Many Worlds of Albie Bright (10 page)

My school report says that I’ve got two left feet. When we did traditional dances from history in PE, the rest of Class 6 all danced the waltz, the jive, the two-step and the tango, but Miss Benjamin told me that I had to stick to the birdie dance. She said this was the best dance for a beginner like me, but I couldn’t even get that right and ended up elbowing Timothy Chase in the face when I was trying to flap my wings in time. I forged a sick note from Grandad Joe to get me out of PE after that, but I still have nightmares where Miss Benjamin is forcing me to
dance the foxtrot.

So when I step into the village hall to see an enormous dance floor with hundreds of flashing lights and a huge glitterball hanging overhead, it’s my worst nightmare come to life. On the dance floor Wesley MacNamara is dancing with Victoria Barnes, the two of them cha-cha-cha-ing to a song that sounds kind of familiar, but not quite right. Victoria’s wearing a red sparkly dress that seems to be made entirely out of sequins, while Wesley is wearing an all-in-one white jumpsuit, although it looks like he’s forgotten to button up his shirt.

As Wesley spins Victoria round for the final time, she finishes the song by doing the splits in the middle of the dance floor. The rest of Class 6, who are standing round the edge watching, break into a chorus of whoops and cheers. Next to the DJ, the spotlight falls on a panel of three judges – Miss Benjamin, Victoria’s mum and the vicar, who’s wearing a gold lamé suit – each of them holding up a scorecard with a large number nine on it.

“What a surprise,” Alba mutters as she pushes her wheelchair towards the dance floor. “Victoria wins again.”

“I hate dancing,” I tell her. “There’s no scientific
reason why people should dance.”

“I used to like it,” Alba replies, and I instantly feel like the stupidest person in the room. “Mum said to me that the atoms in our bodies are dancing all the time, so it’s only fair that we play them some music to dance along to. Before the accident we used to dance round the kitchen together inventing routines for some of Mum’s favourite songs.”

I remember dancing round the kitchen too, but that just reminds me why I’ve come here.

I’m looking round for a quiet corner where I can ask Alba exactly what she meant when she said she knew what I needed to do to see Mum again, when I spot a familiar face. It’s Kiran, standing waiting outside the party’s inflatable photo booth. For a second I forget that the Kiran in this universe doesn’t even know me, and I give him a friendly wave.

Kiran just stares straight past me like I’m the Invisible Man. Then he spots Alba and I see the shy smile that comes on to Kiran’s face every time a girl he likes walks into the room. He gives her a wave, and looking across I watch Alba wave back, wearing the same shy smile. I can’t stop myself from smiling too. At least the Albie in this universe
has got the same best friend as me. Then a horrible thought creeps into my head – the question almost too terrifying to ask.

“Is Kiran your boyfriend?”

Alba turns a bright shade of beetroot.

“He’s just a friend,” she says quickly. “I mean, he did ask if I wanted to go and see
Back to the Future IV
at the cinema next week, but there’s a whole gang of us going along.” Alba looks up at me hopefully. “Do you think that means he likes me?”

Before this conversation can get any more embarrassing, Victoria Barnes arrives on the scene in a shimmy of red sequins followed by Olivia, Kim and the rest of her usual entourage. Just like Kiran she stares straight past me, fixing her gaze on Alba instead.

“Albs,” she says, a fake smile plastered to her face. “So nice of you to make it here at last.”

“Sorry, Victoria,” Alba replies, sounding more nervous than I’ve heard her before. “Something came up at home and I couldn’t get away.”

“And who’s this?” Victoria asks, finally turning her attention to me. “Your date?”

The last time I saw Victoria Barnes she’d given me a kiss in a parallel universe, but now she’s
looking at me like I’ve just crawled out from under a stone.

“No, this is my cousin, erm – Albie,” Alba replies quickly. “He’s staying with me for the weekend. Your mum said it was OK for me to bring him along to the party.”

Victoria looks me up and down, her shimmering lips turning from a sneer into a smirk.

“Nice outfit for a party, Lame Brain.”

That’s when I realise I’m still wearing my school uniform.

Olivia, Kim and the rest of Victoria’s posse start to giggle as my face turns the same shade of beetroot as Alba’s. To be honest, I think I preferred the Victoria Barnes in the last universe.

