He didn’t, but I kept talking anyway. I don’t know why, but once I opened my mouth I couldn’t seem to stop. I told him how the Shift worked. What it was like to have to live every day twice, but have no two days ever the same. To go through every year of school twice, get my period for twice as long each month, know that in some ways I was almost as old as my parents. It all just came out. When the verbal onslaught finished, and he’d had a few moments to get over his shock, he leaned closer to me.
“So no one can ever know for sure? They can’t see you ‘shift,’ as you call it?”
I sighed. That was all that mattered—proof beyond all reasonable doubt. “You were with me at midnight last night. What do you think?”
His eyes widened. “How do you know I was with you at midnight? You were sedated.”
I thought of the hand that had held on to mine, that had seemed to anchor me somehow. “I . . . I don’t know. I just . . . I thought I felt someone holding my hand when I shifted back. My mind was awake for a few seconds before the drugs caught up with me. It’s hard to explain. I still don’t even . . .“
He bit his lower lip. Once again, I found myself mesmerized by the action, staring at the fullness of his mouth, the way his teeth let his lip slowly slide back into place.
“So what did you do yesterday in your other world?” he asked.
“I went to lunch and a movie. I chatted to the French waiter—he liked talking with someone who could speak French—then Dex drove me home. I had dinner with Mom and talked to my friends on the phone. That’s pretty much it. Frankly it was just nice not being tied down and knocked out.”
He let the dig slide. “You can speak French?”
“Yeah. I learned in my other life. I speak it fluently there.”
He nodded slowly. “But not here.”
My eyebrows pulled together in frustration. “Of course I can speak it here, but I don’t because I’ve never learned it in this life. It would be kind of weird if I just started rambling in French one day.”
“Right,” he said, disbelief painted on his face.
I’d had just about enough. “My memory comes with me, Ethan.” And for the first time in my Roxbury life, I began to speak in another language. “Si vous voulez que je parle français pour vous le prouver à vous, je peux parler toute la journée. Et pendant que j’y suis, je n’ai aucune idée pourquoi je ne peux pas cesser de regarder vos lèvres!” My comeback was delivered in perfect French. You can’t fake that accent.
Ethan looked stunned. “What . . . What did you say?”
I shrugged. “Just that if you need me to speak in French to prove it to you, I can speak it all day long.” I didn’t add I might have also said I found it odd that I couldn’t stop staring at his lips.
He did the head-tilt thing again, as if trying to work me out. I was suddenly self-conscious, wondering if he knew I hadn’t translated everything.
As he paced around the room, I realized the waiter in Le Bon Goût had been right. Once you learned a language, you really could take it anywhere.
“So,” he said, between paces, “if you can do that, can you get lottery numbers from one world and bring them back in time to win in the other? Or . . . change a disaster, prevent a car crash or something?” His tone was still dubious, as though he was only humoring me, but I was sure I’d heard a hint of something more, a new interest brewing.
I shook my head, noticing how much my vision was now playing tricks on me. I held out my hand discreetly and saw the tremble. The digoxin was working its way into my system.
“Sabine?” Ethan prompted.
“Oh no. It’s not like that. No get-rich-quick perks or superhero opportunities. There are crossovers, but each world is different. The only things you can fully rely on to remain consistent are language, math, materials, chemicals—stuff like that.”
“Weather?” he suggested.
“Seasons, but not the daily forecast.”
“Places, buildings?”
“Are often similar, but slightly altered. Which makes sense to me, since I guess the people who live or work in them would be different.”
Ethan looked at me strangely. “You’re slurring, Sabine.”
I tensed, but he was right. I was starting to lose my grip on things and I was feeling increasingly nauseated. I closed my eyes and swallowed, willing my stomach to keep the medication down. When I opened them, the light in the room had a yellowish tinge. I glanced up; there was a halo surrounding the small ceiling light.
“Sabine?” Ethan persisted.
“Must be tired,” I said, carefully enunciating each word.
“Should I go?”
“Ah . . . maybe not.”
He nodded, looking both concerned and relieved.
I noticed each and every time his teeth bit down on his lower lip and internally chastised myself for wondering what those lips would feel like on my own.
“Have you always hated it?” he asked.
“It’s never been easy. At first, when I was a kid, I didn’t realize it didn’t happen to everyone. Then, when I started to understand, I just got . . . scared. I thought I’d done something wrong and didn’t want to tell anyone. Eventually I learned there was no way to control it, so I accepted I had to live with it. I learned to be the person I was expected to be in each world and forget who I was in the other.”
“Sounds hard.”
I nodded. “I got used to it. Didn’t think there was any other way. Until now.”
“Because now the physical connection isn’t traveling between the worlds?” he asked, disbelief shining through again.
My vision was getting worse and I had to close my eyes a few times to regain my focus. “What time is it?”
“About 11:40. You’re sweating, Sabine,” he said, inching closer.
“Hot,” I replied, but my heart was racing and I was starting to feel breathless.
Ethan was watching me, but I couldn’t hold his gaze.
“Just let it go, Ethan. Nothing I say is going to convince you. I can’t bring things back magically or foresee the future. All I have is my memories, and me. So unless I can help you there, we’re at a stalemate.”
