Free Parallel by Lauren Miller Page A

here.”
    “I want to know if they really exist.”
    “If what really exist?”
    “Parallel worlds. Are they real?”
    Caitlin responds without hesitation. “Yes.”
    “Like, for real real?”
    “Yes,” Caitlin repeats. “I mean, it’s not like we can prove it empirically, but quantum theory says there’s a parallel world for every possible version of your life. And most mainstream physicists would probably stake their careers on it.”
    I feel my brain switching into skeptical mode. “But it sounds so crazy,” I say.
    “That’s what they told Galileo. And Pasteur. And—”
    “Okay, fine. So is there any way a person could somehow . . . end up in one?”
    Caitlin gives me a funny look. “No. Parallel worlds occupy separate dimensions of space. There’s no way for us to even see them, much less travel to one.” She eyes me closely. “This is why you brought me up here? To talk about the multiverse?”
    I take a deep breath, giving myself a five-second mental pep talk—the same pep talk I’ve been giving myself all day. There’s a rational explanation for this. Caitlin will explain it to me, and everything will make sense again.
    “Abby?”
    Here goes nothing. “When I went to bed last night, I was in a hotel room in L.A.,” I begin slowly. “The same hotel room I’ve been living in for the past four months. And when I woke up this morning, I was here.”
    Whatever Caitlin was expecting me to say, it clearly wasn’t this. “Huh?”
    “I’m not supposed to be here. At Yale. I’m supposed to be in L.A., shooting a movie with Bret Woodward. And he and I are supposed to be having dinner tonight for my birthday, which I’m pretty sure is a date, because he kissed me last night. Well, technically, I kissed him . . . or at least he probably thinks I did, but I didn’t mean to, and it was more of an almost-kiss anyway.” I’m starting to ramble, but I don’t care. At this point, I just want to get it out. “Except now I’m here, and everyone’s acting like I’ve been here for weeks, and there are pictures of me doing things I never did—like graduation!” I point at the photo on my home screen. “Where did that picture come from? I wasn’t at graduation. I wanted to be, but I was already in California by then. And my ID car—”
    “Time-out.” Caitlin does a T motion with her hands, silencing me. “You weren’t at graduation?” I shake my head. “And you missed it because you were in Los Angeles , filming a movie. With Bret Woodward .” Her voice is calm, but she’s eyeing me strangely. I don’t blame her. I sound like a lunatic. I exhale, forcing myself to relax.
    “I know it sounds crazy,” I say. “But, yes. A casting director saw me in the fall show last year and thought I looked the part.”
    “The fall show at Brookside?”
    I nod. “I was the lead. I didn’t want the lead. I didn’t even want to be in the class. But Simmons canceled History of Music, and I had to pick a replacement. Drama sounded slightly less brutal than astronomy, so—”
    Caitlin’s brow furrows. “But you took astronomy. I helped you study for the final, remember?”
    “That’s just it. I don’t remember—not the part about you helping me study, anyway. I remember taking drama, getting the lead in Arcadia , giving a kinetic performance as Thomasina—the casting director’s words, not mine—and then being asked to fly out to L.A. the week before Christmas to audition for Everyday Assassins .”
    “The Bret Woodward movie.”
    I sigh heavily. This is even harder than I thought.
    “I know how it sounds,” I say wearily. “Believe me, I know.” I fight to keep my voice steady. “But I’m telling you, Cate, when I went to bed last night, I was in L.A., at the Culver Hotel, where I’ve been living all summer.”
    “And you were there because some casting director saw you in the fall play,” Caitlin says this slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “And this happened because you took