E V
She sits on the handlebars to give her feet a rest from the pegs. Her dark hair streams toward me. I let the wheels laze to the left and then to the right, pedaling just fast enough to keep us moving forward. She grips the bar and her laughter rises up to the sky.
No Spectrum. No checkpoints. Total freedom and perfect company. The sun is hot on my back and my leg muscles burn, but you couldn’t pay me to be anywhere else.
“Do you know what time it is?” she yells.
“Nope.” If it were up to me, I’d turn around, go back and paint more, or just find a place to hang. But I can tell she’s starting to worry, so I pedal faster and focus on how the light shines on her shoulders. How she shakes her hair. I know we can’t be late, but I also don’t want to rush this.
I slow to a stop at 43rd Avenue. She shifts her weight and whines, “Ouch.”
The crosswalk button squeaks when I press it. “Want to stand on the back again? Or you could drive.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine.”
I look beyond her across the intersection. Back home, they’ve routed this road down to one lane, and every car gets searched. One of the permanent checkpoints.
The blinking crosswalk hand switches to the walking man and I pedal us out into the intersection. I watch the faces of the people waiting at the light. They’re miserable. The man in the Civic talking on his cell phone. The one in the work truck, too, with his elbow on the window and his fingers tapping the frame. The woman looking in her rearview. Every single one looks like they’d rather be somewhere else.
They have no idea how it could be.
We’re almost across the intersection when I can’t take it anymore. “Hold the bike up.” Eevee startles and hops down from the handlebars. I grab a paint can from the bag and shake it. The marble inside clangs against the metal.
“What are you doing?”
“Get over on the curb.” I see the crosswalk sign counting down. Have to be quick. I run back to where the cars are waiting and start spraying on the road, using the sidewalk lines as a guide. That does the trick. Horns start blaring and I pray there aren’t cops around.
I finish just as the light changes and run to where Eevee waits on the side of the road.
“What did you write? I couldn’t see from here.”
“Wake. Up.” I grin.
She shakes her head. “You’re insane.”
“Now you say that like it’s a good thing.”
We turn onto her street. The house on the corner is a junk-fest and I dodge three mangy cats that dart across the road. Each house on the block is slightly nicer in a progression leading up to hers. Rusted-out cars to yards needing a mow to raked gravel to pristine. That corner house must make her dad crazy.
I swerve down the alley, retracing our morning route. When we reach the back of her house, I hold the bike steady while she climbs down. She unlatches the gate and I figure that’s it. She’ll go play sick for when her mom gets home and I’ll go chill at her dad’s. But she holds the gate open instead. I leave the bike in the alley and follow.
She peers through the back window. “I think we made it in time.” She unlocks the door and I follow her inside, closing the door behind me.
Her mom’s house is completely different from her dad’s. The kitchen towels don’t match, and one is crumpled up into the oven door handle. A bag of bread sits on the counter surrounded by crumbs. A stack of papers threatens to topple into a vase of wilting flowers. The TV is on in the living room and a blanket slouches across the couch.
“Welcome to sick bay.” She clicks off an afternoon talk show, and then fiddles with the remote, turning it over in her hands.
Makes me nervous watching her. “I should go.”
“No.” She sighs. “I want to show you something.”
“Okay.”
“But…it’s not something I let a lot of people see. No one, actually.”
“You’ve got a body stuffed in the basement?”
“No.” She laughs and leads me down the hallway. “The dead guy’s no big deal.”
We stop at what must be her bedroom, and my brain goes into overdrive. She unlocks the door and I follow her inside.
Once when I was little, my mom took me to this children’s playhouse center. It was an old warehouse downtown, turned into a place for kids to run around and bounce off the walls. In one of the corners there was a huge black box. I didn’t want to go in it, but Mom said I would like it and she led me by the hand. Stepping inside that black box was like stepping into space. It was dark, and there were tiny lights going on forever. Totally magical. Suddenly I was an astronaut, surrounded by stars. Mom couldn’t get me to leave.
Stepping into Eevee’s room feels like stepping into that black box. It’s a vortex of colors and shapes. Like what she drew on the back of my paper in that horrible woman’s class, only in color. Every inch of the place is covered in spiraling designs, shaded in pinks, greens and blues.
“Eevee, this is…”
“They’re fractals,” she says, her hands clasped in front of her. She stares at the ceiling. “Scientists say the universe is built in fractals. I created these using different equations. That one there is similar to the Koch curve.”
It’s like she’s speaking Greek, but it doesn’t matter. I’m in awe, almost like I’ve crossed worlds again.
She keeps talking, really fast. “It’s just a repetitive mathematical process, really. Start with a line and figure the angle based on its trajectory, then repeat the process, allowing the equation to determine the curve and complexity of the design. The one starting there by the window is kind of interesting. I used the Fibonacci sequence, which of course is the same pattern found throughout the natural world. See how it kind of resembles the center of a sunflower?”
“This must have taken forever.”
“It’s just something I’ve done for as long as I can remember. Everywhere I look, I see rays and angles and I can’t help but figure out their patterns. When things start feeling really big and out of control, fractals remind me how to get back to simple.”
