“I’m aware. I tried to keep him steady. Listen: He might have a neck injury. He does need resuscitation. On his back. Move his entire body in one go. Head, torso, hips.”
Red crouched and took Dad’s shoulders. I took his head. Carefully, we pulled him back.
Rainbow and Four stood nearby with wide, anxious eyes. Four’s face was bright red and streaked with tears. She was shivering as much as I was.
Blood trickled from a nasty cut on Dad’s forehead. The front of his coat was split open, showing the wet white fuzz inside.
“Is he breathing?” Red asked.
I placed my face near Dad’s. My hair dripped against him. “I’m—I’m not sure.” He was freezing cold. His normally tan skin was as pale as my own.
“Start CPR,” Neven instructed.
I looked up, frightened. I’m not sure I can, I wanted to say, but I knew her answer.
Don’t be a coward.
“I’ll walk you through it. Zip open his coat.”
With white-numb fingers, I fumbled with the zipper. Diluted red stains blotted the shirt underneath. I peeled it away. I saw precisely where the canoe had hit him; a big half-circle bruise beside his sternum.
“Now, lean in—”
“What if his ribs are fractured?” Dad had gotten hit in the chest hard enough that it seemed likely. “CPR might break them further. Or impale his lungs.”
“Too late. One lung may already be punctured. You need to restart his breathing, or he’ll die. Now listen!”
Red stabilized Dad’s neck as Neven walked me through the process. Hold his nose. Breathe into his mouth. Push against his chest. I was hyper-aware of the others’ eyes on me, of Dad’s icy skin under my hands. With every movement, water dripped from my soaking-wet clothes. It seemed to take forever.
When Dad jerked up and started coughing, then vomiting moments later, I almost sobbed with relief.
It took a groggy minute before he recovered enough to look at us.
“There’s four?” he croaked. “That’s.” He coughed again, his face contorted in pain. Water dribbled from his mouth. “That’s a lot of Hazels.”
“You’re OK?” I restrained myself from flinging my arms around him.
“Dad,” Four whimpered.
“You’re not supposed to move,” Red said hesitantly.
Dad’s gaze lingered first on Four—“You OK?”—then on me. “We were worried, Hazel.”
I wasn’t sure why I was so relieved that he recognized me as me. Of course he would: Between Rainbow’s hair and Four’s MGA-issued coat, that only left Red and me as lookalikes. Red wore braces, and her dress peeked out below her sweater. Dad knew I didn’t wear either of those.
“He still needs the hospital,” Neven said.
No kidding. Dad was wheezing. Judging from the way he balled his fists, every word hurt. He was shivering, too, even worse than I was.
Dad looked at Neven. “You really are helping them.”
I nodded. “She knows about the rift. About us. Everything.”
“You’ve gotta tell Facet.” Dad pushed himself up to a sitting position. “You’ve gotta go back. You’re too far from the rift.”
“It doesn’t matter. The rift is moving—and it’s not responding to me anymore. Plus, if we go back, the MGA might not let us go again.”
“Let you go to do what?”
Good question. To save the world? I wasn’t even convinced myself.
“Can you trust me?” I asked. “We can’t go back yet. We have to do something first. Then the others can go home to their worlds. And I’ll come home, too.”
Dad watched me for a long time—too long, we had to go—and I tried not to linger on the swelling wound on his head or his raspy, wheezing breathing. We shouldn’t wait any longer.
“You’re sure it’s the right decision?” Dad said.
No, I wanted to say, no, God, I’m never sure, and I got you hurt, and—
“Mostly.” A smile twitched on my lips. Nearby, sirens wailed. “We should go.”
Rainbow and I helped Dad stand upright. My feet squelched in my shoes. My too-tight jeans rubbed painfully against my skin.
“Where will you go?” Dad asked as we helped him take a cautious first step.
“You shouldn’t talk,” Rainbow said.
“Talking might distract from the pain.” Red trailed a few feet behind.
I didn’t know how to answer Dad, but I knew Four and I needed to dry up somewhere or we’d freeze. Where could we go? None of us had enough cash for a hotel room, even if we could get one at our age or without ID.
“The townhouse?” Dad suggested. “No, they’ll be watching it.”
“Townhouse?” Red echoed. The others looked just as confused.
Of course. In their worlds, Carolyn had never needed to move away. Their family hadn’t needed a separate city home like mine. “I’ll explain later,” I mumbled.
Dad took a rattling breath. “Try Aunt Lina’s place. She’s away for work. No one there but the cat. It’s at . . .”
“That building that used to be a hotel, right?” Rainbow said when Dad trailed off.
“On North Broad,” Red added. Dad nodded.
I’d known Aunt Lina lived in Philadelphia, but not where. How could these girls who’d arrived in this world only today know more about my family than I did?
Because they’re you, my mind whispered. They’re more you than you are. They were a Hazel Stanczak who knew her aunts and uncle, who could visit her grandparents, who knew exactly which shops in town she liked best.
I kept forgetting. We were too similar in other ways. Even now, the way Four looked at Dad in concern, the way Red bit her lip . . .
I was doing the same thing.
“How will we get in?” I asked.
“The building has a code lock,” Red said. “Aunt Lina’s gone so often, she got one on her own door as well, so friends can easily crash or feed Casper. I mean—right?”
Dad coughed out a laugh, even though it obviously hurt. “Lina’s the same everywhere, sounds like.”
Once we reached Neven, Rainbow cautiously stepped away from Dad and showed him how best to sit on Neven’s back. Dad seemed more focused on Rainbow herself than her demonstration.
“Huh,” he murmured. “Huh.”
Rainbow ran a hand through her
