The Art of Saving the World

by Corinne Duyvis

  “Hazel. The rift. We’re out of time.”

  I ran to Neven. My every step was muted. The others were already climbing onto Neven’s back, helping Four even when she groaned in pain and nearly passed out. We were barely seated before Neven shot off the roof. I clung tight, one arm around her neck, the other holding on to Rainbow’s arms around my waist.

  I didn’t want to look at the city below. We needed to survive a few more seconds. A few more. One more. Three more. Two more. Another few. Please.

  The crackling I’d heard became louder. A hum so deep it vibrated into my bones.

  I should have stepped off that ledge—

  Rainbow’s hands slipped from my waist.

  “No!” I yelled, reaching behind me to grab her.

  I felt only air.

  I glimpsed over my shoulder. Rainbow had gone. Four, Red, and Alpha still sat there, pale and spooked.

  Four faded. The last I saw of her were startled eyes looking into mine.

  “Neven?” I said, my voice high. High, but not thin, not weak. “Neven!”

  “I need to put you down.” She leveled out, no longer soaring upward.

  “They’re disappearing—”

  “You won. They’re being sent home.” The hum around us faded into a distant whistle. Neven folded her wings and shot down like a spear.

  Behind me, one of the others yelled something. She got cut off mid-word.

  “Neven, what—How did I—” Wind blasted into my face, making it difficult to speak, but at least I felt wind again, rather than stillness and white. “I didn’t even get to say—Did the Power listen? What happened?”

  “It lost.”

  “It looked—”

  “Different?”

  “Yes!” Wind buzzed around my ears. The whistling sound died in the distance.

  “Good.” Single, disconnected words in the air. “The Powers’ form is malleable. Often, it’s something that frightens you.”

  “What do they look like to you?” I shouted, not sure why I asked.

  “Themselves,” she said.

  I clung to her tighter. The ground was coming into view. White draped across an empty road like fog. My eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressed against her neck. I heard nothing and no one behind me.

  “The Power is closing the gaps, Hazel. I’ll be pulled out next. I might not land on time.”

  “No! Not you too! I need to tell—”

  “You don’t need to say anything. I know. So do the others.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll find a way to tell her family.”

  “What? What do you—”

  “I am so damn proud of—”

  My face shot forward, my legs clinging to nothing. My hands grasped at air.

  “Neven!”

  I tumbled over. Forward. Falling.

  I screamed.

  The ground came at me fast. Forty feet. Thirty.

  Wait, no.

  The white pulled away.

  This wasn’t the ground.

  I twisted my body, extended my arms, and crashed into the river.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Cold.

  I went deep. Shot down like a bullet, inhaling mouthfuls of freezing, filthy water. I kicked to position my way back up, even if I didn’t know which way that was, and right as I started to panic, my face broke through the surface and I spat out water and gasped and gasped and gasped. I kept myself afloat, looking left and right.

  From one side came the sound of rushing water, though the river looked calm—

  Except for there, the unruly water near the shore. A face broke open the surface, sucking in fresh air.

  One of the Hazels. Her hair was glued to her face, clinging to her cheeks and covering one eye. She splashed around, gasping and coughing the same way I was doing.

  “Alpha?” My voice rang out over the stillness of the water.

  “Y-yeah.”

  Any second, she would fade before my eyes, the water rushing into the empty space she left behind. We watched each other, paddling to stay afloat.

  Finally she turned, swimming to the shore. I forced myself into motion and followed, trying not to think of how deep the water went beneath me. This wasn’t like the creek in the woods at home.

  We were at a row of boathouses. Docks and small white boats surrounded us. Alpha swam to the nearest ladder. She pulled herself onto the dock. I did the same, then climbed into one of the boats and crashed onto a seat, freezing cold. My hair stuck to my neck and face in icy clumps.

  The haze of white was retreating, revealing heads of red and brown leaves below a blue sky. The boathouses, the highway across the river, the rushing water that indicated a nearby dam . . . This had to be the Schuylkill.

