Sarah lowered her chin, until she was looking at the very bottom of the chalkboard, and said in a low voice, “I know you’re just me trying to talk myself out of this, but I have to do the work. If I don’t do the work, I don’t wake up, and I don’t go home. There’s no part of me that doesn’t want to go home. There’s just all the parts of me that are too scared to believe that I can finish things. I can. I swear I can.”
“Sarah, please.” I dropped the chalk and grabbed her hand, only wincing after I was already fully committed to the action.
The repulsion blast I was expecting didn’t come. I relaxed a little. Then Sarah raised her head and looked at me, and I relaxed substantially more.
“You’re not real,” she said softly. “I wish you were real. It would be so nice if you were real. But you’re not real, and it’s not fair of me to act like you are.”
“Hey, that’s sort of mean,” I said. “After everything I’ve been through today, the least you could do is admit that I exist. I mean, you’re the one who got kidnapped.”
“I wasn’t kidnapped,” she said. “I went because . . . because I had to. It was the only way to keep the family safe.”
“Oh, sure, you call it ‘keeping us safe,’ like there was ever a chance that we weren’t going to go after you,” I said. “Mark told us how he lured you out of the compound. He’s sort of an asshole, by the way. In case you were thinking he might be your new best friend, since he’s the same species as you and everything. I can’t say that he’s someone I want to invite to join us for D&D.”
“Mark?” Sarah raised her eyes, enough to blink at me in clear bewilderment. “You met Mark?”
“Black hair, blue eyes, total asshole? Yeah, I met him. I know it’s cool for you to have other friends, but could you try having other friends who don’t want to kill us all? Maybe?” I shook my head. “No, that’s not fair. He’s helping us. He has a sister who’s not a cuckoo, and apparently if your species can convince you to work for them, she’ll die along with the rest of us.”
“You met Mark,” she repeated, sounding faintly baffled. “You’re really you.”
“I’ve been saying that.”
“But you can’t be here.” Her eyes widened. She took a step backward. “Artie, what are you doing here?”
“I told you—I took off my anti-telepathy charm while I was holding you propped up in the backseat. Not my smartest move, since it means we were in skin contact before I realized what was happening, but I’m not sure I’m sorry.” I chuckled bleakly. “I was afraid you might not be you anymore. And now here you are, holed up inside your own head, doing math. We need to get you another hobby.”
“I have to do the math,” said Sarah. “The math is how I get out of here.”
I frowned. “What do you mean? Just open your eyes. Wake up. There’s no reason you can’t.”
“It’s a physical process, Artie.”
“What is?”
“Metamorphosis.” She looked back toward the chalkboard, and for a moment—just a moment—I could see the raw longing in her expression, like she had never seen anything so beautiful. “This is like taking a final exam. I have to pass the class before I can graduate and go on to the next one.”
“What happens if you don’t? Can’t you just . . . wouldn’t that mean you repeated the class you’d already taken? Wouldn’t that give us more time?”
“That’s where the metaphor falls apart. Haven’t you ever seen a butterfly who couldn’t finish breaking out of the cocoon? They die, Artie. They get stuck, and their wings can’t straighten, and they die.”
“Are you saying you’re trying to grow wings?”
“I’m saying that if I don’t finish breaking out of this cocoon, I’m pretty sure I won’t survive.” She looked back to me, resignation and grief in her expression. Then she smiled. “You know, I think the best thing about meeting on a mindscape is being able to see your face. I never do out in the real world, not unless it’s in a photograph. You’re really pretty. Did you know that? I’m glad I know that.”
“Um.” I reached back and rubbed the back of my neck, or at least the idea of the back of my neck. Again, telepathy is confusing. “I don’t think it’s ‘pretty’ for me. Pretty sure it’s supposed to be ‘handsome.’ And either way, it’s not technically correct.”
“You have a skewed sense of your own appearance, which is common,” said Sarah. “I think you’re beautiful. Right now, I’m going to be selfish and say that’s what matters.”
“That’s not selfish.”
“Isn’t it?” Her smile was even sadder than before. “You can’t stay here, Artie. I need to be alone with the numbers. I need to focus on them right now. I need to show them that I can handle them.”
“They’re just numbers.”
“No. These numbers are different. These numbers are awake. They can see me, and they’re trying to decide whether I’m good enough to see them.” She glanced at the chalkboard, fingers twitching. Then she raised her hand.
The chalk pulled itself up off the floor and flew to her, smacking into her palm. She closed her fingers around it.
“I’ll be home soon, I promise,” she said. “The cuckoos can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do. I just need to finish this equation and I can come home.”
“Sarah—”
“Kiss me one more time before you have to go?” Her voice was soft, plaintive. There was no way I could have told her no. I stepped forward, pressing my lips to hers, and she melted against me, languid and slow. I could have kissed her forever. I wanted to kiss her forever, the rest of the world be damned.
Sarah was the one to eventually pull away.
“Don’t worry about me, Artie.” She looked at me, and her smile was heartbreakingly bright, and devastatingly beautiful. I couldn’t look at it. I couldn’t look away.
“Please,” I whispered. “What you’re trying to do will destroy the world.”
“It won’t. Ingrid said—”
“She’s a cuckoo. Cuckoos lie.”
For a moment, I saw doubt in her eyes. “I’m a cuckoo. Do you think I lie?”
“Not to me,” I said.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, and her eyes flashed white, and everything went black.