It’s me. I’m wearing the same jeans, the same shirt, the same everything. Even the same makeup, but my hair is long and black.
I’m there, and she—the other me—is talking to me. “Can you hear me?” she asks.
“Oh my God. I can hear you,” I reply.
But with another flicker, the other me is gone. And the sky clears, the rain stops, and nothing is changed. Yet everything is different.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Day 43: 3:53 p.m.
Quietly I sit by the river, drinking coffee, watching Alec balance on the beams underneath the bridge. He does an awesome flip from one and lands on both feet. I clap.
He comes over and flops next to me. “You’re so pretty.”
I blush.
“I guess you hear that all the time.” He pushes me down gently, and we kiss.
The dampness of the ground seeps through my jacket. Alec slides a hand up my skirt and beneath my underwear. I moan as he touches me.
“I love you, Lark,” he whispers, as he kisses the side of my neck.
There’s a direct connection between my skin there and the rest of my body, which arches into him.
“I love you too,” I murmur.
He pulls back. “Say it again.”
“Mmm. I love you. Don’t stop.”
He leans closer and kisses me all along the edge of my neck and down toward my bra-line. Then he stops. Again. I groan.
He says, “Wanna go someplace more private?”
I glance around and pull myself to sitting. “Might be a good idea.”
“My parents are home.”
“My dad too.” I lean into him.
“This is impossible.” He checks his cell. “I’ve got to be at work in thirty minutes.”
I pull a face in frustration.
He jumps to his feet. “I’m going to get in a few more flips to distract me from how much I want to take all your clothes off.” He runs back toward the bridge and does a powerful jump. Both hands grip a bar, and he swings himself up. My whole body tingles watching him.
A message comes in:
. . . two days Alec’s family
are going to turn off the machines.
He’ll die.
As if to emphasize how alive he is, Alec does a backflip from a low wall to land solidly on two feet. He grins over at me.
In her life. He’s going to die in her life.
But then what happens? Alec cannot die in her life. Because what then happens to him in mine? He balances with both arms out to steady himself as he walks along the low wall again. The tiny stitches that hold me together are unpicked. I feel the threads coming loose. If there are only two days, I’m running out of time to figure out what to do next.
Alec does more flips, and I slump, looking at my phone, at a photo I took of my mom’s lyrics.
You have to go
Back to the beginning
Jump
End it
To break
And resolve.
Back to the beginning? How do I get there? Maybe the other Lark has some idea—she spoke to me last time, although only for a moment. I wasn’t strong enough to hold on to the connection between us—I wasn’t strong enough to stay in her world.
But I could try again. Maybe she has answers. Maybe she can help me figure this out—it’s not like I have anyone else to talk to about this. So I have to go to the portal—to Annabelle. I check the hospital update and discover that the restrictions on visiting Pediatrics have just been lifted. Finally, finally visitors are allowed. I look up visiting times—and see that I could go now. Alec does a final flip and comes over to me.
“I’m going to work. You want to come over after?” he asks, breathing heavily.
“Sure.”
Alec doesn’t seem to notice that I’m distracted, and before he goes, he kisses me and murmurs again that he loves me.
Part of me falls into the kiss, the feel of him, the warmth of him. Another part of me is thinking about getting to the hospital. Finding Annabelle. Going to the other Lark and telling her we have to keep Alec alive.
I arrive at the hospital and press the button for the elevator. I tap my fingers on my leg impatiently, and after watching the lights change on the third then fourth floors, I decide to take the stairs. When I get to Annabelle’s room, the door is shut. I nudge it open.
The first thing I notice is that Suzanne is there. I step back quickly and wander away from the door. I’ll just have to wait. Ten minutes go by, twenty. About half an hour after I arrive, Suzanne steps out of the room and goes over to talk to the nurses. Then she gets out her cell phone and takes off down the hallway to make a call. I glance at the nurse on reception, who’s looking the other way. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing, I reassure myself, not entirely believing it. Three nurses are deep in conversation over at a desk. None of them notices me. No one stops me as I slip into Annabelle’s room.
Her freshly brushed hair is spread out over the pillow. If she weren’t in a coma, she’d look like she was sleeping, but the beeps of the machines and the stillness in her face remind me otherwise.
The room smells of fresh flowers; the dead ones have finally been replaced. I sit next to Annabelle. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have to. I think about Alec. About how I want to live a life with him. How he cannot die, not in any life. She’ll understand. The other Lark will understand. Together we’ll make this work.
I take Annabelle’s hand. A terrible groan comes from the ceiling, and I shiver, holding on tightly to Annabelle’s hand as I look up. As I watch, cracks form, and the plaster darkens with the stain of water. The ceiling bulges and then cracks as if it’s a huge, pale egg, and water cascades.
I am washed away.
Day 43: 3:53 p.m.
I flip my short hair into a low pony, pick up my longboard, and wander into the corner store with an urge for chocolate. Since I saw myself two days ago, I’ve been sick to my stomach, wondering what she was trying to say. All I heard was: “Can you hear me?” But then she was gone.