“Anyway, Albs,” Victoria says, grabbing hold of the armrest of Alba’s wheelchair and twisting it so it faces her properly. “It’s your turn to bust some moves on the dance floor. Everyone else has and the judges are waiting.”

I see a look of panic dart across Alba’s face.

“You can’t be serious,” she replies, her voice cracking a little. “How am I supposed to dance in this?”

Alba gestures down at the wheelchair she’s sitting
in. From the look on her face I can see she’s on the verge of tears, biting her lip in the same way I do whenever things get too much. Then I look back at Victoria, unable to believe she could be so mean.

“Don’t be such a wuss, Alba,” Victoria tuts, waving Alba’s protest away in a shower of sequins. “Everyone else at my party has, and you’re the one who’s always going on about equality.”

The music has gone quiet now and most of Class 6 are watching Victoria, waiting to see what happens next.

“Anyway,” she says, pointing her finger towards the borrowed Junior Dance Star leaderboard, her own name at the top with twenty-seven points. “Nobody expects you to win.”

Alba glares up at Victoria. If her reddened eyes were laser beams then Victoria would be toast right now.

“But I haven’t got anyone to dance with.”

Victoria turns to point at me.

“How about Lame Brain here? Let’s face it, Alba, your cousin is probably the only person who’d want to dance with you anyway.”

Alba bites her lip so hard that it almost turns white and I feel a flash of anger rising in my chest.
Victoria has gone too far. I might have two left feet. I might be wearing my school uniform. But there’s no way I’m going to let her bully Alba and me in this parallel universe.

“I’d prefer to dance with Alba than you any day,” I tell Victoria, loud enough so the rest of Class 6 can hear. “That dress makes you look like a tomato.”

This gets a laugh from everyone and even Olivia and Kim can’t stop themselves from giggling. Before Victoria has the chance to reply, I hold out my hand to Alba.

“Let’s show her how it’s done.”

Alba looks at me like I’ve just told her we’re flying a spaceship to Mars. But she follows me anyway, wheeling her high-tech chair one-handed as we head across the dance floor to where the DJ is waiting.

“What are you doing?” she hisses, keeping her voice low. “You already told me that you think dancing is stupid. Now you want me start twerking in this stupid wheelchair. Everyone’s going to laugh at me.”

I shake my head. I’ve got a plan. I might not be much cop at traditional dances from history, but there’s a few dance steps that I still remember. I
only hope that in this universe Alba remembers them too.

“You said you used to dance round the kitchen with Mum. Did she ever show you her old-school hip-hop moves?”

Looking puzzled, Alba nods her head. “The ones for that ‘Intergalactic’ song? I laughed so much I nearly choked on my pizza.” Then she stares at me with her eyes open wide. “Oh no, you can’t be serious.”

With a nod from the DJ, Alba and me take our positions in the middle of the dance floor. Around the edges, the rest of Class 6 is looking on – waiting to see how stupid we make ourselves look. Alba’s in her wheelchair to the right of me, her arms folded across her chest, while I’ve borrowed a baseball cap and put this on backwards to give my school uniform more of a hip hop flavour. If everyone’s going to laugh, I might as well give them something to laugh about.

Then the sample of a droning robotic voice kicks in and I’m already moving in time to the beat as the song blares out.

Keeping my arms bent at 90 degree angles,
I swivel to the right, moving one muscle at a time as I jerk my arms in a stop-start rhythm before snapping my head in the same direction. I see Alba doing the same, both of us dancing like robots from the Year 3000 as the intergalactic chorus of the song rings out again.

I push one shoulder up to my ear, tilt and straighten from right to left and back again. A robotic wave rolls through our bodies as we pop, lock and drop in perfect symmetry. In the front of the watching crowd, I see Victoria mutter something to her friend Kim, who just giggles in reply. I couldn’t look any more stupid, but I just don’t care, my arms jerking in time with the dancing molecules in the air as the song fills the room.

As the DJ scratches, Alba and me drop straight into a frozen dance pose. One hand on our hips, the other pointing to the sky as the rappers babble out their lyrics in time with the techno beat. With each chorused line, we switch position, arms folded in a hip hop pose then throwing out Tetris shapes as the robotic voice kicks in again.

