“Nice,” I murmur, smiling. I can’t help but close the door and turn off the lights. The bed is piled high with pillows, and the painted stars above me are a comfort. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I allow myself to close my eyes. Just for a second … and then I’m going to check that other bedroom again. There must be a photo album, a passport, a diploma. Something that reveals a name or face.
I’m startled awake. Someone is tapping on the window. Where am I? The clock says 1:16 a.m. The tapping continues, and now a voice. “Rubes?”
Rubes. There’s only one person in this whole wide world, in all these worlds, who calls me Rubes. I jump out of bed and pull the window shade aside, my leg angry that I moved so suddenly.
“All clear?” George asks softly from the dark outside. I can only see the outline of his hair and his torso, which seems more muscular here, even more so than the George with the nice biceps in Universe Four. “You okay, babe?”
Babe? I laugh, despite my throbbing shin. “I’m beyond glad that you’re here,” I say.
He climbs easily through the window, like he’s done it a hundred times before. The bedroom lights are still off and before I know it, he’s kissing me. On the lips, deeply. He loops an arm tight around my waist, and his other hand goes to my hair. I almost pull away, anticipating a comment about how short it is. But he says nothing. No reaction. I smile in the dark; this Ruby is more like me than I gave her credit for.
“Are they home yet?” he whispers.
Who is they? Patrick and who else?
“I don’t think so,” I say, listening for sounds in the house.
“Good,” he says, pushing me gently onto the bed. He doesn’t smell like sandalwood soap here. It’s more like spiced oranges. I press my nose into his shirt, surprised by his solid chest underneath. “Did you get your dress today?” he asks in between kisses, his hips pressed against mine.
“Um …” My entire body is tense, not knowing what he’s about to do. What if this Ruby and George have sex? All the time? “Dress?” I squeak.
“I trust that you got something extra poofy with a giant bow on your butt.” He lowers his voice and pretends to be an announcer. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ruby Wright. Homecoming queen.”
Homecoming? He’s my homecoming date? Sheer happiness overtakes me as I imagine the two of us. Dancing! Me, dancing? I wonder if the Ruby in this universe wears sparkly red shoes whenever she dresses up. And then I wonder … if I should stay here. No sign of Willow or Kandy. I’d have the dogs, Patrick. And not just George, but George the way I want him. As my boyfriend.
“You’re wearing your powder-blue tux,” I say, trying to keep up with the conversation, like I know what’s going on. He’s not serious about me being queen, though, is he? “With a ruffled shirt underneath.”
“Shiny white shoes,” he says into my neck, kissing me up to my ear and back down to my collarbone. I can’t help but tremble.
“Are you cold?” George asks. He flips on his side and guides me into the same position, so we’re spooning. He pulls the blanket over us, his knees bent into mine. I think of the shape we’re making in the bed. An S. Just like the S on his Superman costume, the one he wore when he was six years old. When I sent him that text from orientation at Ennis High, I’d asked him to come rescue me. And here he is.
“My hero,” I say.
He laughs and slides his hand under my sweatshirt, onto my bare stomach. “If Patrick catches me here, he’ll murder me.”
“I do believe that’s a true statement,” I say.
“I should go.” He sighs, his hand moving up my shirt, closer to my bra.
“Okay,” I say, wriggling free. I’m partly disappointed that he’s leaving so soon, partly relieved that I won’t have to decide about losing my virginity tonight.
“Did he say if their flight is canceled?” he asks, getting out of bed. “I bet Granny is ready to clobber some airline official with her cane.”
Granny? Granny Frankie? Is it Dad’s mother who’s living here? She smokes, and that bedroom smells like cigarettes. I sit up, suddenly feeling ill. I can think of no good reason that we’re living with our grandmother. There’s usually only one scenario, one situation that forces kids to live with grandparents. Because their own parents are dead.
“I was just thinking about my … um … dad and mom,” I try.
George clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. Even in the dark, I know what his awkward body language means. “Yeah,” he says sadly.
Now I want George to leave. Immediately. Because if there’s a granny here, I need to get going. I’ve spent too much time here already. I glance at the clock.
George squeezes my hand and climbs back out through the window. “Call me when you wake up,” he says. I nod, thinking that all of this certainly does feel like a dream, that I desperately need to wake up. Any minute I’ll find myself back in our apartment in Walnut Creek.
“George?” I call out into the night, the fireflies still flickering.
“I love you,” he calls back, and the dogs start barking again, this time in the hallway. Their nails scrape against the bedroom door, pawing to get in.
I wish I had George’s iPhone thesaurus app. I love, adore, idolize, treasure, worship you. There aren’t enough ways to say it. I count to sixty until I’m sure he’s gone, and then I tumble out of the window, heave my backpack on, and head toward the tree. About halfway back, the rain starts again, heavy, punishing. I don’t want to know what happened here. I don’t want to know how long ago, or where.
All I want to know is why. Why is this fair? Why?
Finally, I break free from the cornfield and find the oak glowing purple in the dreary rainfall.
“Let’s try again,” I say, knowing I only have three more universes to check, calculating the odds, trying to stay hopeful. I think of Mom and the Mandelbrot set. Repeating patterns, quasi-similar formations. Do I want to put myself through excruciating disappointment and grief, over and over again, in Universes Eight, Nine, and Ten? What are the chances now of finding my utopia? If I see another Mom with the windshield wiper …
“Stop!” I tell myself, stifling a sob. It only takes one good universe, Ruby. And yes, all the pain would be worth it in the end.
I reach for the doorknob but before my fingertips make contact with the copper, the door swings open.
Someone is coming out of the tree.
Chapter Twenty
I stumble backward, landing hard. I scramble to right myself, thrust my crutches under my armpits, then turn to run.
“Ruby!”
My heart jolts. It’s Mom.
She rushes toward me, hysterical. “What is this?” Her mascara is smudged down her cheeks. She’s been crying. “Where are we?”
“But you were … I saw you …” I fumble for words. The image of her in the ER, blood streaming down her neck, is still fresh in my mind.
Then I realize what’s happened. This is Mom from Universe Four.
“Did you follow me?” I ask.
“Of course I did!” she responds. She pulls me into her arms and crushes me against her body. She dots my face with quick kisses. “You weren’t in the nurse’s office.” Her voice breaks off into sobs. “I checked your French class, and then I thought you’d taken my car. That’s when I saw you way off behind the school. But I still couldn’t find you. I looked all around, calling your name, trying to figure out how you were there one minute and gone the next, and that’s when I realized that the tree had a door.”
Her emotion is contagious. I press my face into her hair. “There was another one of you, d-d-dying at the hospital.”