A shudder passes through my body, and something worse than nausea. I’m reminded of something I’d long forgotten. I threw up on the day Mom told me she was going to die. There’s nothing more they can do. I bent over the toilet bowl, and she held back my hair. Right now I’m just as nauseated. The damp makes me feel like I’m sweating.
I select a chocolate bar and then, checking the clerk isn’t looking, slide it into my pocket. The thrill is immediate. Everything clears from my head. I take a deep breath and relish the feeling. Stealing is even more powerful than songwriting in the way it makes me feel in control, calm, cool.
I glance over my shoulder. The clerk is serving someone else. Without buying anything, the stolen chocolate bar in my pocket, I hurry toward the door—
The hand on my shoulder isn’t a shock. It’s as if I’ve been waiting for this to happen. This is it. A security guard has caught me, and when I turn around, my life will be in his hands. It’s a relief, actually, to have someone else make a decision.
But it’s not a security guard. It’s Iona. She’s wearing skinny black jeans, a chain-mail tank, a light jacket, and a furious expression. She tugs me toward her and hugs me. Except her grip is forceful as she drags me back inside the store.
“What the hell are you doing, Lark?” she growls in my ear. At the same time, she takes the chocolate bar from my pocket. “You bonehead.”
I push her off. “What’s it to you?”
“Come on, we’re getting out of here.” She chucks the chocolate bar on the counter and pays for it. The clerk is glaring at both of us. Iona drags me out of the store and down an alleyway. She lets me go and says, “Come with me.”
I’m shivering as she leads me down toward the river and I’m surprised she’s not freezing in what she’s wearing.
“Iona, I’m going to be late to meet Reid.”
She doesn’t look at me. “Tell him you were kidnapped. Whatever.”
/> “Fine.” I lean my longboard against a bench, hoping no one will steal it, before we make our way down a narrow, steep path, through the trees, to a small clearing that overlooks the water.
“So,” she says, throwing the chocolate bar at me, “you need to tell me what’s going on.”
“Since when are you the police?”
She laughs. “Nice try, tough girl. What is with you? You can’t just steal shit.”
“Stop it.”
“You’re actually a good girl. With a good future. Unless you screw it up with a criminal record.”
“It’s a chocolate bar.”
“You really are an idiot. They don’t care how big the object is.
It’s theft.” She squats and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. “I have a conviction for theft, Lark.” She lights a cigarette and passes it to me. When I try to wave it away, she says, “Yes, I know you don’t smoke, but . . . just . . .”
I take the cigarette and squat next to her. I put it in my mouth, and she lights it. I’ve never really liked smoking, but as I inhale this time, I feel a heady sensation that momentarily distracts me. I cough a little and take another drag.
“Super dumb,” she says. “I stole a pair of jeans. I don’t want to talk about it. But it is a big deal. Just so you know.”
I look at her and wonder when this all happened. I see her every day at school. Twice a week at band practice. I’ve known her since we were babies. I think about the secrets we all keep, the layers to all our lives, and the way we never really know anyone. The way we never really know ourselves. We smoke together for a few quiet minutes.
“I’m living a parallel life. I really am.”
Iona flicks ash from her cigarette but stays silent.
I continue, unable to stop now. “I saw my parallel self. I keep getting messages, stuff that shows me glimpses of my other life. And my mom believed this too—I’m not crazy, Iona. So I wonder if I could go back to that moment—what if I was quicker?—you know, at the lake. What if I didn’t take so long to decide what to do?”
“You can’t go back, Lark. You of all people should know that.” Iona lights another cigarette with the one she’s finishing.
“You’re talking about my mom?”
“Aren’t you?”
I look out over the river. “Maybe,” I confess. “Maybe I am.”
She stands. “I have no idea what’s happening to you, Lark. You’re writing the best songs ever, and you’ve been rocking it at band, but this other stuff makes it sound like you’re out of your tree.” She inhales deeply. “I don’t mean to be harsh. But this is what I’m going to do.” She exhales a smoke ring. “You’re going to freaking lose it. But I’m calling your dad.”
“What?”
“You won’t stop. The stealing—it’s a thing. Like, I’m not going to get all therapy on you, but you’re going to tell me you’ve stopped. You’ll think you have stopped. But you won’t. And then . . . well, that’s just what I’m going to do.”
“You are not calling my dad. I’m not a little kid.”
“Lark, seriously, you think you’re living in a parallel world. You need help.”
“I AM LIVING IN A PARALLEL WORLD!”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment she looks genuinely scared. She takes a step back. “Take it easy.”
“Iona, don’t do this. I can handle it.”
She turns and walks away from me.
“Iona, what the hell!”
But she’s gone.
Five minutes later, Dad calls. I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say to him. He calls again. Then messages.
Dad:
Answer your phone.
Dad:
You seriously
need to answer.
Pick up now.
Dad:
Lark. NOW.
I put my phone in my pocket and board to D’Lish. Reid stands outside.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, about to give him a hug.