“That’s amazing.”
She shrugs. “They’re just patterns. The mathematical equivalent of bubble gum. Something to chew on, to see how far it stretches.”
“Call it whatever you want. It’s art.”
“Well, it’s certainly nothing practical.”
“Do they make you feel something?”
She thinks for a moment. “Yes.”
“Then screw practical.”
“Practical pays for college.” Sounds like her dad. Then she cocks her head to the side. “Isn’t it strange that we both draw on walls?”
I mimic her and cock my head to the side, too. “Isn’t drawing on the walls what crazy people do?”
“Cavemen drew on walls.”
“Yeah, well, cavemen were totally crazy, running around trying to invent fire so they could grill dinosaur steaks.”
“Dinosaur steaks?” She makes a face, then realizes I’m messing with her and rolls her eyes. I move toward one wall to get a closer look at the work. I see her reflection in the mirror on the closet door, then step forward to capture us both in the frame. Our eyes meet and everything stands still. Just the two of us suspended in a world of colors and angles—a world of her own making.
“Eve?” Her mom’s voice coming down the hall shatters the magic.
She gasps, locks the door and completely freaks out. Messes up her bed. Looks in the mirror and messes up her hair. Pushes me out of the way while she does a silent spaz. Before she blows a gasket, I catch her by the arms, hold her still, look her in the eye. “Does your window have screens?”
She nods.
“Is there another back door?”
“Mom’s room.”
“Perfect. I’ll hide so you can distract her, then I’ll sneak out the door. Piece of cake.”
She looks scared.
“Trust me.”
She nods, but the li
nes across her forehead tell the truth.
“Hey.” I look up at the ceiling and then into her eyes. “Thank you for showing me this.” Then I kiss her on the lips, real quick before she steps away.
Her mom knocks on the bedroom door. “Eve?”
I sneak into the closet, leaving her standing there, stunned.
He kissed me.
Mom knocks on the door again. “Eve? Are you in there?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracks. I stumble around like I’m not in control of my own body. “Just a sec.”
“I’ve got your homework and some things to help you feel better.”
“Be right out.”
The closet door looms over me. I have to stay cool. I can’t mess this up.
But he kissed me.
Kissing is supposed to happen to other girls. Girls like Stacy Farley. Not girls like me.
My hands shake as I reach for the bedroom door. By the time I get it open, Mom is already at the other end of the house. I close it behind me without letting it latch.
In the living room, I flop onto the couch and curl up, my heart pounding in my head.
“There you are.” Mom feels for my temperature. “You’re clammy.”
“I feel better than this morning.”
“Well, you look worse.”
She hands me my homework and walks to the kitchen. “I thought a stir-fry might be good tonight. I got that sauce you like so much. But maybe soup would be better? Oh, and look in the bag on the chair. Got you some new magazines.”
I check the back windows. Where is he?
“Which do you want?” Mom asks. I dash back to the couch before she returns to the living room. “I can make either.”
And then I see him, strolling across the yard like nothing at all. I snap my attention back to Mom and try to control my face. I have to keep her distracted.
“Hey.” I make it up as I go. “I—I, um. Did they say anything about what I missed at school?”
“The secretary said everything would be explained in the packet.” She starts to turn.
“W-wait. Mom. What if I, uh.” I flip through the pages without really looking at them. “What if I have questions?” Finally, he’s out of view. “On second thought, never mind. Looks like everything is here. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She gives me a confused smile, then walks back toward the kitchen. “Oh, I got you peppermint candies, too, for your stomach.”
That was too close.
When my heart stops racing, I take a closer look at the homework packet. Warren scrawled a riddle across the top of the page of math problems:
If Eevee in another universe sneezes, and Eevee in this universe doesn’t know she exists, does the sneeze make a sound?
Oh, that wacky Warren.
I turn the page and see a second note, also in his chicken scratch:
Weirdness to share. Come by later if you’re not contagious.
Weirdness? I flip through the rest of the pages, looking for clues, but there are only equations. From the kitchen, Mom blabs about her day. The Carsons stood her up for the open house way over in Mirabel, so her day was wasted driving back and forth to Scottsdale, and she really wants to land that deal, but they must be the flakiest people that ever walked the face of the earth and blah-blah-blah.
I turn back to Warren’s second note. Danny weirdness, or something else? “I’m going to run out for a sec.”
She pops her head around the kitchen doorway. “What for?”
“I have to ask Warren about some of this work.”
“You can ask him tomorrow. He doesn’t want your germs.” She snaps the metal tongs in her hand. “I’m thinking stir-fry. Good?”
“Sure.” When she’s back in the kitchen, I flop back on the couch and cover my face with my arms. What am I doing?
I ditched school.
I lied.
I ditched school again.
I let him in my room. No one goes in my room. Not even my parents.
He kissed me.
I replay the scene in slow-mo in my mind.
It was a quick kiss. An unexpected kiss. But it was a kiss nonetheless.
“Someone’s feeling better.”
I gasp.
