“Home,” I say. “Right.” As far as I can tell, this house is identical to its parallel-self in Universe Two—the house where I gagged in the toilet and climbed out the window into the pouring rain. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“Ditched. Because your mom was gonna do some heinous thing about period bulbs.”
“Period what?”
“The Mantlebrain set.”
“The Mandelbrot set,” I correct. “You’re in my mom’s math class?”
“Are you brain-dead?” Kandy looks me up and down with disgust. “Patrick wasn’t kidding when he said you turned goth. So pretty!”
She aims the remote at the TV and turns the volume way up. A woman with injected lips leans toward the camera, raising a blue cocktail. “This girl loves her martinis!”
Fine by me. It’s not like I want to sit and chat. I’m just here for two minutes, to get one thing.
I head down the hallway toward the bedrooms, glad to see the wooden American flags and farm animals. Yes—there’s the large polka-dotted pig, and yes!—there’s the eight-by-ten framed photo of Dad, Mom, Patrick, and me. Well, it’s not really me, or the family I’ve known. But it’s proof I’ve had Mom all along, if only here. I press my hand against the photo, run my fingers along Mom’s cheekbones.
“I’m gonna find you again,” I say. “In another universe. It’s going to be perfect. You’ll see.”
I lift the photo from its nail, take it out of the frame, and roll it up, the four of us in our khakis and white button-down shirts, Patrick wearing glasses, and my hair in pigtails. The four of us—no fatal car crash, no stepmother or stepsister.
I’m ready to leave now, but as I tuck the photo into my backpack, my eye is drawn to Other Ruby’s half-open bedroom door. Call it intuition—something’s awry. Is the door off its hinge? It looks askew. I push the door open and trip over a bright-pink shirt, tangled on the floor.
“Oh no.” I groan.
It’s a shockingly complete job. Other Ruby’s room is trashed. The Paris poster is ripped down the middle and dangling from the wall; the mattress is tipped on its side; books, papers, clothes, photos, magazines are scattered everywhere. It’s like someone split an atom. Kaboom.
“Not again.” I could kill Kandy. Yeah, technically, this isn’t my room, or my stuff, but it’s the principle. Kandy’s committing acts of malice in too many universes. Ruby’s room back in Universe Three—and probably my room in One—is no doubt still a mess, my science books shredded. And now she’s done it again.
I grit my teeth, remembering how Kandy jumped on me and pummeled my sides, how she chased me through the house. It’s like it’s happening again. The edge of the coffee table slices into my leg. Rage pulses through me.
I march back into the other room. On the TV, a tiny dog pokes its head out of a purse as its owner browses in a jewelry store. “Do you have any diamond-studded dog leashes?” the woman asks.
“You’re insane,” I say matter-of-factly, standing directly in front of the television, facing Kandy.
“Me? Take a look in the mirror. Patrick thinks you have multiple personality disorder.”
“Please.” What I have is multiple universe disorder.
She strains her neck to see around me. “Move!”
I snap my fingers. “I know! A manicure went wrong. You gained half a pound. Your Hollywood crush got married. Something tragic, right? That’s what made you go berserk and trash Ruby’s room.”
“Ruby’s room?” Kandy says. “See? You are nuts, talking about yourself in the second person.”
“Third.”
“Move!” She throws her soda can at my head. I duck and it explodes against the TV.
“No,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m not moving.” I realize I might get tackled and smacked again, or worse. But I’m not backing down. I’m not running away, apologizing, or taking her crap. “Why are you such a sadistic witch?”
Kandy leans forward, narrows her eyes. “What did you say to me?”
“What’s. Your. Damage?” I cross my arms over my chest.
She sizes me up. “Just because you mowed your hair off and got a tattoo doesn’t mean you’re tough.”
“Were you just being an angry shithead, or were you looking for something? Maybe a bag of stolen clothes and makeup?”
“What do you know about that?” Kandy’s eyes widen.
I shrug.
“Yeah, so what if that’s what I was looking for? I should’ve known I’d find it in Patrick’s room. It was on his desk chair. He was gonna narc on me.” Kandy leans back, studies her fingernails. “If you tell my mom, I’ll deny it. You can’t prove anything. Besides, I went off my meds, so I can’t be blamed for anything I do.”
“Perfect,” I say. “You’ve got it all worked out.”
Kandy’s voice quiets. “I hate this house. I hate your dad and your brother. And I hate you.”
I give Kandy a look of revulsion, then step away from the TV, clearing her line of vision. She can go back to watching the fake boobs. But Kandy clicks the television off, and a menacing silence fills the room.
“My mom lied to your dad,” Kandy says. “This isn’t her second marriage. It’s her fifth.”
“What?”
“Yeah, fifth.”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously. She changes husbands like she changes her painting periods. You know, the bright period, the bleak period, the far period, the near period.”
Dad is just a number, a notch, the next ex? He and Willow seem so in love, though, at least in Universe One. Maybe he won’t get hurt there. Maybe he will …
And if the marriage to Willow crashes and burns, we could move back to California. Back to our apartment in Walnut Creek with the blue carpet and the too-cold swimming pool. Back to George.
“I liked the third husband, Bruce,” Kandy says. “He helped me with my homework, drove me around. He actually asked about my life. Anyway. I can’t wait to graduate and get out of here. Live where I want to live.”
I find it hard to believe that Kandy is sharing secrets with me, but then again, nothing she says or does would surprise me at this point. I blink, watching Kandy, her entire face defeated, pulled into a frown. “Yeah,” I say. “I know the feeling.”
Words from Kandy’s diary come back to me. How many days she’d been stuck in Ennis, how she was applying to fashion school in Miami. All over the margins of her journal, she’d written the name Maddy.
She digs her fingernails into the couch pillow, and smiles her evil, creepy smile.
“What?” I say, watching her eyes.
“Run,” she whispers.
“No. No way.” I widen my stance, bracing myself for an attack. This is what I should have done two days ago, back in Universe One. I should have shown some backbone.
“I said RUN!”
“Who’s Maddy?” I ask.
Kandy gasps. “Maddy.”
“Yeah, who is she?” I think of Patrick and how he exists in some universes and not in others. How anything can happen. “Did you have a sister? A biological sister, and that’s why you hate having a stepsister so much? That’s why you hate me?”
“No one knows about Maddy.” Her voice turns brittle. “How do you know that name? I was talking in my sleep, wasn’t I? Or talking to myself.”
“I do that too,” I say. “I don’t realize I’m talking out loud.”
“There is no Maddy,” she says. “There is no Maddy.”
“Got it.”
“And do you seriously have to ask me why I hate you? Like, really? I’m sleeping in your garage,” Kandy says, punching a couch pillow. “Like a dog.”