by S. G. Wilson
“Oh, right, Student Showcase Night,” I said from our hiding spot behind a school bus in the parking lot.
The MeMinder piped up. “Student Showcase begins in ten minutes.”
I could only imagine where Mom and Dad were right now. Riding around the town looking for me? I would have texted them but my phone had died. Hopping between realities can be a huge battery drain.
Resist peered at the schedule on the sign outside the school. “So remind me again why I’ve traveled across dozens of dimensions just to attend the science fair.”
Hollywood read alongside her. “And don’t forget the basketball game and the sneak peek of the play.”
Motor shook his head in surrender, which came so naturally to him. “Let’s just forget it. There’s no way we’ll be able to rob Lunt’s supply closet with all these people around.”
“There you go again, giving up too easy,” said Resist. “Obviously, we just need to find a different way in.”
A minute later, we stood in the shadows just outside the school’s service entrance, where delivery trucks dropped off the food-sludge they served in the cafeteria. It would have been the perfect place to slip into the building unseen…if Click and Dare hadn’t gotten there first. Dare wore my basketball uniform, while Click pranced around in Nash’s Benedict Arnold costume, which was about three sizes too big for him. Seeing them dressed that way was like bolting awake from a nightmare. They were pretending to be me!
“Jiminy Cricket!” whispered Hollywood. “What are those two doing here?”
“Stealing my life!” I hissed.
“Hush!” said Resist. “They’re arguing about something.”
“I’m telling you, Nash will be with the cops for at least a few hours,” said Dare.
Click twisted his fingers, anxious. “All our graffiti? The broken windows? The punctured tires? They’ll never believe he did it.”
“Sure they will,” said Dare. “We tagged all those walls with ‘Nash wuz here.’ Just enjoy the moment. We’ve got no more equipment to steal. We’ve earned some Me time.”
Click waved his hands in distress. His folded fingers looked like flesh pretzels. “Meticulous only told us to hold down the fort! He didn’t say anything about getting so…involved!”
Dare made a fart sound with his lips, just like Resist had. I didn’t find the connection cute. “Meticulous never said we couldn’t do these things either. Even if we screw up out there, it’s not like this is our Earth. We’ll be long gone and never have to deal with the embarrassment.”
Just the thought of these two performing as me in public made me barfy. I’d never live it down.
Click grinned. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I say no?”
He didn’t smile for long, not once Resist leapt into action. She tackled them both at the same time, then had us tie them up with some bungee cords we’d found on the loading dock.
“Before you put us to the question, just know up front that we’ve been left in the dark about where Meticulous is.” Dare spoke with the calm of a kid who’s gotten in trouble more than once.
Click, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. “Yeah, we swear! He sent us straight to Mom’s lab to steal stuff as soon as we arrived! After we got it, Mobster picked it up. Then he told us to stick around and pretend to be Wild Me so nobody would notice he was gone. So we were actually doing you a favor!”
“Yeah, and by the way?” said Dare. “Your version of Mom can’t cook!”
“You had dinner at my house?!” My brain liquefied at the thought of this Me eating with my parents. So I focused on the positive—at least somebody had shown up for dinner.
Hollywood started acting tough, like he was auditioning for a cop show. “Stop lying and tell us where Meticulous is!”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “No, they’re telling the truth. They’re not licking their lips, or scratching their arms, or doing any of those other things Mes do when we fib.”
Hollywood rubbed at the last red splotch left on his face. “I never noticed we did any of that stuff, and it’s my job to pay attention to body language. I’m an actor, after all.”
“Yeah, but not a good actor,” Dare said. Click giggled.
“That’s enough out of you two,” said Resist. She sealed their mouths with a roll of duct tape lying on the steps. Hollywood looked grateful.
“So, onward to Lunt’s supply closet, then?” I said. “Time’s ticking.”
“Hold up,” said Resist. “Motor, how long will it take for you to build your tracker?”
Motor groaned. “A while. And I have to do it here at school. The equipment’s too delicate to move somewhere else.”
“So we’re stuck here for a bit,” said Resist. “And if these two framed Nash for vandalism or whatever, Average really will have to fill in for him on the team. And in the play. On top of doing the science fair.”
Hollywood slapped me on the back. “The show must go on.”
“I can’t do even one of those things!” I said. “How am I supposed to do all three?!”
“You won’t have to,” said Resist.
“Are you giving up already?” said Motor. “Isn’t that my job?”
“I’m not giving up, and neither are you.” Resist yanked the basketball uniform off Dare and pulled it over her shirt. “We’re gonna finish what these losers started. Just one question: What’s basketball?”
Greasy hot dog foil, sticky gum, soggy nacho cartons, and other trash rained all around me under the gym bleachers. But I couldn’t complain. Beyond the trash that people up above tossed through the gaps in the seats, this was an unbeatable spot for somebody to watch a basketball game in secret. I had lots of room to stretch out and work on my science fair project, and I could see the court just fine between the legs of parents and kids. The only problem? I’d accidentally positioned myself below Mom and Dad. I might not have even noticed them at all if I hadn’t seen Dad’s Lord of the Rings socks right in front of me.
