Strangelets (31 page)

“Have a sense of humor, lass.” Declan reached over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m kidding.”

She smiled. Every time he touched her she still got chills. “Sure you are.”

She kept having to remind herself that this was real: the two of them, sitting at a café right off campus in the center of Dublin. Sophie tilted her head back, drinking in the sun. Declan kept warning her that this wasn’t typical Irish weather—in the two weeks she’d been here, it hadn’t rained once. He kept joking that she must’ve brought the California
sun with her. She didn’t care if it poured every day. After nearly a year apart, all their plans had finally come true. She was enrolled as a first year student at Trinity College in Dublin. And Declan had moved in with friends from Galway: it was a raucous apartment filled with five guys, all of whom regarded watching soccer to be a competitive sport. Not that he’d spent much time there lately. She smiled at him across her mug of coffee.

“Y’know, a proper Irish girl would be drinking tea,” he pointed out.

Sophie grimaced. “Ugh. I still can’t stand the stuff.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” he acknowledged.

“Good thing I’ve got four years to acquire it, then.”

Declan expression turned serious. He leaned in closer and said, “Listen, I heard from Anat the other day.”

“Really?” Sophie repressed a twinge. Apparently Anat’s contempt hadn’t faded over the past year. Not that they’d become close in 2033 Long Island, exactly, but it still hurt that Anat had reached out to Declan, not her. “How’s she doing?”

“Eh.” Declan shook his head. “Not good. Hazim is still locked up, and hasn’t a clue who she is.”

“Poor Anat,” Sophie said, half to herself. She couldn’t even imagine how awful that would be. It had become apparent over the past year that the place where they’d landed was slightly different from the one they’d left. Most of the inconsistencies were small and insignificant, at least for her. But Anat wasn’t having the same experience in Israel.

“Anyway, I invited her to come for holiday. She probably won’t,” he added, taking in her expression. “But I figured I’d offer.”

“That was sweet of you.” Sophie reached out and took his
hand. He was right; it was unlikely that Anat would come. But maybe being asked had made her feel better.

“Anat’s the toughest bird I know,” he said. “She’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Sure,” Sophie said, gnawing her lip.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just …” Sophie shook her head and looked down. “It’s just strange that we never found any sign of Nico or Bruder here. I mean, it’s like they never existed at all.”

Declan shrugged. “We’ve talked about this. Maybe they didn’t. Many worlds and all that, right?” He squeezed her hand. “Might be for the best, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Sophie acknowledged. “Still, I can’t help but wonder …”

“Wonder what?” Declan pressed gently when she didn’t continue. They’d come to an unspoken agreement long ago not to dwell on the fates of Nico or Zain.

“I wonder if there’s another version of us out there somewhere … a dimension where we both died,” she said softly.

Declan took her face in his hands, leaned forward, and kissed her. Sophie closed her eyes, giving in to the rush of emotions. “It doesn’t matter if there is,” he said, pulling away. “We’re here now. Together. And nothing is going to change that.”

“Okay.” She managed a slight smile, but it felt forced. Survivor’s guilt, probably. Over time, that would fade.

“Grand. Now that’s settled, let’s get out of here. Plans tonight, you know.” He winked.

“Oh, really?” She cocked an eyebrow. “What sort of plans?”

“There’s a Godzilla double feature playing,” he said gravely. “Not to be missed.”

Sophie burst into laughter. Linking arms with him, she leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked away from the café. Music and laughter spilled out the open doors of pubs as they strolled past. The sun hung low in the sky; the streets were packed with people. She felt light, clean, happy. A year ago, she was at death’s door. Declan was right. Maybe there were thousands of versions of them out there somewhere, but for now, she was right here. And it was as close to perfect as she’d ever known.

Michelle Gagnon is an
International Mystery Book Association bestseller whose books have sold worldwide. Her first YA thriller,
Don’t Turn Around
, was published by Harper Teen in August 2012. Michelle has also been a modern dancer, a dog walker, a bartender, a freelance journalist, a personal trainer, and a model. She lives in San Francisco. Visit her on the web at
www.michellegagnon.com
.