“The only thing that makes sense is that I am in the other version of my life. The one where I went to Avalon instead of staying home with you when you didn’t get in.”

Her cheeks go pink and I scan her eyes. She drops her gaze and then clears her throat.

“There’s a lot of quantum science stuff going on. I was listening to an episode of Radiolab about it this morning.”

“Really?”

“Well, not exactly this—it was about how they’re able to see molecules sort of do two things at the same time. It’s complicated, but I think there’s no limit to how unknowable our universe is.”

“I forgot what a science nerd you are.”

She laughs, and my heart breaks a little.

“I like learning.” She takes a sip of her coffee. Then she gasps and puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh!”

“What?” I actually look behind me, thinking there’s a man with a nail-skewered baseball bat or something.

“The fortune teller.”

My heart rate slows again. “Yeah. Usually, there is only one line—”

“But you had two.”

We had obsessed over that whole experience after it happened. I had been afraid to bring it up at first, since Aimee’s reading had been so bizarre, possibly dark, but she wanted to talk about it too. We were bewildered, scared … and then eventually it became a big joke. Though I always suspected that we both knew it wasn’t that funny.

I nod and then shake my head. “It’s insane. You’re the only person who might remotely get how weird it is, especially because of that woman.”

“The way she was after I showed her my hand.” She shivers. “It freaked me out. I thought I was going to … like … I don’t know. Eat some bad sushi and croak or something.”

I feel suddenly as though I’m skiing down a mountain, hearing the snow creak ominously, an avalanche threatening. I need to get off the hill.

I nod again as normally as I can and then pretend to think Maureen is eating something off the ground. When I come back up, Aimee is looking at me.

“Do you swear to me that this is true? To you, anyway?”

I feel such a heavy relief I am almost nauseous.

I hold up my pinky. Until now, I had forgotten about our pinky promises. How had I forgotten that?

“I swear everything I’ve said is true.”

Her eyes dart between mine for a moment, searching for the lie. She’s always been able to tell, but luckily, everything I’ve said is true. And her psychic radar for lying doesn’t do as well on obfuscation.

“You’re telling the truth,” she says, holding up her pinky, sounding sure but also baffled.