Parallel

asks. At the word “bed,” I’m hit with a wave of exhaustion. I’ve been up for twenty-one hours after having slept for only four.
    “Do you mind if I go with them?” I ask Bret, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of my eyelids. “I’ve got a six a.m. call time tomorrow.”
    “We’ll all go,” he says, fixing his blue eyes on my sleepy gray ones. I flush under his gaze but don’t look away, emboldened by all the sugar, alcohol, and endorphins. For a second, I let myself imagine kissing him—really kissing him. “Just say you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night,” I hear him say.
    “I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow night.”
    “Really?” For a guy who seemed so confident, he looks awfully surprised.
    “Hey, Jake, just hang for a minute,” Bret tells the driver as the limo pulls up in front of the Culver. “I’m gonna walk Abby up.”
    “Oh, that’s okay,” I say. “I’ll be fine. You should get Kirby home, anyway.” I give her limp arm a friendly pat and quickly slip out of the limo, closing the door behind me before Bret can argue. Two seconds later, I’m knocking on the window, feeling like an asshole.
    The sunroof slides open, and Bret’s head pops up. “I forgot to say thank you,” I say. “Tonight was awesome.”
    “You deserve awesome,” he replies, raising his empty champagne glass in the air. Behind him, the night sky is an arresting shade of indigo. My first thought is that it’s just light pollution. But then I notice the stars. They’re so bright. Like, oddly bright. I tilt my head back for a better look. The wind picks up, making me shiver, but I can’t stop staring at the stars, which are so brilliant they’re almost blinding. “It’s your night, Birthday Girl,” I hear Bret say. I drop my eyes, forgetting the stars and my goose bumps, but Bret has already ducked back into the limo, disappearing behind the tinted glass as the car pulls away.
    When I get up to my room, I don’t even bother with the lights. I kick off my boots, think to myself how convenient it is that I’m already wearing my pajamas, and fall into bed. And finally, effortlessly, I sleep.
    I dream of earthquakes that night. Shaking so violent that the door rattles and the windows crack and the mirror over the antique dresser shatters on the hardwood floor. It only lasts for a second, though. Then the world goes black.
    I’m jolted awake by a bright, searing light and a blast of cold air. Shivering, I open my eyes, then immediately close them, wincing at the brightness. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the blinding light is the sun.
    Shit, shit, shit.
    If the sun’s up, I either slept through my five o’clock a.m. wake-up call or the front desk never made it. I feel myself start to panic. How late is it? I was supposed to be in hair and makeup at 6:05. Alain will be livid if I’m late. Please don’t let it be past six, please don’t let it be past six, please don’t let it be past six. Eyes still adjusting to the light, I roll over toward the nightstand and force myself to look at the clock.
    But there’s no clock in sight. Where the nightstand should be is a wall. A poorly painted white one.
    Fear grips my body. The walls of my hotel room are covered in textured gold linen. And the bed isn’t this close to the wall. Heart pounding, I look down at the blanket I’m holding. A blanket that should match the pale ivory upholstery of the Victorian chair by the window.
    The blanket is blue.

2
    THERE
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 2008
(the day before my seventeenth birthday)
    “Abby? Abby, honey, wake up.”
    My eyes fly open. My mom, still in her pajamas, is sitting on the edge of my bed, her face the picture of calm. I appreciate her effort, but I know instantly that something is wrong. There is much too much sunlight in my room.
    “What time is it?”
    “Five till eight.”
    I blink. For a moment I am still, calculating the exact number of minutes between now and the time the late bell rings. Thirteen.
    “Abby?” My mom is clearly confused by my stillness. We both know there’s no way I’m making it to school on time, which means I’ll miss the beginning of the senior parking lottery. They start at the parking spot closest to the building and work their way toward the street, drawing names from a box at lightning speed. In order to claim your space, you have to be present at the drawing when they call your name. If you’re not, game over. You’re automatically relegated to