by Holly Hook
I've never ridden in a limo before. Never even come close, if my file’s right about where I came from. I don't belong in this rolling symbol of wealth, not even while I'm wearing this dress.
"We just have this for tonight," Frank says as he opens the back door for me. Did he see my amazement? I straighten out my face before I look like a cartoon character with my jaw falling to the floor.
I slide in. My dress whispers against the leather. Trey's arm rests around Monica in front of me. There's a chauffeur in the driver's seat, complete with white gloves to avoid getting fingerprints on the steering wheel. Yes, I've definitely entered another world.
"We're ready," Frank tells the driver as he climbs in behind me. For a second I feel like he's boxing me in. I'm just a bit nervous. It's my first true dance, after all.
He smiles at me. Heat rises to my cheeks. I automatically reach up to make sure the makeup under my eyes hasn't smeared, cursing myself for being so shallow like Wendy's gang. But I stop, hand in midair.
His eyes flash gold.
Frank's irises glitter--yes, glitter--like a bunch of shredded-up tinsel. I catch my breath, but it's gone the second I blink, leaving only a deep, ordinary brown in its place.
"Hey? You okay?" he asks. "You look like you're kind of uncomfortable in here. I know it's all way different than what you're used to.”
There. The real Frank is back, the one that isn't stiff and formal for Nancy's sake.
"Yes--I mean yeah--I am." I can't slip up now and start talking like an eighty year old like Monica says I do. I glance at the lights on the ceiling of the limo. I must have seen them reflecting off Frank's irises. Maybe I'm still too preoccupied with that night that Nancy found me on her porch.
Wait a moment...how does Frank know anything about my background? I never told him about what's in my file or about my deadbeat parents, much less that I can't remember any of it.
He could be just assuming this since I don't live on the East Side. Of course. He makes me not think straight sometimes. That's all.
I relax, listening to the hum of the limo and the crunching of gravel as we pull away from Nancy's house to start the ten-minute ride to Trenton High School.
"You know," Frank says, scooting a little closer. "I think it's cool we got paired for the History project. I didn't realize you were so interested in it."
"I know. I'm unusual," I admit. We're connecting, and over a Civil War presentation of all things. Most people get asked out in the hall, or in the cafeteria, or though friends because they're not brave enough to do it themselves. At least, that's what I've seen in the past year. I'm probably the first person to get asked to the Spring Formal Dance over pictures of Gettysburg. "I didn't think you would be, either. I mean, you don't strike me as the type."
"Because I don't wear taped-up glasses or collared shirts?" He smirks. It makes some of my nerves go from crackling wires down to smooth waves.
"Taped up glasses?” I ask, feeling stupid. Great. This is something I should know, and now Frank's going to notice that--
“It's a stereotype for nerds,” he says, smiling.
"Oh. You mean those young m—those kids who love their computers and their fantasy game cards. There's an entire table of them in my lunch hour.” I'm making so many mistakes with the way I'm speaking. Monica can hear every one. She's gone quiet, listening. She must be sending me mental notes. I've done so well trying to sound like the rest of my classmates and now it's all going away. Frank is making me nervous.
But he's no less relaxed next to me. “Looks like we're here.”
The high school parking lot is filled with cars. People in dresses and suits move in between them. There's lots of yellows and pinks, greens and oranges. I spot Carmen from Physics in a maroon dress, walking in with her date, Brent. None of the girls wear grays or blues. I seem to be unique.
Wendy and her gang, Heather and Isabel, are obvious as they're wearing the biggest, most ridiculous skirts in the county. They wait over by the doors, sizing everyone else up. Wendy's clad in a salmon-colored, sparkling gown. It reminds me of the disastrous pizza the school tried to serve us a couple of weeks back. Or vomit. Her runners-up both wear green and yellow and skirts that are only slightly less huge than hers.
Also obvious is the glare Wendy gives me as I climb out of the limo, Frank in tow. It's impossible to miss even across the parking lot.
It's wonderful.
