by Holly Hook
“My feet are freezing,” Simon says.
“We'll be out of here soon.” I can't be sure of that. Somewhere far away, shouts echo. Where are all the Timeless? They're not the ones who changed history. The Chronophages shouldn't be after them.
“This one!” Isabel manages several minutes later.
The outline of an corridor's entrance materializes out of the fog. Isabel stands just inside of it, waiting for us and panting for breath.
My sides burn. I curse the fact that I get out of breath again. But it'll be worth it. I need to see Nancy and Monica one last time.
“Are you sure this is the corridor?” Simon asks.
“I'm about ninety percent sure. This fog makes it difficult to navigate.”
“That's nice,” I say. I feel bad about being so hard on her. “You're doing your best. It's worth a shot.”
“The rift to Trenton is only about half a mile down this corridor,” Isabel says. “I wish all the rifts didn't look the same.”
“Isabel. Thanks. I know this is a pain for you,” I say. “Otherwise, I'll never sleep well at night again.”
“Just one peek,” she says, turning her back to us and walking ahead. Why is she being so difficult about this? It's almost like she has something to hide.
We walk. I hear no more of the squishing noises, but all my muscles stay tense, ready to jump at the sight of anything materializing out of the fog. Simon keeps his hand locked with mine.
“I'm sure they're fine,” he says, and kisses me on the cheek.
At last, Isabel stops at one of the empty archways and stands before it. “This is the one,” she says. “Let me dive in first.”
She jumps into the archway before I have a chance to protest. Vanishes into the air.
“Well, Isabel is going to have a major case of amnesia when we go through,” I say. I pat my pocket, making sure the hair clip is still there. “She forgot that she's not Timeless anymore. Her memory's just been wiped from landing in a new time.”
“Crap. You're right.” Simon rubs his hair. “I hope she didn't land in someone's bathroom or something. That's been known to happen, with rifts moving around and such.”
I take out the hair clip. “So long as I'm wearing this when I go through, I'll remember where we came from,” I say. “Arnelia did this whenever she traveled through time. She'd keep this on, and when she touched it, it would automatically give her her memories back. Then, I can let the two of you use this, and we'll be brought up to speed.”
“I don't want to wear that again,” he says, grimacing.
“You'll have to deal with it.” The electric feeling coming from the rift grows stronger as if urging me to hurry. I strap the hair clip to my scalp and touch the butterfly's body. My scalp tingles as it gathers my newest memories. I want to spare myself as many headaches as possible though all of this.
I look at Simon and he gives me a reassuring smile. I stick my hand out and watch all the little hairs on my fingers stand up. I take a breath.
“It's time,” I say.
We jump in together.
Chapter Seven
I fall again and the entire world blurs from white to black and finally, to brilliant colors dancing along a wooden floor. My stockings hit polished wood. Loud music plays everywhere and a guy yells at me. He's wearing roller skates, but they're not like any roller skates I've seen before. They're bright yellow. Plastic. Not leather, like normal skates. The music hurts my ears. It's abrasive and way too loud. I have no way to describe it.
I stand up straight and back away from the wall. Two smaller children on skates, holding onto each other for support, dodge past me and one of them goes into the wall, screaming. One boy glares at me as if I've just appeared there.
I'm standing on a skate floor. A glass ball hangs above us and spins, reflecting lights onto the walls. People whiz around in circles, having fun. What am I doing here?
Then I realize. I'm holding hands with a guy. He has perfect chocolate brown eyes and dark hair with red highlights. There's also a mole on the side of his nose that's almost shaped like a heart. He's gorgeous. I'm holding hands with him and I have no idea how this came to be.
“Uh, hi,” the guy says.
“Hi,” I say, color rising to my cheeks. How did we get here?
The guy looks just as confused as me. The boy who ran into the wall stares at us. He's wearing dungarees and a yellow shirt that's way too brilliant. It practically shines in the crazy lighting here.
What do I say?
I reach up to scratch the top of my head in confusion when I feel something cold and pointed in my hair. I'm wearing some kind of clip. I rub my hands over it and the headache hits me.
“Oh,” I groan, letting go of the guy's hand.
“Miss, are you okay?” he asks.
The headache builds and my scalp tingles as if a million ants are chewing at it. Then, it stops.
I look up and memories explode.
We're in the Branch, the popular hangout in Trenton. This is Simon, my love. We just tumbled out of a rift and we're here to find Nancy and Monica.
I face the wall we just fell out of. We've come out of the same rift Simon and I escaped through one time when Frank came in here. It's the one right on the wall that little kids and adults skate past all the time, oblivious. At least I know exactly where it is when we need to come back to it.
