his head. “Simon’s gone. I know you need time. That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
My throat ached, but instead of telling him the truth, I said, “You deserve better.”
“We’re the best, right?” he asked, and I nodded mutely. “What could be better than best?”
“But . . .”
He held up a hand. “I just declared my intentions, Del. Give me a few minutes to feel like the hero before you shoot me down.”
I couldn’t help laughing, and a smile broke across his face.
“Ms. Powell’s waiting,” I said, waving vaguely toward the music wing.
“Yeah.” He nudged up his glasses, shifted from foot to foot as if uncertain how to end the conversation. I could practically see him sorting through the possibilities: Handshake? Hug? Wave? Pat on the shoulder? What was the message hidden in each?
Finally, he slugged me in the shoulder, with a sheepish grin. I rolled my eyes and punched him back, just as gently.
“Later,” he said, and headed out.
Navigating our friendship felt like crossing a minefield without a map, testing every step, a single offhand comment enough to set off an explosion. But I cared too much to stop searching for a way through.
Hefting my violin case, I started for the music wing, but not before I caught sight of Bree at the end of the hallway, arms folded and eyes narrowed. I flashed her a toothy smile, flipped her off, and headed to Ms. Powell’s office.
Answers, finally. Ms. Powell knew where Simon was. She might even take me to him.
Her classroom door was closed, and I took a moment to settle myself, smoothing down the unruly tangles of my hair. Deep in my chest was the tiniest ember of hope, brightening with every second. Before it could flare up and burn out, I pushed open the door.
The room was empty.
I’d never noticed how different her class sounded. Most of Washington High droned softly, like a beehive, the corridors and classrooms crowded with overlapping pivots. Ms. Powell didn’t generate pivots, and Simon’s ability to consolidate Echoes had eliminated many of the others. The result was a quiet room, interrupted by a few sharply ringing pivots. So many clues, but I’d been too dazzled by Simon and too distracted by my troubles with the Consort to notice.
I ran my hand along Simon’s desk, listening. In his absence, my classmates’ pivots were creeping in again. But Simon’s pivots were louder than the rest. Each led to a world he’d created, simply by making a choice. If I crossed any of them, I could see his Echoes.
I wanted the real thing.
Memory flashed through me—Simon’s thumb brushing the corner of my mouth, an instant of startling, electric attraction. I pressed my fingers to my lips.
“How did you get rid of Eliot?” Ms. Powell asked from the doorway, interrupting my reverie.
I bristled at her tone. “I told him you were helping me with my phrasing in the Debussy.”
“Good.” She locked the door behind her.
“I don’t like lying to him.”
“Measure eighteen is marked en serrant. You should be picking up speed there, not just volume. Try to match the two.” She spread her hands wide. “Now you’re not lying.”
I bit back my protest. “Are we going to see Simon? You said—”
“I said it would take time. A few hours isn’t enough.”
A few hours was too much. “Then why am I here? You want me to help you? I’m not doing a damn thing until you can prove Simon is okay.”
“You’ve heard his Echo,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket. “What more proof do you need?”
“That tells me he’s alive. Not that he’s safe.”
“Simon is safe because we have very strict protocols for contacting each other. In the interest of keeping him safe, we’re going to continue following those protocols.” She gestured to a wavering rift on the far side of the piano. “Let’s Walk for a bit, and I can answer some of your questions.”
I drew a deep breath. Like it or not, Ms. Powell had control here. I needed her on my side. I needed to play nice. “Okay.”
She gave a satisfied nod and tapped her phone screen. A single, sustained note—a G-flat, mournful and wavery—filled the air. The pivot pulsed in response. I signaled when I’d fixed the frequency in my mind. Like riding a bike, I told myself. Riding a bike off-road and potentially over a cliff.
Ms. Powell checked one last time to make sure nobody was watching from the hallway, and gave me a thumbs-up. “See you on the other