Nineteen

Finn

“That’s it?” Finn asked. “Isn’t she going to tell you how to help?”

He heard a clatter out in the hallway—the exact sound that a handful of coins would make hitting a wooden floor.

“Oooh,” Finn cried. “She’s sending you more coins!”

He heard Ms. Morales say behind him, “Some of those might be for me. I . . . I feel like they’re calling to me. . . .”

But Finn was already sprinting out into the hallway and scooping up coins to hand to Natalie and Ms. Morales.

Ahead of him, he could see even more coins gliding down from the ceiling. In the sunlight streaming through the upper window, the coins twirled and twinkled, as bright as stars.

It was the most beautiful thing Finn had ever seen.

Except for his own mother’s face, of course.

“Everyone!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Come and look!”

The others spilled out of the room and down the stairs behind him. The whole group spun into the living room, their heads tilted back to stare in awe at the coins floating down. Finn chased the coins as if they were fireflies flitting across a backyard on a perfect summer night. He scooped them up and poured them into the other kids’ cupped hands, too. He felt dizzy with joy. The coins were answers; they had to be. He didn’t know how everything was going to work out, but he was certain it would.

Emma, Kona, and the Gustano kids laughed and traded coins back and forth with Finn, each coin seeming shinier than the last. All the parents smiled indulgently. Natalie gathered up coins and dropped them one by one into Chess’s hands as if she were sorting them by touch: “This one’s mine. This one’s Mom’s. This one’s Mom’s, too. . . .”

Then the front door rattled.

It was an odd sound to notice in the midst of their glee. Maybe Finn wouldn’t have paid any attention at all if it hadn’t been for how the coins reacted: Except for the ones held tight in someone’s hands, all the coins suddenly skittered out of sight, like frightened animals. They slipped down into the cracks between the floor’s wood panels; they jammed themselves under couch cushions.

The front door began to open.

Did someone have a key?

Finn remembered the fake police officer. He remembered Other-Natalie’s message from the other world: We’re all in danger now.

And then he saw who’d opened the door.

It was only Natalie’s dad, Mr. Mayhew.

Natalie’s dad happened to be a great friend of Finn’s. Mr. Mayhew and Natalie’s mom were divorced, but everyone got along really well. Now, anyway.

In this world, Finn’s brain reminded him.

Finn clutched the coins in his hand a little tighter, so they wouldn’t escape. But he stepped out from behind the couch.

“Mr. Mayhew, you won’t believe what you just missed!” he cried.

Mr. Mayhew barely glanced at Finn. His eyes darted around like he was trying to keep track of everyone all at once.

Then he flashed a cheesy grin and seemed more like himself.

“Oh, sorry—didn’t mean to barge in,” he said. “I thought everyone would still be sleeping.” He held up a stack of boxes labeled in garish shades of pink and orange and brown. “I just wanted to leave these in the kitchen so you’d believe the doughnut-and-bagel fairy had been here overnight. . . . I heard you had quite the houseful, and I figured you might all be hungry.”

“Doughnuts!” Finn squealed at the same time that someone behind him—Other-Finn?—cried out delightedly, “Bagels!”

Finn saw Natalie’s shoulders slump in relief. She dropped her last coin into Chess’s hand, and tripped forward to give her father a hug.

“Dad, that was really nice of you,” she said.

Mr. Mayhew awkwardly shuffled the boxes of doughnuts and bagels to the side so he could draw his daughter close.

“Here. I can take those,” Finn said, reaching out. He grinned. “If you trust me not to eat them all myself.”

But something was wrong. Mr. Mayhew didn’t laugh at Finn’s joke. He also didn’t let go of the doughnut and bagel boxes.

And Natalie was already pulling back from her father.

Finn stopped reaching for the doughnuts and glanced back and forth between Natalie and her dad. Mr. Mayhew was wearing a neon yellow golf shirt that almost seemed to glow against his tanned skin—this was a perfectly normal look for him. But Natalie shook her head and alternated between blinking and widening her eyes at Finn, as if she were trying to send a secret message in Morse code.

Finn wanted to say, You know Emma’s better at code than I am! I don’t understand!

In one smooth move, Mr. Mayhew threw the boxes of doughnuts and bagels past Finn’s outstretched hands. They landed on a bare patch of floor that only moments before had been covered by glistening coins.

“Hey, why’d you do that?” Finn demanded. “You wouldn’t want to ruin good doughnuts, would you?”

“Five-second rule!” Other-Finn crowed behind him. Finn heard a clinking, as if Other-Finn had dropped his coins to scurry over and grab whatever doughnuts and bagels might roll out.

But it wasn’t doughnuts or bagels that spilled from the sagging, splitting boxes. Instead, a thin line of smoke or ash or some other kind of pollution wafted up. Finn couldn’t help himself: He sniffed. And he didn’t smell chocolate or maple or the glorious aroma of fried dough. He smelled an odor that sent him back into his worst nightmares. It smelled of dead animals and burning garbage and despair.

It smelled like the other world.

And suddenly Finn understood what Natalie had been trying to tell him: This wasn’t actually Natalie’s dad. This was his double from the other world. The Mayor. The worst double any of the kids had met.

And what he’d brought instead of doughnuts and bagels?

He’d brought weapons. He’d brought fear and lies.

He’d brought evil.