Washington as a family,” Principal Sayers said stiffly. “And when our family loses a member, it’s important that we understand why.”
“Simon has a family. And I doubt she appreciates this kind of harassment.”
“We’re not harassing anyone, Del. There are some irregularities”—he tapped a file on his desk—“and we’re trying to sort them out.”
I glanced at the cream-colored folder, suddenly nervous. “What kind of irregularities?”
“I can’t share the specifics.” He slid the file beneath another stack of papers. “We’re simply trying to ensure Simon hasn’t come to harm. If we can’t resolve this—establish some kind of contact with Simon, or verify his whereabouts—I’m afraid we may need to involve the authorities.”
That’s trouble for you: a swift, sneaky son of a bitch.
• • •
The bell had rung while Sayers was grilling me. In the hallway outside the office, a small crowd had formed—Bree and her friends, mostly, and a good chunk of the basketball squad. Eliot shoved through the gawkers and dragged me away, his mouth a flat, angry line
“What happened?” he asked.
“There’s some sort of problem with Simon’s records, and now they’re worried he’s dropped off the radar, ” I said through gritted teeth.
He whispered, “Do they think you killed him?”
“He’s not dead,” I pointed out. “Can you do something? Work some computer magic? They’re going to keep hounding Amelia.”
“I don’t think the records are the problem,” Eliot said. “Nobody’s heard from him.”
I ran through possible explanations, trying to find one that would hold up against Principal Sayer’s scrutiny. “Maybe Amelia can say his relatives are homeschooling him.”
“They’re not worried about his course credits. He’s old enough to drop out, and they know it. They think he’s missing.”
“Fabulous.” I looked around, reflexively. I did it all the time, searching for Simon in the halls or on the street. Knowing is not the same as believing; if it were, no one would ever hope, or have their heart broken. “Ms. Powell was going to ask the Free Walkers to help us out. Guess she didn’t get the chance.”
“What if we took a picture of an Echo Simon—something with the date visible in the frame?” he asked.
“Like a kidnapping victim?”
“They want proof of life, don’t they? Why not give it to them?”
Bree—and the rest of the school—wanted more than a photograph. They wanted answers. They wanted Simon to come back, lead the team to victory, and be everyone’s favorite guy. They wanted life to be the way it was before.
I did too.
“If wishes were horses,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.” We rounded the corner into the hallway where Simon’s locker stood. Wishing wasn’t going to bring him back, no matter how often or how desperately I sent up a plea to the cold and feckless multiverse.
That’s what I thought, anyway.
And then I saw him.
Simon.
My Simon.
Standing by his locker, mobbed by people—Bree included. I could only see his hair, brown as cattails, and his smile, sharp and sly.
I froze, my heart beating so hard and fast that it must have been audible in space, terrified I was hallucinating, terrified I was dreaming, terrified I might wake up.
His eyes met mine across the hallway, crinkling slightly.
“Del—” Eliot reached for me, but I shook him off. As in a dream, my feet moved without thinking. Slowly at first, stumbling and shuffling, then faster, my boots ringing out on the linoleum in the suddenly quiet hallway. The crowd parted, and he was steps away, and I was running, heart in my throat, tears in my eyes.
He opened his arms and I practically flew into them, fusing my mouth to his. The Key World frequency rang through his touch, traveling through me like a nuclear blast. His hands went around my waist and he lifted me up, spun me around, and pressed me into the lockers, fierce and possessive and almost punishing. I twined my arms around his neck and breathed in the scent of snow and canvas, so different from the soap I was used to, and my brain stuttered. His mouth never left mine, and the kiss was like none we’d ever shared—a clashing of tongues and teeth and strange tastes. I gasped for air, drew back to look at the face I’d only seen in dreams and Echoes for far too long.
I ran my fingers over his cheeks, along the line of his jaw, through the softness of his hair, longer than I’d remembered. “You’re here,” I breathed.
“I’m here,” he said, his mouth curving slyly. I traced his lips, swollen from our kiss, my fingers lingering where his