” Warren announces, sliding the metal from the supply pile and handing it to me.

  “That would be awesome, if it were possible.” I pass it to Mac, who smirks, flips his welding mask down and tackles the next weld.

  Sunday, just before the sun goes down, I knock on her dad’s door. I tried her mom’s first, but there was no answer.

  After a moment, the handle turns and the door opens. Sid looks surprised, then disappointed to see me. “Eve,” he says, “you have a visitor.”

  There’s the sound of footsteps before she scoots around to stand in front of him. “You.”

  Unlike her dad, she looks happy. Looks amazing, actually. It’s all I can do not to hug her, I’m so relieved to see a familiar face.

  “Well, let him in.” Her mom nudges Eevee to the side. “Hello again…”

  “Danny,” Eevee and I both say at the same time.

  “That’s right.” She smiles. She has really big teeth. “Danny. We were just having dinner. Would you like to join us?” She tries to smooth Eevee’s hair but Eevee shoos her away.

  “We’ll be back in a second,” Eevee says, and shuts the door behind her. Standing closer to me, she cringes.

  I must stink worse than I thought. “Sorry.”

  “Where did you go?”

  Where didn’t I go? My feet throb from pounding concrete. Every step, I told myself I was getting closer to home, but every step I was wrong. From my jeans pocket, I pull out the paper with the scrawled-on directions and the creases worn from folding and unfolding. There’s a hole in the center where the paper finally gave way. “I made a plan.” I hand it to her. “To find my parents and Germ. To figure out what’s going on. But the things that were supposed to be there weren’t. I got lost, and my parents…”

  She holds up the paper and reads. “You walked all that way? That must have taken you…”

  “About a day and a half.”

  “Right.” She hands the paper back to me. I refold it and shove it back into my pocket, ignoring the printout from the library that’s also in there. “Where did you stay last night?” she asks.

  “A park somewhere down on…Dunlap? Northern? Can’t remember.”

  Her mouth hangs open. “Why didn’t you call me? Or come back here?”

  “I didn’t have your number. And didn’t think I’d need it.” I swipe the hair from my eyes. “I just kept walking, and then it was dark and I saw the park and thought I’d just stop and rest, but when I woke up, it was morning.”

  She shakes her head. “If you’d just stayed here we could have worked on this together. Whatever. It doesn’t matter now. Do you want to come in? Have some dinner?”

  “That would be great, but I…” I make a face.

  “Yeah. You do smell pretty bad. Okay, listen.” She puts her hand on the doorknob. “Just go along with whatever I say.”

  Inside, her parents sit at the dining table. Clearly, we’ve interrupted their conversation. Sid looks annoyed, but Judy smiles. “Come in,” she says. “Sit down.”

  “Is it okay if he gets cleaned up first?” Eevee asks.

  “Oh.” Judy looks me over, like she’s just noticed I’m covered in ick. “Sid?”

  He stands up from the table. “Of course. Follow me. You remember where the bathroom is?”

  “I’ll keep your dinner warm until you’re ready,” Judy says. She goes to the kitchen and I follow a grumpy Sid down the hall.

  Best. Shower. Ever.

  I crank the tap as hot as I can stand. Gotta burn this funk off of me. The water rains over my head and down my chest. I scrub until it stings and then let the water scorch the grunge away. Wish I could wash the confusion away, too.

  After, I squeeze as much water as I can from the tangle of hair I’ve somehow acquired and wipe the fog off the mirror. This body is a wreck. A map of angry scars. The front is bad. The back makes the front look like a skin-care ad. I lean in close and stare into eyes that aren’t truly mine. I’m in there. When I pull the hair back and smile, I almost look like me.

  Sid left clean clothes on the counter. Sweatpants and a Yale shirt. I pull them on, drag the towel over my hair again and wipe everything down. I already feel guilty accepting their charity; last thing I want is to leave them with a mess.

  I hear their voices in the other room.

  Sid: Why do you even know this boy?

  Judy: Give her some space.

  Sid: I just don’t like any of this.

  They stop talking when I walk into the room. The food smells so good I could die. “Thanks for the shower. For everything.” I stand there awkwardly, wondering if I’m really welcome. Wondering if I should stay or go.

  “Your dinner’s here.” Judy pulls a chair out.

  “Thanks,” I say, “but I don’t want to cause any problems.”

  Eevee’s face pleads. Sid’s looks conflicted. His knuckles are white around his fork and knife, but his voice stays calm. “Join us. Please.”

  “Thank you.” I take a seat.

  The conversation’s as normal as it can be. The only challenge is following along without shoveling all the food into my face at once. They talk about their jobs and about weather and some welding project Eevee’s doing. I didn’t know she could weld, but I’m not surprised.

  Sid leans his elbows on the table. “Pardon my asking, Danny, but you’re not going to up and disappear again, are you?”

  “Sid,” Judy hisses.

  “It’s a valid question. If he’s staying at my house, he needs to understand my door isn’t a turnstile.” Sid looks at me, expecting my answer.

  “No, sir.”

  “Good.” He takes a bite of pot roast.

