chapter fifteen.

Simon - July 2004

The first time I met my cousin Larry was the day my little sister was born.

It was the hottest day in July, probably, which wasn't exactly a good thing when you considered that the air conditioning in the entire maternity ward was malfunctioning. The hospital room was crowded, and that didn't help either. Mom was surrounded by so many people, I could hardly see her—Dad, of course, my aunts Regina and Fiona and Jane, my uncles Todd and Jeffrey and Cameron. There were first cousins and second cousins and my grandparents (all four of them) were there, too—not to mention the nurses that wafted in and out like a faint wind, trying to make space, asking Mom if she needed anything.

Nestled against Mom's breast, where she had been for the past twenty minutes, was the newest addition to the St. John family, Tabitha Ruth. It was an extremely biblical name, as were Noah's and mine, a trend my parents seemed obligated to continue. Nevertheless, little Tabitha yawned and scrunched her pink little face and reached a hand up to the sky, unaware of much else besides the feel of her mother's heartbeat against her side.

The door opened, and I turned, tired of watching from a distance as baby Tabitha was cooed over. Everyone said, "She's so beautiful," or "She's got your eyes, Hank," or "And that adorable button nose, Mary!" I wondered what they'd said about me, when I was born. Did they always know something was wrong?

It was Noah, sidling back in through the door with a can of soda. He was ruddy-faced and a bit sweaty, and his hair was so long that the edges of it looked more white than blond. Mom always said that's how she could tell he needed a haircut.

I eyed the soda. "Did you get me one?"

He clicked it open; there was that satisfying pop and fizz. Taking a drink, he said, "Nope."

"You're mean."

"No I'm not," he said, though he was wrong. Noah was ten and seemed convinced that an age in the double digits suddenly meant you were always right. "There's some guy outside, by the way. Says he's our cousin."

"Our cousin?"

"One of Dad's sister's sons. Larry."

"Larry?" I repeated—mostly mindlessly, as I was still eyeing the soda Noah had decided not to share with me. He really was mean. The meanest. Poor Tabitha, to be brought into this shiny new world and then have to deal with him. "I don't remember a Larry."

"That's because they don't tell you about me, squirt."

A tall, scruffy man entered the hospital room, undetected yet by the rest of the congregation. He had a bit of a belly but was otherwise lean, dressed in a worn sweatshirt and a pair of jeans with dust at the knees. Dirty blond hair tumbled, greasy, to his shoulders, and when he smiled, one canine was twisted awry.

I had never met this man before, but looking at him, somehow I understood just why that was the case.

Larry knelt down at my eye level. His eyes were like my Dad's—a dark, penetrating brown. He studied for a moment, before realization flashed across his face. "You're like me," he said, almost out of breath. "That's why they try to keep you from me. You're the one who's like me."

"Like...you?"

He prodded me in the chest. "That little thing you do when you switch faces? Switch bodies?" Larry said, and flashed his crooked smile. "I do that, too."

A gasp flew from my mouth like a bird from a cage; it was sudden, unexpected. "Really? I thought—"

"What?" Larry interrupted. "That you were alone? No. That's what they want you to think. I've been where you are. You can't control it, not yet. It might even drive you crazy sometimes. But you'll get it. I promise you, you'll get it. So forget all those lousy doctors, sticking pins in you like you're some sort of vegetable; they don't know shit—"

"Larry!" It was a roar, and it was my father's. Hank St. John was infamous for that roar. There was no one he could not startle with it, no one he couldn't draw to immediate stillness.

The hospital room had gone silent, except for the quiet, senseless cooing of my baby sister. Not even the air conditioning hummed, because it was broken.

All eyes pivoted on Larry. He rose to his feet.

"What are you doing here?" demanded my father. There were beads of sweat on his shoulders, speckled dark blue against the light blue of his shirt.

Larry gestured towards my mom and the baby. "I heard about the new life in the family. Thought I'd pay her a visit before the rest of you keep her from ever knowing me."

My eyes slid and met Noah's behind Larry's back. Noah, wide-eyed, shrugged helplessly.

My grandmother spoke up, calmly: "Now, Larry, you know that's—"

"You know what? Screw it. I don't need her to know me. But Simon—" He swung a hand towards me, glancing at me a moment with a smile on his face. "Simon deserves to know me. You don't want to admit it, but he needs me. No one can teach him what I can. No one understands him the way I do. So at least let me know him, because if you don't, you're just making it worse for all of us."

