Seeing Dad sitting cross-legged on his bed helped my thoughts slow. He looked so normal. After apartment buildings and dragons and Philadelphia and trolls and strangers and libraries and so much of this big, big world I’d never seen—
Dad simply looked like Dad.
“H-Hazel?” He looked from me to Four and back. After a second, I realized why: He couldn’t tell us apart.
“It’s . . . it’s me,” I said.
And then I was on the bed and latching on to him and crying so hard that for two full minutes I couldn’t even talk. Dad ran his fingers through my tangled hair, pulling me in close.
When I quieted down, Dad just said, “Technically, we can’t even be mad.”
I peered up, not comprehending.
“It’s not like Mom and I ever gave you a curfew.” His lips quirked up. “If only we’d known flying around on dragons is what you get up to when you’re out.”
I laughed. “I won’t make a habit of it.”
“Start small. Maybe go get frozen yogurt.”
“I could.” I drew my legs onto the bed. “I could do that now.”
Dad scrunched up his face. Tears gleamed in his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, you could, huh?”
“Yogurt Palace,” Four said. I’d almost forgotten she was there. She stood awkwardly by the door. “I mean . . . that’s where I like to go in Philadelphia.”
“It’s Caro’s favorite, too,” I said.
I tried to imagine it:
Taking one of those small taster cups (I’d never even held one), surrounded by friends (ones I could invite home after), and carefully considering which flavors and toppings I wanted (then paying with money from my own wallet). The thought of a normal, everyday life, outside my radius, was something I’d pictured a thousand times, yet it was more alien than anything that’d happened today.
As nice as the daydreams were, sooner or later, I’d remind myself, It’s not going to happen, and drag myself back to Earth.
Froyo places were like sex and travel and privacy: the most normal thing in the world, and utterly out of reach. They were things other people did. Not me.
“You really don’t have a curfew?” Four asked. “Mine is nine thirty. Eleven on weekends.”
“That sounds reasonable.” Dad studied her. Four was still wearing Lina’s clothes. They didn’t fit right. The zits on her forehead must still have been hidden under strategically placed hair, but I realized suddenly I hadn’t noticed them in a while.
I couldn’t blame Dad for not telling us apart. I couldn’t, either.
“Are you . . .?” Dad asked.
Four nodded. “Thank you for pushing me out of the way of that canoe. Even if I’m not really your daughter.”
For a moment, Dad said nothing. Then: “I came up with the name Hazel.”
“I know. I mean, my dad did, too.”
“And I told you bedtime stories. Which was really just me retelling Pixar movies.”
“Mom never did the voices,” she said, smiling. I mouthed Four’s words along with her, same inflection, same pace.
“Which one was your favorite?”
“The Incredibles.”
He shifted to face her properly, bunching up the sheets. “Was it really?”
“Well, no. But I used to think it seemed cooler.” Four placed her hands on the counter behind her and flicked her thumb against the edge. “It’s really Up.”
“You didn’t hide it well. You asked for a bedroom mural with that flying house when you were five.”
“And you two said no,” she said. “I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour, I was so disappointed.”
“We said . . .” Dad’s eyebrows crinkled together.
“They said yes,” I said, suddenly remembering. I hadn’t thought of this in ages. “Mom and I painted it together. Well, I helped fill in the sky while she did everything else. Dug looked cross-eyed.”
“You still wanted that mural, though?” Dad asked Four. When she nodded, he said, “Well. You seem pretty real to me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Rainbow and Red visited Dad next. While they were inside, Torrance went down the hall to get us candy bars from the vending machine. “Want anything?”
“Twix,” Four and I answered in unison.
“So did Rainbow and Red. I’m not sure why I even asked.”
Agent Valk unsubtly followed Torrance—they really didn’t trust her—while the other agents split their attention between Dad’s room and the plush private waiting room Four and I sat in.
“I wonder what they’re talking about,” I said. The only time Rainbow and Red had seen Dad—my dad—was on that Philadelphia rooftop after Neven plucked him from the water.
“I shouldn’t have gone in.” Four sat hunched across the table with her hands in her lap. “It’s my fault he’s injured. And then he reassured me?”
“How is it your fault?”
“How is it not?” The agony was plain on her face. “That canoe only hit him because he pushed me out of the way. He was near the rift in the first place because of me. All of you came to Philadelphia because of me! I wasted hours of your time and I haven’t contributed anything, and I screwed up with the whistle, and—”
“What are you talking about?”
She shook her head like she already regretted speaking. I wondered how similar I’d looked in that SUV with Rainbow earlier, wishing I could take back my words.
“When we first got attacked by trolls near Tara’s house,” Four finally said, “I was the one with the whistle, not Red. When you called for her to use it, I didn’t hear you. That’s why it took Neven so long to get there. I’d forgotten I had the whistle in the first place. I panicked. It’s stupid. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
My mouth hung open. I slammed it shut. “Disappointed? You’re saying we only came to Philadelphia because of you? All of you only came to this dimension because of me!”
“That’s different. We were brought here to help. And we can’t even do that.”
I burst loose. “You have been