Mom’s voice filtered down to me through the buzz of the crowd: “I hope Meade got his project done. He sure seemed odd at dinner. What was that he asked for? Chocolate chip spaghetti with prunes? I don’t think he was joking either. And what was up with him refusing a ride from us to school?”
“Guess he had to get here early for all this stuff tonight,” said Dad.
They went quiet, like they had nothing else to say to each other. Back in the day, they would have yammered away about work, movies, the Dungeons & Dragons podcast they used to do together, or most anything. Were they really headed for a divorce, like Meticulous had predicted? And what was Dare thinking, ordering some stupid dish from his stupid Earth?
Music blared and the crowd roared as my teammates ran onto the court one by one. The dung beetles and their anxiety balls stormed my stomach with a vengeance. So many parts of this plan could go wrong. Resist came from a world without ball-based sports and was about to start in a basketball game. Likewise, nobody had invented hip-hop on Hollywood’s world, and he had less than an hour to memorize three rap songs. Meanwhile, Motor was on the verge of a panic attack back in Lunt’s supply closet as he built some sort of tracker. I should have stayed to calm him down, but I had to see for myself how Resist and Hollywood did as me. They held my fate in their hands.
Strangely enough, the only thing I felt good about was my science fair project. In the end, it had actually been fun to make. The origami drive had inspired a much simpler idea I knew I could whip together from scratch in time. It wouldn’t be A, or even C, material, but at least it was something to turn in.
When the announcer introduced “Meade Macon” and Resist ran out onto the court, worried whispers buzzed around the crowd. They must have been wondering where Nash was. But Mom had something else on her mind: “What did he do to his hair?”
Other par
ents seemed just as confused by Resist, and more than a few kids laughed at the sight of her. But they all shut up once they saw her play. As soon as the whistle blew, she got the ball, weaved around the other players, and scored in a matter of seconds. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the crowd went nuts, whooping and cheering. Resist didn’t slow down to bask in the glory. She played even better than Nash would have, stealing balls, zipping down the court, making basket after basket. She dominated the game, setting new school records in the first few minutes. Mom and Dad sat closer and closer together as they cheered her on. They even hugged each other after Resist sank her fifth three-pointer.
Much as I wanted to keep watching, I tore myself away and wrapped up my project. For a last-minute idea that had come to me out of sheer desperation, it could have turned out worse. Toward the end of the first half, I finished and snuck it out to the hallway with the other presentations. Mr. Lunt was busy talking to some parents, so I set up my display on the last empty table, then snuck back under the bleachers with no one the wiser.
Resist kept scoring right up until the blare of the halftime buzzer, at which point the team hoisted her in the air. I’d always wanted to get carried off by a grateful team, so it was like a dream come halfway true. I might have felt jealous if my guilt hadn’t been so strong. It didn’t feel right to get credit for work somebody else had done.
The cheers got so loud that Ms. Assan had to scream into the mic just to be heard. “You enjoyed Meade on the court, and now you get to see him and the rest of our wonderful drama class as we present a few scenes from our upcoming production of the hit musical Benedict!”
My chest went tight as Twig and the rest of the drama class poured into the gym, rapping about the Revolutionary War hero turned traitor. I’d been through dozens of practices and still forgot the lyrics, so how could Hollywood possibly know them? He missed his cue to enter the stage, and a big part of me hoped he’d simply bailed. But at the last minute, just before his solo, Hollywood surprised everybody with an entrance that wasn’t in the script: he slid down from the ceiling on a climbing rope, belting out his lines in perfect rhythm with the beat. Mom, Dad, and the entire crowd screamed in ecstasy, like this was some sort of arena concert.
Hollywood only got better from there. As soon as his feet hit the court, he fell in with the background dancers, aping their moves step by step. His energy rubbed off on the other actors, who danced better than they ever had in practice. Twig especially put extra passion into her number “Oops, We Picked the Wrong Side” and held her own with Hollywood during “Call Us Mr. and Mrs. Traitor.” The two of them had what Ms. Assan would call chemistry. During the big finale, “Sorry, America, My Bad,” Hollywood gave Twig a kiss that seemed to make her swoon for real, just like she did in all my daydreams.
But this wasn’t a daydream. It was a nightmare. I was a liar and a cheat. I’d tricked Twig, Mom and Dad, and everyone else in the audience. Even worse, now I’d have to live up to these lies. From this point on, everybody would expect me to be a basketball pro and a theater star. The moment they saw the real me in action, they’d be severely disappointed.
When the lights came back on and the cast took their bows, Mom and Dad jumped from their seats to ignite a gym-wide standing ovation. The rest of the crowd followed their lead, and the applause went on forever. Hollywood tried to act humble and embarrassed, staggering backward as if blown away by the attention, but he clearly loved it. As he ran off the court with the rest of the cast, I could only hope he wouldn’t linger backstage to soak up more praise. Resist had ordered us to meet at the loading dock right after the play.
Crawling to the far end of the bleachers, I popped out just a few steps from the exit. Everybody was so focused on talking about the fake me that they didn’t notice the real one making a hasty departure. It would have been a nice clean getaway—if Mom and Dad hadn’t had a radar sense for finding me. They rushed up and hugged me before I even saw them coming.
