Dissonance (13 page)

“Why bother?” I slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and tugged the phone out. “You're a sweetheart.”

“I'm a pushover. Promise you won't get caught.”

I blew him a kiss. “I never do.”

•  •  •

The movie was as mind-numbing as I'd predicted. Five minutes after the opening credits, the sub was playing computer solitaire and the class was evenly divided between napping and texting.
Simon, legs sprawled in front of him and chin propped on fist, was in the first group.

I was playing with Eliot's new toy.

I was not thinking about Simon, and the feel of his thumb against my mouth. Or Simon in the rain. Or in the park. I was not thinking about any of those things when I zoomed in on the music room, examining the pivots that had sprung up during class.

Beginnings meant branches. Nobody in history was making decisions except the sub, and the display showed a dim, nearly lifeless room. But in music, each group had made a bunch of choices as we planned our projects—when to meet, how to divide the work, what instruments to use. The screen
should
have looked like a Christmas tree.

Instead, there was a single, overwhelming glow, growing steadily brighter as the edges of the circle spread out, one all-encompassing pivot.

And then the map crashed.

I tapped the screen and clicked the buttons, but nothing worked. I didn't know much about Eliot's gadgets, but whenever they glitched, he'd ask me a million techie questions. “What were you doing when the error occurred? What did the screen say? What settings were you using?”

He'd ask a million more now that I'd broken his baby. I'd be doing him a favor if I checked out the music room in person.

I approached the sub. “Bathroom pass?”

She waved at the door, too intent on her cards to worry about me. A few minutes later I was back in the music wing,
phone rebooted and working again. Everything looked normal. Everything
sounded
normal—freshman band squawking away in one room while swing choir rehearsed in another—the Key World strong and sure. The map shone brightly as I peered into Powell's empty classroom, and when I opened the door, I caught the buzz of a solitary pivot.

A good-size one, I saw, big enough that the fluorescent lights seemed to catch on the edges of the rift, leaving shadows in midair. It was centered directly over Simon's seat. I thought back over our conversation. He'd noticed me, but that wasn't enough. A frequency as jarring as this one came from a deliberate, significant choice. What was it?

He'd touched me.

I'd thought it was his usual routine—heavy on the flirting, light on substance—but the quavering air above his desk suggested otherwise. If he'd touched me in the Key World, what had he done differently in the Echo?

According to Eliot's map, the pivot was stable enough to visit. I slipped the phone into the pocket of my sweater, found the star I'd been folding in class, and stepped through, holding my breath like I was diving into deep water.

The room I surfaced in stood empty. Whatever choice Simon made wasn't visible, but the pitch was unexpectedly loud. If I was going to figure out what had changed, I'd need to do it fast.

My best shot at pinpointing the change was to find his Echo. I dropped the star on the piano and headed to history.

No one in Echo history noticed my entrance. The movie
played on as I slid into the seat next to his, deliberately jostling him awake. His dissonance sent a shock through me, but he smiled, sheepish and sleepy lidded. “Del. What's up?”

His whisper found its way under my skin. I squashed the urge to lean in closer, to recreate our connection. Hooking up with Simon was a bad idea in any world, but particularly now, when I was pressed for time and looking for answers.

Certainty is a luxury, whether you're dealing with the multiverse or a human being. We're never 100 percent sure what creates a pivot unless we see it form. We never fully understand another person, even those we're closest to. Best guesses and backtracking were imperfect, incomplete pictures, whether you're dealing with branches or boys.

I tried to be logical: In this world, Simon hadn't touched me. We hadn't had that strange, deliciously tense moment. Powell hadn't interrupted us. But what was the result?

“Tell me again when we're meeting?” I rubbed at the back of my neck, trying to quell the gathering tension.

“You forgot?” The movie cast shadows across his face. “Sunday. At the library.”

Same as the Key World. He looked identical, but the pitch was definitely different. I gritted my teeth. I should be able to
see
such a significant change.

