“My composition,” I said. “I’m supposed to perform it for the class, but I need someone to play the counterpoint.”
“No problem. I’ll do it,” he said as the final bell rang.
The thought of anyone else playing the song Simon and I had written together felt wrong. It would sound wrong, even if Eliot hit every note.
Still, he looked so eager to help. It was another attempt to prove our friendship was back to normal, but the effort only highlighted how far off track we’d gone.
Now that I knew the truth about his feelings, I could see the signs and hints I’d missed for years: The casual touches that unsettled him, the way he watched me when he thought I wasn’t looking. The way he bristled, ever so slightly, when someone mentioned Simon’s name. The way he treated me like something fragile and rare.
I wasn’t fragile, but our friendship was. I was cautious now, in a way I’d never been, questioning my every move. I swung between extremes: too awkward, too familiar, too remote, too warm. Terrified I’d lead him on, terrified I’d lose my best friend.
Terrified I already had.
“Sounds great,” I said, mustering a smile as Ms. Powell started class. She avoided my eyes the entire hour, her genial, frazzled teacher’s facade firmly in place while we reviewed for a test. Only when class ended did she look my way.
“Del, a word?” She glanced at Eliot, hovering nearby. “I’ve got time after school today, if you want to work on the Debussy piece.”
“I do.” I touched the fine silver chain around my neck, the pendant my Free Walker grandmother had left me. Answers, finally. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Not as much as I was.
CHAPTER THREE
WORLDS ARE MADE BY CHOICES both big and small. A pivot forms the instant a decision is made, but it takes on its final resonance gradually, as consequences unfold. Deciding between a hamburger or a hot dog seems minor—but if you choke to death on the hot dog, the effect is huge, and so is the pivot.
High school is full of choices. Some feel monumental but aren’t; some feel insignificant but alter everything. Originals don’t notice pivots. They move through life seeing only the consequences that affect them directly. Walkers, on the other hand, can’t create worlds. We can only visit them. It’s for the best; otherwise we’d be paralyzed by the weight of our decisions.
Ms. Powell’s choice to tell me about Simon hadn’t made a new world, but it had scrubbed this one clean. It had helped me shake off the haze of sadness and self-pity I’d been lost in, and it felt good.
Except for the part where I had to lie to Eliot. Again.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to stick around?” he asked, zipping his coat. The bulky parka obscured the breadth of his shoulders, but not his uneasiness. “We could practice the duet once you’re done with Ms. Powell.”
“We can practice at my place,” I said. “I’ll call you when I get home—unless you want to come back and give me a ride.”
“Now you’re just being lazy.” He grinned.
“It’s freezing.” The weather had turned while I’d hidden away in my room. No snow yet, but the cold was bitter and relentless, stripping the last of the leaves from the trees, forcing me into even more layers than usual. “I don’t know why you won’t drive to school. You’ve got the car.”
“Do you know what the administration charges for parking permits? Do you know how many movies I can buy with that money? If you hate walking that much, get your own license.” He paused, as if he’d heard his own words for the first time. “Regular walking. Not ours. I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
He didn’t move as the hallway emptied around us. “Do you? Hate Walking?”
“Kind of pointless,” I said. “Nobody hates gravity, right? Same thing.”
“Gravity’s a constant. Walking’s a choice.”
Simon was my constant. If Walking helped me find him, there was no other choice.
“Go on,” I said, giving him a shove to lighten the mood. “If you don’t quit hovering, I’m going to return the favor. Sneak into your room and smother you while you sleep.”
“I’d rather you not smother me,” he said with a strange half smile. “Sneaking into my room’s okay, though. Any time. Open invitation.”
I drew back. “Eliot . . .”
“Relax, Del,” he said, shoulders dropping. “I get it. I’m not going to chase after you while you’re still in mourning.”