Inside my head, I can see Mum voguing round the kitchen with a massive grin on her face. I remember calling out the names of different
shapes – square, rhombus, triangle – as she switched from one frozen pose to the next.

I hear a cheer from the watching crowd as I drop straight back into the robot dance. My arms jerk from side to side, stuttering to a halt and then speeding up again. Next to me, Alba does the same as we swivel round to face each other. Somehow, even though we’re dancing, we can’t stop ourselves from grinning and the smile on Alba’s face matches my own as we move in time to the beat.

Around the edge of dance floor the rest of Class 6 start to join in. I can see Wesley MacNamara jerking robotically in his white jumpsuit and even Olivia and Kim are now bobbing their heads in time with the tune. Only Victoria is standing still, her eyes turned to laser beams aiming death-rays in my direction.

Arms raised, I point to the stars as Alba does the same, bouncing on the spot just like Mum did as the robotic voice calls out the chorus to the rest of the class.

Now everybody’s doing the same and the dance floor is bouncing as we’re surrounded. Nobody cares how stupid they look. Alba and me are lost in the crowd as every corner of the room rocks to
the robotic beat.

I realise now why people dance. You don’t feel alone when you’re lost in a song. Closing my eyes for a second, I catch another glimpse of my mum in my mind – a smile on her face as she watches me dance. But when I open them again, she’s gone.

As the song ends in a fanfare of scratches, everyone is cheering and it’s only when I look towards the spotlight now shining on the panel of judges that I see the reason why. The judges are all holding their scorecards in the air – each one giving Alba and me a perfect ten.

“Thanks.”

Alba turns back to smile at me as she reaches the top of the stairs.

“What for?”

Lifting the guard rail, Alba wheels her chair off the stairlift.

“That was the first time I’ve danced since the accident,” she replies. “Since Mum died. I’d forgotten how much fun it could be.”

Alba nudges my – I mean her – bedroom door open, wheeling herself forward as I follow close behind. Grandad Joe was snoring in his armchair when we got back home, the first
Back
to
the Future
film on the TV as we sneaked past the living-room door. Now it was time for me to find out what Alba really meant when she said she knew what I had to do to find Mum again.

“Do you still miss her?” I ask.

“Every day,” she replies. Alba glances up at the square of stars shining through the skylight window. “Sometimes I sit here in the dark, looking through my telescope at the stars and I remember all the things she told me. It makes me feel like she’s still here with me now.”

I think about how close I am to finding Mum again and a tingle of excitement runs down my spine. Then Alba clicks the light switch on and we both see that something is very wrong.

The telescope is still there pointing out of the attic window, but the piles of books and comics have all been tidied away and in the middle of the room there’s no sign at all of my cardboard box.

“What’s happened?” I ask, instantly starting to panic. “Where’s the box?”

Alba is holding her head in her hands.

“Grandad Joe must have tidied my room.”

Inside the shed the cardboard box is lying on its side,
half crushed beneath a pile of recycling. Next to it is a green caddy filled with food waste, a browning banana sticking out of the top. And at the back of the shed I can see Mum’s quantum computer shoved out of the way on the workbench with the Geiger counter lying on top. It looks like it’s ready to be dismantled as it sits there surrounded by the rest of Dad’s abandoned projects and DIY jobs.

I walk over to the laptop and press the power button, but the screen stays blank. The battery must have run flat – just like any hope I had that I’d see Mum again.

“I’m sorry,” Alba says, wheeling her chair to the workbench. “I didn’t realise that Grandad Joe would start tidying my room without me. When he saw the cardboard box he just thought it was some of Dad’s old stuff – ready for recycling.”

I don’t say anything back. The Quantum Banana Theory was the one chance I had of finding a parallel universe where Mum was still alive. With the experiment ruined, I’m stranded here. No chance of finding Mum. No way back home.

Alba looks up at me. In the dim light of the shed I see my own eyes staring back, a glint of determination in her gaze.

“We can fix this,” she says. “And while we do, I’ll tell you how quantum physics can help you to find Mum.”

With the laptop plugged into the charger and the banana rescued from the recycling, Alba starts to explain what she means.

“Atoms and particles can behave in really strange ways—”

“I know all this,” I snap, struggling to straighten out the caved-in sides of my cardboard box. One corner of the box feels a bit damp and smells funny, like a cat’s done a wee in it. “Sometimes the same particle can be in two different places at once – that’s how scientists knew that parallel universes could exist.”