Unless I was looking at the wrong person. “So . . . you and Bree?”

He sat up, annoyance tightening his features. “Where'd you hear that?”

“Around,” I said vaguely. “You two are back together, huh?”

“Taking her to a party doesn't mean we're together. I haven't even told her yes.”

She'd asked him out. I could trace the chain of events like dominoes falling. In our world, Bree had seen our interaction and decided to hold off. In this one, he hadn't touched me, and she'd had no reason to wait. His answer would trigger a second pivot, and her response would create a third. Eliot's map should have shown an entire galaxy of Echoes; instead I'd seen a supernova. It didn't add up.

“Anything else exciting happen after class? Anything weird?”

He tapped his pencil on one lean, denim-clad leg. “A girl I just met started asking me a bunch of questions. Does that count?”

“Ah. Weird girl.” I was glad it was dark. The sub looked up, and Simon pretended to watch the video until she'd gone back to her game.

“The
questions
were weird.”

“Not the girl?”

“Early days.” His gaze swept over me, but I couldn't stay to investigate any longer. Class was nearly over, and the last thing I needed was another detention.

“Gotta go.” I stood, feeling unsteady.

“You're going to walk out?”

“Trust me,” I said. “Nobody's going to notice.”

•  •  •

I made it back moments before the lights came on. The sub blinked at the sight of me, and I waved cheerfully.

Before I could escape, a hand clamped on my arm.

“And where did you sneak off to?” Simon said as we filed out, bending down to murmur the words. “Meet up with your boyfriend?”

“I don't have a boyfriend.”

He brushed my hair away from my neck. “Where'd you get the hickey?”

“The . . . oh.” I covered my throat with my hand, conscious of how the red welt must look. “It's from my violin.”

“Mmn-hmn,” he said. “You're telling me you and the skinny guy aren't together? Friends with benefits?”

“Eliot's my best friend.” The edge in my voice was audible despite the noisy hallway. “That's it. Why do you care, anyway?”

“I'm trying to get a feel for you.”

Someone slammed into me. Simon placed a steadying hand on my hip, leaving it there a beat longer than necessary.

“A feel for me?” I said, trying to sound skeptical instead of scattered.

“We're partners now. And when my partner cuts class, I get curious. I'll figure it out eventually, Del.”

“Don't bet on it.”

Once a cleaving is completed, the First Chair must submit a formal report to the Consort Archive. It is traditional for Walkers to maintain a journal of their personal Walks as well, as a reference for future generations.

—Chapter Three, “Echo Properties and Protocols,”

Principles and Practices of Cleaving, Year Five

U
P,” SAID ADDIE
the next morning.

“Bite me.” I pulled the covers over my head. She yanked them back, and I shrieked at the rush of cold air. “What is your
problem
?”

“It's practically noon,” she said.

I squinted at my clock. “It's ten thirty. On a Saturday.”

“Suspended does not mean vacation. If you were going to training, you would have left hours ago.”

“But I'm
not,
thanks to you. Get out.”

“Mom said you can either clean the bathrooms or work with me. Your choice.”

“You are such a bitch.” I sat up and shoved tangles of hair out of my eyes.

“I'll be in the kitchen,” she said over her shoulder. “Fifteen minutes, or you're scrubbing toilets.”

I stumbled out of bed, shuffled downstairs for a shower, and made it into the kitchen thirty seconds ahead of Addie's deadline. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Some meeting downtown with the new teams. They'll be back by dinner.” She waved a hand at my wet hair. “Don't drip on the table.”

I ignored her, heading straight for the coffeemaker. The caffeine didn't improve my mood any, and neither did the piles of textbooks on the kitchen island, which I deliberately dripped on.

“You haven't been keeping up with your reading,” she said with a frown.

“I read journals. That's plenty.” I'd studied Monty's journals since I was a kid, deciphering the cramped, messy writing, thrilling at the near escapes and crazy stories. Textbooks were dry and lifeless in comparison.