Frank links his hand with mine (even better) as we make our way to the school entrance, right in front of Monica and Trey. He swaggers next to me and manages to look silly even in his suit, something only he can manage. My skin prickles as the three of them watch us pass.
Wendy doesn’t dare an insult or a taunt about my dress. I can almost smell the stink waves of jealousy rolling off all three of them.
Then Isabel nods. It's almost imperceptible, but enough to make me a little uncomfortable.
I'm almost glad when we cross the threshold. I check the door to make sure the Squad isn't coming through after us. I rise up on my toes as I walk, drawing a stare from Frank.
"Something wrong?" he asks.
I shake my head, which makes him smile again.
The gym has an unbelievable number of flowers, both fake and real, hanging in garlands around the whole room. Some of those fake candles—I think Nancy calls them LED's or something--cast giant circles of shadow on red tablecloths. Almost everybody gathers around the refreshment tables in groups. I catch chatter about dresses. Dates. Who didn't dare show up without one. A DJ messes with a set of controls at the end of the gym, unable to hear a pair of girls trying to get his attention over the blare of his own music. It's a pop song that I don't know the name of that the Top 40 station plays fifty times a day. It's noise to me. I'm definitely waiting for something else to come on to dance with Frank. My heart quickens at the thought.
I look around, but Monica and her date disappear towards the punch. Aaron and Jessalin obscure them from view.
"Well--" I turn my head. But Frank's disappeared.
He isn't by the punch, or the doors, or even the other side of the gym. I check the entrance to make sure he hasn't run back outside. The crowd outside has cleared, confirming that he's not there. It's as if a fold in the universe has opened up and swallowed him.
"Frank?" I call as I return to the gym, hating the way my voice sounds.
I remember Isabel's nod, and my heart constricts. Wendy and Heather are over flirting with the usual rich guys, but she's not with them.
Maybe this was too good to be true.
Maybe Frank knows what a weirdo I am after all and he does care...
It is April Fools' Day.
"Julia. I had the song changed," he says next to me.
I jump and whirl around. Frank’s there again as if he's pulled off some feat of magic. Even his swagger's back.
He's right. The song has changed--and gotten a lot quieter. A violin plays at an almost somber pace for a few seconds, then picks up and turns into a slow dance. I can't help but think of Model T's cruising down the streets. The song might be old. Ancient, even, but it's definitely better than what's been playing in the gym and everywhere else. It’s an odd thing for a twenty-something DJ to have for a high school dance. Everyone over by the tables shoots him confused stares. I give Frank a glance that asks why.
After he doesn't answer, I settle on the next thing on my list. "Where were you a second ago?"
"I told you. By the DJ."
"I looked over there and didn't see you."
Frank pauses for a second and then tugs on my arm, pulling me to the middle of the gym. "Huh. That's weird. Well, it looks like we're going to be the brave ones."
My heart flutters. Everyone will be watching me dance. I mentally go over all the tips Nancy's drilled into me for the past week or so. No use. They fly away, scattering like terrified birds.
"Just move your feet," Frank says as the violin continues to ebb and flow. "Trust me. I'm not much of a dancer, eith
er, so at least we'll look weird together."
We slowly move in a circle. Somewhere, Wendy giggles and makes a snide comment about what a lucky freak I am. I try to ignore the stares of everyone else in the gym. Zero in on Frank. His hand on my back. His gentle smile and the way his suit rustles as he moves.
Spring colors float past in the sides of my vision as I focus on the motion of our dance. He's guiding us both, and I realize something: he definitely lied about not being much of a dancer. Our feet move smoothly across the floor. My dress swishes perfectly and I'm not even trying. Frank has got to be the best dancer in the school.
Other couples venture out onto the dance floor. I spot the saffron of Monica's dress. The bubble gum of someone else's and even Wendy's salmon-colored monstrosity.
The violins of the waltz grow stronger, louder, and a chill washes over me despite Frank's warm touch and the blasting heat in the gym.
I've heard this song before.
