Yesterworld: Down World Series Series, Book 2, page 31
I had asked her because I’d had no one else to ask, and I couldn’t risk the alternative. Adam and I hadn’t been careful enough the second night.
And I had asked her because, on some level, I suppose I had wanted her to know one true thing about me. Even if that thing was that I had cheated on my boyfriend. Even if it meant I would lose her too.
The fact was, we were doomed from the start. Friendships can’t be built on a lie, and my whole life had been a tower of lies since the night I’d lost Robbie, one stacked on top of the other. The tower was always going to fall eventually. Christy and I had been living on borrowed time.
I was so busy looking at the phone, at the blank screen under her last curt little message, that I didn’t notice Kieren until he was standing right beside me.
“Hey, you,” he said, shocking me almost out of my skin.
“How did you know I’d be here?” I asked, fumbling with my phone and eventually dropping it back into my purse.
“Your stepmom kept posting about how proud she was of you, how you were taking the morning train to school.”
“I didn’t know you followed Laura online.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “She insisted back when you and I were . . . you know.”
We stood together for a moment, our eyes instinctively heading down the tracks to where my train would eventually appear.
“I feel like what happened is my fault,” he finally said.
“What do you mean?” I asked, nervous suddenly to hear the answer, or maybe just nervous because he was next to me again.
The last time we’d been together on this platform was when I’d seen an alternate present in the Today door—one where we were in love.
“I pushed you towards Adam. I shouldn’t have let you stay with him.”
I flushed with sudden understanding. “Brady told you?”
“Yes.”
I shook away the awkwardness of the moment, but I couldn’t quite look at him. “You didn’t push me anywhere. It was my choice, Kieren.”
“I should have protected you, though.”
I kept looking down the track, not sure what to say. But then a surge of anger seized me. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
I turned to look at him. “I spent a year and a half learning to live without you. I risked everything to get back to you. Because I loved you.”
“M—” He reached for my face, but I backed away.
“And you hurt me.”
Kieren looked down at his shoes, nodding slightly. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak. “I know that. I’m sorry, M.”
“It’s too late for sorry.”
He looked at me like I’d slapped him, but after a moment, he leaned in closer. “I guess I always thought,” he said, “that someday you and I might find our way back to each other.”
The breath forced its way into my lungs. “Yeah.” I nodded. “I used to think that too.”
My eyes wandered now to the street, to the distant point where the road bent on its way over from the high school.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now I don’t know.”
He nodded silently. “Maybe I could visit you someday. I mean, I know your brother won’t let me in the house, but . . .”
“What about Stephanie?” I asked.
He hesitated, following my gaze to the road. “She would stay behind.”
I took a step away from him. What was he even suggesting? That I could be his . . . side chick? That he could keep her and have me too? Is that what he thought of me now? Is that what we had become? Or was it worse than that? Did he mean that we could be just friends? “I don’t want that,” I said softly. He kept his distance while we continued to stand there. “That’s not enough.”
Finally, Dad came back from inside the station, his arms laden with candy bars and bags of chips, with one lone apple sitting on top. He froze when he saw Kieren by my side, but then continued to approach us. “Kieren,” he greeted him.
“Sir,” Kieren said back, years of living with a father in the military having ingrained a rote kind of respect into his tone.
“I’ll wait over here while you two say goodbye,” my dad offered.
“Thanks, Dad.”
After a second, my train approached. The chugging was so silent at first, but soon it overtook us, and speech was impossible. It was a relief when it pulled up close, causing a breeze to whip us in the face.
“Why do you keep looking down the road?” Kieren finally asked.
“No reason,” I answered, maybe a bit too quickly. There was no reason to be looking. He wasn’t coming for me. He was gone.
Kieren could tell I was lying, but he misinterpreted why. “Is, um . . . is Brady coming?”
I sighed, shaking my head. I had texted Brady several times over the months, asking if we could talk, wanting another chance to apologize. Last night, I had tried again. “He won’t respond to my texts. I’ll keep trying, though. I’m still hoping he’ll forgive me someday.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t expect him to,” I admitted. “But you never know.”
Kieren took my hand. I didn’t want him to at first, but then suddenly I was afraid to let him go. “I hope that happens for you,” he said. “I really do.”
I squeezed his hand for only a moment, so tight that his fingernails dug into my skin, almost piercing the thick padding of my palms.
And then he was gone. I turned to see him walking away down the platform, and I could still feel the imprint of his hand in mine.
My dad handed me my snacks and walked me to the train door.
I closed my eyes when I hugged him, not wanting to see the tears forming in his eyes. “We won’t say goodbye,” he whispered. “Just till I see you again.’”
I nodded, pulling away from him and stepping onto the train.
But before I made it all the way on, I turned one last time to look down the long road winding its way into the distance.