“You need to understand the theories before putting them into practice,” she replied, pushing the pile of books across the table.

I pushed them back. “Or I could, you know,
practice
. Theories didn't help the other day.”

“If you'd had a better grip on the basics, you wouldn't have cleaved that Echo to begin with,” she said.

“I got us out,” I snapped, my temper breaking free. “Not your stupid books. That's what burns you, isn't it? People won't shut up about how perfect you are, how you follow every rule. But it's not because you're smart. It's because you don't have the chops, and I do, and now everyone knows it.”

“Screw you,” she hissed. “You think you're so special? You're going to fail your licensing exam. When you do, the Consort—and the rest of the world—will finally see you're more trouble than you're worth. And I. Can't. Wait.”

I was halfway across the room, arm cocked for a punch, when Monty shuffled in.

“Man can't play a tune with you two shouting. Bet they can hear you five worlds away.”

“She started it,” I said, as Addie complained about how disrespectful I was.

“Girls!” he boomed. We fell silent. “Are there cookies left?”

I could see Addie counting to ten in her head. “We ran out,” she said. “But it's Saturday. Mom'll bake tonight.”

“Bake on Saturday. Your mother used to do that.” His face brightened. “She'll come home and make apple cake and we'll play a hand of rummy. She cheats at rummy, Rose does. I don't mind, really, but it's better not to tell her.”

He'd slipped again, mistaking Addie for my mom.

“Grandpa, it's Addison. Remember me?” She touched his arm, trying to jog his memory.

He blinked at her, owl-like. “I'm old, Addie-girl, not stupid.”

Faster than I'd thought possible, he crossed the room to the coatrack and grabbed his battered porkpie hat. “Walk with me, girls. It's a beautiful day, and I haven't lost all my moves.”

Addie lifted up a textbook. “Del's supposed to be studying.”

“She knows enough to get where she's going.” When Addie didn't budge, he added, “Let's show her how it's done.”

Addie sighed and scooped up a pile of papers while I slung my bag over my shoulder. Monty winked at me and did a soft-shoe routine out the door.

Twenty minutes later we were surveying the football field. The sky was a pure, clear blue, wisps of clouds drifting across. The air was crisp enough to make me glad I'd worn my coat. Addie consulted her paper map, checking it against the deserted parking lot. “I was planning this for next weekend, but I suppose we could try it today.”

I couldn't imagine thinking so far ahead, but knowing Addie, she'd already worked up lesson plans for my entire suspension. Still holding the map, she drew a slim black rectangle out of her purse. Not a cell phone, but it could pass for one if you didn't look too closely. Her fingers flew over the keys as she punched in a string of numbers.

A generator: Input the specific resonance of an Echo and it would play the frequency for you. More reliable than memory, they were for licensed Walkers only. I wouldn't get one of my own until—or unless—I became an apprentice.

“Don't go without us,” she warned, and pressed a final button. The generator wheezed like an accordion.

I found the matching pivot almost immediately. “Concession stand,” I said, and at Monty's nod, led the way.

The world looked similar to ours, but I barely had time to note the differences, because Addie played another pitch. “Go.”

“This is kindergarten stuff,” I complained. If this was supposed to be next week's work, she'd planned for a glacial pace. I'd
die of boredom—and be months behind for the exam. That was probably her intention. Monty nonchalantly dropped a button while her back was turned.

“Then it shouldn't be a problem,” she said sweetly. “Go.”

I checked my phone, now running Eliot's map software. The light of the pivot was bright but steady. Safe to go. I found the new frequency and Walked through again, feeling the air flex and settle around me.

“Told you,” I said. “Kindergarten.”

“Again,” said Addie, and picked a new frequency.

By the fifth crossing I'd lost patience. We'd reached the center of town. In each world, the dissonance increased, and so did my frustration. “This is stupid. Can we do something else?”

Monty nudged her. “Wouldn't hurt to push her a bit. You can tell her if she's doing it wrong.”