  “You all right?” Alpha asked.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah. I’m . . . I’m going to see my Tara again.” She closed her eyes and inhaled a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

  Water seeped from my clothes. “My first time on a boat,” I whispered.

  Alpha looked at me incredulously. I could picture the others’ faces the exact same way.

  I turned onto my side and coughed and laughed and sobbed until I no longer could.

  We set off a flare.

  I tended to Alpha’s injury the best I could, and then we waited.

  I made silent plans.

  I made plans for New York City. For Poland or Hong Kong. For frozen yogurt in Philadelphia. For a dorky selfie by the Rocky steps just because I could. For a cruise, maybe; I wanted to see the ocean.

  By the time the MGA picked us up, Alpha was still here.

  The agents asked a thousand questions. I wanted to ask just as many, in return. But all I did was curl up in the van, murmur something about my parents, and sleep.

  EPILOGUE

  After Alpha was dismissed from the hospital, we explained what happened half a dozen times. Facet still furrowed his brow and leaned in over our dining table. “One more time. Sorry, Hazel—I know you must be tired, but this is important. So you were on that roof . . .”

  After all this, he still didn’t believe in the Powers That Be. He was apologetic about it, sure, and he kept smiling encouragingly and saying how glad he was that I was all right. Even though I knew he’d brought me to Philadelphia and stood up to Valk in an attempt to save all of us, I also knew now that had more to do with the rift than with us.

  So I didn’t smile back. I just repeated the story, word for word.

  “The others fell into the rift,” Alpha eventually cut in. “They jumped, and the rift closed. They’re probably in their own worlds. Sorry. Should’ve been honest about that.”

  Facet went silent. I doubted he bought it.

  “And you?” he asked her.

  “I decided to stay.”

  Nothing about her face betrayed the lie.

  Mom had left one of the guest beds for Alpha. When I entered my room the first time after fishing myself from the Schuylkill River, that bed was the only thing that betrayed anything had changed.

  Alpha stepped inside behind me, and I fell quiet as she studied my room, knowing that hers must’ve been nothing like it.

  On the second day, Dad told Facet that he’d have to find a new headquarters, and that his agents had until that evening to leave the grounds.

  Facet refused.

  I told him that if he listened, I’d voluntarily visit once a week and give the MGA the knife to study.

  Facet agreed.

  “Why?” Alpha asked that night.

  We lay in the dark, our beds side by side.

  I didn’t need to ask what she meant. It’d been over two days, and she was still here: My mirror image, flesh and bone.

  “I miss them.” Her voice cracked. “If this world really is permanently closed off, then . . . then I’ll never . . . Why am I still here? Wasn’t I included in the deal?”

  “I specified all of you.” I hesitated. “All of you who wanted to return home.”r />
  “I wanted. I want.”

  “Maybe it’s like back in Damford, with the trolls,” I said. “Consciously, you were willing to sacrifice yourself. But the trolls reacted to what you were feeling, not thinking. Maybe the Powers That Be did that, too. This world is safer, and Mom’s alive . . . What if, subconsciously, you wanted to stay?”

  “No.” Her voice was so harsh I flinched.

  The room plunged into silence. My breathing felt too loud. I turned my head toward Alpha. She was looking straight up, eyes wide.

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  “No,” she repeated.

  A tear trickled past her temple.

  Then, softer: “Maybe.”

  The next morning, I woke up and realized: “Neven knew.”

  “What?” Alpha sat upright, so awake I wondered whether she’d slept at all.

  “Neven must’ve known you were staying. She said she’d let your family know.”

  “Let them know what?”

  “That you’re safe, I think.”

  “Ah. Good.” She looked away, her lips pressed together. “That I’m here proves I’m not as brave as you thought, huh?”

  “Braver,” I said.

  She peered at me warily.

  “Feeling that fear, and still choosing to return home? That’s bravery.”

  Alpha made a noncommittal sound.

