Page 40 of In What World

“I know,” Famous Mars says. “It’s in early stages, so I’m still having to be pretty—” She mimes zipping her lips, as if the whispering didn’t communicate the secrecy enough. “But I’m super excited about it.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll admit it,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I’m working with them, too.”

I get a kick out of knowing I’ve succeeded in pissing her off, though I’d find more enjoyment in seeing it on my own Marlowe. Walking her into corners. Getting a rise out of her for the sport of it. Not that she’d believe me.

“Would you mind sharing more about what the project is?” Famous Mars asks.

I mime zipping my lips in return. “Nothing I can discuss just yet. I had to sign an NDA.”

There isn’t any way an NDA would be executable in another reality, but Famous Mars nods, accepting that this secret holds weight across worlds.

“How are you the one who ended up famous instead of me?” she asks.

“Guess I wanted to beat you at something,” I say with a wink.

“You beat me at everything,” she counters quickly.

It’s a curious answer. The first thing to actually interest me in this entire conversation. “Do I, now?”

“You were always the better actor,” she says with anobviously you know thateyebrow raise.

“You’re messing with me. You were always the better one. Thethespian.”

“I don’t have the energy to mess with you,” Famous Mars says. “I don’t know why every Priscilla thinks that. I just don’t feel like bullshitting. This whole situation is so unreal, I figure maybe some honesty can inject something interesting into the experience. You know we’ve always had a simmering sexual frustration between us fueled by our different but equally volatile competitive natures and our shared talent for acting. It’s our whole shtick.”

This private conversation with my Marlowe’s famous clone is like getting a chance to read from the universal diary of Marlowe. I’m learning things my Marlowe wouldn’t tell me if a meteor was feet away from crashing into us both.

Famous Mars reaches for the same short blond wig I’d put on in my home reality. “Oh, by the way, Priscilla is insisting at least one of each of us wears a disguise so no one realizes there are multiples. I don’t have any interest in following herdirections, but it’s always fun to put on a wig.” She musses with the bangs, settling them across her forehead in a neat row.

I miss my Marlowe’s messy hair. The glasses sliding down her nose. Her perpetual frustration, carrying the weight of the world on her hunched shoulders.

“I told you something interesting, and you haven’t told me a fun truth about the other me in return,” Famous Mars says, impatient. “Spill. It will be good for character research for us both.”

Character research. Shewouldthink of this that way.

She wants something personal, but she hasn’t earned it, so I go for the obvious, saying, “My Marlowe can be frustrating. She always wants to be right, no matter what.”

“Because she is,” Famous Mars replies. Her back is to the mirror, and she’s got her head facing sideways so she can catch her profile in the reflection, openly admiring herself.

“No matter what I do, she refuses to trust a word out of my mouth. It’s like she still resents me for something,” I say.

“Probably because you never worked very hard at anything,” Famous Mars suggests. “If you’re anything like Priscilla, at least.”

“IamPriscilla,” I remind her.

“Right, yeah. But, like, the one here,” she says. “I don’t know why Dallas was so obsessed with her. She didn’t take it seriously at all. I’m not sure why he’d trust her with the entire program after he retires. She doesn’t seem organized enough to run it without him.”

“Have you ever considered that there are different ways of committing to things?” I ask. “And that just because she doesn’t do things like you doesn’t mean she’s bad at them?”

Famous Mars heaves a sigh. “When it comes to acting, I do think it’s a bare minimum requirement to know the lines.”

“Priscilla had a lot going on at home,” I say, defending her, and myself, and every version of us.

“So does everyone. It’s not a reason to be lazy.”

My neck gets hot. I already know I’m getting a stress rash, but I can’t stop it. “I was a lot of things in high school, but I was never lazy,” I say.

Famous Mars catches the neck splotches and lets out a cruel laugh. “Oh god, here we go,” she says.