It's somewhere in the recesses of my memory, barely there. I have no idea where I heard this last, but I can't deny it.
I reach out for it, hoping, just hoping, that maybe I’ll finally remember something of my life before I woke up on Nancy's porch. It’s got to be there, floating around in some locked part of my mind, waiting for the key to set it all free. My heart pounds and I reach, but the memory darts away into the void.
A chill closes in on me and I shudder. It's as if someone's opened the doors to the Arctic on every side of me. Bumps rise on my bare arms, making my skin tingle and tighten.
"Cold?" Frank's eyes are filled with concern.
I watch my feet tap around his. My breath spirals in front of me and drifts away. The song plays on, tempting everyone to keep dancing. A strange spell seems to have fallen over the gym. Nearby, Monica and Trey move without a care, swaying back and forth. No breath clouds in front of them.
Frank studies me. Exhales. No breath.
I let out another lungful. Another cloud appears between me and Frank and dissipates. It’s just me. Frank's hand on my back gives only one spot of warmth in a sea of ice. The music grows louder, almost painful, like there's a real orchestra playing nearby. The gym seems to darken. I blink and swear I see stars overhead, like the roof is fading.
The strange spell is over me.
My teeth chatter. "Yes."
Frank glances at the side of the gym. "Let's go out in the hall," he says. "It should be warmer out there."
I shake my head as Frank pulls me into the light of the hallway. The song follows me out before the door closes, staying stuck in my head as if the orchestra has moved into the space between my ears. And the cold. It clings to my skin, making me shiver.
"Did you feel that?" I ask, unable to keep my teeth from clicking together.
"I did." Frank rubs his arms, but his lips don't quiver like mine. It's almost like he's acting. "You know, we should go raid the lost and found. See if we can get a jacket out of there just for tonight. We'll return it before we leave."
He smiles again. He has more in mind than swinging by the office and rummaging through the bin of forgotten coats and hats. My heart flutters. I put aside the strange cold as a furious heat rushes to the surface of my skin.
Frank and I...alone...
"Sure." I follow him down the hall and around the corner to the office. I wonder how Frank's lips will feel on mine. Soft, with a hint of, well, what?
The office lights are off. Of course the headmaster—er, principal, won't be here this late. "The door's probably locked.” I let enough disappointment run into my words to convince Frank to find a classroom instead. I rub my arms. The cold's back. I swear the air around me has dropped about fifty degrees.
Something is very wrong here.
But Frank reaches out and opens the office door without a problem. It should be locked, but it isn't. "Looks like the custodians weren't too bright today," he says. "Come on in."
He waits until the door closes behind us to turn on the light. I expect to see his smile greeting me with the flip of the switch.
The light comes on. I blink, letting my eyes adjust.
Isabel stands in the middle of the office in her green dress.
I freeze, which is fitting since the bitter cold still clings to me. I've never seen Isabel by herself. Ever. She's been Wendy's shadow ever since she moved here. Something about her seems even more off than that, though. Her eyes don't seem right, like the green in them have a hint of something else entirely.
"Isabel? What the heck are you doing here?" I motion to the door to usher her out, fighting to keep my limbs from shaking in the cold. This is Frank-and-me-only time. The last thing I want here is a member of the Squad, even if I do want to make them jealous. If I have to, I'll muscle her out.
She stands there, perfectly still as if waiting for something. It's just as creepy as her nod earlier. Remembering it makes my stomach sink.
"Frank?" I ask.
He puts one hand on my shoulder and squeezes. Something about his touch feels distant, like he isn't quite there. The waltz keeps playing in my head. The violins refuse to die. The cold deepens into a January night. Something about it sends my pulse on a runaway course. I blink. The stars greet me again in the space behind my eyelids. For a moment, I feel like I'm slipping into another world.
And Frank isn't even looking at me. He's keeping his gaze over my shoulder, at Isabel.
At Isabel. Not me.
It can't be.
"Our date," I remind him as another breath cloud shoots out in front of my face. It's more of a question, a plea that this isn't a cruel joke.
