Dissonance (26 page)

I reached for my backpack as headlights came around the corner. An instant later Simon pulled into the driveway and climbed out of the Jeep, white plastic grocery bags in hand.

“Hey,” he said, catching sight of me.

“I'm not stalking you.”

“Glad to hear it. Aren't you freezing?”

“I'll live,” I said, hauling myself upright, legs stiff with cold.

“Give me five minutes.”

“You want help?”

He shook his head. “Five minutes. Don't leave.”

I nodded, and he let himself inside. A low woof caught my attention: Iggy, sitting on the driver's seat, nose pressed against the glass. “Hey, puppy. Did you go for a ride?”

The grocery store, I told myself. Not a date, not a party.
Whatever his Original was doing, this Simon had gone to the grocery store, and the knowledge made me absurdly happy.

Iggy whined and bumped his nose against the window. “You want out? I know the feeling.”

I opened the door and held his collar while I snapped the leash on. A moment later Iggy was frolicking on the lawn, running in circles until the leash was wrapped snugly around my legs.

“This was not the plan,” I scolded.

“He wants to make sure you stick around,” Simon said, jogging down the steps. “Can't say I blame him.”

He rested his hands on my shoulders. I held my breath, anticipating a kiss, but the next thing I knew, he was spinning me away from him, untangling the leash from my legs. The world blurred around me, and when he finally stopped, I stood dizzily in front of him, watching the sky dip and sway. The only steady things were his fingers, curving around my arms. “Iggy needs a walk. Keep us company?”

“Gladly,” I said, and we set off, hands bumping against each other so often I knew it wasn't an accident.

We passed the cemetery, and I shivered. When Mrs. Lane died in the Key World, this version of her would begin to unravel. This Simon—and every other Simon in the universe—would lose her. There was no stopping it.

It didn't seem possible that the multiverse could contain so much grief, no matter how infinite the branches were. Endless worlds and endless sadness, and I wondered if there could ever be enough joy to balance it out.

There was a small park a few blocks away. Two swings, a sorry-looking slide, and a few benches. Simon unsnapped the leash and took a glow-in-the-dark ball out of his pocket.

“You want the first throw?”

“Sure.” I tossed it gingerly. Iggy chased it down and ran back, reproof clear in his eyes.

I threw it again, much farther, and Simon tugged me onto the bench. “I've been missing you.”

Part of me thrilled to hear the words, but part of me twinged a warning. He shouldn't miss me. He shouldn't remember me. Every time I came here, I reinforced the connection between his threads and mine. And yet the frequency was stable. I couldn't sense any breaks. It was harmless fun.

Iggy raced over, and Simon's throw sailed to the other side of the park. He touched his lips to mine, slow and lingering and insistent. “Why'd you come by?”

“I wanted to.” I tipped my head back to look at the stars, the Pleiades clustered together, the familiar lines of Orion's belt and shield. Fixed points. As close to unchangeable as things got, for a Walker.

The truth was a fixed point too. And the truth was the real Simon was out with Bree right now. Rather than accept it, I'd come here. Guilt snuck under my coat with fingers more icy than the wind. “That's all. I wanted to be with you.”

“Then be with me,” he said, and kissed me again, pulling me in to him, his hands chasing away the chill. His words were soft and urgent, like the heat building inside me. “My mom's
asleep by now. Nobody will bother us. Come back and be with me, Del.”

I'd crossed a million lines every time I'd come here. But sleeping with Simon was a line I'd kept well away from. Even so, protests, denials, common sense . . . They trailed away to nothing, and what remained was the feeling of Simon's mouth on my skin, the syncopation of our breathing, and recklessness, coursing through my veins like a drug.

“Come home with me. We can take it slow.” He stood and held out his hand.

For once, slow sounded good. I twined my fingers with his.

“Iggy,” he called. There was a distant woof, but no dog in sight. “C'mere, boy!”

Yet another constant: Iggy's need for obedience school. Simon whistled, a short, simple melody. Instantly familiar.

“What is that song?”

