The night of the gala. Months ago, this might have been my largest concern. But not anymore.
Sumner leans over me to look at the screen, causing centripetal force to kick-start in the center of my chest. Old feelings have snuck up on me, no longer subdued. I try not to let him dominate my thoughts—our attention is commandeered by more important matters—but there’s so much we’ve suppressed discussing. He must sense it, too. I don’t think it’s all in my head.
Sometimes I’ll catch him watching me like I’m the only person in the room, a tender ache behind his eyes. His touch will linger when he passes me a dry-erase marker, or his shoulder will faintly brush mine when he scoots closer to me on the couch. When we’re alone, which isn’t very often, he’ll take a breath, almost like he’s gathering the nerve to speak, but then he’ll release it instead. The tension feels like an overinflated balloon on the precipice of bursting.
“Why December sixth?” William asks.
On his iPad, Lionel’s brought up various charts on the Space Weather Prediction Center website, which can estimate geomagnetic conditions up to twenty-seven days in advance. The Kp index—which predicts aurora intensity—is at an estimated high on December sixth. It’s the best shot we have. The solar maximum is on our side, so we’re going to need a large solar flare to produce a strong geomagnetically induced current in order for the isoborometer to work. In theory—and if we’ve done everything right by then—it should.
Lionel points to the highest peak on the chart. “But we’ll have more accurate data—”
“Day of,” I finish, meeting his eyes. I’ve retained as much from my dad.
He snaps his fingers. “Exactly.”
That’s almost two weeks away.
I’ve pushed my most horrifying theory to the back of my brain. If Ivernia ceases to exist in this reality, Ialsocease to exist in this reality. Because my mother wouldn’t have accepted the substitute teaching position. She wouldn’t have met my dad, because he wouldn’t have been teaching here. They’d lead their own separate lives, maybe with other partners. And what about us? Even if they had kids, they wouldn’t be Jared, Madelene, or me. Dwelling on this only increases my internal panic, so I focus on what we can control.
I’m working next to Sumner on the couch Thursday evening when a gentle poke prods at my rib cage. My eyes flutter open. When did I close them? I’ve somehow melted into his side, my head slumped on his arm. I’d fallen asleep, but I don’t have time to process my embarrassment because Sumner’s saying, “Your phone.”
A gentle chime bleats from beside me. Jared’s name lights up my screen. Pushing myself into an upright position, I tap the green icon to answer, then launch to my feet and push my way out of the Forgotten Lounge.
“Hey,” I say once I’m in the hallway.
“Hey.” His tone is off.
I still. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a weighted pause. “Listen, Mom is going to call you and tell you herself, but I think you should hear it from me first. We’re not going home for Thanksgiving.”
Anxiety tightens beneath my ribs. “Oh.” I try my best to keep my voice chipper, but I’m failing. “Um. Why?”
“You know how Mads joined the International Thespian Society at her school?” I did not know this, but he continues without waiting for a response. “She made it to the semifinals of this regional acting competition, which is in Pittsburgh over the break. Mom’s taking her. And since money’s tight now, it’s a bit of a relief for us not to travel home, I think.”
My hand flies to adjust my headband. “Right.”
We’ve always been a budgeting family, but finances are different now that my mother is in charge of a single-parent household. I thought I’d use the money I’d saved from hostessing to book a flight—or hell, even a bus back to Pennsylvania. Jared and I have always gone home for the holidays. What if this is my last chance to see my family? Because if we fail—
No, I can’t think like that. Maybe this is for the best. It gives me a chance to continue working alongside William while everyone else is on break, because we can’t stop the progress now. Not when we have a deadline we’re striving for.
There isn’t an ideal scenario here. Either way, I stand to lose something.
“It’s a change, I know, but the winter holidays are right around the corner. We’ll be home before you know it.”
I want so badly for this to be true. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I have a few friends who invited me over for dinner,” he says. “Areyou?”
“Of course,” I say quickly. “It’ll give me more time to focus on the gala. And I can get a jump start on studying for finals. Polish my college applications, all that.”
I’m rambling now. This competition is important to Madelene, so it’s important to me, but I don’t understand why she didn’t say anything in the first place.
“I mean, takesometime off, superstar,” he says. “Can’t have you turning into Analiese.”
For as much as Analiese and I have drifted apart, I still thought I was somewhat tapped in to her life. As it turns out, the last time we properly hung out was my birthday. We’ve stopped eating together, each of us blaming our busy schedules in our texts, and I can’t recall the last time we studied in the library. With the loss of my entire existence on the line, the isoborometer has become my highest priority.
So I’m surprised when she beckons me to the library later in the evening with a text that nearly sends me into cardiac arrest:I’m sorry Delaney, but I wrote the exposé.