  Eevee jumps into the conversation. “Does this mean he can stay here?”

  He chews, swallows. “A little while longer.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Under one condition. You help Eevee with her English homework.”

  “Dad.” Her neck flushes and the pink spreads to her face.

  He levels his eyes at me. “What do you say?”

  That’s it? Easy. “Sure,” I answer. “I can do that.”

  “Excellent.” He sets his napkin on the table and stands. “I could use a drink. Anyone need anything while I’m up?”

  “Dessert.” Judy collects the dishes.

  When they’re out of the room, Eevee mutters, “Well, that was awkward.” She lowers her voice. “I can’t believe you slept in the park. Weren’t you scared?”

  “A little.” I think of the shadowed hollow where the evergreens grew together and their branches reached almost to the ground. The bark scratched at my back, but I felt pretty safe. Safer than I expected, actually. There’s no one watching here. “In a way, I felt kind of free.”

  “But what if something had happened to you?”

  I lean toward her and whisper. “Eevee, something has happened to me.”

  She leans in, too. “Right, but I mean, like, if someone hurt you.”

  I look at her dark, round eyes. The way her throat moves when she swallows. My mind races back to that night at the museum. The taste of her lips, her neck. “How did I end up sitting next to you in that class?” She seems startled, but doesn’t move when I take her hand and run my thumb along her fingers. “I mean, of all places, and after what happened that night we met?”

  She searches my face.

  “You really don’t remember, do you?” I can see the answer in her eyes. “I might not be the best kisser in the world, but I didn’t think I was so bad you’d actually forget.”

  She snatches her ha
nd back. “Kiss? You?”

  “That awful, huh?”

  “No, it’s just…” She shifts in her seat, folds her hands in her lap. “I wouldn’t…”

  I sit back in my chair and cross my ankle over my knee. Try to cover the hurt by playing it cool. “Well, whatever. Thanks for helping me out. This sure beats dumpster dining.”

  “What? You didn’t…”

  “Where did you think I picked up that stench?”

  “Here we are.” Judy walks into the room balancing plates of chocolate cake. Sid follows with a bottle of sparkling water. We eat and chat and everyone is friendly and uses their best manners, but the whole time, I’m baffled. How could she not remember?

  Monday morning my eyes snap open. I have to warn Warren about Danny. I log on to chat but he’s offline. Maybe he’s sick and won’t be going to school. Then I notice the time. A quick peek out the window confirms my fear. He’s already waiting for me on the lava rock. The sunlight glints off his goggles.

  I dress in a panic and head out to face the inevitable.

  “They’re up there, Solomon,” he says, staring into the sky. “Right now. Hundreds of meteors, streaking through the atmosphere.” He zooms his hands at me, making explosive motions in my face. Then he looks over my shoulder and his expression morphs to disgust. “Why is Danny Ogden walking out of your dad’s house?”

  After dinner last night, I’d told Danny to meet me out here this morning. My plan was to wake up early to talk to Warren first. That plan failed. “He needed a place to stay.” I cringe.

  “And he chose your dad’s house because…?”

  “He’s in trouble and came to me for help?”

  Warren crosses his arms. Stony-faced king of the lava rock.

  I watch Danny walking toward us. He’s wearing a pair of Dad’s khakis and a polo. His hair hangs down in long, ragged strands. Rocker boy meets junior engineer. He looks ridiculous. Under different circumstances, I would have laughed, but not with Warren smoldering behind me. I turn back to face him. “It’s complicated.”

  “Apparently.”

  “I can explain—” Unfortunately, Danny’s arrival cuts me off before I have the chance.

  “Hi.” He pushes the hair out of his eyes and sticks out his hand. “I’m Danny.”

  Warren hops down from the rock. “I’m outta here.”

  This is not how it was supposed to go. “Wait.”

  But there’s no stopping Warren once his mind is made up. He walks away, his backpack bouncing with each step. I don’t know what to do but I’m sure anything I try right now will be wrong.

  “What’s his problem?” Danny’s at my side.

  “He doesn’t like you.”

  “I can see that. Why?”

  “Because you’ve tormented him since sixth grade.”

  “But I’ve never seen him before.”

  “What?” I turn to face him, my arms crossed. “You stuffed him in a locker.”

  He blinks and looks shocked and stifles a laugh. “I did not.”

  “You most certainly did. And don’t even think of laughing. You just about ruined him.”

  His face drops to serious and he swallows. “What happened?”

  Is he faking? How does he not know this? I consider sparing him the details, but decide brutal honesty is best.

  “One day in sixth grade PE, you and your friends attacked Warren in the boys’ locker room. You stripped off all of his clothes and crammed him in a locker, then took off laughing. You left him there alone, in the dark. Hours later, some kids who were there for after-school soccer practice heard him screaming. The janitor had to cut the lock to get him out. He went into hiding for weeks. You were suspended, of course.”

  The memories of those days come flooding back. I think of how Warren wouldn’t talk to anyone. How the day he finally returned to school he was wearing aviator goggles and how he’s worn some version ever since. How he wouldn’t raise his hand in class or sit with anyone at lunch or make eye contact, even with me. It wasn’t until years later he confided about the nightmares and his newfound fear of the dark. “He was a completely different Warren after that.”

