“No,” I tell him. “There’s not.”
“Exactly.”
“So what about Wyatt?” I ask. I’m not sure I’m being told the truth, but I don’t want to cut him off. I want to hear what he has to say.
“Wyatt’s lost. Everyone thinks he’s got it together, but he doesn’t. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll be able to stay here much longer—eventually he will want his life back, and I will wake up as someone else. But, as you’ve seen, almost anyone can spare a day. Most can spare a week, Wyatt included. Who are you today?”
I tell him about Rudy.
“You see, it would be harder with him. You have the strong combination of being excited to be on vacation, and also missing home acutely. You would think someone away from home would be more vulnerable, but I think the opposite is true. Plus, of course, I’m sure he wants to see Disney World for himself.”
“So you’re saying I shouldn’t try to stay here for more than a day?” I ask.
“No. Why would I do that?”
When I met him as Poole, he seemed dead set on getting me to be like him, as soon as possible. But maybe he’s learned something since then. Again, I want to see how this plays out.
“No reason,” I say. “I’m still trying to find the right footing here.”
“Me too.”
We’ve both discovered new territory. We both want to explore.
“Look,” I tell him, “I lied to you before. I am hungry. Wanna get lunch?”
He smiles again, waves toward the cafeteria.
“I have all the time in the world,” he says.
I know I don’t. But for now, I feel like I do.
We go and get some pizza. He offers to pay, and on the way back to our table, I ask him about that, about how it feels to always be using someone else’s money.
“I consider it wages,” he says, sitting down. “For a day’s work.”
I’ve never thought of it that way.
I ask him to tell me more.
RHIANNON
It takes forever to get into DC, and even longer to get down to the Mall. We have to abandon our cars in a suburb and take the train in, along with hundreds of thousands of other people. At first it’s a party atmosphere, but as it gets busier and busier, it becomes an overcrowded party atmosphere, which isn’t nearly as fun. Or at least not on me—Preston is loving it, and is getting a lot of compliments on his outfit, which looks like Waldo from Where’s Waldo? mated with a rainbow. Alexander’s posters are also getting a lot of compliments. Alexander, being Alexander, is always sure to compliment back, finding some button that the person is wearing, or even the bright pink shoelaces they’re proud of.
I’d probably be enjoying it, too, if I weren’t so late.
I’ve tried emailing A. I’ve even texted Nathan, putting him on standby. But there’s no word. By the time I get out of the Metro station, it’s past noon. A is already with Poole. I am the backup that hasn’t arrived.
I hope he’s okay.
I think the hardest part is going to be losing my friends—but that proves to be the easiest part, because the crowd is so crowded, and because it’s hard for groups to stay together in all the shifting currents. I made sure we had a plan for meeting up after if we got separated—I just didn’t tell them I was already aiming to use it. When I slip free of them, I hear Alexander and Rebecca call after me. But then one of the speakers starts to talk, and the crowd surges forward, and I duck around a taller group, so visual contact is broken.
I’ve also made sure my phone is off. I’ll tell them I thought it was on.
When I get to the National Gallery, I ask the guard where the food court is, and he points to a staircase heading down. I have to take a moving walkway covered in lights and mirrors, like something that would have seemed like science fiction in the 1950s, and then I’m at the food court, almost an hour late. I have no idea what A looks like today—but I know what Wyatt looks like. The trick is to find him without being seen. A was adamant about that: Under no circumstances should Poole see me. We must remain separate. That is the only way to make sure I remain safe.
I stay on the periphery, where parents are trying to herd their children and older protestors are taking a rest from their marching. My eyes pass over Wyatt and A at least twice before I find them…because their body language is so comfortable, so coupled, that I mistook them for family members or friends. They are fully engaged in one another, talking animatedly, completely oblivious to anything that’s going on around them.
I can’t help it: I think it looks like a date that’s going really, really well.
Then I feel stupid for thinking that. A knows what needs to be done. A is playing along. A is learning as much as there is to be learned.
That is the plan.
I know the whole point is that Poole’s not supposed to know I’m here. I understand this means that A can’t look for me, and even if A senses my presence, it can’t be acknowledged. Still, I’m surprised by how outside of it I feel. I want to get closer to hear what they’re saying, even though I know it would be dangerous. I want A’s eyes to flicker my way, to give me a sense of what’s going on. I want to make sure A’s okay.
But…it’s plain to see A is okay.
A looks happy.
At home.
I am sure if I pulled out my phone and turned it on, I would find my friends are looking for me. They are probably concerned. I will have to answer their messages. And the temptation is to run back outside, to find them, to pretend I never made it here.
But no. I promised A I would be here after, to figure out the next step.
So I sit down. I try to make myself invisible while keeping my own vision clear.
I watch. I wait.
I wonder.
A
Day 6139 (continued)
“So how old are you?” I ask him.
“I’m not sure, really. Once I untied myself from the regularity of changing every day, it didn’t seem as important. Twenty-two? Twenty-three? Not that much older than you. I used to count. You still count, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Let me guess. You started on Day 3653.”
“Yes! My ‘tenth birthday’—or at least the first tenth birthday my body had.”
“A nice, round number.”
“Exactly. Plus three leap days.”