“Are you alright?” Simon asks me.
“What are you doing in the middle of the floor?” the guy with the yellow roller blades asks again, blazing past me. He looks at me over his shoulder and glares. “You're going to trip someone.”
“Over here,” I say, waving Simon to the brick divider and onto the carpet. Someone's playing that Stacker game next to us. Isabel stands there, watching the squares move across the screen as if she's never seen this before. She's still wearing my gray dress and drawing some stares from the kids around us. I'm still in the brown dress. Simon's in his overalls.
"Isabel,” I say. I know she has to remember her name. When I appeared on Nancy's doorstep, I remembered mine. That's the one thing Time can't wipe from a mortal's mind.
She turns and faces me, screwing up her face like she doesn't know who I am. Of course she doesn't know.
“What's going on?” Simon asks.
“Did you forget something?” I ask her.
“Huh?”
I hold the hair clip out of her. “You forgot this. You might want to put it on before you lose it again.”
Isabel takes the butterfly. It pulses with color, reflecting all the lights around us. For a moment, it looks alive. “Is this mine?” she asks.
“Yes,” I lie. “Wear it.”
She clips it on and I reach up and press the button for her. The red light blinks and Isabel winces. She grabs onto the edge of the Stacker game.
“I can't believe I forgot that I'm not Timeless anymore,” she says. “I won't forget that again.”
She takes off the butterfly and hands it to me. I face Simon. We have to do this all over again.
“What?” he asks. “Can you ladies please enlighten me as to why we're standing in such a strange place?”
I nod at Isabel and she takes his arm. “Deal with this,” I say, clipping the pin to his head.
When it's over, Simon shakes his head. “We're going to have to repeat that when we go and visit Frank.”
“I wish our clothes would have changed,” I say.
“That only happens to Timeless,” Isabel says. “Never to mortals. Although, I wish it would.”
“We need to move,” I say. “Before Time sends someone after us. It won't be Frank, but we don't need him for there to be a problem.”
“We may not have that problem.” Isabel backs away from the now vacant Stacker game. “When Time got sick before, all the rifts in the Hub closed to the Timeless until those versions of you and Simon got eaten. Mortals could still use them, however. They can't come after us.”
“Good to know,” I s
ay.
“But I have to wonder,” Isabel continues. She speaks slowly, almost like she's trying to put something off. “If the Chronophages won't go away until they eat whoever changed history, when are they going to go away? They can't eat us. No mortal has ever succeeded in changing history before. This is something new.”
“Good question.” Simon rubs his chin. “I guess we're going to find out when we go back in there.”
I take a breath. The Branch is real and tangible and sane. The Hub is red and strange and angry. I don't want to go back in there.
“Now what?” Isabel asks. “We might be able to find Monica here and then leave. All we need to do is ask her how she's doing, and how Nancy's doing. Or we can find someone who knows her and ask them.”
“Actually, that's a great idea,” I say, The song changes to one about driving around all day. It's Oldies night. Monica hangs out here at the Branch quite often. If we're lucky, she might be here, playing the dance game with her boyfriend, Trey. I remember the time he tried to jump around on it and laugh.
I glance around the premises. The skate floor is clearing. The clock on the wall tells us it's a little past nine at night in its red numbers. We're two hours from closing. A couple plays Skee-ball over in the arcade area, and another boy—the one in the yellow shirt--gets frustrated on that impossible Stacker game. Above him, a bunch of photos of the winners—I've always suspected they aren't really real—smile out at him with their amazing prizes.
“Do you see her?” Simon asks. “She might not be here tonight. We might have to go to Nancy's.”
I keep looking. There's a group of girls over at one of the round tables in the pizza area. I recognize one of them right away. It's Shauna, the girl that Monica used to be friends with in this time. She's sitting next to a tall guy that must be the possessive boyfriend that caused her to abandon everyone else she knew. She's not the best person to ask about Monica, but it's worth a shot.
I glance down at my dress again and sigh. We're going to stand out so badly here unless I come up with an excuse. A play, then. We're from another school, and we just got done rehearsing for a play. But which play? I'll think of that when the time comes. Monica used to go to this other school and I'm looking for her because we're childhood friends.
I walk up to Shauna's table. I'm nervous, which I know is ridiculous considering what I've been through already. “Hello,” I say, straightening out my skirt. “My name is Julia. I just want to ask you something.” I could look really stupid doing this.
“Yeah?” Shauna asks. She manages to take her gaze off her boyfriend, who leans back in his chair and studies me like I've just stepped off an alien spacecraft. The truth is much stranger.
“Do you know someone named Monica?”
She pulls out her phone and reads a text. “I do. Why?”
