Tandem (Many-Worlds Trilogy, Book 1)

Chapter One

“What are you reading?”

I glanced up from my book to see Grant Davis towering over me. I turned my head, trying to figure out who he was talking to, because it couldn’t be me. Grant Davis hadn’t spoken more than three words to me in the whole time we’d been in school together. But the room was empty except for him and me. I must’ve looked completely baffled, because Grant laughed and flopped down into the chair beside mine. This is weird, I thought, but decided to go with it. After all, how often does the most popular guy in school show up in your favorite bookshop, totally unprompted, and start talking to you?

Grant Davis was, to put it bluntly, the finest human specimen that had ever come into existence. I’d had a crush on him since I was in the fourth grade and he was in fifth. It burned pretty hot for a while there in late middle school, but over the years it had been reduced to a few smoldering coals. My heart gave a small, involuntary flutter as I took him in out of the corner of my eye. Grant was just my type—tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes the color of new spring grass, strong, perfect features, and thick blond hair that always looked slightly rumpled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. But he wasn’t just handsome; I knew a lot of cute guys I’d never in a million years want to actually talk to. Grant was also good-natured and charming, beloved by students, teachers, and administrators alike. He always seemed so laid-back and carefree. Even now, he sprawled in his seat, looking relaxed and comfortable, while I sat there tense and nervous, clutching a worn paperback edition of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night like it was the only thing in the world I owned.

“What are you looking for, Sasha?” he asked, with an amused glint in his eye.

“Whoever it is you’re talking to,” I told him, raising my eyebrows slightly.

“I’m talking to you.” He flung his arms outward, gesturing vaguely around the room. We were in the reading lounge of 57th Street Books, tucked away deep in the store’s underground, labyrinthine stacks. It was my favorite bookshop in Hyde Park, a quaint old neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago where I lived with my grandfather. I almost never ran into anyone I knew at the shop, and seeing Grant among the bookshelves was kind of like spotting a polar bear sunning itself on a Malibu beach. “Do you notice anyone else around? I think we might be the only two people in here.”

“That’s what I like about this place,” I said. “It’s usually so quiet.”

“Is that a hint?” Grant asked playfully.

“Maybe.” I tried to suppress a smile, unsuccessfully. “What are you doing here?” The fact that he had no books in his possession hadn’t escaped my attention.

“Hey.” He affected a hurt tone. “I love to read. Books are my life.”

I shot him a dubious look. “The last time we took an English class together, you tried to turn in a book report on The Matrix.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, grinning. “In my defense, I had it on pretty good authority that The Matrix was based on a book.”

“And whose authority would that be?”

“Johnny Hogan’s,” he admitted reluctantly. I covered my eyes in embarrassment for him.

“Johnny Hogan!” I cried. “Well, then you deserve whatever you got. I don’t think Johnny’s read a book since Hop on Pop.”

His smile faltered a bit, and I realized that he didn’t have any idea what I was talking about. “The Dr. Seuss book? Hop on Pop?”

“I know what Hop on Pop is.” Grant rolled his eyes.

“Really? Because it seemed like you didn’t just then,” I teased.