A World Without You

  Without another word, she washes us both in invisibility. I can hear the children’s voices better now—a girl and a boy—and they’re coming closer. There are other sounds—shouting from adults, a bell ringing—

  And then the ship slams into the iceberg.

  CHAPTER 29

  The impact is near the side of the ship, violent enough to make Sofía lose her footing, but I still have a hold on her and keep her from crashing to the deck. Ice skitters across the smooth deck, and Sofía bends down to touch it, her fingers glazing over the cold surface. The nearby children scream, and I can feel a surge of power like static electricity pulse from Sofía’s hand into mine, maintaining our invisibility.

  “This is it,” she says.

  A chunk of ice slams across the deck where we are, almost hitting us, and I jerk Sofía back. The kids we’d been hearing race forward, using the ice as a soccer ball. “Look!” the little girl says. “Look at me!” She rears back to kick the ice again but slips, slamming first into the metal rail and then onto the hard wooden deck.

  “Pheebs!” the boy shouts, running over to her.

  No. No. No. That’s impossible.

  “They look . . . modern,” Sofía whispers to me.

  The girl is crying, clutching her arm. The boy drops to his knees in front of her, grabs her good hand—

  And they disappear.

  The shock of it snaps inside me like the timestream pulling me back. It’s violent and harsh and painful, and I’m so glad I already have Sofía wrapped up in my arms. When we open our eyes, we’re on the floor of the common room, breathing deeply, the world spinning around us.

  “What just happened?” Sofía says, still wheezing and trying to catch her breath.

  “That was me.”

  “What?” she gasps. Her eyes are wild, and I wonder if she feels the pain of being snapped back into the normal time as much as I do. I’m just glad time brought me back here, with her in the past, rather than throwing me all the way back to my own present.

  “That was me,” I repeat. “That kid. The girl is—was—is my sister, Phoebe.”

  “What? How?”

  I stand up. I want to pace, but the world is still spinning too much for me to try that. “That was me,” I say once more. “Phoebe was really into the Titanic. We’d play outside and pretend to be on the ship, but I didn’t realize I actually took her there. But I did. I must have had my powers when I was younger and just . . . didn’t realize it? I must have blocked it out? I thought we were pretending . . .”

  “That’s some good imagination.”

  “Did that ever happen to you?” I ask. “Did you have your powers when you were little too?”

  “I was always very good at hide-and-seek.”

  I run my fingers through my hair. I don’t remember this happening, but at the same time, I do.

  The lights in the common room flicker.

  “It’s time to go,” Sofía says, and the way she looks at me makes me realize she isn’t just talking about lights-out. It’s time for me to leave, to go back to my own time. The time without her.

  She stands up and walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my chest.

  “Something bad happened, didn’t it?” she whispers.

  I nod, unable to speak.

  She leans up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the lips. Not anything passionate, but a sort of sad, slight pressure on my lips that’s gone too quickly.

  “If I could control reality, this would be my life all the time. One magical moment with you after another,” she says, leaning into me.

  “Me too,” I say, my voice cracking.

  “Whatever happened, this was worth it,” Sofía says. “And remember what I said before.”

  The lights flicker again. Last warning.

  “What you said before?” I ask.

  She kisses me again, quicker this time, already twirling away from me, toward the door. I blink, and I see the threads of time weaving in and out, and I can feel the tether pulling me back to my own timeline, away from here, now, her.

  She doesn’t look back as she leaves me behind, alone, as time swallows me up and deposits me where I started.

  CHAPTER 30

  Phoebe

  I try not to look too hard at myself in the mirror. I never really figured out makeup, and I feel most at home in T-shirts and jeans, but I like to look nice. Put together, my grandmother would call it, although she wouldn’t say it about me now. Put together to Grandma was a button-down blouse and a skirt, not a navy blue T-shirt with an elephant on the front and jeans that are ragged at the bottom because my short legs have walked the hem off.

  There was always something wrong with me, at least in Grandma’s eyes. It’s not like she hated me. But I would sit with my legs too sprawled, or I talked too much, or my hair was too short. Always something little, some point of contention that proved I wasn’t good enough.

  Bo, on the other hand, was her golden child. “He needs more love,” she’d say, as if an extra hug and piles of compliments would make him better. Maybe they did. He was always happy around her.

  I turn away from the mirror and open my jewelry box. It’s ancient, something I’ve had forever, made of heavy, paper-covered cardboard in shades of pink and purple. And even though it’s worthless, this box contains all my greatest treasures. When I open it, a little plastic ballerina spins halfheartedly. It’s supposed to play music too, but it’s long since lost its song.