The road was empty, as I knew it would be. The journey I was about to take, I’d have to take alone . . . at least for now. I twirled the diamond ring in my pocket, wondering just how long I would be waiting.
Waiting for forgiveness.
Waiting for redemption.
Waiting for Tomorrow to come.
Acknowledgments
While Marina and Adam’s hometown is fictional, it is heavily inspired by Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where a secret town sprang up in the early 1940s to develop the enriched uranium needed for the atomic bombs. Most of my research came from Denise Kiernan’s fantastic biography The Girls of Atomic City. Find more info about Oak Ridge at atomicheritage.org.
I need to thank the fabulous team at Wattpad Books, especially the brilliant Deanna McFadden, for championing the Down World trilogy from the very beginning. When the first book won the Watty Award for best young adult fiction in 2019, I thought, “What a great ride that was!” I had no idea that the next few years would see my entire trilogy being brought to readers’ hands all over the world. It is the great privilege of my life to be able to tell these stories.
A special thanks goes to my editor, Jen Hale, who always asks the right questions, and to my copy editor, Andrea Waters, who changes my “lies” to “lays” whenever necessary. This book is infinitely better as a result.
I’d also like to thank the entire gang over at Wattpad WEBTOON Studios—AKA, my favorite Canadians. I’m especially indebted to all the fantastic reps I’ve had a chance to work with: I-Yana Tucker, Nina Lopes, Amanda Gosio, and Monica Pacheco.
If there’s a recurring theme in the Down World books, it is exploring the murky area between mistakes and second chances; between regret and redemption. The road I took to get here was bumpy at times, but I truly believe it led me home.
Steffen, my life didn’t really begin until you “loaned” me a broken computer so I would have to come over and drink wine and eat pizza while you “fixed” it. It’s been a hell of a ride since then.
This book, like everything I do, is for our kids. Luna and Levon, you are my everything.
About the Author
Rebecca Phelps started out as an actress and a screenwriter before completing her first novel, Down World. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two kids. Read more of her work on Wattpad: @geminirosey. For updates on books, writing, and more, follow her on TikTok: @RebeccaPhelpsAuthor or Instagram: @RebeccaPhelpsWriter. Keep an eye out for Everworld, coming from Wattpad Books, spring 2023!
An imprint of Wattpad WEBTOON Book Group
Copyright© 2022 Rebecca Phelps
All rights reserved.
No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of the copyright holders.
Published in Canada by Wattpad WEBTOON Book Group, a division of Wattpad Corp.
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First Wattpad Books edition: December 2022
ISBN 978-1-99025-926-5 (Trade Paperback original)
ISBN 978-1-99025-927-2 (eBook edition)
Names, characters, places, and incidents featured in this publication are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events, institutions, or locales, without satiric intent, is coincidental.
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01 | BEGIN / END
The last thing I remember is noise.
Images are hazy, and they only come in flashes. Most of them are dark, dripping with night and impossible to make sense of—a glimpse of a tree branch here, a wiry crack in the glass there. Bloodstained fingers. Fragmented pieces of my reflection gazing back at me.
But the noises are vivid, and when I squeeze my eyes shut, I can still hear them. It begins with tires squealing, struggling to gain traction on damp pavement, followed by the devastating crunch of metal connecting with metal. A car door clicks open, and the melodic chime of keys being left in the ignition resonates through the air layered with frantic voices melding together. One of them sounds similar to mine, only warped and laced with pain.
A desperate urge to flee the scene propels me forward, but my limbs fail, and I fall to the ground.
When I wake, I no longer know my own name.
The abrupt shaking of a pill bottle makes the present come back into focus.
Dr. Meyer sits across from me, holding up the bright orange container, and the room is quiet, all eyes trained in my direction. Outside, thick, menacing clouds on the verge of bursting hang low, peering over the canopy of evergreen trees in the distance. There’s a garden adjacent to Dr. Meyer’s office—a courtyard that must bloom with color later in the year but looks stark and barren against the backdrop of early spring.
After a month of staying here, I’ve learned that the neurology wing is the nicest place in Pender Falls General Hospital, significantly more inviting than the room I first woke up in—where I was called a name I didn’t remember and was surrounded by faces I’d never seen before—or the one in which I spent weeks learning how to use my body again. This meeting is the last checkpoint I have to complete before getting out of here for good.
“Sorry. I lost focus for a second.”
“That’s all right.” Dr. Meyer’s smile is gentle, practiced. “This is a lot of information to take in at once, that’s why we have your family here with you. The more ears, the better.”
Sofia—my mother, though it’s far too early to call her that— studiously scrawls notes on the lined paper of the notebook in her lap, while my sister, Audrey, sits on the other side of me, fingers resting on my leg gently in a show of support.