Though I needed to ditch them something fierce, I took a moment to enjoy the attention. “Thanks for not being dead,” I told them, getting a little choked up.
“What?” said Mom.
“Nothing.”
“We loved how much you were enjoying yourself on the field!” said Dad, breaking off the hug.
“In basketball it’s called a court, dear,” Mom corrected. They both giggled. When was the last time those two had giggled together?
Twig announced herself with a punch to my arm. She made as if to hug me too, but I froze up. It didn’t feel right, since I hadn’t done anything hug-worthy. I couldn’t even bear to go on with this lie any longer. I took a deep breath and geared up to confess everything to the people I loved the most on Earth Ninety-Nine.
That’s when the speakers crackled and Mr. Lunt asked, “Is Meade Macon back on the court yet? Meade Macon?”
All eyes turned to me. A murmur of confusion spread through the auditorium. The audience must have wondered why I wasn’t suiting up for the next half of the game. If they looked a little closer, they’d see how much my entire body shook from the sheer terror of being called out by a teacher who hated me. Had my project been so bad he had to complain about it in front of the entire school?
Mr. Lunt held up my poster, “Three-Dimensional Representations of Alternate Earths.” “You know, when I first saw that Meade had submitted this project, I’ll admit, I thought it sounded pretty bogus. But as I looked over the math he’d done and the precision he used to represent those equations through origami, I realized I was looking at one of the most creative science fair ideas I’ve seen in a long time. So this year, I want to give a special citation to acknowledge this achievement: ‘Most Original’ goes to Meade Macon!”
The crowd exploded yet again with shouts and applause, and this time it was all for me. The real me. Well, mostly. I’d actually just made up the equations, but they must have looked real enough to fool Lunt.
Mom and Dad screamed louder than they had for Resist or Hollywood, and Twig punched me in the arm harder than ever. Now, this was a dream come true.
Or it would have been a dream come true if the cops hadn’t shown up at that moment to arrest me.
The local version of the cops who’d chased me on Earth One stood at the gym entrance, but this time I didn’t have a scooter for a getaway. Nash appeared at their side and pointed straight at me. “That’s him! He’s the one who destroyed all that stuff around town, not me! He’s the one in the videos!”
At the mention of videos, half the audience broke out their phones and started tapping away to see for themselves.
“What’s all this about?” asked Mom and Dad.
Twig’s phone pinged, and she clicked on a video someone had just sent her. Dare’s voice came in loud and clear over the speaker: “Look at me, I’m Meade Macon! And I’m breaking this window just for the fun of it!” Crash!
With a sinking feeling, I realized Dare and Click had posted videos of themselves on their vandalism rampage.
Mom and Dad watched the video too, and each new wave of disappointment on their faces wiped away the glory I’d just gained. In seconds I went from hero to villain.
“Meade, what’s the deal?” Twig might as well have been asking on behalf of the entire audience, who glared at me like I was a scumbag. I avoided Mom’s and Dad’s eyes completely.
Even if I knew where to start explaining, I’d never have time to finish, not with the cops closing in.
That’s why, when the door opened a crack and three sets of carbon-copy hands wrapped around my arms to pull me through, I didn’t protest one bit.
It’s not easy to watch irrefutable evidence of yourself committing crimes you didn’t actually commit. But that’s how I was forced to spend the bus ride to Meticulous’s hideout, stewing as Motor played all six of Dare Me’s vandalism videos on his MePad. The other Mes shared my disgu
st.
“They’re doing all the stuff they know they can’t get away with on their own Earths!” said Resist.
“They’re making idiots of themselves on camera!” said Motor.
“Yeah,” said Hollywood. “I mean, I make an idiot of myself on camera too, but at least I get paid for it!”
We’d bolted from school and lost the cops by sneaking between some dumpsters. We’d left Click and Dare there, bound and gagged with the trash. Then we’d hid at the bus stop to make sense of Motor’s tracker. It had placed the new elevator somewhere in the warehouse district, but we couldn’t pinpoint a location until Hollywood filled in the missing piece. “That’s where the other Janus is, the Janus North! I did community theater there as a tyke, played the Lonely Wildebeest in Zoo Animals on Wheels.”
Google marked the hotel as “permanently closed,” just like its twin downtown. In other words, if you needed to build a dimension-hopping elevator in private, you could have done a lot worse than this place.
When the bus pulled up to our exit, we stepped into an abandoned street free of people but full of shadows. The desolate office parks and creaky old warehouses looked downright haunted at night.
We watched the bus drive away, leaving us all alone in a dark and creepy wasteland. Hollywood darted his eyes around, clutching his chest like his heart might explode. “Everybody on the bus recognized us from the videos! I saw them make phone calls, probably to the night watch!”
“You mean the crime crushers?” Resist scanned the streets for any sign of trouble.
“Are you talking about the Be on Your Best Behavior or Else Patrol?” said Motor.
A siren wailed a few streets away. “Whatever you call them, they’re coming!” I yelled.