He smiled. “How about you come back at midnight in,” he looked at his watch, “seventeen minutes and tell me how to say ‘My name is Sabine and I live in two worlds and I want Ethan to believe me’ in . . .” He thought about it, his smile widening. “Can you only speak French?”
I nodded slowly, not really following. My whole body was going into overdrive.
“Okay, come back and say that in German.”
I didn’t respond.
“Sabine?”
I could feel my eyes rolling back, my head falling to the pillow. Then a hand on my forehead.
“Sabine?” Ethan’s tone had changed. “Why are you so pale?” His hand moved to the back of my neck. “You’re wet all over.”
Before I could say anything my body took over, rolling to the side and convulsing as I threw up on the floor. Something fell to the ground as I did.
Ethan gasped, holding me up. He righted me on the bed, then bent quickly to grab the object from the floor. “Jesus Christ, Sabine! What was in this bottle?” he yelled.
“Water,” I stammered before leaning over the edge to vomit again.
“Tell me what was in it,” he said urgently.
But I couldn’t answer. My whole body was shaking and the retching wouldn’t stop.
Ethan reached over me and pressed a button on the wall. An alarm sounded. He grabbed my right hand and felt for a pulse. The meds were kicking in harder than I’d planned.
Knowing I might not get another chance, I opened my fist, revealing the inside of my cast, and held it out to him.
“Digibind?” he said.
Silence.
Then . . .
“Digibind! Jesus, that’s an antidote, isn’t it? Sabine, what have you done? What have you done?”
I couldn’t talk. I just stared into his de
ep-blue eyes and let them be my anchor.
My door crashed open, people rushed in. Hands moved over me, things were wrapped around my arm. Something cold was on my chest.
Ethan shouted even as his eyes stayed locked on mine. “She’s OD’d. I think she’s taken digoxin. She needs Digibind!”
Someone was pushing him away. I could feel his grip on my hand loosening. With every ounce of will I had, I held on to him.
He stayed. Squeezed back.
Whoever was pushing things over my chest yelled out, “Her heart’s going into failure. Somebody get the Digibind, now!”
Hands were all over me. An oxygen mask was strapped to my face.
But it was too late.
Blinking into Ethan’s desperate eyes, I shifted.
My body heaved convulsively as I scrambled off my bed and fell to the floor on all fours. Tears dripped from my eyes as the pressure built and I lurched forward, vomiting nothing but bile.
Oh God. It hadn’t worked.
I was in Wellesley.
The test failed.
I was dying here too.
What had I done?
I retched again and slumped onto the ground, panting weakly when there was nothing left.
Is this what it had all come to?
The moment, the choices, over?
Had I fooled myself into this?
I gasped and hiccuped through silent, fear-filled sobs. I would die alone. After all this, I would have no one with me.
My heart was pounding in my chest. But despite my panicked thoughts, I noticed that my breathing had started to slow down. I opened my eyes. My bedroom was mostly dark, but my bedside lamp, still on, appeared normal. I stared into the light—just a normal globe-white glow. No halos surrounding it. No yellow tinge.
I dragged myself into a sitting position with my back resting against the side of my bed. With each breath I was feeling calmer, more . . . myself. I put my hand over my chest and felt my pounding heartbeat, but as time went on, the rhythm seemed to stabilize.
Hands shaking, I stayed where I was and waited.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but eventually I had enough confidence to attempt to stand. My knees wobbled and I held on to the side of the bed until I managed to straighten up. But with each passing moment, I felt stronger and my footing was surer.
There was only one explanation.
I’d been suffering from some kind of mental overlap. The effects of the last hour on my mind—its expectations of what should have been happening to my body given what had just happened in my other life—had taken over and were causing a physical reaction.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I whispered, coaxing myself, over and over. “It’s just in my mind, all in my mind.”
Somewhere, in another world, perhaps currently frozen in time, I was overdosing on prescription meds. My heart was in major overdrive, my vision yellow, but here . . . my chest beat steadily and, after the initial reaction to the shock, there was nothing to indicate I wasn’t all systems go. I took in more deep breaths as I tried to let the knowledge sink in, and eventually shocked myself by smiling.
I was right.
I clapped a hand over my mouth.
I was right!
The physical was completely separate. What happened to me in one life no longer affected the other.
Too exhausted to process any further, too confused to know if I wanted to laugh or cry, I cleaned up the mess I’d made on the floor, then collapsed back onto my bed and, surprisingly, fell into a deep sleep.
“Sabine! Are you up?” Mom called out.
I rolled over and groaned. I could have done with more sleep, like a week’s worth.
“Yes!” I called back so she wouldn’t come in.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. My stomach was aching—from muscle strain but also hunger. I was throwing up more than I was eating of late.
“Hurry up, or you’ll be late for school,” she yelled from down the hall.
School. I hadn’t thought about it for days. As a result of my admission to the hospital, I’d missed Monday at school in my other life. I wondered if they’d let me go back at all before graduation. Unlikely, given how insane they thought I was—and what I’d just done to confirm their theories. I groaned again and headed for the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would help wash away the other me and let me be exactly who I needed to be in this world.