“As I was saying, you’ll continue taking these in order to help with your awareness and memory. Over the counter pain meds like acetaminophen and ibuprofen can be taken for headaches and any muscle stiffness you may be feeling.”
“How long does she need to take them?” Sofia gestures to the pill bottle. The words are firm, demanding, and I don’t know if it’s motherly instinct or a desire to be in control of the situation.
“We’ll monitor her progress in our follow-up appointments and reassess. For now, she can continue to take them daily before bed.”
“Do you think I’m stuck like this?”
The attention shifts back to me, an air of discomfort settling over the room.
“You’re not stuck, Alina,” Dr. Meyer begins, setting his clipboard on his desk. “It’s still very early. There’s always room for improvement, and it’s likely your recovery won’t be linear.”
A crow lands on a branch near the window, taking cover beneath the overhang as the rain begins to fall. My mother and sister remain silent.
“How does a brain just forget everything it knows, anyway?” My grip tightens around the thick fabric of the sweater I hold in my hands as I watch the bird.
“Your procedural memory is perfectly intact. Once you’re back in your normal environment, I’m confident more things from your life, your past, will come back and be familiar.” He sets the bottle on his desk then leans back in his seat. “The mind is a wondrous thing. It’s not that your brain has forgotten everything it knows, rather, those memories are locked away, and you can no longer find the key. You may find that key again someday, or you may not. My goal is to give you the tools to cope with either outcome.”
A wave of nausea builds in my belly, and I don’t know if it’s an aftereffect of smashing my head against a steering wheel, a reaction to his words, or a delightful mixture of both. Waking up to a life that feels brand new and being told you were in a deadly car accident you’re lucky to have survived is harrowing. I don’t feel lucky. I feel cursed.
The details of the accident were explained to me in simple terms: I was at a party. I left the party. I crashed my car into a tree. I was found by someone out on a run hours later, long after the sun had already risen, though the sounds I remember make it seem as though it all happened in a matter of seconds. Every time I hear it, it feels like nothing more than a story about a stranger, something tragic I might tell someone in passing, not something that belongs to me.
“I think we’re finished here,” he says. “Unless you have anything else you’d like to discuss.”
Despite the fact that there are about a million burning questions on the tip of my tongue, I shake my head, and we all stand, heading for the door. I wander farther down the hall, drifting and ghostlike, while Sofia gets a final word in with Dr. Meyer, speaking in hushed timbres. Audrey stands next to them, shooting me concerned glances every few seconds.
Our physical resemblance reassures me that they truly are my family—we have the same intense brown eyes, dark hair, and tawny skin—but I have no recollection of our life before these hospital corridors and neurology appointments. I don’t even know what they think of me.
After several moments of watching the rain fall outside the large windows of the hospital entrance, they join me, and we make our way outside.
A raindrop hits my nose, and Sofia does her best to cover us using her bag as a makeshift umbrella, but it doesn’t provide much shelter. My hair is damp by the time we reach the car. As we roll through town, my eyes melt into the landscape of cookie-cutter houses backed by lush mountains and my fingers curl around the strap of my seat belt as I listen to the whir of tires gliding through rainwater. The sun hasn’t shone in Pender Falls since I woke up.
Sofia tells me I’ve lived here all my life. Years of bouncing around British Columbia led her to settle down in a small town in the Interior, somewhere she deemed appropriate to raise a family.
“That’s your elementary school,” she says as we drive by a blue building with children’s artwork pasted to the windows, rain battering the weathered jungle gym.
It continues on like this as she points out the shadowy park I used to frequent as a child and the church next to the cemetery we attend on special occasions. Audrey fills in the gaps from the backseat, accompanying every place with an amusing story. With each one we drive past, it feels like I’m seeing it for the first time. I have no doubt their intention is to help me become familiar with my surroundings, but it only makes me feel like more of an outsider.
After turning onto Seymour Avenue, we pull into the driveway of a house a little ways down the street. It’s large, built of red bricks, with sprawling vines creeping up the front and wrapping around the white pillars on the porch like something out of a storybook. Sofia kills the engine and nobody moves for a second.
“This is home,” she announces tentatively.
I’ve been dreading this. Even though Audrey and Sofia were constantly with me in the hospital, it’s an entirely different thing to actually live with strangers who are supposed to be family. In reality, they feel about as familiar as the doctors and nurses who milled about the hallways during my stay, coming in and out of my room to bring me medication and rouse me from my sleep.
Sofia pushes open the front door, and I follow her inside.
Immediately as we enter, a barking dog bounds in my direction, and my pulse kicks into gear. The animal, a black and white border collie, jumps onto my legs, growling maliciously, and Audrey scrambles to grab its collar, easing it away.
“I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “Scout isn’t your biggest fan but she’s usually better than this.”
“Audrey.” Sofia chastises her. “I told you to take Scout outside before we left.”
