Dissonance by Erica O’Rourke Page B

his arms wrapped around me, anchoring me against him as the world started to spin. He tasted like mint and secrets, and I opened my mouth to his, craving more as his fingers traced languid circles down my back. I shivered atthe sensation, tried to close the space between us completely. He broke the kiss, and tucked my head under his chin, his breathing ragged. “You’re cold.”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œMy car’s over there,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the Jeep. “We could get out of the rain. Go someplace private.”
    I rubbed a hand over my mouth, where his lips had been a moment ago, the taste of him still fresh, my pulse unsteady.
    â€œOr not,” he said, dark eyebrows lifting. “Your choice.”
    Around us, I could hear the fissures forming, a hundred pivot points created by a single kiss, the universe cracking wide because of this one instant, this one boy.
    Time is not static. You can never get a choice—or a moment—back. The best you can do is witness the effects.
    I wanted the moment. Every nerve I had was screaming at me to take Simon’s hand, get into the car, and drive.
    Not truly Simon, though. This Simon was an Echo, and tomorrow I’d have to sit behind his Original in class and pretend like I didn’t know the feel of his hands or the fit of his mouth. I’d have to watch his eyes pass over me without a hitch, because this never would have happened.
    I couldn’t stay.
    Already the frequency was ringing in my ears, competing with the thudding of my heart. In two hours I’d have a headache. In three, a migraine. By sunrise I wouldn’t be able to find my way home. I’d Walked too much today.
    I drew a piece of paper, dark blue on one side, silver on theother, out of my pocket. It was damp from the rain, the creases soft edged. Simon watched as the star took shape in my hand.
    â€œI’ll take that as a no?”
    I finished the last fold and set it on the windowsill. I didn’t need a breadcrumb to find this world again. It was proof of this moment, something that wouldn’t disappear when I did.
    â€œAnother time,” I said, only half-believing it, and went up on tiptoe to kiss him again. His hands tightened on my hips, holding me fast as his lips traveled along my jaw.
    â€œYou don’t want to leave.”
    â€œNever said I did.” I pushed away, legs and resolve both shaky. “See you around.”
    â€œI’ll drive you,” he said, catching my hand.
    I disentangled my fingers from his. “Thanks, but I’ll walk.”
    As I rounded the corner, I looked back through the pouring rain. I wanted to see his face one more time, while he remembered I existed.
    He’d picked up the star. He stood under the awning, spinning it between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes never leaving me.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    While a Walker’s decisions create pivots, our inability to form Echoes means the pivot is unable to sustain itself; almost immediately, the newly formed world is reabsorbed by the parent branch. This phenomenon is called “transposition.”
    Transposition may also occur when Originals or Echoes make a choice that does manifest in a significant frequency change.
    â€”Chapter One, “Structure and Formation,”
    Principles and Practices of Cleaving, Year Five
    â€œWHERE WERE YOU last night?” Eliot asked as we trudged toward the cafeteria. “Didn’t you get my texts?”
    â€œSorry. I crashed early.” Guilt nibbled at me. First a secret, now a lie. I hadn’t seen Eliot’s messages until I’d returned from Doughnut World, too late to reply. And he would not be thrilled to hear I’d already violated my probation to make out with Simon’s Echo.
    I changed the subject. “What happened after I left last night?”
    â€œLeft” wasn’t quite accurate, but it sounded better than “After the Consort guards