Frowning, Alba gives me the same look that Dad does whenever a TV interviewer interrupts him to ask a really stupid question.

“That’s not what I was going to tell you,” she scowls in reply.

As Alba is currently sitting next to some heavy-duty tools including a claw hammer and a particularly lethal-looking pair of pliers, I quickly shut my mouth and let her get on with the explanation.

“The weirdest thing about quantum physics,” she says, “isn’t that the same particle can be in two different places at the same time, but that two different particles can act like they’re the same particle.”

“What’s so special about that?”

“Scientists call it quantum entanglement,” Alba explains. “It’s when two particles are joined together in a strange and peculiar way. Anything that you discover about one of the particles instantly becomes true for the other particle too, no matter where it is. You can take these two particles to opposite ends of the universe, but they stay connected. If you find out that one of the particles is spinning, then this means that the other particle will be spinning in exactly the same way – even though it’s on the other side of the universe. It’s like there’s some sort of telepathic link between the entangled particles that lets them communicate faster than the speed of light.”

I can’t stop myself from interrupting Alba again.

“That’s impossible,” I tell her, remembering a fact I learnt from one of my dad’s TV programmes. “Albert Einstein said that nothing can travel faster than the speed of light – not even weird mind-reading
particles that put each other in a spin. It’s against the laws of science.”

“Not according to quantum physics,” Alba replies. “The particles share the same quantum state – even though they’re billions of light years apart. Albert Einstein called it ‘spooky action at a distance’ because he thought it was so impossibly weird, but scientists have carried out experiments that prove that quantum entanglement really exists.”

By the time Alba has got to the end of her explanation, I’m more confused than when she started. My brain hurts. Quantum physics is giving me a headache. It’s time to cut to the chase.

“How’s this going to help me find Mum?”

“Don’t you see?” Alba says, sounding more like Dad by the minute. “If entangled particles can stay connected at opposite ends of the universe, then why not across parallel universes too?”

She picks up the pliers from the workbench and for a second I’m worried that she’s going to do some DIY on me for interrupting her again, but instead she waves them in the air.

“The particles in these pliers must be entangled with the particles in the same pair of pliers in another parallel universe. If you want to find the
other pair, you just need to take a quantum look at these and they’ll tell you what you need to know. To find Mum, we need something that belonged just to her – something precious, like a ring or a necklace maybe. We’ll be able to use this to find the parallel universe where she still has it. The world where she’s still alive.”

Inside my heart a tiny spark of hope flickers into life. Something precious that belonged just to Mum…

Digging deep inside my pocket I pull out the ammonite that Mum and me found on the moors. Its golden spiral shape glints in the half-light as Alba gasps in recognition.

“Dad was going to make this into a necklace for Mum,” I tell her, “but he never got round to it.”

“He did in this universe,” she says, reaching out to touch the fossil as if she can’t quite believe that it’s real. “Mum used to wear the necklace every day. But after she died, Dad lost his temper and threw the necklace against the wall. He said it was too painful to see it lying around without Mum there to wear it. The ammonite smashed into a thousand pieces.” Alba’s fingers reach up to her neck, pulling out a golden chain from beneath her T-shirt. “This
is all that I’ve got left.”

I stare at the necklace, a loop of wire dangling emptily from the golden chain. Then I look down at the 100-million-year-old fossil in the palm of my hand. Somehow it feels even more precious to me now.

“So what do we do?”

“First we use the ammonite from your universe to fix Mum’s necklace,” Alba says, holding out her hand for this.

Almost reluctantly, I hand this over. Taking the chain from round her neck, Alba places this next to the fossil on the workbench. Then, picking up the pliers, she carefully twists the loop of wire round and round the ammonite, creating a nest to hold it in place. Such a simple thing to do, but somehow my dad never found the time.

Alba turns back towards me, the spiral fossil shimmering as it dangles from the necklace chain.

“It looks just like it used to,” she murmurs. “The same necklace that Mum wore every day.”

It’s stupid, but I can’t help feeling a little bit jealous of Alba. In this parallel world, Dad found the time to make Mum the necklace – and cared enough about Mum to smash it into pieces when she was
gone. What else have I missed out on? Maybe I was born in the wrong universe?

