One (One Universe)

hassling them a little would do me. Maybe drag them outside to kick their butts in basketball, put my float into action. But they’re not out there.
    I walk in through the garage and Mom and Dad’s car still emits warmth from the hood, the engine ticking a little. They just got home. Weird that they left as early as we did almost.
    The TV sits silent, and only the kitchen light is on. I bound upstairs, dumping my bag outside my room and crossing to the other side of the hall. I crane my neck to look into the boys’ room.
    It looks like it’s been robbed.
    Their dresser drawers are all pulled out, the clothes strewn everywhere. I glance in the bathroom, and their toothbrushes aren’t tossed in the sink as usual.
    I head downstairs, bravely skipping every second step, and find Mom and Dad sitting at the island, eyebrows drawn, holding steaming mugs of tea. Silent. They haven’t said a word since I walked in the door. I would have heard them. How long have they been sitting there?
    “Guys?” I say, staring at them, hoping my eyes don’t betray that I’m totally freaking out. “Where are the boys? Did they go for a sleepover or something? I wanted to beat their asses at basketball.”
    Mom raises her eyebrows at me, her face drawn and stern. “Language, Merrin.”
    “They got called to the program at the Hub.” Dad looks distant. Mom smiles a little, but it’s an exhausted sort of smile. “I know they wanted to say goodbye, but you didn’t answer when they called. Everything okay?”
    Duh. I had the cuff’s ringer on silent because of the Symposium dinner. Tears prick at my eyes. I can’t believe I missed them.
    “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, you guys.”
    “They promised us it would only be a week or so. Probably not longer.” Dad covers my hand with his. “They…they said the boys could help them with a breakthrough. Even got them tutors for the week.”
    “And with the success of the other gap year students…” Mom starts.
    My gaze snaps to her face. “Success? Did you see them, Mom? Did you see how they looked?”
    “Are you talking about the VanDyne girls?” Dad asks, squeezing my hand, eyes sympathetic.
    “Yes!” I cry, jerking my hand away. “How could I not be talking about them?”
    “They’re working those girls hard,” Mom acknowledges. “I saw some early experimentation with them. They’re…impressive.”
    “Yeah. Well, Elias is worried. And you guys are stupid if you’re not, too.”
    “Merrin!” Dad snaps.
    Elias was right to be freaked out. And now I know his panic. Because now we’re more the same than ever before.
     
    It’s past Elias’s curfew, so I try to sleep, tossing and turning, my usual flying dreams interrupted by flashes of white and the expressionless faces of Michael and Max.
    Our house is dead quiet, and by eight in the morning, I’m so antsy that I give up waiting. I throw on some jeans, hop into the car, and speed through Superior toward Elias’s.
    I’m so on edge that even my arms feel fidgety. Something I blew off as Elias’s uptightness about his sisters has now combined with Michael and Max being gone from our house just like that, without warning.
    Elias’s mom looks classy and put-together even in her pajama pants and slippers. For the first time, though, there are bags under her eyes.
    “You’re here early, Merrin. Rosie made pancakes. Can I make you a plate?”
    For once, a plate full of simple carbs drenched in sugar does not appeal to me. “I’ll wait for Elias,” I say, managing a small smile.
    “He’s in the shower, sweetheart. Just leave his door open so he knows you’re here.”
    She doesn’t say anything about the Symposium.
    “Thanks,” I call over my shoulder as I head down the hall to my right toward his bedroom. As much as I’d like to, it’s not the best day or time to surprise Elias while he’s wearing only a towel.
    I notice a door Elias has never pointed out to me, at the end of the hall where I’ve never really gone. Elias’s mom is stationed in the kitchen and his dad’s not around, as usual, so I duck into the room. It’s about the size of my bedroom at home — small — and it’s wall-to-wall lined with computer screens, giant tablets, even a few shelves of old paper-paged books. There are actually a lot of them — a couple dozen, maybe, more than I’ve seen in one place in my entire life.
    One of the books lies open on the desk. I tilt my head to read the title: GENETIC ADAPTABILITY IN THE 22nd