Dissonance (18 page)

Tomorrow, after Eliot got back from training, I'd go over to his house. We'd fix his map and then we'd be fixed too.

The sound of the door opening made me bolt upright and shriek—which made Simon jump back and swear, then peer at me in the glow of the dome light.

He could still see me, as if our previous contact had carried over. I held my breath, hoping his memories had too.

“You do know how to make an impression, don't you?” he said, and climbed inside.

“Rain again,” he added as it pattered against the windows. “Am I only going to see you when it's raining?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I looked for you at school.”

“You did?” The idea was flattering. I wouldn't have been there, of course. He would have seen an impression of me, like a figure in a dream that you couldn't quite catch. I allowed myself to imagine a version of Washington where Simon sought me out. “My attendance is . . . spotty.”

“Is that why you're grounded?”

“Not exactly.”

“Is it because you break into people's cars in the middle of the night?” He lifted my hands to his mouth and blew gently, warming them. I scooted closer.

So much easier to be bold with this Simon, and nothing was more bold than honesty. “I wanted to see you.”

“You could have come inside,” he said.

“I wanted to see
you
. Not the rest of the school.”

His gaze settled on me, and I stared back, my heartbeat
prestissimo
, faster than fast. “Did you break out to see me? Or to piss off your parents? I'm not complaining either way.”

I thought back to the jumble of emotions I'd been swamped by tonight, propelling me out of one reality into another. “It was a crappy night overall.”

“Poor Del,” he said, and brushed the back of his hand over my cheek, the touch whisper soft, and then his fingers slid under my hair, warm and deft. “Bet I can cheer you up.”

I tilted my head to the side, pretended to consider the idea. “Okay.”

“I'm better than okay.” He was close enough now that, even in the darkness, I could see the corner of his mouth curve, irresistibly.

“Prove it.” I grabbed the edges of his coat, the leather soft under my fingertips, bracing myself.

His mouth came down on mine—no hesitation, no uncertainty—and while I felt the potential crackle around us, a thousand worlds coming to life at the touch of his lips, every one underscored that
this
moment was exactly what he'd wanted.

What I'd wanted too. The recklessness I felt around Simon was different—sharper and hungrier than my usual impulsiveness. I couldn't stay forever, but he trailed kisses along my throat,
his hand sliding up my spine, and I knew I couldn't stay away, either.

The idea should have worried me, but instead it thrilled me more, made me drink him in as deeply as I could.

He drew back, rested his forehead against mine. “That enough proof?”

The words were a challenge, but the gesture was sweet. Rather than answer, I angled my head and kissed him again, slow and thorough, learning the way his hair threaded through my fingers, and the way his breathing changed at my touch, and the tempo of the pulse in his throat. I learned Simon, and if a small voice warned me that this wasn't really him, I ignored it. Ignoring things I didn't want to hear had long been one of my specialties.

“Tell me about the crappy day,” he said, when we finally came up for air.

His words brought it back—and I shook my head, trying to dislodge those thoughts. There was no room in the Jeep for anything except the two of us. “It's nothing.”

“Not if it made you look so sad.”

I traced the bow of his mouth with my thumb, and he caught it between his teeth. Startled, I laughed. “I'm not sad now.”

“Glad to hear it. We should go somewhere.”

“What's wrong with here?”

He peered out the front window. The party was winding down, people passing by on the way to their cars. “It's a little public for what I was thinking. And cold.”

I shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the temperature. “I should get going.”

He let go of me to rummage in the cup holder, coins jingling. “That's what you said last time.”

He held out his hand. My star rested in the curve of his palm, the points rounded as if they'd been worn away. The Key World frequency coming off it was barely audible. I brushed a finger along one edge, and the signal strengthened, like a flower unfurling in the sun.

“You kept it.”

“You disappeared,” he said. “It was proof you were real.”

Was the star—or rather, the frequency it carried—why he remembered me? Hard to believe that such a small dose of the Key World could have an effect on him, but his reaction said otherwise. “I'm real. I promise.”

“Let's go back to my house,” he murmured, lacing his fingers with mine. “Iggy would love to see you. We could watch a movie, or hang out. Get to know each other.”

“And then . . .”

There was a wicked tilt to his grin. “Then we'll see what happens.” He kissed me again, pressing me back against the door, his roaming hands giving me a very clear picture of what would happen. “Say yes.”

“Another time.” Disappointment flashed in his eyes, so I added, “I have to get back before someone figures out I'm gone.”

“What about school? Will you be around?”

“I'll find you,” I said, and tugged my shirt back into place.

“Let me drive you home.”

I didn't want to explain my abandoned Echo house. “Better not. I need to sneak back in.”

“It's raining.” When I hesitated, he simply put the car in drive. “Where to?”

In minutes we were parked at the end of my block, the rhythmic whoosh and slide of the wipers filling the car. “Thanks for the ride. And the cheering up.”

“Anytime.” I reached for the door handle, and he pulled me back in for one last searing, searching kiss. “Don't make me come and find you, Del.”

He couldn't, even if he tried.

•  •  •

I waited until he was gone, then hurried across the yard and up the steps, checking for any signs of movement inside. There was nothing; the entire house stood like a tomb, and the door screeched with protest as I opened it again.

My earlier shoe prints were visible in the dust carpeting the hallway, leading back up the stairs to my room. But I saw something else, too: a path through the dust that had been rubbed out. Not footprints, but the marks of someone trying to hide them.

END OF FIRST MOVEMENT

Time spent in Echoes cannot be regained in the Key World. Be aware that events will progress in your absence.