“Iggy's whistle?” He brushed his lips over my knuckles. “I made it up when he was a puppy.”

It was the same tune Simon had suggested for our composition today. “Do it again.”

He raised his eyebrows but obliged, the scattering of notes merry and alarming.

“Where did you hear it?” My voice sounded too sharp. Iggy raced over, goofy and delighted. I rubbed his silky ears, taking comfort in the steadiness of his frequency.

“I told you, I made it up.”

“Not the last two measures.” I'd written them myself this
afternoon. There's no way he would have known them before today. “That's new.”

He whistled again, softly, strands of my hair stirring with his breath. “I guess so. You're not the only one who's good at music. Wait. You
are
good at music, right?”

“I'm freaking brilliant,” I muttered. Had I told him that? “Tell me your whole schedule.”

He rattled off the list, clearly humoring me. He had zero music electives. Dimly a part of my mind noted I knew even less about this Simon than my own.

“Did you ever take music theory?”

“Nah. Art history. What's wrong?”

“Touch me,” I ordered.

He grinned and cupped my cheek in his hand, rubbing his thumb over my lips. I pushed aside the want rushing over me and listened as hard as I could.

His frequency was stronger every time we touched, but stable. Simon tilted my face to his. “You're worrying me.”

“I can't do this,” I said. “Not tonight.”

“Did I miss something?” His eyes were intent on mine, like he was hoping to see the answers I wouldn't give him. “Five minutes ago you were ready to come home with me, and now you're bailing for no reason.”

“I want to. I just . . . can't. Please believe me.”

“I believe you're awesome at leaving.” He dropped my hand and stood. “You want me; you don't want me. You show up out of the blue and you disappear for days. Now you're freaking out
about how I call my dog? You don't want to sleep with me, fine. All you have to do is say so. Instead, you take off.”

He started walking, shoulders stiff, Iggy at his side. “See you around, Del.”

“Simon, wait!”

He didn't break stride, and I hurried to keep up with him. “It's not the song. It reminded me of something I need to check on at home. If I don't take care of this now, they'll figure out what I've been doing. It'll be the end of us.”

The end of him, I meant.

If Monty was right, Simon and I were connected, our threads twining together across the Echoes. But what if my visits here had strengthened the connection too much? What if I'd somehow triggered an inversion? My father would cleave this Echo himself. This Simon would unravel.

Real or not, I wouldn't do that to him again.

W
E HAVE A
problem,” said Eliot at lunch the next day. He dropped into the chair next to me with a scowl.

“Another one?” I smeared peanut butter onto my apple slice and crunched down ferociously. After I'd left Simon, I'd retraced my steps through Doughnut World, Eliot's map in hand. There'd been no hint of inversions or new breaks. Doughnut Simon was safe, but instead of relief, I felt like disaster was gathering in the shadows.

“More than one, technically. I've been analyzing the other Echoes in the branch system Park World belonged to. I compared readings taken prior to the date you cleaved to ones taken after. A lot of them—not all, but most—are destabilizing at an accelerated rate.”

“They're going bad? Isn't that good? Good for me, I mean.” If the whole branch was unstable, it proved my case—at the cost of the people in those Echoes.

He picked at the soggy french fries on his tray. “The acceleration didn't kick in until after your cleaving.”

I choked on a bit of apple, and he pounded me on the back. “I caused it?”

He left his hand on my shoulder. “It's possible the problems were there all along, and Park World was the first time we noticed it. But the timing doesn't help your case any. I'm sorry, Del.”

He looked miserable, like he blamed himself, when all he'd done was try to help.

“Don't apologize. I'm the one who screwed up.”

Across the cafeteria Original Simon was eating lunch with the rest of the basketball team, goofing around, laughing and shoving at his friends while he attacked a piece of pizza. Bree was nowhere to be seen. His eyes met mine, and he went still, no doubt regretting he'd ever confided in me. Park World wasn't the only thing I'd ruined.