  I could guess at everything running through her mind. For all our differences, we were still the same. Even Torrance, who’d spent years with Alpha, had been convinced I was her.

  So maybe I was braver than I thought, too.

  One morning, I looked for my maroon zip-up hoodie and realized Red had borrowed it.

  I went through my closet another time, yanking out shirts and bras and wrong-color zip-up hoodies with so much force I almost tore them.

  A knock on the door.

  I glared at my closet. “Yeah?”

  Mom peeked inside. She saw the pile of clothes around me but said nothing. “Dad and, um, other Hazel will be done at the clinic soon. She’s healing nicely. Do you want to come down for lunch?”

  At first I had devoured every meal put in front of me, reveling in proper meals rather than cold pizza or wrapped sandwiches.

  Now a normal lunch seemed like just that again: normal.

  I shrugged on a hoodie (not the maroon one) and followed Mom downstairs, where Caro sat at the table. Her school hadn’t reopened yet, so she was staying with us for now. We still had to figure out long-term living arrangements.

  (I’d thought I would want to leave this house behind.)

  Yet another celebrity scientist was on the TV, speculating about possible causes for the Philadelphia Portals. The news would be back to the other main topics soon: the damage and death toll, the international reaction, and whether it was safe to lift the evacuation order. I hadn’t seen any reports on the trolls—the MGA had captured the few that remained.

  Mom puttered around in the kitchen, preparing burger patties and toppings so she could get straight to cooking once Alpha and Dad were back. “I’m heading out for groceries after lunch. Stores are reopening here and there. Do you want to come?”

  “No. Sorry.” I racked my brain for an excuse. “I—we were gonna do mini-golf.”

  “All right.” She watched me for a moment. “You just say the word.”

  She wasn’t only talking about groceries. I hadn’t gone past my perimeter since my return.

  “Hey, Haze,” Caro said, “let’s get a haircut together next week. I know a cut that’ll look real nice on you.”

  “Caro!” Mom said, exasperated.

  I laughed into my drink. “No, thanks.”

  “It doesn’t have to be the full rainbow. Just one color to start with?”

  “I’m all right like this.”

  “Good,” Mom said. “That girl was trying way too hard. I’m glad I got a sensible version.” She winked at me, and I hunched over the table, my every muscle rigid.

  “Yeah,” I managed to say.

  My hand went to my sternum, where a necklace might go.

  That girl, I thought.

  That girl.

  That girl.

  If I were brave, if I were that girl, I would say something and defend her.

  But then, I never was any good at standing up for myself.

  Alpha was terrible at mini-golf. She held the club wrong, smacked the ball too hard, and couldn’t control its direction for the life of her. She was a quick learner, though; thirty minutes in, she managed a hole-in-one.

  “Nice!” Caro said.

  Alpha seemed pleased as she crouched by the hole, fishing out the ball. Without getting up, she looked at us over her shoulder. “I need a new name.”

  “Why?” I said. “You can still be Hazel.”

  “Confusing as it is,” Caro added.

  “No,” Alpha said. “I don’t feel like the girl I was before. And in this world . . .” She shook her head and stood. “Fresh start. Fresh name.”

  “Anything in mind?” I asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “I’ll brainstorm,” Caro said.

  Alpha offered her a slight smile. “Thanks.”

  She’d seemed wary around our family: Dad and Caro were strangers to her, and Mom might as well be. The Mom who Alpha had lost was nothing like mine. But perhaps she’d warm up to them. Perhaps she’d feel at home someday.

  Alpha overlooked the mini-golf course pensively. “Wonder what name Tara would suggest.”

  I came to stand by her side. “You could contact her. This world’s Tara, I mean.”

  “Wouldn’t be fair. I’d keep comparing her to my own. You could reach out, though.”

  I’d considered it. I’d found Tara’s artwork online and saved her email address.

  But I hadn’t contacted her.

  I hadn’t contacted a therapist.

  I hadn’t cut my hair.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d thought this would be a fresh start for me, too.

  I’d thought I would change.