—Chapter Two, “Navigation,”

Principles and Practices of Cleaving, Year Five

I
WOKE SUNDAY
morning with gritty eyes and nerves stretched to breaking. I'd spent half the night convinced my parents had caught me sneaking out, and the other half certain I was imagining things. There'd been no footprints in the hallway other than my own. The smear of dust could have been an animal, or a gust of air from the door opening and closing. Viewed through the lens of a guilty conscience, even the smallest details look damning.

Addie's smile when I slunk into the kitchen, for example. She was never happy to see me, so there had to be another reason for her good mood. A small, panicked part of my brain worried she'd been the one who caught me, but a slow boil wasn't her style. If she discovered I was sneaking out, she wouldn't wait five minutes to bust me, let alone five hours.

“Why are you so happy?” I demanded, fumbling for a mug of coffee.

“Lattimer approved my lesson plans for this week. He said I was very efficient.”

“When did you see him?” I didn't trust his sudden interest in my progress. Lattimer was definitely the sort who would spy on me and save the information for a time when it could do the most damage.

Addie looked at me strangely, gathering up a sheaf of papers and tucking them in her bag. “I e-mailed him. His reply came through about fifteen minutes ago.”

Not Lattimer, then.

“You two have big plans this morning?” asked my dad, coming in from his workshop. He hugged me with one arm and grabbed a muffin from the counter.

“We're going to the train station,” Addie said, and he nodded approval.

“New or old?”

“New,” she said. “More for Del to work with.”

I groaned. “If I have to draw one more map, Addie, I'll quit. I don't care if the Consort never lets me Walk again.”

“This suspension isn't a joke,” my dad said sternly.

“Who says I'm joking?” I slouched over the table, checking my phone. Nothing from Eliot, but I did have a text from Simon, confirming our study date at the library that afternoon.

“Chill out,” Addie said. “If you fail the exam, you're going to make me look bad.”

“Can't have that, can we?” I said, and my father gave me a quelling look.

“Lattimer agrees we should pick up where we left off before your suspension,” Addie said. “Try not to cleave anything this time.”

“Very funny.” My stomach rolled, and I decided to pass on the muffin. “I have plans after lunch, by the way. School stuff.”

My dad dropped a hand on my shoulder. “I'm sure your sister can be flexible. It's nice to see you paying attention to your schoolwork.”

Addie kept her voice deliberately casual. “What are you and Mom doing today?”

“Your mother's already downtown. She needed the Consort's computers. The team's meeting me here in a few minutes, and then we're heading out for the day.”

“They must be complicated cleavings,” Addie said, and my dad nodded before catching himself.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said, ruffling her hair on his way to the garage. “I'll see you later.”

After he'd left, Addie turned to me. “Do you have any idea how much processing power the Consort computers use?”

“Lots?”

She sighed. “Yes, lots. They make NASA's computers look like somebody's science fair project.”

Clearly she'd never seen one of Eliot's science fair projects. I missed him fiercely at the reminder. Usually we'd be together by now, on our way downtown for training. “I'm more interested in the fact that it's a local Echo.”

“Local?”

“Dad's team usually meets at the Consort building and walks from there. If they're meeting here, whatever branch they're dealing with is nearby.” I grinned. “Bet we could find it.”

She hesitated and shook her head. “Lattimer signed off on today's lesson. We stick to the plan.”

“There's a plan?” asked Monty, appearing in the doorway. “You look tired, Del. Late night?”

I jerked, sending a flood of coffee across the counter. Addie scooped up papers, shrieking, “Del, grab a towel!” while I stared at my grandfather.

I mopped up the coffee as best I could. When Addie's back was turned, I whispered, “That was you?”

He winked, but before I could grill him further, Addie was hustling us out the door.

•  •  •

“Let's review: You're going to locate the vibrato fractums, test them, record the results, and move on,” Addie said after we crossed through one of the zillion pivots surrounding the train station.

“Got it,” I said. “Find the breaks, get a reading. Lather, rinse, repeat.”

Transportation hubs were typically crammed with pivots, and public transit was particularly prone. Flying took planning; by the time a person arrived at the airport, most of their decisions had been made. Trains, subways, and buses were more flexible and more populated, allowing for more interactions.

The Echo we'd stopped in was busier than home. People milled about on the platform, waiting for the next train, and a
farmers' market was set up in the parking lot, drawing a crowd. The pivots sounded like popcorn, irregular bursts of sound, and the pitch was a flat monotone that receded into the background. The breaks, on the other hand, stood out in sharp relief. I shook my head, trying to get my bearings.

“No cleaving,” Addie continued. “No touching the strings. No flirting with boys or interfering with stable Echoes or picking pockets.”

“No fun,” I grumbled. “Can I get started?”

“Yes. I'll be right over—Grandpa, come back!” She chased after Monty, who had crossed the street and was peering in the window of a candy store.

I didn't need Eliot's map to help me. The tremors were perfectly audible. But I checked the screen anyway, noting a smattering of emerging breaks and several established spots. One on the platform of the station, one in the farmers' market, and one centered at the ticket window of a dollar movie theater across the street.

If Eliot and I had gone to movie night as planned, we never would have fought.

On the other hand, if we'd gone to movie night, Simon wouldn't have taught me how to make a free throw. He wouldn't have left me standing on the floor while he went off to do God knows what with Bree. I wouldn't have ended up in his Echo's car, breathless and molten.

Every choice we make is both a sacrifice and an opportunity. I wondered if mine had been worth it.

I didn't want to think about Eliot and movie night, so I headed into the farmers' market, listening closely. The crowd worked to my advantage; I could take my readings and jot down a note before anyone noticed I was there. A stand selling honey, a bluegrass trio playing for spare change, a couple holding hands as they looked at bunches of kale: all vibrato fractums, none severe enough to justify a cleaving. The more I wandered the aisles, the more breaks I found, my head swimming. I turned, searching for Addie, but she was obscured by the crush of people.