Dissonance by Erica O’Rourke Page B

the touch. I stretched out my hand, quieted my mind, and felt the quiver of a pivot point I would have missed on my own.
    Again and again, the ground changed under our feet—from sidewalk to dirt road to cement to blacktop to grass—a sign we were making big jumps between worlds. In every one, he dropped another button and smiled slyly, like a kid who’d gotten away with something. We were far from the Key World now, wandering among Echoes of Echoes.
    I loved how vast the multiverse felt on these Walks, hungeredfor the possibilities. Someday I’d travel not only in the Echoes of the world I knew, but all over the globe. If I could find this much variety when we’d covered only a few miles, what would it be like to explore Echoes of Rome, or India, or Antarctica?
    My steps slowed. How many Echoes had I destroyed with my cleaving? How many possibilities had I unraveled?
    â€œYou’ve cleaved worlds before, haven’t you?” I asked Monty. “Back when you were a First Chair?”
    â€œWhen I was young and foolish.” His tone softened. “It bothers you, what happened.”
    â€œI keep thinking about them.” About those people, rippling away, as if they’d never existed in the first place. “Did it bother you?”
    He studied the cracked sidewalk and finally said, “Still does. As it should.”
    â€œThey’re just Echoes,” I said. “That’s what everyone says.”
    â€œNot everyone.” He brightened, our conversation forgotten. “You choose the next one.”
    â€œI choose we go home.” I checked my watch—Eliot would be at my place soon. If I intercepted him, we could head out before my mom realized we’d left. We could cross directly from here to the Key World, but we’d still need to get from downtown to our house.
    â€œWe used to have such fun,” he wheedled. His chin had taken on a stubborn set. “One more.”
    â€œOne, and then we go home.” I surveyed the grungy Echo we’d stopped in. Every third storefront was boarded up; graffitiscrawled across the plywood; the gutter was littered with food wrappers and cigarette butts and pulpy shreds of newspaper. At home we would have been standing directly outside a juice bar.
    He grinned crookedly. “Are you hungry?”
    We watched as a woman in Snoopy-print scrubs hesitated at the intersection, then decided to wait for the WALK sign. A pivot sprang up.
    An instant later a Ford sedan blew through the light.
    I shuddered. On the other side of the pivot, had her newly formed Echo made it across?
    Either way, her choice had given us an opening. Monty hummed a target pitch and motioned to the rift. “Go on. Nimble fingers.”
    Another childhood song from our Walks, as ingrained in my mind as the ABCs.
    Nimble fingers, open mind,
    Hum a tune both deft and kind;
    Nimble fingers, open mind,
    Help to seek what you would find.
    I reached inside, the right frequency snagging my attention like a radio signal breaking through static. Keeping a firm hold on Monty’s sleeve, I eased into the next Echo. When we were safely on the other side, I took a deep breath, tasting sugar in the air. Across the street was a bakery with a pink-striped awning and a window full of sweets.
    â€œDoughnuts!” He rubbed his hands together. “Don’t tell your mother. She’ll say I spoiled my dinner.”
    â€œTrust me, I won’t say a word. How did you find this place?”
    â€œI ramble,” he said distantly, tugging on my sleeve. “Don’t suppose you’d like to buy an old man a treat?”
    I knew he’d had a reason for bringing me here. The frequency was off-key, but not grating. We could stop for a few minutes. I handed him a crumpled five, hoping it matched this world’s currency. “One doughnut. And be fast, okay? I need to get home.”
    He patted my arm. “We’re right on schedule.”
    I