  At the bottom of the box, underneath the little silver ring my first boyfriend gave me and the monogrammed necklace I got for my sweet sixteen, is a blue velvet box. The hinges creak when I open it. I remove the folded-up paper that’s on the top without reading it. I know what it says. Given to me by Joseph on our wedding day. Grandma started doing that a year or two before she died, writing down the reason why the things she still had were significant. When she passed away, Mom and I went through her house, and we kept finding little notes like this. Some of them referenced people we didn’t know—Bought this when I went with Lauren to Connecticut—and some of them told us of a past we hadn’t known she’d lived—Mother gave me this when I broke my wrist, 1962. I loved discovering the hidden secrets behind the objects I had thought were junk. A paper fan was a souvenir from her brother when he went to Hawaii; a cheap plastic beaded necklace was the first thing I had ever given her, curled up beside her gold and diamonds. Mom, however, quickly grew tired of the little notes and eventually started throwing away things without reading them.

  “They make you hang on to a past that isn’t yours,” she said, pointing to the pile of Grandma’s things that I’d squirreled away.

  Grandma had given me the little blue box before she died, even though she’d already labeled it for after her death. I was in middle school, staying overnight at her house, and I was furious. My parents were taking Bo to a special concert in the city as a reward for passing all his classes at the end of eighth grade. Not acing—passing. Here I was with near-perfect scores, and I didn’t get a concert.

  “Your brother worked harder than you,” Grandma told me as we watched old episodes of Law & Order on her crappy TV.

  “I still did better than him,” I said sullenly.

  “It’s not about that,” Grandma said, shaking her head. “I’m going to give you something.” She left the living room, and I could hear her rooting around in her dresser all the way through the commercial break before she came back, the blue velvet box in her hand. She placed it in my palm, then sat down on the couch beside me, watching as I lifted the lid.

  The diamond earrings inside sparkled.

  “I want you to have these,” Grandma said.

  “For my report card?” I lifted the box closer to my face, imagining the diamonds glittering in my ears.

  “No,” Grandma said. I looked up at her. “I
want you to have these because everyone should have something that makes them feel special.”

  The memory makes me smile, and on a whim, I pluck the earrings from the satiny card that holds them and put them on. They’re large, and they sparkle like ice crystals when I turn my head. I sweep my hair up into a ponytail to make sure their glitter isn’t hidden.

  Sometimes, growing up with Bo, I feel like I’m invisible. How can my family notice me when they have to spend all their time watching him? These earrings remind me that I’m more than a shadow.

  When I get downstairs, Mom already has a bowl and a box of cereal waiting for me.

  “What’re you wearing?” she asks.

  I look down at the white elephant printed on my shirt, not understanding her meaning.

  “Are those your grandmother’s earrings?” There’s a hint of accusation in her voice.

  I nod.

  “Phoebe,” she says, leveling me with a look, “those are for special occasions only.”

  “They don’t have to be,” I say.

  She purses her lips at me.

  “They’re mine,” I say.

  “Go.” She points up the stairs.

  There’s no point arguing. I trudge upstairs, taking the earrings out and leaving them in the blue velvet box in my room.

  Mom has been strict about the “special occasion” rule since Grandma gave the earrings to me. The only time I’ve ever worn them was at her funeral.

  CHAPTER 31

  The government officials are sitting in Dr. Franklin’s office, waiting for us during our morning session. Dr. Rivers has a notepad and pen in her hands; Mr. Minh has an audio recorder.

  My eyes shoot to Ryan, who’s already sitting on one of the blue plastic chairs arranged in a semicircle around Dr. Franklin’s desk. He scowls straight ahead, ignoring me.

  “I’m sorry, kids,” the Doctor says, “but the officials from the state are going to be listening in on today’s session. Please try to pretend they’re not here.”

  That won’t be hard. It’s as if everyone’s forgotten they have powers anyway, except for Ryan, and he won’t slip up in front of them.

  I sit down next to Ryan, and Gwen takes the seat beside me. She’s more reserved than usual, and I think it’s because the officials’ presence has reminded us all that they’re here because Sofía’s not.

  “Today,” the Doctor says, “I want to talk about family.”

  “Great,” Ryan mutters.

  Dr. Rivers starts writing.

  I think of the videos Ryan stole. They’ve all been altered, but they showed something very similar to what’s happening here.

  “It’s not real,” I mutter, closing my eyes and remembering Sofía.

  “Our families influence us,” the Doctor continues. “They are a part of who we are, whether we like it or not. In what ways have your families influenced you?”

  Harold says something none of the rest of us can hear.

  “Yes, Harold?” Dr. Franklin asks, moving closer to him. I really hope that whatever Harold said was relevant and not his regular stuff. The officials look like vultures, lurking behind the desk, waiting for us to screw up.

  “I’m adopted,” Harold says, a little louder.

  “Family doesn’t require blood, right?” the Doctor asks. “Your dads love you. And I’m sure your biological parents have some influence on you, even if you don’t remember them.”

  “For example,” Ryan says, “maybe they’re where your crazy comes from.”

  The Doc glares at Ryan.

  “I remember them,” Harold says, his voice softer now.

  “What do you remember about them?” the Doctor asks.

  Harold shrugs.

  “This is a safe place,” Dr. Franklin adds.

  Harold’s eyes slide over to the officials, and he says nothing.

