“None of these are good enough,” I say impatiently, looking at an image of a vegetable garden. But then I replace it with another and stop. “Wait. I found one.”
It’s a photo of some beautiful cliffs in Ireland. I pass the viewer to Max and he just says, “Sold.” And suddenly I am there, walking among the thick grass as it ruffles in a heavy wind. Max is up ahead, holding a sweet-looking Shetland pony wearing a Shetland sweater, and I start to run to meet them. But I trip and fall on the uneven field, and when I get up again, the pony is there, but Max isn’t, and the rope he was holding just dangles in the wind.
“Max?” I yell. “Where are you?” I am spinning around and around, but all I see is green, and this time he doesn’t pop up like he did between the foam Jenga blocks.
“This isn’t going to work,” I say to myself, and I start running back down the hill where I came from, before I trip and fall again.
When I land, I’m back on the dock, but Max isn’t there, either, so I quickly pick up another slide. It’s of the Golden Gate Bridge.
“This’ll do,” I say, because it could be a photo of Siberia and I’d still take it if it got me to Max. And suddenly I’m at the top of a steep San Francisco hill, in one of the little yellow cars they rent to tourists, and Max is up ahead, laughing in his stupid helmet.
“You look ridiculous,” I call out.
“Safety first!” Max cries. “Race you to the bridge!” And he’s off. I follow him through the city, racing around trolleys until we are cruising over the Golden Gate. But as we come to the end, he turns abruptly off the road, and when I finally get there, a dusty spot overlooking the bay, he’s gone again. I sigh and gently rest my head on the little steering wheel. No. No-no-no-no-no. When I lift my head, I see a chocolate Lego on the dashboard. I pop it in my mouth and desperately chew.
Back to the dock I go, and this time I’m more specific. I toss the slides aside, one by one, until I find an image of a beautiful, clean wooden raft, resting atop calm ocean water with a pair of thick striped beach towels laid out on top.
“How far can you run from me here?” I say, and just like that I am there, lying on the towel, feeling warm and happy in the sun.
I take a deep breath, and next thing I know there is water dripping all over me.
“What kind of dive should I do?” Max asks with a mischievous grin, soaking wet as he shakes his wet hair over my body, and I squeal.
“Don’t dive!” I try to suggest as casually as possible. “Just lie down here with me for a minute.”
“I’ll be right back, Alice,” he says.
“No, you won’t,” I say. “You won’t be right back. Please just stay here with me.”
“Alice.” Max looks at me like I’m nuts. “Where could I go?” He motions around us and he seems to have a point, because we’re in the middle of the ocean, with nothing around for miles and miles. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Max, don’t.” My voice begins to come more frantic.
“Cannonnnnballlllll,” Max calls, flying out over the water, and before I can stop myself, I have leaped in after him.
The water is so blue it’s practically neon, and I can’t tell if I can see miles ahead or not at all because there is nothing to see. There is no Max. Then suddenly a foot kicks out in front of me out of nowhere and I try and grab onto it, hoping he’ll drag me wherever he goes. But the foot escapes my fingers and is gone as quickly as it came.
But then it appears again, this time a little farther away. I swim and swim and swim, pulling my arms and kicking my legs over and over until a short stepladder comes into view underwater, and I take it. Despite all the swimming I’m still not tired. I’m just desperate for anything that might lead me to him.
When I pull my body over the edge, though, I’m not back on the raft, I’m back on the dock at school again, and this time I scream in frustration. My hand shaking, I snatch another slide off the wood and stuff it in the viewer once more, not even bothering to look at what it is until I’m suddenly there, among the shelves of a vast library.
I am just about to cry his name when I hear him call out first. “Alice?” He sounds just as scared as I do.
“Max?” I cry.
“Where are you?” he asks. “Why can’t I get there?”
“I’m right here!” I cry. But this time there’s no response. “Max?” I try again, and nothing. I want to push over all the stacks to see around them, but I don’t want to risk hurting him. So I just start shoving books off the shelves, trying to see through to the other side. I call his name over and over and over, waiting to hear him call out to me again.
But he doesn’t.
He is gone.
32
It’s Not the Same