Part 2 (1/2)

It felt like a slap. ”What are you going to do, then? Just discover everything without me? Avoid me and move on? What's going to happen if you make sense of everything before I do and then you leave? We might not be able to get into a new stream together if we don't leave here at the same time.”

”I know.”

She said it quietly.

So quietly it was like a knife sliding in between my ribs and severing my heart into two pieces, halves that would never be whole again.

”Wella”now I guess I know too.” I rolled over, putting my back to her. Now that I'd badgered her for the truth, I wanted to put it back where it'd come from. Neither one of us said anything, but I felt her hand perch upon my shoulder like a bird ready to take flight.

”Elliot?”

I didn't answer.

”There's one more thing you should know. I figured it out once you showed up at the Obmil and I could see what you looked like in your last life. We weren't together the way we've always been. We've already gone our separate ways.”

4.

creation variation.

The next morning Julia was gone when I awoke. I was stiff and uncomfortable from sleeping in my clothes and staying on my right side in order to avoid looking at her. She'd snuck out early but left an origami crane sitting on my pillow. Cranes are supposed to be extremely loyal. Legend says that if you fold a thousand cranes you'll be granted a wonderful wish, like a long life. Since I was already dead at the age of seventeen and the closest soul I'd ever known wanted to get away from me as fast as possible, it was too depressing to think about.

I placed the crane on the shelf over Julia's bed, but then changed my mind. I didn't need a constant visual reminder of everything wrong between us. I held the tips of the wings between my fingers and gave a test pull. It wouldn't take much. I bit down on my lip. I couldn't bring myself to cause harm, even to a little paper crane. Compromising, I moved it to the corner of the shelf above my bed where I couldn't see it.

I glanced at my watch. Although I'd had the periodic urge to escape from the dark loneliness of our room last night, now I was finding it hard to leave the Nest, my nickname for the place. I headed out anyway, feeling as if I was traveling down the path of other people's choices.

Despite my reluctance to get to Workshop, I found I was actually enjoying my walk to the Delving School. I was torn between avoiding my past and enjoying the rush that came from playing with my surroundings. I knew the novelty of creating would soon wear off and become second nature, like breathing, but for the moment I greedily envisioned my two favorite seasons at the same time. I sighed as I watched beloved characteristics from autumn and spring jump to life in front of me. I was having so much fun tromping through crunchy leaves and smelling flowers that my steps became a little quicker, despite the fact that I wanted to avoid my destination. Thinking about it, I realized that the last thing I wanted to do right now was to engage in an emotional excavation of my last life. It wasn't like I was going to discover something gooda”how well could my last life have gone if I'd ended up here? But on the other handa”I'd be spending more time with Oliver since he would be in my Workshop.

When I reached the doors of the school, no one else seemed to be around. This was evident because the school appeared exactly as I would imagine the perfect school to be. Unlike the stability and continuity of the Haven, this building was subject to personal interpretation. It had a designated location in the clearing at the top of the western trail, but that was about as much consistency as this part of the Obmil offered. When no one was around I imagined the s.p.a.ce was like wavy heat dancing over hot pavement, but I was only guessing. Whenever I got close enough, my vision filled the gap.

With my imagination unimpeded, the main section of the building was stone and brick with large windows and ivy crawling any place it could get a hold. There were large majestic oaks, maples, and willows keeping guard around the edges while smaller, bud-laden trees held court in the front entrance. Over to the side there was an addition to the building, a seamless connection that was gla.s.s and light, beams and angles, a modern contrast to the ancient history of the brick and stone. It was the equivalent of the gla.s.s pyramid that announced the Louvre in Paris. It was wrong in such a way that it wouldn't be right if it were any other way, at least for me.

Resigning myself to my fate at Workshop, I headed toward the towering dark wood doors. Suddenly they disappeared. I found myself standing in front of a drab gray urban warehouse of a building. Where there once was ivy and gently warmed stone, now stood graffitied concrete and dirty chicken-wired windows that blocked me from seeing inside. A mere two inches from my face, a vent belched moist, dank air straight at my nose.

My gut told me exactly who had done this. Somewhere nearby was the sullen-looking Trevor with the piercing blue eyes. Only he would create something like this. Instinct suggested I move out of his way, but I was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch again.

I had two options. One was to stand there and fight it out with Trevor, to try and override his pathetic preference in architecture. Or I could partially suspend belief and share the design. If we had a creative confrontation I couldn't imagine how long we'd be standing there flipping architecture back and forth, but it killed me to have to cocreate with Trevor. I felt a twinge of guilt. Hadn't this been what Julia was suggestinga”that I had to always have things my own way? I shrugged it off, because that couldn't possibly apply here. No one in their right mind picked rusty chicken wire as a decor choice. He had an agenda.