“Iona messaged me.” He holds up his phone.
“What is she doing? I’m already dealing with my dad.”
I push open the door to the café, trying to keep things light. But he doesn’t follow me in. We’re left standing by the open door.
“Lark, she says you’ve been stealing stuff. She said you were acting crazy—”
“It’s not her place to tell you. Or Dad. Jesus. This is all happening too fast.”
“What do you expect her to do?”
“I told her about the parallel lives. That’s all.”
“The parallel life stuff? Larkette, that’s just Lucy. The thing is—” He runs his hands through his hair. “Well, I understand why it’s interesting. I mean the psychology of it. Alternate lives. You know, for my family, I mean. If we’d never left Iraq, what would my life be like now? Who would I be?”
“See, you get it.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Think about it. It’s the sort of question that opens up wormholes, right? We don’t know if my mom is somewhere, in some other life, or if your family were killed in the Iraq War; we don’t know if Alec is fine in another life; we don’t know any of it. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life bumping into what my life could have been, being pulled out of one existence to another and back again.”
“See, when you start talking about your mom like that . . .” He grimaces. “Larkette . . . Lucy’s a flake. We all love her. But she’s a flake. There’s no such thing as parallel lives.”
“What do you know?” My voice is louder than I intend. Inside, customers look up from their tables. Lucy, who is behind the counter, pulls a face. I yank the door shut.
“The shoplifting—Iona says it’s a big deal. It is a big deal.”
“It was a chocolate bar. Or whatever.” I stare at the wind blowing through the branches of the trees. Anywhere rather than at Reid.
“That’s what she said you’d say. She’s putting herself out there—telling us about it.”
“Tattling on me! Like we’re little kids!”
“I mean she told me about her. How bad it was. And she thinks that’s what you’re doing. She also said that the parallel life stuff is a coping mechanism.”
I hit the wall in frustration. “In two days, Alec’s family are going to turn off the machines. He’ll die. Which is terrible in itself. But which life do I end up in, if that’s the case? Which one do I want?” Trying to answer my own question makes me feel dizzy. I hear Suzanne again: Lark! DO SOMETHING! I rub my temples.
“Lark, I think you . . . Maybe you need help. I looked into how to get a meeting with the school counsellor—it’s pretty easy.”
“You know what? I thought you were on my side. Even though you obviously don’t believe me, I thought you cared. But forget it. Just stay away from me, Reid.”
“Don’t do this. Don’t get angry with me.”
I narrow my eyes. “You and Iona can make up your stupid stories about me—but you know what? I’m not doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“I’m not taking part in this—you guys and your intervention or whatever it is you think you’re doing. And screw the show.” I put one earbud in. I turn Neko Case on super loud.
“Larkette, calm down. You’re living for the show right now.”
“No. I’m not. I’m out.” My whole heart cries, No! Not the show! But I’m too angry to stop myself. “Tell the others whatever you like. Tell them I’m completely crazy. But there’s no way I’m putting up with this crap.”
“Don’t do this.”
“It’s already done.” I put in the other earbud and board to the river. When I get there, I flip my board up and slump against a tree, staring at the water. Even over the music, I can hear Suzanne’s desperate cry.
Lucy:
Lovers’ tiff?
Lark:
Reid is NOT my lover.
Lucy:
Touchy.
See you later?
I don’t answer. There’s a whooshing sound in my ears, like I’m listening to a conch shell, and the ocean is roaring toward me. What if Reid and Iona are right? What if I am crazy? And how could I give up the show? But there’s no way I’m sticking with the band if they won’t stick with me. I try to take a breath. The sky cracks open, drops of rain fall, quickly becoming a deluge. No. No. No!
Day 43
My body is being crushed by water. This is so much worse than last time. My long hair tangles and gets everywhere. I struggle to calm down, to swim, to find myself. I pull myself upward, seeking the surface. I cannot hold my breath any longer—I am going to die.
I break through and gulp huge mouthfuls of the sweet air. I am here. At least, I am not where I was. I have survived.
In this life, I’m by the river.
We’re by the river.
Lark sits with her knees up, her back resting against a tree. Her face is pale, her expression bleak. Her bobbed red hair is in a low pony. She takes out her earbuds, her eyes filling with terror.
I almost vomit—it’s the intoxication of the air, the shock of seeing her like this—but I press the back of my hand to my mouth. I have to hurry. I don’t know how long I’ve got here.
“Can you see me?” I walk closer to her. It’s strange seeing myself like this. I’m bigger than I thought I was, somehow, and my cheekbones are more defined than I’ve ever realized. I’m both a stranger and not. I hurry to say, “Alec and I are in love. We have to save him. In both our lives. I can’t bear it. What if him dying in your life kills him in my life? You know he’s about to die in your life, right? Two days. I got the message from—”
“You’re right. Alec’s parents have decided to . . .” She doesn’t finish her sentence.
“So the messages I get seem to be a bleed-through—stuff from your life seeping into mine? Like the wrong radio frequency bleeding through into the channel you’re trying to listen to.”