CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
YOU COMING TO class today?” Simon asked me on the way to history Monday afternoon.
“I’m walking with you, aren’t I?” Walking with Simon—even a short, ordinary walk down the corridor—was an exercise in syncopation. He slowed his pace, long legs eating up the ground, and I lengthened my stride to keep up.
“Doesn’t mean you’re going to stay,” he said. “Are you even passing the class?”
I was. Barely.
I tipped my head back, the charge of those dark blue eyes zinging down my spine. “This from the guy who keeps falling asleep?”
According to Eliot’s research, the pattern we’d seen in the Echoes—a spike in branches, then a series of Baroque events—was another symptom of the anomaly. We didn’t need to keep checking on it, and he insisted I start showing up to class.
I didn’t complain too much. It gave me time to study Simon.
His frequency was fine. The tremor I’d felt when he kissed my hand had nothing to do with dissonance. Simon sounded clear and true as the Key World itself. He sounded like home.
But there was no denying he was a victim of the anomaly. He’d spotted me in Echoes, he’d been at the center of at least two Baroque events, he remembered me when he shouldn’t. If the Consort found out, Simon and his Echoes would be in danger.
I needed to figure it out first.
He ushered me through the open door. “So, if you’re not off hooking up with Eliot, who’s the lucky guy?”
“You always assume there’s a guy,” I said.
“Isn’t there? If not, I know one. Tall. Athletic. Astonishingly good-looking. Loves dogs and zucchini bread.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “Sounds perfect. Does he have any flaws?”
“Tone-deaf,” he said sorrowfully. “And charming. I know how you hate that.”
“It’s a deal breaker,” I said, sliding into my seat. I looked at him under my lashes. “And we could have had so much fun.”
He leaned across the aisle, and I did the same, close enough to see the hint of stubble along his jaw. “Still could.”
An inch more—maybe two—and my lips would graze his skin. I could meet him halfway, fit my mouth to his. Every muscle in my body tightened, fear and anticipation so closely intertwined I couldn’t separate them. An inch, and everything would change.
Mrs. Jordan cleared her throat. “If we can get started, Ms. Sullivan? Mr. Lane?”
“Another time,” I murmured, leaning back.
“Mr. Lane?” she repeated.
“Bet on it,” he said, voice low. Then he flashed Mrs. Jordan a trademark grin and made a joke about last night’s reading. She laughed despite herself, and I marveled at how well Simon read people.
Including me.
I slid down in my seat as she outlined our newest assignment, declaring today was a research day. Everyone gathered up their books and trudged, en masse, to the library. I found an empty table by the periodicals and set my bag down, as everyone around me chose seats and research topics. Pivots filled the air with a fizzing sound.
“Secluded,” Simon said, taking the other chair. “I approve. What’s your topic?”
“No idea,” I said. “You?”
He pursed his lips and considered. His hair was disheveled, like he’d run his hand through it. I fought the urge to repeat the movement. The air shifted and I held my breath, wondering what decision he was about to make.
“Chancellorsville,” he said, and reached for a notebook. The pivot formed with a crack like a gunshot.
“That’s it?” Twenty-odd kids had picked a research topic and not a single one had sounded so loud.
“You have a problem with Chancellorsville? If Jackson hadn’t been shot there—by his own men—he would have been at Gettysburg. The South would have won.”
I was familiar with the battle. We spent the first few years of Walker training studying the way history had shaped the multiverse. But it didn’t explain the size of the pivot he’d created. I took a moment to memorize its pitch and stood up. “I’ll be back in a few.”
Simon glanced over at Mrs. Jordan, who was catching up on her grading and giving kids dubious looks when they grew too loud. “She’s going to catch you one of these days.”
“Probably,” I said. “Enjoy your nap in the stacks.”
“I will. Maybe I’ll dream of you.”
I checked Eliot’s map before I crossed over. Lights covered the library in tiny pinpricks, except for the place Simon and I had been sitting, which shone like a beacon. I slipped through a pivot in the girls’ bathroom and navigated to the newly formed branch. Through the library window, I could see Simon’s Echo heading into the stacks. This world was so young he looked exactly like the Simon I’d left minutes ago. Even the frequency was similar to the Key World’s—but louder than I expected for such a small decision.
He would have gone into the stacks for research either way, so his behavior hadn’t altered. This Echo should be quiet. Instead, it was as blazingly insistent as a trumpet and growing louder every second. And then it hit me.
A Baroque event.
The class had made a lot of decisions in a short period of time. Simon’s decision, stronger for reasons I couldn’t explain, would draw the smaller Echoes in.
I wasn’t sure I should stick around for the entire Baroque event, but it would be stupid not to do some research of my own. I found Echo Simon in the nonfiction section, head tilted to read the call numbers. Ducking into the next row, I peered at him through the space between shelves.
“Find what you’re looking for?” I whispered.
To his credit, he barely jumped. “Can’t quite put my hands on it. What about you?”
I’d been careful not to touch him, but he’d noticed me. Was it the amplification, or the similarity between frequencies, or the newness of the Echo? Any of them seemed plausible, and for once I wished I’d paid more attention to Addie’s and Shaw’s physics lectures. “I’m figuring it out.”
He craned his neck. “Are we really going to have this conversation through a bookshelf? I can barely see you.”
“I thought some distance might be good,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”
“Cautious.” I wasn’t scared of Simon. Intrigued. Concerned. Attracted. But nothing about Simon—in any universe—scared me.
“And yet you’re hiding behind . . . What’s over there, anyway?”
I checked the titles. “The Roman Empire.”
“Thousands of years of history between us. Looks like scared to me.”
I tossed my braid over my shoulder and strolled around the corner, stopping a foot away.
“See?” he said. “Not so hard.”
“Never said it was.”
The silence between us quivered with unspoken words. I poked my finger through a hole in my sweater.
“So . . . ,” he said, and trailed off.
“So.”
“Funny meeting you here.”
“Funny, that.”
He edged closer, and I backed up until my knees hit the Great Depression. “You meet a lot of girls in the stacks?” My voice sounded unsteady, even to my ears.
“Not really. I’ll have to keep it in mind for next time.”
“Next time?”
“Turns out we’re going to spend the rest of the week on research. So we’ve got four more days here, minimum.”
“That’s a lot of research.” Casually I tucked a bright orange star between two books, curious to know how a Baroque event would affect it.
“Lot of time back here, anyway.” He rested one hand on the shelf above my head. “Not the worst way to spend an hour.”