  I placed the golf ball on the ground and got a hole-in-one as I always did.

  “Tomorrow,” I said, “I want to go into West Ash.”

  We had hot chocolate in the town square, all five of us. We walked around for an hour and I had a panic attack and we went back home.

  We invited all three of my grandparents for their first-ever dinner at the house. We made lists of names for Alpha. We overhauled the office into a bedroom for her and consoled her as she cried.

  And I sat at my computer until late at night, reading about asexuality and catching up on homework, not sure if the MGA was still watching my movements, not sure whether it mattered. I had five things saved:

  1. My email draft to Tara.

  2. A list of nearby therapists, including a Dr. Hayston.

  3. The address to the frozen yogurt place Four had mentioned in the hospital.

  4. The name of the nearest hairdresser who looked like they might enjoy a challenge.

  5. A product page for a bright red dress in my size.

  I hadn’t done anything yet.

  I hadn’t decided anything yet.

  I had nightmares and crying fits and I curled in and I lashed out.

  The first time Mom grounded me, I thought, This is what I do now that I have a normal life?

  I missed the Hazel the others had seemed to see in me.

  I liked her better than the Hazel I was.

  One weekend, Alpha and I stayed with Aunt Lina in Philadelphia. I’d forgotten the door code and her cat’s name and thought, I am a failure of a niece.

  I ordered the red dress and put it away without wearing it. I left the hairdresser with just a trim and fought tears as I walked out. I emailed Tara and kept her reply unread in my inbox. I averted my eyes when I saw a pretty girl on TV because Mom might be watching me, and I thought, I am a failure of a Hazel.

  I shouldn’t still be so scared. Less than a month ago, I’d
stood atop a skyscraper and watched a city dissipate—

  But when I slept over at Imani’s the first time, I curled up like a pill bug and wondered, What if I mess up, what if I say the wrong thing, what if she hates me, what if she’ll never want to do it again.

  If anything, I was more scared. Before, my life had been carefully scheduled. Now, I had so many decisions to make, and if I made the wrong one, I might screw up any chance of becoming the Hazel I was supposed to be.

  I felt alone.

  I wasn’t, of course. Caro had fully moved in, and Alpha still sneaked into my room at night for long hushed conversations.

  “I don’t know who I am here,” she’d whisper. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

  Or: “Your grandparents don’t like me much.”

  Other times, I’d whisper, “Valk was right. I was selfish. I stood on that rooftop and knew it’d take a single step to save the world, and I was too much of a coward to do it.”

  And she’d reply, “You were willing to take that step. You just realized you didn’t—shouldn’t—have to. It was the Powers’ responsibility.”

  If I could forgive the others—Four for messing up with the whistle, Red for sneaking into the researchers’ office despite my warnings, Rainbow for slipping up during the evacuation and alerting the agents to my and Alpha’s swap—then I had to learn to forgive myself, too.

  It was a work-in-progress.

  Caro had us try all her favorite flavors at Yogurt Palace.

  “Do I look like a Robin?” Alpha wondered, sprinkling cookie-dough balls into her frozen yogurt cup. “Or a Cassie?”

  Caro squinted. “What about Dahlia? You could be a Dahlia.”

  Alpha seemed to consider it, taking a spoonful of froyo. A dab landed on her nose. She wiped it off and I swore I saw her grin as she licked her finger clean.

  She looked like a Hazel.

  One by one, visitors stepped across the threshold. Not only my grandparents, but also Aunt Lina and our neighbors. Amber-Lynn and Imani. A work friend of Mom’s, a cousin I’d never talked to. Agent Sanghani.

  At night, I thumped onto my bed and stared at the same ceiling I’d stared at when the others had been in this room, whispering thoughts back and forth. I imagined what Rainbow and Red and Four might be doing. By now, would they still be explaining their absences, their injuries, their clothes? Rainbow would’ve told her Tara the truth by now. Red might’ve put our hoodies side by side on her bed and wondered if she could ever tell them apart. Four might’ve done a million things that I’d failed to do—