“Maybe that's it,” Jeremy agreed. “I was thinking the same thing about Mom.”

The sun beat down on him. It was only May, but it was supposed to get up past thirty today. The Valley was like that. When real summer came, it could climb over forty for a week at a time.

Jeremy ate his sandwich and his yogurt and an orange from a Palestine that hadn't seen a century and a half of murder and war. That Palestine was a sleepy Turkish province where nothing much ever happened. The oranges and lemons were especially fine there. He didn't know whether that was better or worse than the Palestine in his own world. It sure was different, though.

Michael's lunch had a couple of golden plums of a sort Jeremy hadn't seen before. He pointed to the one his friend was eating. “Where'd that come from?” he asked.

“Safeway,” Michael said unhelpfully.

“Thanks a lot,” Jeremy told him. “Which world did it come from, I mean? It's not one of ours, is it?”

“I don't think so,” Michael said. “But I don't know which alternate it's from. All I know is, Dad brought it home when he did the shopping the other day. Half the time, the store labels don't tell anyhow.”

“They're supposed to,” Jeremy said. “The EPA gets on 'em if they don't.”

“Well, the EPA's pretty dumb if it bothers about these. They're good.” Michael ate all the flesh off the plum. He tossed the pit at the trash can. It went in. He was a good shot. He took the second plum out of its plastic bag. Jeremy hoped for a taste, but Michael ate it all. He liked his food, which was no doubt why he stayed round.

The lunch bell rang just after Michael finished the plum. He jumped up. “I have to go to my locker. I left my history paper in there, and Ms. Mouradian doesn't let you print new ones in class.”

Jeremy nodded sympathetically.