It was so silent I could hear the soft ticks of the minute hand of my watch. I released the tension in my clenched fists, realizing that I'd have to at least give it a try. I hated feeling vulnerable, but if I didn't make the attempt, Trevor and I would find ourselves spending half the day ping-ponging between my creative vision and his dark and nasty view. Besides, I'd sworn to Mel that I wouldn't be late and I wasn't planning to break my promise, even to irritate someone so rude.

I closed my eyes and opened them again. A soft sigh of relief escaped me. He'd cooperated.

If I was honest with myself, the result of the cocreation wasn't that bad. The corners of my mouth turned up slightly. The outcome of blending our two visions was a modern version of my building, merged with a clean, almost architectural version of his.

A clock tower chimed and I reached for the handle of the sleek but elegant gla.s.s doors. My fingertips had just grazed the smooth metal when the whole door disappeared.

5.

unguided.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trevor dash into the building through a dinged and scratched windowless steel door that hadn't been there seconds before.

”Jerk!” I kicked the grungy brick wall. I didn't even have time to rub my throbbing toes as I darted into the building, heading for Workshop.

My toes were fine in seconds, but running like a startled rabbit down the hall left me frazzled and breathless by the time I reached Mel's door. I paused outside her cla.s.sroom to steady my breathing and collect my thoughts. I wanted to walk into the room seeming completely unruffled, but Trevor's antics had left me fl.u.s.tered. I needed to be calm and prepared. I knew once everyone was settled, I would have to step up to the Swing and Delve for my memories. My hands were sweating just thinking about it. I planted my face in my palms, trying to erase the sudden vision of myself in the Swing, everyone judging me. Things would be so much easier if Julia was here.

I'd never Delved before, but we'd witnessed other Delves during our last two visits to the Obmil. I'd learned a lot from watching other Third Timers dissect their pasts. But obviously I hadn't learned enough to avoid becoming a Third Timer myself. I should've listened to Mel more carefully; she was always dropping little hints about how easily anyone could find themselves being a Third Timer. But I'd never really thought it could happen to me. Now I was standing here with knots in my stomach, worried about being dropped like a rock into my own unenlightened past.

I felt a small sting as the taste of blood hit my tongue. I'd gnawed too voraciously on my cuticle. I sucked on the fresh wound, then stuffed my bloodied finger in my pocket, pus.h.i.+ng the door open with my hip. Turning to face the cla.s.s, I instantly realized I was the last one to arrive. I scanned the faces but stopped abruptly when I saw Oliver and Trevor glaring at each other with blatant hostility, sparks practically flying between the two.

Before I could break away from the sight of them, a low humming noise filled my ears. Everything was fading. My legs began to go numb. My knees sank to the floor. As Oliver and Trevor disappeared from view, I noticed a tiny pinp.r.i.c.k of light and heard the faintest sound of music in my ears. I'd never heard of anyone making a Delve unguided before, but my memories crashed over me before I could stop them.

a a a The applause no longer rang in my ears but the memory of it vibrated through my heart, causing me to feel more alive than I ever had before. Onstage I was someone special.

I opened the windows in the car and the wind whipped my hair around. I was glad I'd taken the extra minutes to remove my stage makeup before I met up with everyone at the cast party. It was the end of the school year and there wouldn't be many opportunities to get together with friends before we all went our separate directions. It always felt like the summer would be loaded with extra time, but jobs and vacations seemed to fill up all the potential empty s.p.a.ces.

Dad had offered to drive over with me, which was sweet, but I kind of wanted a few minutes to myself. I only needed to go a couple miles down the road to hook up with the cast and all my adoring fans. Elliot Turner having fansa”who would have thought? I felt lit from within.

I turned up the song that Mom had left in the car. I'd always been a music mutt, pulling inspiration from whatever was around. ”Little Bird” by Annie Lennox was pumping like a heartbeat and I felt as if I was flying. I was alive, belting it out with Annie. It was just me on the road, except for a silver minivan up ahead. I was singing so loud I wondered if they could hear me.

”They always said that you knew best, But this little bird's fallen out of that nest now.

I've got a feeling that it might have been blessed, So I've just got to put these wings to test.”

”d.a.m.n it!” My cell phone was ringing and my bag was on the floor. I hooked the strap with my finger and tugged. It didn't budge. I swiped the hair out of my face again and gave another tug as I glanced back up at the road. The bag flew up onto my lap, tipping over the morning's coffee remains.

”For I am just a troubled soul, Who's weighted . . .

Weighted to the ground.

Give me the strength to carry on, Till I can lay this burden down.

Give me the strength to lay this burden down . . .”

I could still hear the ring of the phone wandering off into the wind as I flipped it open and squeezed it against my ear. I blotted up the coffee. Oh s.h.i.+t! I was leaving a trail of damp tissue paper on my skirt and I didn't have another change of clothes for the party.

”h.e.l.lo?”