I take the necklace out of Alba’s hand, staring at the ammonite as it spirals round. It’s time to find the right one.

“So what do we do with it?”

Alba reaches up to the workbench to grab what looks like a thermos flask covered with wires, cables and duct tape.

“We put it inside this.”

“What’s that?” I ask. To be honest, I’m not sure how putting a fossil inside a high-tech flask of tea will help me find my mum.

“It’s a quantum entangler,” Alba replies. “I built it myself. It can calculate the quantum state of any particles that are put inside.” She lifts up the dangling USB cable sticking out of the bottom of the flask. “If we hook this up to Mum’s quantum computer, then it should be able to pinpoint the exact parallel universe where the other necklace is located and, fingers crossed, you’ll find Mum wearing it there.”

I can’t stop myself from grinning. If what Alba’s saying is true, she’s invented a quantum satnav that can take me straight to Mum. It might sound big-headed
for me to say this, but this female version of me is seriously amazing.

“How did you end up such a brainbox?” I ask her.

“You’re just as brainy as me,” Alba says with a grin, our smiles a perfect match. “We both invented the Quantum Banana Theory, after all. All we need to do now is rebuild the experiment with the quantum entangler hooked up too. That should do the trick.”

“What are we waiting for?” I say, desperate to find out if this really will work. “Let’s get entangling!”

As we work together to set the experiment up, I start to realise what it would be like to have a sister or brother. Because things were a bit tricky for me healthwise when I was born, Mum and Dad decided not to risk having another baby. I didn’t mind. Mum was always there for me – inventing brilliant games, answering all my questions, making me feel like I was never alone. But now I’ve got nobody – apart from Dad, that is, and he’s never around.

As Alba unscrews the top of the flask and places the necklace inside, I think about how it would be
quite fun to have a sister – someone to hang out with, to talk to, to look out for when things went wrong. Alba screws the lid back on top of the flask. Someone who would share their quantum entangler with me.

“Let’s try it,” she says, looking up at me excitedly.

I plug the quantum entangler’s USB cable into Mum’s laptop, using the spare port next to where the Geiger counter is hooked up. Then with my heart thudding in my chest, I press the power button on.

The laptop screen lights up instantly and I see a stream of numbers blurring into one – an avalanche of data scrolling endlessly. I look back at Alba, her face lit up by the same glow.

“It works,” she says, almost sounding like she can’t believe it herself.

“But how?” I ask. “This data is coming from the Large Hadron Collider in
my
universe. How can the laptop still be connected to the Grid?”

“This is a quantum computer,” Alba replies. “It works by using copies of itself in other parallel universes to crunch the data. That’s what makes it so powerful. It’s not just connected to the Grid in your universe, but every parallel universe—”

Alba’s explanation is cut off by the sound of a voice outside.

“Alba, are you in there?”

It’s Grandad Joe.

I exchange a panicked glance with Alba. It would be impossible to explain to Grandad what we’re doing inside Dad’s workshop. There’s no time to talk and only one place to hide. Lifting the laptop from the workbench, I climb inside the rebuilt cardboard box as Alba plays for time.

“Coming, Grandad,” she shouts out. “I’m just sorting out the recycling.”

As I crouch at the bottom of the box, trying to ignore the smell of cat wee, Alba hisses at me.

“Albie!”

Looking up, I see her holding out the banana she’s rescued from the recycling caddy. Its yellow skin is almost completely covered with brown splotches and it wouldn’t win any fruit-bowl beauty competition, but it’s the missing piece I need for the experiment to work.

“Thanks,” I say, reaching out to grab hold of it. I put the banana down next to the Geiger counter in the corner of the box. Then I look back up at Alba. “For everything.”

“Good luck,” she says, biting her bottom lip to stop her eyes from leaking.

I can feel my own eyes filling with tears. There’s only time to ask her one last question.

“If I find Mum again, what should I do?”

Alba wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Tell her that I love her,” she says.

Then she closes the cardboard flaps over my head, leaving me alone in the dark.

The laptop screen is glowing green, the flashing zeroes and ones calculating the quantum state of the ammonite necklace inside the quantum entangler. Outside the box I hear the shed door open and the sound of Grandad Joe’s voice. But before I have the chance to hear what he’s saying, the Geiger counter clicks and the universe shivers into silence.