  “What about someone else? In what ways have your families influenced you?” The Doctor scans the room. “It’s not just about parents. What about siblings?” His eyes rest on me. “What about your sister, Bo? Siblings are often reflections of each other. Maybe you’re so quiet because she’s boisterous at home?” He says this in a jovial tone, as if we have some sort of inside joke together. But he couldn’t be more wrong. Phoebe, boisterous? Hardly. Phoebe’s emotions are measured out carefully, like Mom when she’s measuring flour for a recipe, scraping off the top of the fluffy white powder to have exactly the right amount in the cup.

  The Doctor tries again. “Or has she influenced your life in some way?”

  “She hasn’t,” I say.

  “Oh, I find that hard to believe.” The Doctor moves across the circle toward me. “Growing up, I had a younger brother. I think in a lot of ways, siblings help define each other. My brother was good at sports, so I focused on academics. I may not have become a doctor if it hadn’t been for him.”

  Sure, there are differences between Phoebe and me. That’s about all there is between us.

  “Do you think there’s some aspect of your sister that is a reflection of you? Maybe something she does helps you define yourself, maybe the way she sees the world has helped define reality for you.”

  I sit up straighter at that. Whether he meant to or not, Dr. Franklin actually gave me an idea. Last night, I saw her there. I saw her on the Titanic with me, as kids. She was there. She’s my proof.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I say so that the Doctor looks away from me and focuses on Gwen instead. I watch the government officials as I lean back and surreptitiously pull out my cell phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find Pheebs’s number.

  Hey, I text her.

  The little waiting icon flashes, and it feels like forever until she texts me back. Bo?

  Yeah. I glance around me. The Doctor frowns at my cell phone and shakes his head slightly, reprimanding me. I pretend to put it away, but thankfully Harold starts rambling about how he misses his little sister, and the Doc’s attention shifts.

  Gotta ask u smthg, I text quickly.

  What?

  I do another quick scan of the room; all eyes are on Harold.

  Remember when we were kids? I text. Remember the Titanic?

  I watch the waiting icon on my screen, not daring to breathe. If Phoebe remembers going back to the Titanic with me, she’ll confirm everything: my powers, the true purpose of Berkshire, the altered videos.

  Yeah, she texts back, ofc.

  Of course. Of course she remembers.

  That’s how I broke my arm, she adds, the words popping up on the screen. But it was cool.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. It was real. Whatever—whoever—is altering everyone’s perception of reality . . . it’s centered here, at the academy.

  When I look up from my phone, the room is silent. Harold’s rambling had stopped without my noticing, and the government officials’ eyes are glued on me. Dr. Rivers glares at me, and I shudder under her intense look.

  “Bo, put away your phone,” the Doctor says. “You know better.”

  I start to click the screen off, but I can’t get over the weird way Dr. Rivers is staring at me. Just before my phone darkens, I glance down at the message. Phoebe’s words, But it was cool, fade. I blink. Before my eyes, they change: But it was just a game.

  “No,” I gasp, staring down at the altered text.

  “Bo,” Dr. Franklin says again, a note of warning in his voice. “Your phone.”

  Dr. Rivers is still staring at me, her eyes dark and unfocused. When I shove my phone in my pocket, I can’t help but notice the way she smirks at me.

  • • •

  I yank out my cell phone the second the Doctor dismisses us. I stare at that last word from Phoebe, game. Is it my cell phone that’s showing me a false message, or did Phoebe change somehow? If I were to go to her right now, would she remember the Titanic, or w
ould she think we were playing pretend?

  “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered after your late-night wanderings,” Dr. Rivers says, stepping beside me.

  I cram my phone back in my pocket. “What are you doing?” I growl.

  “Mr. Minh and I will be observing your classes today,” she says sweetly, holding the classroom door open for the rest of the unit and me. Her eyes mock me; she knows very well what I meant.

  The officials sit in the back of the classroom as Ms. Okafor teaches us math. They watch silently as Mr. Ingle passes out copies of The Catcher in the Rye for us to read. My eyes skim across the page.

  I glance over at Gwen. She’s already on chapter two of the book. I turn the page, even though I have no idea what’s written on it.

  My phone weighs heavily in my pocket. I hate the idea of the officials doing something to mess with Phoebe’s head. I hope it was just the text that changed and not her. I never wanted to drag my family into this.

  CHAPTER 32

  The next morning, the officials are in Dr. Franklin’s office with the door closed. Even though it’s time for our session to start, we’re stuck in the hallway, waiting.

  “How much longer are they going to be here?” Ryan asks.

  “Why don’t they just go?” My voice holds more anger than I’d intended, but I don’t really care.

  Ryan shrugs. “They have no evidence, no videos, and no one’s said anything. Sofía’s dead, mystery solved, go home.”

  My stomach aches at how easily Ryan mentions Sofía’s death, even though I know he knows it’s not real. But he’s right. There’s no reason why the officials should still be here, not if their only purpose is to investigate the death of a student.

  But if they have ulterior motives . . .

  Harold steps closer, so silently that Ryan jumps when he starts talking.

  “I don’t like them,” Harold whispers, his eyes flicking to the door where the officials entered Dr. Franklin’s office.

  “No one does,” I say.