Parallel

listening to her sob about their breakup. Plus, although I don’t think I can reasonably be mad at Michael for not ratting Ben out, it feels a little like he’s on Team Ben right now when I’ve just become captain of Team Marissa. Neither of us is neutral. “Call you tomorrow?”
    Michael looks relieved. “Hang in there,” he tells Marissa, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Let me know if you want me to punch him in the face.”
    Marissa’s eyes well up with fresh tears. “I love his face,” she says miserably. I give Michael a you-should-leave-now look, and he gets the hint.
    “You should eat something,” I tell Marissa when we’re alone. “A breadstick at least.” I break off a piece and hand it to her. “I think it’s whole wheat,” I lie. But she reaches for the rest of my pizza instead.
    “That has peppero—”
    “I keep replaying it in my mind,” she tells me, midbite, either unaware or unconcerned that she’s breaking about ten of her food rules right now. “It’s like something happened today . . . but nothing happened. He was with me the whole time. I just don’t get it.” She shoves the last of my slice into her mouth and reaches for what’s left of Michael’s.
    I, of course, know exactly what happened. Ben realized that his secret wasn’t a secret anymore. He felt like he had to pick between Marissa and Caitlin, and he picked Caitlin. He doesn’t realize that he just lost them both.
    But the thing is, he never should’ve thought Caitlin was an option. She was supposed to be off-limits the night they met, wholly and happily unavailable. But she wasn’t because my parallel tried to play cupid, destroying not just Caitlin’s relationship with Tyler but, ultimately, Marissa’s relationship with Ben.
    Of course, my parallel didn’t know how powerful her words were, how far-reaching the consequences of her lie would be.
    We never do.
    Everything is a cause.
    It’s not a new idea, but still, I am stunned to stillness by its truth.
    Everything we do matters.
    I reach for Marissa’s hand. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, knowing these words are insufficient but wanting—needing—to say them anyway.

10
    HERE
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 2009
(Thanksgiving Day)
    “You’re missing the parade.”
    I peer out from under the covers and see Dad standing in my doorway, still in his bathrobe, holding a coffee mug. His thinning hair is all mussed up from sleeping on it.
    “So are you,” I point out.
    “That’s because I don’t have anyone to watch it with. Your mom is busy playing Martha Stewart in the kitchen.”
    Even though it’s just the three of us this year (my grandparents are spending the month of November on a seniors’ tour of South America), my mom has planned an elaborate Thanksgiving meal involving excessively complicated recipes she found online.
    “Meet in the living room in five?”
    “Avoid the back stairs,” he warns. “If she sees you, she’ll put you to work. And then I can’t save you.”
    I giggle. “Front stairs. Got it.” He nods, then disappears down the hall. I hear him shuffling down the steps. A few moments later, the TV comes on.
    I spend another few minutes in bed. My bed. With all that’s been happening, I’m relieved to be home, in my room, where even the smells are familiar. Except for the blue Yale pennant hanging above my door frame and the graduation photos tacked to my bulletin board, everything is the way I left it when I moved to Los Angeles last May. It’s amazing how dramatically life can change while your bedroom decor stays exactly the same.
    It’s been twenty-six days since my last reality shift, which is good, because the last one left me rattled. I haven’t been sleeping well, and when I’m awake, I’m distracted and uneasy. Replaying the horrible things Caitlin and I said to each other in the cafeteria that day is nowhere near as chilling and awful as reliving the night of Ilana’s accident (which I still do, at least once a day), but the memories of the fight and its aftermath haunt me in a different way. I used to think that waking up someplace else was my greatest risk. Now I know that there are far bigger things at stake. We’re all just a decision or two away from destroying the relationships that are most important to us and to the people we love. And most of the time, we never even know it.
    Now I do. Now I see.
    But this new awareness isn’t the only thing that’s throwing me off. There’s also the Josh factor.