Parallel

to be here. Caitlin, the most rational person I know. My panic quickly becomes dread. Something is very wrong. Either that, or:
    “Is this some sort of joke?”
    “Is what a joke?” Caitlin sounds genuinely confused now. “Abby, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
    I am most definitely not okay. My mind charges forward, tearing through every imaginable possibility. The problem is, there aren’t very many. Either I’m dreaming or hallucinating or crazy. Or everyone else is.
    “I’m coming over there,” Caitlin says. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
    “No!” I say quickly, louder than I intended. “I mean, no . . . that’s okay. I’m fine,” I lie. I want Caitlin’s help, but first I need some time to think.
    “You don’t sound fine.”
    “I’m fine,” I insist. “I just had a really weird dream, that’s all.” One I can’t wake up from.
    “Abby.”
    “I’m fine!” I repeat, struggling to keep my voice as light as possible. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
    “We’re shopping Art History at eleven fifteen, right?” She still sounds unsure.
    “Yep!” I say this with all the enthusiasm I can muster.
    “Okay, cool.” Her voice returns to normal. “There’s a chem class I want to check out at ten thirty, so is it okay if I just meet you at McNeil?”
    “Sure,” I say, already distracted. It’s ten fifteen now. That gives me an hour to figure out what the hell happened last night.
    “’Kay, see you then.”
    As soon as I press the end button, a text pops up on my screen.
    Tyler: HAPPY BDAY BARNES. WELCOME TO THE BEST YEAR OF YOUR LIFE.
    Ten minutes in, “best” is not the word I’d use.
    I grab what looks like my laptop and shove it into the satchel hanging on the back of the desk chair, along with my wallet and phone. I’m about to leave the bedroom when I realize I should probably get dressed first. After surveying my closet, I go with the jeans I got for Christmas last year, my favorite white V-neck, and a snuggly brown cardigan I’ve never seen before. As I’m leaving the bedroom, my roomie returns from her shower.
    “We’re still on for dinner tonight, right?” she asks. “I was thinking I’d invite a friend of Ben’s to come with.”
    “Sure, sounds great.” I don’t have time to make birthday plans. Or figure out who Ben is.
    “Eight o’clock at Samurai Sushi? Ben’s train gets in at seven thirty.”
    I nod distractedly, checking around the room to make sure I have everything I need. My eyes land on a key card with my picture and a bar code on it. I grab it. “Okay, awesome,” the girl is saying. “I’ll make a reservation. Oh! Before you go . . .” She retrieves a tan envelope from her desk drawer and hands it to me. “This is for you.” I turn the envelope over in my hands. The words For Abby, Love, Marissa are handwritten in crisp black letters on the front. “Open it,” says Marissa, nudging me with her elbow. “And please don’t say I shouldn’t have gotten you anything. So what if we’ve only known each other twelve days? By the time my birthday comes in February, we’ll have been living together for five months, and even if we hate each other by then, you’ll feel obligated to get me something. I’m just saving myself from the hassle of feeling like an asshole when that happens.”
    I return her smile, momentarily forgetting the fact that in the last seven minutes, I have somehow acquired an entirely new life, complete with autumn-appropriate attire and a gift-giving roommate.
    Inside the envelope is a single black-and-white photograph of Caitlin and me, sitting side by side on the grass in front of what looks like a cathedral, laughing at some unknown joke. The photograph looks like something you’d see in a magazine. “What a great picture! Did you take this?” I ask, looking up at Marissa. She gives me a funny look.
    “Last weekend, remember? At the Freshman Picnic.”
    “Oh—right. Duh.” I force a smile, willing my heart to slow down. How does this girl I’ve never met have a photograph of me from last weekend?
    “Since it turned out so well, I figured you might want a bigger version to hang on your wall. So I printed an eight-by-ten and am having it matted and framed. It’s supposed to be ready tomorrow.”
    “Wow . . . thanks! Such a cool present.” I’m genuinely touched by the gift but itching to get out of here. I put on my best apologetic smile. “I really should get going. There’s a class I