Parallel

dismissal of his variables, but I forge on. “Can a person avoid her destiny? Or refuse it?”
    The professor’s blue eyes sparkle. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he tells me, turning back to his equation. “The force of one’s destiny, in mathematical terms. And, most particularly, whether that value varies from person to person.”
    “So if my parallel and I are sharing a reality, then is our equation the same?” Dr. Mann gives me a curious look. “Theoretically, I mean,” I say quickly, feigning breeziness with an awkward wave of my hand. “If we were to become entangled with a parallel world, you know, like your theories suggest.”
    “You ask exactly the right question,” he says, his eyes alight with understanding. “What is your sense of the answer?”
    I falter. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’d like to believe I have my own destiny, but I guess if my life weren’t entirely my own anymore . . .”
    “Your life is always your own,” Dr. Mann says sharply. “You are a uniquely created being with a transcendent soul. A new set of memories or an altered sense of reality cannot change what is fundamentally true.” He’s watching me closely now, measuring my reaction. “Your path will change,” he says then. “Your destiny never will.”
    “But what if I’m on the wrong path?”
    “There is no wrong path,” he explains. “Not when it comes to destiny. There are only detours, you see.” He studies me for a moment longer, then adds, “You said something curious when you came to see me back in September. I’ve been puzzling over its meaning ever since.”
    I try my best to keep my expression neutral. “Oh?”
    “I believe your words were, ‘Why does no one but me . . .’” He trails off, his gaze unblinking and pinned on mine. “You stopped abruptly, as if you’d said too much.”
    It takes everything I have not to look away. My palms are damp with sweat.
    “A few moments later, Ms. Moss asked about anomalies.” Dr. Mann cocks his head to one side, like a bird. “It was a very specific question, if I recall, about the possibility that someone might keep their knowledge of the way things were before the collision.” He pauses as if waiting for my reaction.
    “Oh,” is all I say.
    He smiles sympathetically, as if we’re discussing a bout of indigestion, or a tooth that needs repair. “Is that ‘someone’ you?”
    I expect to feel panic, but instead I’m washed in relief. Still, I can’t bring myself to nod.
    Dr. Mann doesn’t press it. “When you’re ready,” he says kindly. “I’d be happy to help, if I could.” Then he looks past me and beams, the way a proud father might. “But I’d say you’re in good hands already.”
    “Abby?” I turn to see Caitlin standing at the door, holding a stack of photocopied pages. She takes in my socked feet and the rim of slept-in mascara around my eyes. “Everything okay?”
    “Everything’s great!” I say brightly. “I just stopped by to say hi.” Caitlin doesn’t buy this, and clearly, neither does Dr. Mann. But he just bows politely and reaches for his jacket. “I could use a cup of tea,” he announces, moving toward the door. “Would you girls like one?”
    “No, thanks,” we say in unison.
    As soon as the door clangs shut, Caitlin beelines over to where I’m standing. “What are you really doing here?”
    “Dr. Mann just asked if I kept my real memories,” I whisper, even though we’re alone in the room. “I didn’t say no.” Caitlin’s face lights up.
    “So we’re telling him?” she asks excitedly.
    “I don’t know. Maybe. But that’s not why I came.”
    “Abby, if he knows anyway, why not just—”
    “I remember the fight.”
    Caitlin gets quiet. “Oh.” She fiddles with her grandmother’s bracelet. “It was awful,” she says softly.
    “It wasn’t really us,” I remind her, as though it’ll make a difference now. “It was them.”
    “Those bitches.” It’s a joke, but her voice is sad.
    “How did it end?” I ask. “Please, fast-forward to the happy ending. How did we make up?”
    “We didn’t,” she says. “Not officially, anyway. You called me on your birthday and acted like it never happened. That was the first time we’d spoken since the day of the fight. Unless you count the encounter our parents orchestrated on move-in day, which was so awkward and awful that my mom burst into tears two minutes in.”
    But October 30 to September 9 is nearly