Dad turned, looked at my mother. She nodded weakly as a sleepy Tabitha stirred in her arms.

"Larry, hon?" Mom said. "I think you should go."

Larry looked at them for a moment, his jaw taut. I thought he was angry. His hands were curled into fists and there was a frown at his mouth and everything about him was tight, tight, tight: a drawn bow and arrow. But I still remember something in his eyes looking inexplicably lonely.

Larry said, "Just don't say I didn't try."

Then he pivoted on his foot and walked straight out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

My new baby sister began to wail.

Simon - present day

As good as I should be at it, all things considered, I'm actually a terrible criminal.

I've tried snatching extra food from the lunch counters on campus, but that ended with a lunch lady yelling at me. I followed a guy once that I suspected had stolen my pencil but in reality just happened to have the exact same pencil as me. I've tried pickpocketing with one face and switching it quick enough to melt back into the crowd. All this has taught me is that it doesn't matter whose face you're wearing. If you're not a covert person, there's no changing it.

This being said, I'm still snooping around the corner store at Essex Street at around ten o'clock night.

Noah and I got home around four hours ago, and as much as I wanted to find Val somehow and finish what I started, the prospect of Larry looming somewhere nearby was too frightening to put off. I went out, grabbed sushi and coffee for myself, and I've been sitting in my car on the edge of Essex Street since then.

I don't know what it is about this little bodega that Larry likes so much, but all I know is the past two times I've seen him, he's been somewhere around here. Usually he's buying cigarettes and a pastrami sandwich. Usually he loiters around on the sidewalk afterwards like he's lost, or like he just doesn't have anywhere to be.

In my head, I know this is a terrible idea. Against all odds, the street's impeccably well-lit, and the windows of my car aren't tinted. I'm in plain view, and though I'm not wearing my usual face (I'm wearing Jun's instead), there's still a chance Larry will recognize me. He knows me, after all. All the different versions of me.

Not that he's shown up yet, anyway.

God. This is dumb.

I still have one roll of sushi left. I'm squeezing wasabi slowly out from its pack when my phone shrills, thundering against the dash. Cursing, I set the wasabi down and reach for my cell phone. "I swear to God, Noah. You ruined my wasabi time."

"Your wasabi—? Whatever. Are you still looking for Larry?"

I pause, not precisely sure which answer he wants from me. "No?"

"Okay," Noah says, "well I think you should just give it up."

"But I said—-"

"Don't, Ginger Snap. I have a terribly low bullshit tolerance level. Especially today."

I'm not sure what especially today means, as most of the day he spent in the car with me, or at Great Granny Etta's mediocre birthday party. Okay, I take that back. I know what he means.

"Fine," I say, sandwiching the phone between my ear and my shoulder. I continue squeezing out the wasabi. "It's not exactly that I'm looking for him. I'm just...on a reconnaissance mission. That's all."

"Simon," says Noah, followed by a very audible groan. "You're exhausting yourself with all this paranoia. Just come home, alright? We'll watch a movie, or something."

"Hmph," I say, eating the roll of sushi in one bite. My mouth is burning a little, but I try to act like it's not. "I don't trust your movie taste."

"Okay, okay, just because I didn't like that one movie you made me watch doesn't mean that I—"

He keeps talking, but the words drown away when I notice a figure limping towards the corner store's entrance. His jeans are ripped at the knees and his sweater seems grimy, and though he's gotten a much-needed haircut, I still recognize the dirty-blond waves and the scruff at the edge of his chin. It's Larry, in the flesh.

"Simon? Simon? Simon St. John?"

Larry slows to a stop. He's inches from the door. I just want him to go in; I just want him to go in.

But he turns his head.

"Shit!" I say, and I'm shifting, fast, grasping for any facial features and body composition that seem like they go together. My skin burns a little and my muscles ache; I end up as a hook-nosed stoner type with shoulders way broader than mine are normally, but who cares. Basis is I don't look like any of my normal selves.

Noah's still screaming at me over the phone, but I barely hear it. I just see Larry: pausing a little longer, then turning and walking into the store.

I catch my breath, but don't dare shift back to myself.

"Simon, are you alive? Answer me, for once in your life—"

"Yeah, Noah," I say. "I'm fine. It's just—"

"Just?"

I turn the key in the ignition, though it takes a few tries because my hands are so shaky.

"I think," I say, "I think Larry just saw me."