Parallel

Mann muses. “There is no way to know how her choices will manifest in your life until she has already made them. A decision that appears ‘life-altering’ might ultimately not be. Often it is the choices that seem inconsequential that uproot us.” His voice is light and laced with delight, as if he were describing the rules of his favorite card game. “A great deal depends on what sort of person your parallel is,” he says then. “Some people carve a new path daily. Others stay the course for a lifetime. If your parallel is the former sort, it is quite possible you could end up someplace new every day.” He looks at me strangely. “It’s an exhilarating notion, but I’d imagine it’d be quite disconcerting to experience it firsthand.”
    My limbs go to pins and needles. He knows.
    My pulse starts to race as I envision myself pinned under a gigantic microscope, locked in the back of a lab somewhere. I need to get out of here. Right. Now.
    Beside me, Caitlin puts on a breezy smile. “Well, we should probably be going, if we want to make our train. Thank you so much for your time, Dr. Mann.”
    I’m halfway up the aisle. Caitlin practically has to run to catch up with me. “Abby!” she hisses, grabbing my elbow. “Will you slow down?”
    “Alcohol. Where can we get some?”
    “It’s four thirty in the afternoon.”
    I shoot her a look and push through the double doors. “I just found out that my life is being controlled by a parallel version of me LIVING. IN. A. PARALLEL. WORLD. I’d say that warrants an afternoon cocktail.” A guy in the rotunda gives me a funny look. “You know, it’d be a whole lot easier if we just decided I was crazy,” I mutter. “We could just lock me up and be done with it.”
    Caitlin puts her arm around me. “Hey, crazy girl, there’s a new pizza place on Crown Street, and word is they don’t card. How about I buy you a pitcher for your birthday?”
    “Yes, please.”
    Caitlin lays her head on my shoulder. “Whatever happened—or is happening—we’ll figure it out,” she tells me. “Promise.” And for a moment, I believe her.
    A pitcher and a slice of pizza later, I feel much better. And relatively normal. It’s my second week of college and I’m tucked in a corner booth with my best friend, eating white clam pizza and drinking slightly flat beer while scoping out the cute lacrosse players two tables over. (Well, I’m scoping. Caitlin is pretending to scope while texting Tyler under the table.) This doesn’t feel like some parallel person’s “potential future.” This feels like my life. Or a version of it, anyway. But how long will this version last?
    “Hey. This is supposed to be fun. No thinking about astrophysics at the table,” Caitlin commands, her voice slightly slurred.
    “Wow. Did you ever think you’d be the one saying those words to me?”
    “Ha! Definitely not.” Caitlin takes a sip of her beer. “Maybe this is God getting back at you for being such a science-hater.” She’s joking, but part of me wonders if maybe there’s something to that . . . if maybe I’m like Ebenezer Scrooge or George Bailey, being punished for not fully appreciating my life.
    “You don’t believe in God,” I point out. But my voice wavers a little.
    Caitlin hears it. “Abby, I was kidding. If this is happening, it has nothing to do with you. Or God.”
    “If this is happening, then I shouldn’t know it’s happening,” I remind her. “I shouldn’t be aware of the incredibly freaky fact that things are dramatically different than they were yesterday. But I am. There has to be a reason for that.”
    “Not necessarily,” Caitlin replies. “It could just be a fluke.”
    “A fluke ?”
    She shrugs. “Maybe your mind is just different. Like the guy in England who can recite pi to the twelve hundred and fiftieth place.”
    “Yeah, thanks,” I retort. “That’s encouraging.” I stare down at my half-empty beer, turning my cup in my hands. Maybe your mind is just different. Not exactly the answer I was looking for.
    “I know you want to make sense of this,” she says gently, “but sometimes science doesn’t give us the reasons we’re looking for. We can theorize about how things are supposed to work, but like Dr. Mann said, there are always outliers.”
    “You think he knew why we were really there?” I ask. “He kept looking at me, and then he made that comment at the end. . . .”
    “But you had that really awesome and totally