The half of me who had lived this life thought this all made perfect sense. The other half was ready to beat the shit out of the first half. How do you come to terms with a seedy secret life you didn’t even know you had? I felt like Jekyll discovering the exploits of Hyde. Bizarro Ash is not me! I kept trying to tell myself. But I knew it wasn’t that simple. If this had been my life. If this had been the environment I grew up in . . . then, yes, this would be me. Still, the fact that I could reject it gave me hope. It meant that the original me was stronger. That my core was intact.

But would it stay that way? Because, as it turned out, there were a lot more jack-in-the-box memories ready to spring out at me.

The next day I found out what kids who drive late-model BMWs and sell drugs do on Saturday mornings. We watch sports in our pajamas, then complain that we’re bored and there’s nothing to do. Like the speed of light, some things are constants in all universes.

I sat with Hunter in relative silence, except for the occasional comment on the game. Then, at halftime, Hunter turned to me.

“So about last night,” he said. “You were right. I found out who my friends really are.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s good,” he said. Although he didn’t sound all that thrilled about it.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m giving up selling the stuff completely.”

Hunter looked dubious. “You always say that.”

“Yeah, well this time I mean it.”

“You always say that, too.”

It frustrated me, because I realized he was right. “It’s not . . . who I am,” I tried to tell him.

He shrugged. “I know. It’s just something you do.”

“Did,” I said. “Past tense.”

“All right then,” he said, just to end the conversation. I knew he still didn’t believe me. That’s okay. Actions speak louder than words. He’d see that I meant it soon enough.

Later that morning, Katie called me. Keep in mind that, in spite of the dead rodent we shared, she had never called me before in any reality. She would occasionally text to ask me if I knew where Layton was, but that was the extent of it. I picked up just before it went to voice mail.

“Hey,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about the stop sign thing.”

“Wait,” I said, fumbling a bowl of potato chip crumbs and getting them all over the couch, “you remember that?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

I wasn’t quite sure why it surprised me. Maybe it was because this me was so far removed from that me, my dueling memories were muddled. I had no idea for sure what I did last week in this world.