it in this one. But when it came down to it, I just couldn’t do it to Mom and Dad. Or face the wrath that would follow.
Pleasing everyone in my two lives has left me feeling raw at times. And frustrated. And exhausted. And … well, a lot of things I tried hard not to admit. There was no point.
‘If you’re hungry, there’s leftover cake in the fridge.’
I shook my head. We’d been working our way through the gigantic chocolate cake Mom had made/massacred for my eighteenth for the past week.
‘I grabbed something earlier,’ I mumbled, looking away.
‘I could’ve phoned Dr Meadows,’ she said, still hurt I hadn’t called her.
‘Mom, don’t worry. Everything’s okay now.’ I flashed her my arm and an I’m-just-fine smile. ‘Wrist broken, arm in plaster. There’s nothing else anyone could do. In a few weeks it will all be back to normal.’
And that’s when it dawned on me.
‘Shit!’ I barked, catching my spit-fall of tea in my good hand. I’d been so thrown by the glitch, by seeing fruit shop guy, I hadn’t even considered the real problem.
‘Sabine!’ Mom snapped.
That was one thing my moms had in common: the no-swearing rule. But right then I didn’t care. Mom was lucky I hadn’t let the F-word fly.
‘Sorry, Mom. I just … I remembered my final history essay is due on Monday and I haven’t finished it.’ I straightened my back to strengthen the lie. The days of feeling guilty about lying to my parents were long gone.
Mom looked at me skeptically. ‘Since when do you do homework on a Friday night?’ She gestured to my arm. ‘And I’m sure your teacher will allow some leniency.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m almost done.’ I wiped my tea-wet hand on a dish cloth and grabbed my mug. ‘I’ll go finish it now so I won’t have to worry about it all weekend.’
I weaved through the kitchen and up the stairs, my mind scrambling to figure out exactly how I was going to handle this one.
Broken arm.
Two lives.
This had never happened before.
It was close to 10 p.m.
Shit.
Only two hours to figure out a plan.
I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. In either life.
I hated problems that flowed over – it meant I wouldn’t be able to sleep before the Shift. I could already feel my palms getting clammy. It always scared me, being awake at midnight.
I tiptoed past Maddie’s room. Right then, I couldn’t cope with her; I didn’t have a brave face at the ready.
After loading up the pillows on my bed, I sat down, resting my arm on top of the pile.
‘I am the master of my own world,’ I chanted to myself. ‘I manage what happens to me. I can do this.’ But my words were false and quickly fell away as the truth slammed into me and held on with an iron grip.
I’ve broken my arm.
I. HAVE. BROKEN. MY. ARM.
‘Idiot!’ My stomach tightened with fear and I tried unsuccessfully to slow my breathing.
Usually I have a built-in radar for this type of stuff. The cans and can’ts. How it all works. It’s pretty simple really. My body, and anything inherent to my body – my mind, my memories – goes through the Shift. But that’s it. Material things – clothes, jewellery, even nail polish – get left behind. The only other thing that stays with me is my name. For reasons I can’t explain, both sets of parents called me Sabine.
Bottom line, if I cut my hair in one life, it will be likewise affected in the other. I dyed a hidden section of hair pink once, and although the dye didn’t travel, the pigment of my hair was affected enough to look different in my other life – I’ve never dared to experiment further. If I’m sick in one life then I’m sick in both. If I get a tattoo in one world – not that I plan to, much to Capri’s disappointment – I’m almost certain it would only be visible in that life. Ink won’t travel, though the healing pains would be felt in both. If I had my nose pierced, the hole would exist in both lives, but the ring would stay in only one.
I pressed my fingers to my temples. I hated thinking about this stuff. Most of it was just weird and made me feel … wrong. Like I’m wrong. To avoid mistakes, I was careful all the time – trimming my hair only when I needed to, keeping it long and its natural