Page 68 of In What World

“Sure did. My Alice and I also got him to stop it.”

“Did I ever tell you what happened with Alice and me in gym class?” Psychic Priscilla asks.

“Are we talking about the one and only Alice Yeung?” My Priscilla appears for breakfast, yawning as she reaches for my cup of tea and takes a sip. “Oh, that’s good.”

“We are,” Psychic Priscilla tells her.

“Does she know the gym class story?” my Priscilla asks.

“No, tell me,” Psychic Marlowe says.

The Priscilla I started this journey with would’ve relished the chance to tell the psychics that Alice and I dated and very recently broke up. This Priscilla just sits beside me at the kitchen table, buttering a pancake, nudging her elbow into mine in a way that’s not meant to be irritating but rather affectionate as her and the other Priscilla tag team the tale of their one-day suspension.

When they finish, Psychic Priscilla takes the opportunity to ask, “You guys sleep well?”

My cheeks burn. I don’t know if Priscilla’s blushing, too,because I’m looking at my pancakes like they contain the exact secret of the universe we need to escape our endless loop of alternate realities.

“Perfect,” my Priscilla tells her.

“We better eat quickly and be on our way, though,” I say. “We need to get back to finding Dallas.”

“Is that our intention again?” my Priscilla asks.

“This Dallas asked us not to give up on him,” I say. “And I couldn’t live with myself if we did. So yeah, we’re gonna keep looking, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is,” she says. “I think we have a much better idea of where to find him now.”

While we were at the drag bar last night, the psychics tried to wash the clothes we came here wearing, but the paint has ruined them beyond saving. They let us pick out new outfits from their closet instead. I comb my slightly damp hair off my face and choose a plain white muscle tank and dark jeans. No sweater-vest. Only because Psychic Marlowe doesn’t have any.

“Are you going for a Danny Zuko look?” Priscilla asks me.

“I thought you said I was more of a Kenickie,” I remind her.

“Then I better be Rizzo.”

She’s picked a flowing floral dress from Psychic Priscilla’s collection, and she’s let her hair dry into long, loose waves.

“You’re giving me much more of a Stevie Nicks vibe than Betty Rizzo,” I say.

Priscilla does a spin. Her dress almost touches the floor, but it has just enough room to flow around her as she moves.

“Oh my god. You look like me!” Psychic Priscilla says upon finding us examining our outfits in her bedroom mirror.

All three of us laugh, even though we understand she means it in a deeper way. It’s more than just the clothing. There’s a lightness to my Priscilla now. A joy that seems to glow fromwithin her instead of being something she performs. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of me. Of us.

When Psychic Marlowe appears, she gives me an appraising nod. “You look cool,” she says.

I press a hand to my heart. “Thank you. I needed to hear that. My students have made me doubt myself.”

“I mean, youarea theater kid,” she says.

“Theater kids can be cool,” I protest, unsure of who I think I’m convincing. “Fine. I will settle for giving the impression of coolness.”

By the time we make it downstairs, the mood has turned. Of all the realities we’ve visited, this one has given us the most. Even though we didn’t find our Dallas, Priscilla and I found something just as valuable—our way to each other. I still don’t understand how it fits with the psychic reading she got, but I’m chasing these feelings instead of worrying about what could go wrong. It feels good to live this way. Necessary.

When Psychic Marlowe opens the door, Psychic Priscilla bursts into tears. “I can’t believe we’ll never see you again,” she says, pulling my Priscilla and me into a sentimental embrace.

Psychic Marlowe joins in, turning us into a hug huddle at their front door. “They’ll be with us in the mirror,” she says.