"Julia, I apologize for this." Frank winces and scratches his back, staring at the floor as if trying to decipher some message in it. "Really, I do. I had to ask you to the dance to get you here."
Even through the waltz still playing in my head, I hear all my hope shattering as if the room is made of mirrors.
I face Frank and the stupid red tie that doesn't fit him at all. Even though he's looking down at the floor with his hair hanging in his face, I can't miss the guilt weighing down his cheeks and his jaw. I'm not sure who I'm angrier at--the whole East Side or myself for falling for their least original prank. The oldest trick in existence. An angry gremlin taunts me as it gnaws through my limbs, my muscles, my blood. "I thought you were better than that!"
He says nothing. Not shocking, as he has no room to argue.
"Is the Rogue prepped?" Isabel asks from behind me.
I've never been this close to Isabel. I expel another breath, which blows up in front of me in white vapor. I bump into Frank--by no accident, by the way--and focus on her. My teeth knock together as I step even closer to her. "Excuse me? Look--"
Isabel's eyes have turned to gold, as if a sunny beach is glittering in her eyes.
The cauldron inside me turns into a pot of dry ice. Isabel stares at me, her expression serious and sad.
Isabel's shoulders slump as she speaks in a voice as flat as ancient road kill. "Do you have any idea why you're here?"
I manage to shake my head. My vocal cords lock. My fingertips ache. All I can do is stare at those eyes that shouldn't be. We study each other for what stretches into a minute before a small, quiet voice inside me speaks.
Run.
I whirl around and make for the door, but stop short when I see Frank's eyes.
They've also turned golden. It’s like his irises are full of that glitter stuff. He hasn’t had time to slip in contacts—has he? I scramble for a sane explanation.
But the gold in his eyes is swirling around itself like soap through water. These aren’t contacts.
"Sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I needed to ask you out to bring you to the right place at the right time. This is nothing personal. I'm only doing my job."
I suck in a breath. Frank isn't even human.
"Relax," he says, holding up a hand and sucking in a deep breath. "There’s a reason you can’t remember your past. You're in the wrong time. We're just he
re to send you back to where you belong.”
I feel like I’ve been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. Frank knows my secret, the one I haven’t told anyone except Monica. And Monica never would have told a soul.
He can’t. He just can’t. There’s no way anyone besides her could know.
“You...you know about that?” I ask. Then I gather up some wits. “Okay. You're right about me not remembering anything before this year. According to my file--”
“Whatever your file says, it isn't true,” Frank goes on. He’s so stiff standing there in front of me, so detached. “You can't fool us. Don't you wonder why you have trouble speaking in the way of this time? Why you struggle so much with technology? It's clear to me that somehow, you wound up in the wrong time. I have a feeling that someone brought you here, faked some files for you, and altered Nancy's memory so she would take you into foster care. It’s our job to put everything back in order. Isabel and I have been tracking you for some time now.”
His words spin around me, through me.
The wrong time? “What are you supposed to be—some kind of messed up time police? If I am in the wrong time, that is?” I’m stalling. If I yell loud enough, someone will have to hear me. I have to get out of this freezing office. “None of this even makes any sense!”
Frank holds up a hand. Swallows. “That’s true. We are. Sort of. But you are from another time. You’re not the only one this has happened to. But no matter how you got here, we have to put you back. That’s our job.” He doesn't sound happy.
“What? That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard!” I’m almost screaming now, not so much because Frank’s eyes are as gold as ever, but because there’s a growing fear inside that maybe what he’s saying is true. It would make sense if he's right. A spike of terror shoots up through me. “Okay. If you're not lying, then where am I from, then? And who put me here? I'm from the past, aren't I?”
I remember the coin I woke up on Nancy’s porch with a year ago, the one Nancy told me was a British penny from before the first world war. The bright eyes staring at me in the dark. The note, begging me to remember who I am. Telling me that my life is in danger if I can't do that. The note that, until now, I thought was some kind of prank and brushed off.
