Right Where We Belong, page 22
Maybe that’s why it hurt so much. I hadn’t just liked Sumner. We’d had real conversations, sharing fears and joys and memories. The teasing jabs and light bickering were present, but it felt deeper, like I’d opened a sealed piece of myself to him. It felt so much stronger than like.
“It’s probably for the best,” I say to avoid answering Sabine’s question. “Honestly? Analiese always said he brought out the worst in me.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” She raises an eyebrow. “I mean, yes, I understand he can be a bit pretentious, but he doesn’t bring out the worst in you. He brings out this assertive, unperturbed side of you that’s…ah!” The words come to her. “Determined and spirited. It’s a side Analiese overshadows, if we’re being honest.”
Is that how she sees me when he’s around? Does anyone else see it too? I’ve never considered this.
I must have a strange look on my face because she says, “It’s not a bad thing. But, you know, I wouldn’t make a habit of letting others define you.”
Her words strike deeper than I expect.
“What if,” I begin slowly, “you don’t know who you’re supposed to be?”
Sabine tilts her head, gathering her long hair in her hands and tossing it over her shoulder. Her lips press together as she thinks. In the distance, the faint thrum of bass emanates from the athletic center.
“I think,” she says, “maybe that’s what this period of our lives is for, is it not? I mean”—she gives me a sidelong glance—“even the whole presentation ball. It’s about presenting who we are. Or who we wish to be. Not the person society tells us to be.”
I’ve been so focused on the fundraising portion of the gala that I’d almost forgotten about the ceremony. I’ve been so consumed by checking boxes—showing up to meetings or community events—that I hadn’t spared proper focus on my weekly meetings with Mrs. Vidar-Tett. I’d written it off as useless, something reserved for others and not for me, forever practical.
“You know, you and Analiese were inseparable, like you didn’t need anyone else. So when you joined the Capture team I was like, Hell yeah. She’s embracing something new. And you know what I think?”
We slow as we reach the double doors. “What?”
“You want to branch out.” She smiles as she tugs the handle, releasing a wash of conversation and upbeat pop music. “Don’t let your fear get in your way.”
29
William finds me in Langley Center the following afternoon for our etiquette class and apologizes for his behavior. Him drinking with my ex who I’d only pursued to get Sumner off my case was not something I’d foreseen, but when he tells me he’s sorry—how foolish it was—it’s clear he means it. He looks more tired than usual, a dullness around his eyes, but there’s still a signature pep in his voice.
Hushed chatter bounces and echoes in the large space. Folding chairs are set up in four long rows that face the stage, with students claiming seats as they trickle inside. The podium is back, set up for our hired etiquette coach, whose thunderous voice jolts through the microphone as he discusses what falls under the umbrella of etiquette, which is not simply knowing how fancy tableware is set, but how to navigate all types of social conversation.
William listens intently from beside me, but my unsettled mind drifts. In a perfect world, William is the ideal guy—isn’t he? Handsome, charismatic, encouraging. Unstoppable positive energy. Sexy British accent. That’s not the problem. The problem is entertaining the reality of us. How is it fair to him? He’s honest about everything, maybe to a fault, but I haven’t been. I’m hiding what I know about his future. It’s no small secret, and it’s not fair to build a relationship on deceit.
I can’t pretend. I can’t come clean. Either way, I lose.
Our etiquette coach releases us for the remainder of our Saturday, and I pull William aside as conversation breaks out among students.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I begin, my heart squeezing. “I’m not sure if we—if this romantic tension between us—is a good idea.”
Confusion gathers between his brows. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, not at all. And it’s not about last night.” I feel worse by the second, but it’s necessary. “You’re wonderful. You really are. I just think it’s best if we don’t have our feelings distracting us. I mean, it’s going to make it harder when we eventually reverse our wishes after the presentation ball, don’t you think?”
He attempts to mask his disappointment with a thin smile. “Right you are,” he offers courteously. “As much as I am devoted to the cause, as I am you, I do see it’s wise to step back from our amorous entanglement.”
My throat constricts. A sting gathers behind my nose. Putting an end to any growing feelings between us is the right thing to do, though it’s not easy. I don’t want to get upset in front of him, especially since I’m the one who made the suggestion.
Inessa and Sabine join us, voices overlapping as they conspire to give William a driving lesson in the empty teachers’ parking lot. They insist he should try for fun, especially since Inessa is one of the few seniors who has her car with her. It’s a needed distraction, and this seems to boost his morale. The excitement is clear on his face.
“Should you like to join?” he asks, still hopeful.
But I need some alone time with my thoughts, so I tell him to have fun without me. A tightening cramp simmers in my lower abdomen. I want to get back to my room before it gets worse. Inessa and Sabine say they’ll find me later; then we part ways.
I shrug my coat on and head toward Hyde, quickening my pace and securing my scarf around my neck to protect it from the blustery chill. The weather has dipped to the mid-forties, and my hands nestle in my pockets for warmth. As I’m nearing the front door, footsteps sprint close behind. Slowing, I glance back to find Sumner.
