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balloon,” Eliot said the next morning.
    â€œReally? I cleave a world, barely make it out alive, my parents narc on me to the Consort, and the freaking balloon is the part that interests you?” I threw my physics book into my locker and slammed the door. “My parents couldn’t even tell me what happens next. We have to wait for the Consort to decide. What if they put me in an oubliette?”
    â€œThey won’t,” he said. “There has to be an explanation for why the world cleaved so easily. And the only weird thing was the balloon, right? The rest of the Walk was by the book. So we’re missing something.” Behind his glasses, his brown eyes took on a familiar, faraway look. Deep in the supercomputer that was Eliot’s brain, he was sifting through everything I’d told him, searching for a clue, a pattern, a reason. “We’re definitely missing something.”
    â€œNothing important,” I said, thinking of Simon’s fingers curving around my thigh.
    â€œEverything’s important, Del.”
    I shifted my books from one arm to the other. Walkers kept their abilities secret from the rest of the world. I kept all sorts of things secret from my family. But Eliot and I had never kept secrets from each other. I’d explained Echo Simon and Iggy and the fake ID easily enough. But when it came to our encounter at the bench, I wasn’t ready to share.
    Despite the crowded hallways, we reached the music classroom with time to spare. Eliot pulled at my sleeve to prevent me from going in. “If we can prove there was something wrong with the world, and that’s why it cleaved, they’ll have to go easier on you.”
    â€œIt’s the Consort. They can do whatever they want.”
    â€œThey can’t rewrite your DNA.”
    He had a point. The Consort couldn’t take away my ability to Walk, but they could make it illegal. I’d be monitored for the rest of my life, unable to Walk without an accompanist. “What if they never grant me a license? I’d be stuck here.”
    I’d be like an Original, only worse, because I’d know what I was missing.
    â€œI’ll take you anywhere you want. All you have to do is ask,” Eliot said.
    His eyes were oddly serious, despite the smile, and I had the distinct feeling that now I was the one missing something. Before I could ask, our teacher, Ms. Powell, appeared in the doorway.
    â€œAm I interrupting, you two?” Smiling, she motioned us inside.
    â€œNope,” I mumbled.
    If school was a wasteland, orchestra and music theory were my oasis—a break from the monotony of my day, a place where people spoke my native tongue. Ms. Powell was the only teacher who didn’t treat me like a delinquent.
    Eliot and I slid into our seats at the back of the room. Simon sat at the desk in front of me, his dark hair starting to curl along the nape of his neck. As usual, it looked slightly unkempt, like he’d just rolled out of bed. Rumor had it that he’d rolled out of a lot of beds.
    Park World Simon’s hair had been shaggier, falling past his collar, nearly hiding his eyes. The memory sent a stab of guilt through me. Simon must have felt me staring, because he twisted in his chair, flashed me a smile.
    My own smile rose in answer—and disappeared as the girl sitting next to him noticed me too. Bree Carlson, star of the drama department, lead of nearly every musical and school play since the sixth grade. Pretty but not so gorgeous that the other girls hated her, popular but not so cutthroat that she had to watch her back, Bree was a chameleon; she acted whatever part would put her in the spotlight.
    She and Simon had been together at the start of the year, but they’d split up about a month ago. The relationship had followed his typical pattern—a slow, easygoing shift from flirtation to coupledom to friends. Being dumped by Simon Lanewas practically a badge of