Mom’s standing over me, holding a glossy magazine in her oven-mitt-covered hands. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I thought reading something might help distract you from feeling bad. What were you smiling about?”
“Smiling?” I shrug. “Didn’t realize I…” One of the article titles catches my eye: Is It Love? How to Know for Sure! “On second thought, reading sounds good.”
She hands me the magazine. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”
Just enough time to do a little research.
After dinner, I finish up the homework packet, then ping Warren on chat, but he’s not online. I don’t have any choice but to sit in the living room with Mom, watching stupid shows on TV. The whole time I think about Danny—one of the signs, according to the article. What is he doing? Is he thinking about me? What if he’s thinking about the other me? Maybe I should call him. Am I overthinking this?
When the news comes on, Mom goes to bed grumbling about having to work on a Saturday. I lock up the house and grab the peppermint candies. In my room, I stand in the place where he stood and stare at the walls. My brain is so wound up, there’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep. I pull the paints out from under my bed.
Tonight the terdragon-curve fractal calms me. I close my eyes and let the design expand and fill my mind. The lines lengthen and snake around, each ending in a finlike curve. When I open my eyes, I break out my acrylics and set about painting the fractal across the border of the window. My hands work quickly, the imaginary equations mapping out the lines faster than my brush can follow.
Three taps at the window startle me out of my trance. Did I imagine them? I hold my breath and wait. When the sound comes again—tap tap tap—I peek through the slats and see him, backlit by the streetlight. I slide the window open.
“Saw your light,” he whispers. “Thought I’d say hi.”
“Hi.”
“Wanna hang?”
Do I? “I’ll be out in a sec.”
I breathe down the butterflies in my stomach—also a sign from the article—pull a sweatshirt on over my pajamas, step into my sneakers and tiptoe down the hall.
The night is chilly and the air tastes fresh. It must be late. Dad’s lights are off. Warren isn’t on his roof. Danny sits in the grass, resting back on his hands with his legs crossed in front of him. I sit beside him.
The darkness feels so big, I keep my voice low. “What’s up?”
“Today was almost perfect. I don’t want it to end.”
“Just almost perfect?”
“Just almost.” He leans back on his elbows. “Things go okay after I left?”
“Almost.”
“Just almost?”
“It’s better now.”
He points up at the sky. “There’s the Big Dipper.” He tracks his finger toward the horizon. “Which makes that Polaris.”
“You know your stars.”
“My dad taught me. The ocean’s big. Read the stars and you never get lost.”
“You must spend a lot of time at the ocean. Do you go over to California a lot?”
“Been a couple of times. It’s a two-day sail, though. Mom worries when we’re on the water overnight.”
“Sail?”
“Well, we could fly, but then you don’t see the stars.” He brushes the grass off his hands. “So, what do you want to do tomorrow?”
“Hang on. Say that bit again about California.”
“What?”
My head feels woozy. “Your Arizona has an ocean?”
“Yours doesn’t?”
“Oh my God.” I stand up and pace.
He stands, too, takes me by the hands, and leads me back to sit again on the grass.
“Was it an earthquake? Did part of California si
nk into the ocean?”
He makes a face like I’m crazy. “No. It’s just always been out there. Across the sound. So, tomorrow. What should we do?”
I pick a blade of grass, still trying to imagine Arizona Bay. The grass is smooth against my fingers. “Something legal?”
“Boring.”
I pick a second blade and twist the two together. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”
“That’s what makes it exciting.”
“You and I are so different.”
“That’s what makes it exciting.” He hooks his elbows around his knees and we just sit there, looking at each other. The streetlight illuminates half of his face, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw. Finally, he breaks the silence. “Did you find it?”
“Find what?”
“That’d be a no, then.”
“What did you do?”
He smirks. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Tell me.”
“Nope.”
“Please.”
He looks up at the sky.
“Give me a hint.”
He looks back at me and leans close. My heart flutters up in my throat and I swear the stars start to spin. “No,” he whispers. And then he kisses me for the second time.
Really kisses me.
She tastes like peppermint.
I lie back in the grass and there are a bazillion diamonds above us. She lies down next to me, shoulder to shoulder. I want to kiss her again, but instead I find her hand and hold it in mine.
“Now it’s perfect.”
In the distance, a dog barks and there’s the sound of a car engine. Eevee’s fingers are tight around mine and I stroke the top of her thumb.
The night sounds fade to white noise. Then a steady pounding, at first in time with my heart but then separating into its own rhythm. Thick and constant, the beat slams against me. Courses inside. Above the droning, I hear voices I can’t identify. Jumbled. Inseparable. Lights dance behind my eyes. Somehow, I’m no longer on the lawn at Eevee’s house. Bodies slide against me, around me, pressing like ocean waves and always in time with the sound. A woman’s laugh shudders through me and then her voice is in my ear. It’s Eevee, only not. Every word lights up the colors in my eyes, bringing the world into focus. Strobe lights flash against bodies dancing, and before me her red lips, her slender arms around my neck.
Now That You're Here (Duplexity, Part I) Page 10