  “Wow.” Danny’s voice is thin. “I’m an asshole.”

  “Pretty much.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Emotions will only interfere with getting to the bottom of the problem. Namely, why Danny doesn’t remember any of this.

  “Okay. So, who are you really?” I ask.

  “Danny Ogden.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  “Then who am I? And what’s happened to me?”

  “No idea. But if anyone can figure this out, it’s him.” I point down the street.

  Which means I have to find a way to get Warren to listen to me. Which means first I have to get him to talk to me again. I shoulder my messenger bag and start walking to school. “Come on. Maybe we can catch up to him.”

  Danny doesn’t budge.

  “What? You’re not going to school?”

  “I think I should try again to find my parents.” The way he says it, it sounds like there’s something he’s not telling me.

  A quick glance at my phone sends my heart racing. I am super, über late. “Fine.” I grab a pen from my bag and scribble my number on his hand. “But if you get lost again, call me.”

  I watch Eevee walk down the street and, for the millionth time, think back to the night we first met.

  For weeks they’d had us under curfew, their typical response to unspecified threats. No one was allowed out after dark—for our own protection, of course. Anyone caught breaking curfew faced fines, interrogation, the usual. As always, we adapted, changing our personal routines to comply. Then, just as quickly as they’d initiated the regulation, they lifted it. To an extent. We could move freely after sundown within a secured zone: namely, the lower downtown corridor, all conveniently arranged to coincide with the opening of a new exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum. I was sure it would be mostly propaganda but I didn’t care. I would have watched paint dry or cars idle just to be out. The fact that I didn’t have a ticket didn’t stop me either. I’d find a way in. Somehow.

  After clearing facial recognition and pat-downs, I boarded the light rail with my approved group. By the time we reached Lower Downtown, the sun was setting, turning the sky to sherbet soup. Our group moseyed along the rail lines, joining up with the other security-approveds slowly making their way to the museum. The show started at seven, but no one hurried. Instead, people carried on conversations, pointing out this and that. The spinning restaurant at the top of the Hyatt. The dancing statues in front of the Herberger Theater. A busker belted out patriotic songs at the corner of Central and McDowell. I listened for a bit, wondering if he’d slip any anti lyrics in, but he stuck to the script. Everyone did. From the lampposts and building cornices, Spectrum kept watch.

  I shadowed a group of women, shuffling behind them toward the museum entrance, and slipped away to the side door when I thought there might be a break in cover.

  The door was locked.

  I leaned back against the building, trying to figure out my next move. I could either hang out there or risk my luck and slip outside the authorized zone. Hit Falcon Park, maybe. See if there were any other artists around.

  An old man walked toward me. “Is this the entrance?”

  “Around the front.”

  He thanked me and left. I tried the knob again, just to be sure. Still locked. Time to find another way in or move on.

  I’d only taken a couple of steps when the door hinges creaked behind me. I turned and saw a girl in a red dress.

  A gorgeous girl.

  A little red dress.

  She took off her shoes and used one to prop open the door. Then she leaned back against the wall, her eyes closed. The streetlight spilled across her face and shoulders, leaving a shadow in the hollow of her neck.

  I tucked my hands in my pockets and waited. Watched. When she finally opened her eyes and saw me, her mouth
made the shape of a perfect O. Then she replaced that O with a smile that sent chills down my arms.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said.

  I shrugged. A dare.

  She looked left and right, moving only her eyes. Then she slunk toward me, stopping just inches away. She leaned in and touched her lips to mine. Snaked her hand around the back of my neck and pressed that red dress against me.

  What was I supposed to do, being kissed like that by a girl who looked the way she did?

  A. Maze. Ing.

  A car over on Central honked and she stepped back, one hand still on my chest and her lipstick smudged outside the lines. The neckline of her dress moved with her breathing. She adjusted her shoulder strap, smiled and turned back toward the door.

  “Hang on,” I said.

  She looked over her shoulder.

  So many questions. I chose the least obvious. “Why?”

  She shrugged, then picked up her shoes and walked back through the door, leaving me in the shadows.

  Outside.

  I tried to make sense of what had just happened, but came up empty.

  After a moment, the hinges creaked again. The long arm that’d just been wrapped around me held it open.

  Don’t have to tell me twice.

  But as soon as I walked in, she was gone. If it weren’t for the lingering scent of her perfume—sharp, like ginger—I probably would have thought I’d imagined it all.

  I searched for her through the back rooms and side galleries until I ended up in the main exhibit hall. The place was packed. Wall-to-wall people wandering around whispering, drinking wine. From what I remember, the art was incredible, but it was pretty much lost on me at that point. All I could think about was her. I scanned the crowds. Room after room, nothing.

  When I was about to give up, I caught a glimpse of red disappearing behind a huge sculpture of two black spheres. I pushed my way through the crowd, pissing off lots of people in the process. Turned a corner and saw her leading a group of suits toward a painting. Couldn’t hear what she said, but I was transfixed by the way she talked with her hands.