“Doppelg?ngers,” he says again. “I once found a Connor Lewis on a hockey team in Canada—I don’t remember which one—and he looked a lot like me, just older, and with a nose that’d been broken a bunch of times. Kind of scary.”
“There’s a ton of me’s out there,” Zumi says. “And … surprise!” She rolls on her back and throws out her arms. “They’re all Japanese!”
I laugh.
Zumi rolls back on her stomach. “What about Mel?”
“Let’s see …” Connor says, typing.
“I know,” Zumi says. “There’s probably a mechanic out there named Mel Hannigan—maybe he owns his own shop.” She makes air quotes. “Hannigan’s Car Repair.”
I shove her and she almost falls off the bed. “Hey!” she says and shoves me back.
“This is weird,” Connor says. “Here’s a kid named Nolan Hannigan where you used to live. Did you know him?”
I freeze. Zumi jumps off the bed and stands behind Connor to look at the screen.
“This says he died there … a couple years ago …”
Zumi lowers her chin to rest on Connor’s shoulder, reading. “God … this is horrible …”
I stand and walk over. I can’t focus on the screen.
“This was before you moved,” Zumi says. “How could you not have heard about this?”
All I can do is shake my head. I can’t speak. I’m getting dizzy …
Connor says something else. Zumi answers. Their words are out of reach. I can’t see very well. My jaw clenches so hard I can feel my teeth spreading.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and pretend to answer it. “What? Okay. Be right there.” I put it away. “My mom. Gotta … do something …”
Zumi follows me down the hall. “Mel? Wait!”
I open the front door.
“Did your mom really call? I didn’t hear your phone.” She grabs my arm—I pull away.
Next I’m facedown on my bed with hardly any memory of climbing on my bike or pedaling home. The house is empty with everyone else at work. I think my bike fell over in the entryway and I left it—I’m not sure. I don’t remember when I started crying.
“Mel?”
I don’t know how I can be hearing Zumi now, alone in my room, over the roaring in my ears. I also can’t see anything with my eyes squeezed shut.
“I’m going to pop the window screen out,” she says.
“Wait,” Connor says. “Maybe she—”
“Can’t you hear her?!”
“Yeah, but she might want—”
“Boost me up.”
A stack of books falls over. My desk lamp clatters.
“Mel,” Connor’s voice says from the window. “Do you want us to go?”
I push my face into the pillow.
The bed sinks from added weight.
“You can talk to us,” Zumi says. She puts a gentle hand on my back. “Do you want to?”
I shake my head.
“Not now? Or … not ever?”
I nod at that, hard enough to hurt, and wrap my arms around my head.
My desk lamp rattles again. I hear books being stacked.
Zumi pulls on me, carefully. When I don’t cooperate, she lies down beside me, on her side, and rubs my back.
“Connor,” she whispers. “Sandwich.”
“You think maybe—”
“Stop thinking!”
The bed shifts again, on the other side. I feel Connor lie down on his back next to me.
“If you want to be alone,” Zumi whispers, “just say so.”
I don’t say so.
“And you’re still an only child until you tell us you’re not. We … we won’t even tell Annie. Right, Connor?”
I sob. I hope they understand it’s the closest I can come to saying thank you.
*
Zumi and Connor stayed with me for hours that day. When I finally sat up, Zumi said, “You have all the Toy Story movies, right? Let’s watch the second one. The one where Woody can’t decide whether to go away to Japan. That’s the most fun because I can’t decide which way to root for.”
After that, it was like it never happened. I saw no glimmer, no hint, not even a meaningful look when similar subjects came up. I’ve never told them how much their silence, and them climbing through my window, was exactly what I needed.
Zumi didn’t wait for me to ask her to come over. She never asked; she just did things. I text Connor again: I’m coming.
Except they could be anywhere.
Where are you guys?
Zumi’s house?
I head up the hall to retrieve my stuff and find Judith. Before I get far, my phone buzzes.
She says she wants
to be alone.
HAMSTER IS RUNNING
HUMMINGBIRD IS FLYING
HAMMERHEAD IS CRUISING
HANNIGANIMAL IS DOWN/MIXED
Monday morning, between second and third period, Declan and I walk down the hall without talking. This isn’t unusual. He says I get lost in my head and he just waits for me to find my way out again. He thinks it’s cool I can do that without having to smoke. That’s not what’s going on now, though—I’m actually feeling more jumpy than lost.
“You okay?” he asks. I guess it shows.
“Just tired.”
That’s as much as I’m willing to say. It’s true I didn’t sleep last night. Mom figured it out and tried to keep me home, but I’d miss half the school year if insomnia were a reason to skip class.
I have Chemistry with Zumi, which is where Declan and I are heading now. I hope she’s here today. I want to see that she’s okay, even if only from a distance.
Declan says, “You hear about Annie Bridger?”