“Hey.” He’s breathing hard. His wire-rimmed glasses have returned, the duct tape no longer holding the broken side together. “I need to show you something.”
I’m not exactly in the mood for company, and I’m also so close to escaping into the comforting embrace of my room. “Can it wait?”
Uncertainty falls over his expression, and that’s when I notice the panic-stricken fear widening in his eyes. On a normal day, Sumner is a collected individual. It’s rare to see him shaken, which is why this drives a sudden hot fear through my gut.
He shakes his head. “Not really.”
Alarm seizes my nervous system. “What’s going on?”
“No one’s hurt or anything, but still.” There’s urgency in his voice. “It’s this way.”
And then we’re sprinting toward the administration building. I’m dizzy. The pain from my stomach spreads down to my thighs, and I try to catch my breath in the sharpening cold. His mouth tenses as he scans his badge and holds the door open, ushering me in first.
I follow him through the hallway toward registration, my footsteps slowing. Surely we’re not paying Ellerby a visit on a Saturday? But he’s not rushing toward her office. Instead, he turns down a familiar corridor.
And I freeze.
I’ve avoided this wing since the beginning of the year. A collection of framed history decorates the walls: class portraits, administration headshots, and newspaper articles highlighting accolades and honors given to students over the years. But that’s not what’s kept me away. It’s the wall of recognized faculty and staff immortalized in photographs the size of greeting cards, the years they taught printed underneath.
Including one of my father.
A lump rises in my throat. “What are we doing here?”
Sumner rotates toward me, cheeks flushed from the biting chill. There’s something fragile and broken behind his eyes.
“I was walking by just now,” he begins, “and that’s when I noticed it.”
It takes everything in me not to double over in pain. “Noticed—?”
He motions to the frames. “This.”
My gaze roams over the portraits, maybe five dozen of them, all neatly spaced in rows. I linger on my dad’s photograph, second row from the bottom, four from the left. And there he is. White collared shirt beneath a knitted caramel sweater, thirty-two years young, with dense chestnut hair swept back and a smile as bright as all the stars combined. Daniel Carmichael, astronomy instructor.
A soft, vulnerable space aches behind my ribs. The loss is permeating. A reminder I can never separate myself from it.
But Sumner isn’t gesturing to the photograph of my dad.
“Here.” The word is a rasped whisper stumbling over his tongue. He points to another frame. The white backdrop remains, but the headshot is gone. Not as if the picture itself has been taken from its frame, but as though the person occupying the space has been unnaturally removed. As if they’ve been erased.
My breath turns shallow, panic crackling across my skin. When my narrow tunnel vision widens, I see what he sees. Multiple empty portraits, blank spaces where people have been stripped away.
No.
This can’t mean they’re permanently erased from this version of our reality.
But we hadn’t fully considered the implications of William’s presence here, had we? If our universes are somehow connected, if he never goes back, it would mean he never continued to live out his existence in his timeline.
It’s as though Earth’s rotational axis tilts in the opposing direction, jerking my world off-kilter. A high-pitched ring fills my ears. I don’t believe this. I need to sit down. I need to—
My back slides against the wall as I slip down to the cold linoleum floor.
And then Sumner’s kneeling beside me, saying my name over and over again. He sounds distant compared to my own heavy breaths filling my ears. The pain in my stomach intensifies. Spots like silver stars blink in and out of my line of vision. Every single nerve along my legs feels like pulsating hot waves.
“Delaney, hey.” Concern creases between his brows. “Are you okay?”
I push sweaty strands of hair away from my forehead, my fingers coming into contact with my headband. “I need to sit for a second,” I manage. My head tips against the wall, frantic eyes clinging to his. “Do you know what this means?”
Sumner’s Adam’s apple pulses as he swallows. “I have my guesses,” he says, voice ragged. “And I think my theory may align with yours.”
I blink away tears. Of course he sees this for what it is. My heart doesn’t want to accept it, but my mind already has. William unknowingly created a hiccup in time, one that comes at a cost to our present reality.
Our universe is aware of its own anomaly. And it’s rejecting it.
It’s a theory, but the evidence is on the wall. He is the cause; the effect is not only the disappearance of the school, but the trajectory of everyone and everything it’s impacted. The people who came here to study or teach will go on to live other life paths instead, forgetting their time here as though Ivernia never existed. It’s already happening.
If William is unable to live out the rest of his life in his own timeline, if he doesn’t go on to follow the same path, then he’ll never build Ivernia and none of this will be here—these pictures, this hallway, this campus. This place, my very first home.
It is the single most terrifying revelation. I desperately want Sumner to convince me I’m wrong, though I know he won’t. He seeks answers rooted in logic, and although this theory seems otherworldly, he can’t deny the proof. This is evidence, no matter how far-fetched.
“I’m so sorry,” Sumner whispers, finding the understanding written in my worry. “I’ll do whatever it takes to try to fix this.”
I’d stupidly believed we could take our time because we had time. That there weren’t any consequences to William staying. And yet, there are. Irreversible ramifications.