I'd Walked to a ton of worlds with Addie and Monty since my sentencing. If they all showed the same increase in breaks and inversions, I'd know the problem was me—or Simon.

“Could you run another analysis?” I asked. “Not around Park World. But the branches I've visited since then?”

“Sure, if you can get me a copy of Addie's reports. We'll figure it out,” Eliot promised.

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Thanks, by the way. I feel like I never get to see you anymore. It sucks.”

“It does. Addie's pushing you pretty hard, huh?”

“Addie and Lattimer both.” The bell rang, sending people scurrying off to class. Except for Simon. To my astonishment, he began making his way across the cafeteria toward us.

“Hold on,” Eliot said, oblivious to Simon's approach. “Why is the Consort—”

“Can I talk to you?” Simon asked. “Alone?”

“We have class,” I said as Eliot's arm tightened around me.

“I'll walk you.”

Eliot's expression darkened, but he didn't say anything as I stood.

Hand on my elbow, Simon guided me out of the cafeteria.

“How was your date?” I asked, pulling away.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine, I guess.”

“You two make an adorable couple.” I masked my anger with a saccharine smile. How was it his Echoes felt a connection with me, and this Simon—the real one—barely knew I existed? Could be on a date with Bree at the same time he was kissing me in another world?

“It was one date. Probably the only one.”

I glanced up. “Why's that?”

“I don't know. It felt . . . off.” He dragged a hand through his hair, a gesture of sheer frustration. “Happy?”

I was, but I shouldn't be. “Why should I care? And why are you pissed at me about it?”

He hesitated. “I'm not. It was a weird night, that's all. But I wanted to apologize about bailing.”

I started toward the music wing, careful not to look at him. “No big deal.”

He caught up to me in seconds. “You really have that down pat, don't you? The indifferent act.”

“It's not an act.”

“Sure it is. You're pissed, but you don't want me to know it. I can see right through you.”

My voice shook. “This is why you wanted to talk?”

“I wanted to apologize. And say thanks.” I stopped short as he continued more quietly. “For listening. I don't talk about my family much.”

“You're welcome.”

He flicked one of my dangling earrings. “Apology accepted?”

Behind him, a poster announcing callbacks for the winter play, green block print on yellow posterboard, flickered. The flash of white and blue could only be an inversion.

“Sure,” I said distractedly. Echo-to-Echo inversions were a problem. Echo-to–Key World inversions were a disaster. I should report it, but if I did, the school would be swarming with Walkers. They'd scrutinize everyone in the building. Until I knew for sure that the connection between this Simon and his Echoes was nothing to worry about, I needed to hold them off.

I needed to fix the inversion.

I hefted my backpack. “See you later.”

“Where are you going?” He blocked me, curling one arm around my waist. Even through the worn flannel of my shirt, the touch warmed my skin.

“Locker,” I said, forcing myself to focus. “Tell Powell I'll be late?”

“As usual.” He moved closer, and the urge to change course, to let him pull me in, was nearly overpowering. “Are we good, Del?”

I breathed in the scent of soap and clean, soft cotton and smiled, despite everything. “Very.”

•  •  •

I waited until the last bell had rung and the halls had emptied, then headed back to the inversion. The poster was cycling more rapidly, the flashing colors making me queasy as I reached inside. Finally, I located the odd frequency and pushed my way through.

The entire building looked worn around the edges—dingy paint, chipped tiles—and the air smelled like boiled-over chicken soup. There was no sign of Simon, which was a relief. But the longer I listened to the frequency, a ragged blast of noise, the more familiar it sounded.

I searched my memory, calling up the pitches of every world we'd visited in the last few weeks. Finally one clicked. Student Council Simon. The one Addie had tuned.

I looked more closely at the flickering poster—fancy white script announced the winter ball, the blue paper dotted with paper snowflakes. Underneath, the words “For tickets, see Simon Lane or Bree Carlson” blinked erratically.

The tuning hadn't held. I'd done too much damage to that Echo, and now the problem was coming back, affecting anything associated with Simon and his break. How long before the Consort noticed?