When I was wrapped in a towel, hair and makeup done, I came out of my bathroom to find Mom waiting, an excited smile lighting up her face. It didn’t take long to see why. Lying on top of my bed was a gorgeous sunflower-yellow pleated skirt and a short-sleeved cream cashmere top.
“Oh, Mom, they’re beautiful,” I said, fingering the edge of the soft cashmere.
Her smile widened. “I wanted you to have something nice to start your last week of school with.”
She waited while I dressed and then nodded, tugging on the hem of the skirt until it was just right.
“There. Perfect.”
I slipped into a pair of heels and assessed myself in the mirror. Mom was right. With my new blond hair, the outfit suited me perfectly; I looked like a new me. “Thanks, Mom. This is exactly what I needed,” I said, smiling as I spun around.
“You’re welcome. Actually I was thinking maybe we could meet up after school. Grab a coffee, like old times,” she said, looking hopeful.
“Oh, sure. Sounds good.” My phone beeped with a message.
Mom gave a relieved smile and kissed me quickly on the cheek before heading out of my room.
I checked my messages. Miriam.
I’m coming up the driveway!
Sure enough, when I peeked through the curtains to my balcony, I could see her white SUV coast to a stop.
I grabbed my cherry-red Alexander Wang bag and headed for the front door, stopping only to grab two of Mom’s muffins and an apple on the way. I desperately needed to recharge.
Slipping into Miriam’s car, I handed her a muffin.
“Ooh, cinnamon?” she guessed, grabbing the muffin and taking a quick bite. “Low fat?”
“Naturally.” Mom was devout when it came to her muffins and fat content.
Then Miriam looked up and her full mouth dropped open. “Oh. My. God. Your hair!” She dropped the muffin and started clapping and jumping in her seat.
I laughed, but kept my cool.
Once she’d settled down, her eyes narrowed playfully. “You know you owe this all to me. You finally came to your senses and took my beauty advice.”
“Yes, it was all you, Miriam,” I replied drily.
She gave a self-satisfied nod and we both laughed.
Lucy was waiting for us at the front entrance of our school. Once she’d stopped hyperventilating about my new hair, we entered the halls together for the start of our last week.
“You know, I think I’m actually going to miss this place,” Lucy said.
“Well, we do rule the school. It isn’t going to be fun starting at the bottom again. At least we’re naturally talented at moving up the ranks. It won’t be long,” Miriam said confidently.
I nodded. “And even though we’re going to different colleges, we’ll still talk every day and see each other every second weekend. Remember the schedule.”
We had drafted a calendar that showed when each of us would visit the others at their new schools. If nothing else, the three of us were determined to stay friends. Drifting apart was not an option.
Lucy and Miriam nodded and we all linked arms—until Brett sneaked up from behind and tossed a very unhappy Miriam over his shoulder. Lucy and I laughed as Miriam hit Brett on the back, demanding to be put down. Everything was just as it should be, and when Lucy and I parted ways to go to our first class of the day, I did my best to concentrate on the day ahead of me rather than the one I’d just left behind.
But some things are easier said than done.
It wasn’t until I was sitting down at lunch and Dex clicked his fingers in front of m
e, saying, “Earth to Sabine? What’s with you today?” that I even realized half the day had passed.
I covered up as best I could. I sent him a sly smile and flicked a pasta shell in his direction, which led to him dragging me onto his lap. I laughed and we all joked around as we signed each other’s yearbooks. But I felt increasingly distant; something was nagging at me that I couldn’t put my finger on.
When Dex walked me to my final class, he leaned in to kiss me in the corridor. I think we made it to around seven seconds before the kiss even registered. When it did, the intimacy suddenly felt unbearable.
The strangest part was, for the first time I wondered if the problem wasn’t me, so much as us—Dex and me—as a couple. Then there was the image of someone with messy dark hair that had surfaced during the kiss, causing a shiver to run through my body before I managed to shut it down.
This was crazy. I was just confused with everything that was going on. Dex and I were perfect together. Everyone said so. As a couple, we were golden.
“Do you want to do something this afternoon?” Dex asked, his voice low and intimate.
“Oh, I can’t. Mom wants to take me out after school.” I rolled my eyes for effect. “She’s getting all nostalgic.”
Dex smiled, his hand moving up and down my back. I forced myself to stay there and relax, while mentally chastising my runaway mind.
“You know, everyone is looking at you,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows.
“That new hair has earned you quite a few admirers.”
I smiled sweetly. “Jealous?” I teased.
He pulled me closer—a fast, possessive move. “Not at all,” he growled and kissed me again quickly before stepping back. “You’re mine and everyone knows it.” He planted another kiss on my forehead. “You better get to class.”
I nodded, a little thrown by his behavior.
Final class of the day was French. Mademoiselle Moreau seemed to accept no one was really concentrating on classes this week. Essentially school was finished. This last week was more a matter of saying our good-byes to teachers, getting our yearbooks signed, and preparing for the graduation ceremony. She told us to put away our books, and simply asked each of us to take turns explaining in French what we’d be doing during our break and what our plans were for the year ahead. If only she knew what a complicated question that was for me.