We were focused on the wrong thing, worried about saving Ivernia from falling into the wrong hands and permanently closing. The gala doesn’t matter now. Soon there won’t be anything to save. Not if we can’t figure out how to recalibrate the timelines.
Hot tears slide down my face. “What if we can’t?”
Sumner rolls off his shins and leans his back against the wall, stretching out his legs. He runs a hand through his hair. Thoughts race behind his eyes.
“There’s more you’re not telling me,” I say quietly.
His eyes drop to his hands, and I know what he’s about to say won’t be good.
“Please,” I urge.
I shift toward him, heart pounding. He’s hesitant to go on. It’s in the way his arms cross, how he nervously taps his pointer against his elbow.
“Do you remember,” he starts, “the first time we met in Danforth’s room? One of the posters was missing from the wall by the time we left. I was exhausted—between crew and William badgering me with questions—so I convinced myself I was seeing things. But then we went back and…I wasn’t wrong.”
Then it dawns on me.
“The first time we met in the lounge,” I whisper, dread thickening in my stomach, “you sat on that chair and it broke—”
“The back leg disappeared.” He tugs at the hair at the crown of his head. “And the rest did too, eventually. I mean, have you seen it lately?”
Burning anxiety skates across my nerves. I tuck my knees close, elbows sinking into my thighs as I squeeze my temples with my palms. If these are things we’ve noted, what about everything that’s gone unnoticed?
How much time do we have until everything disappears? Including us?
A new wave of dizziness washes over me as I find the photograph of my dad. This is the place where he found himself—his home—and then our home. It’s where he was first captivated by my mother, the catalyst for all the next chapters of his life—and therefore ours. What happens if none of it ever occurred? What happens to me? My siblings? If they never meet here, in this reality, will we soon cease to exist?
The answer is obvious.
But I can’t afford to find out.
Fresh tears leak down the side of my face. “We should have been working together. I mean, we’re always at odds with each other. It’s some competition or another. You one-upping me.”
“I—” He casts his gaze down, then shakes his head. “I agree. But you weren’t wrong for wanting to get started with the information we have.”
“And you weren’t wrong for trying to finish the engineering we needed,” I admit. “There’s a comfort in having everything laid out.”
It’s as close to an apology as either of us will get.
We’ve been so diametrically opposed this entire time. What a waste. All of this feels like some cruel joke. I never wanted to lose everything, not even Sumner.
I retrieve my dad’s journal from my coat pocket and run my palm along the cover. Maybe it’s not too late. We can reverse the wish. Tonight. No more time wasted.
“What are you thinking?” he murmurs.
I forget the way he can so easily read me.
“I wished for this.” The words fumble over my tongue in a rush. “It’s my fault.”
But Sumner doesn’t scoff or respond with a snitty rebuttal. His hand falls assuredly over my wrist. Warmth sinks into my skin, a tingling pressure building at his touch. “It’s not your fault, Carmichael.”
I shake my head. “Give me what I need to make this place his again. That was my wish. It’s why I thought William was our answer to saving this place for my dad—for everyone here.”
“I told you already, that’s not possible,” he says gently. “If the universe was in the business of granting wishes, everyone would get what they want.”
“This is different,” I contend. “How do you explain it?”
He stays silent. Because he can’t. I can’t.
“I know you think it’s asinine, but if it all falls apart—if we forget—it is going to be my fault. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to forget, or wink out of existence—” My voice wavers and breaks.
He scoots closer to me, his hand providing a reassuring squeeze around my wrist. “It’s not asinine.” There’s determination in his tone. “Let’s try reversing the wishes, all right? It’s worth pursuing. We need to explore every possible avenue.”
I twist my dad’s ring around my thumb. “Thank you.”
I’m sure I’d feel some relief if it weren’t for the throbbing pain in my abdomen. I squeeze my eyes shut, buckling forward as a hot ache radiates outward, destabilizing me.
He presents me with a strange look, removing his hand from on top of mine. “What is it?”
“Just cramps.” I’m used to downplaying it. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’ll pass. Eventually.
I expect to find discomfort on his face, or maybe an excuse to walk away from this conversation like it’s a blazing forest fire, but Sumner doesn’t seem fazed. He’s not the type to use my own pain against me. I’d like to think nobody’s that unkind, but I’ve given him an out. If he wants to avoid the topic, he’s free to go.
He doesn’t, though.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m just going to sit here for another minute.”
He settles his back against the wall. “Then I’ll stay,” he tells me, “as long as you need.”
I can’t explain why my heart dissolves into liquid sugar. Maybe from the overload of emotions and hard truths we’ve had to accept within the last several minutes, or maybe it’s because, for once, I’m not alone.
He motions toward the journal in my lap. “I know his journal is important, but is there a chance you’d let me borrow it?”
As much as it hurts to part with it, I trust Sumner. So I hand it over. When he opens it, the Sherlock bookmark he gave me flutters into his lap.
He blinks down at it, then looks at me. There’s a new tenacity in his eyes. “I’ll talk to Lionel.”