Now I'm beginning to see why Monica got so mad at her when I was here and why they stopped being friends. Shauna turns her gaze back to her boyfriend as if asking his permission for something. I remember Trey saying something about the guy being a jerk.
“I'm a friend from another school. We're doing a play. I wanted to ask if she wanted to take part in it. The thing is, I don't know where she lives now. I haven't been in touch with her in forever.” Simon's standing right behind me, silently backing me up. I feel the heat of his breath on my shoulder.
“She lives somewhere on the other side of town,” Shauna says. She's back to her phone. It's clear she wants me to go away.
“Is she still living in that house over on Maple Street?”
“Yes. That one. The foster kid house.” She types on her phone, refusing to face me.
I want to reach out and smack Shauna across the face. I hold back. There are penalties here for that sort of thing. Stiff penalties. But at least I know where to go. “Thanks. Was she here tonight?”
“She was, I think. But she left three hours ago all upset about something. All she does is chores. I don't get it. Really, you're wasting your time trying to find her.”
My blood surges. Does Monica even have any friends left in this version of the present that doesn't have me in it? Anyone to call a sister? Heat flows to my face and I know I need to leave before I cause a stir. I don't need any police called for a fight. “Did she go home?”
“Don't know.” Shauna shrugs.
“You know,” I say. “Monica's a really nice person and deserves a better friend than you. One who won't abandon her and leave her with nobody.”
Shauna faces me. “What? You know what? I've known Monica a lot longer than you. I know what she's like.”
“Is that why you never talk to her anymore?” I realize what a hypocrite I am, since I've done more than just leave Monica on her own with her memories of her abusive father, always following behind her like a shadow. I'm projecting it all on someone else. “Is that why your entire world is this guy here who, by the way, is staring down at his phone like you're not even there?”
Simon puts his hand on my shoulder. “We should go.”
I let him pull me away from Shauna. She stares after me, flabbergasted. I head for the door of the Branch as the song changes again to some electric one I'll never guess the name of. I pen the door and head out into the dark. I'm furious. Livid.
“Well, we know that Monica is still here,” Isabel says. “That's good.”
“I have to know what she's upset about,” I say. “I need to see her. Once we do that, we can leave.” I don't want to go. I spent a fantastic year here with Nancy and her, having weekly movie nights and lots of fun skating and confiding in each other. I don't remember Monica being upset or sad very often. She should be here tonight, enjoying herself. This isn't right.
“This way,” I say, realizing that's about the tenth time I've said that tonight.
“Do you remember where Monica lives?” Isabel asks. “Are you sure it's the same house? It could have changed.”
Why is she asking me this question? “You should know,” I say. “You lived here in Trenton for at least a year like I did. You know where Nancy lives.”
“I know,” Isabel says. “But what if history's changed and she lives in another building?”
“Shauna mentioned the same street we were on before.”
Isabel sighs and walks in front of us. I can't help but let some anger flare up. What is her problem?
“Isabel,” I ask. “Do you know something?”
Her face is long in the dark. “No,” she says. “But you saw how sick Time was. Things could be very messed up.” Her voice is shaking.
We turn the corner to my street some time later. Or what used to be my street. A lone streetlight is on right across the way from Nancy's. It shines yellow on the pavement and illuminates a perfectly mowed lawn. There's not a single weed growing up along the sidewalk. Nancy has been doing an even better job on the yard than I remember.
An uneasy feeling fills my gut and I walk faster. This is the right address, all right, but the shutters are painted black instead of blue. The purple curtain in Monica's window is gone, replaced with a plain white one. The shrubs are trimmed into rectangles rather than circles. Instead of the silver sedan I remember, there's a black SUV parked in the driveway. Maybe some things have changed after all.
Someone's left a bike leaning up against the garage. That's odd. Neither me nor Monica ever rode a bike here in Trenton. I've ridden plenty of them back in my original time, but never here. We always walked to school and back. Perhaps Nancy has taken in another teenager since I'm not here, and they're into sports. Hence the SUV.
“Is this right?” Simon asks. He glances at Isabel as if she has the answers. “Is Monica even here?”
“I don't know.”
I stare at the sidewalk. Someone's drawn on it with sidewalk chalk. It's a little girl holding hands with what must be her mother. Are there more foster kids here? It would make sense that if I'm not here, Nancy must have taken in at least two more, a young one and an older one. They're filling the void
that I left. I'm glad, at least, that some other kids are receiving her love.
“I say we should knock.” It's getting colder outside and the kitchen light's on, leaving a faint yellow glow through the curtains. Someone moves around inside. “We can say that we're selling something.”
“That's the fastest way to get the door slammed in our faces,” Simon says. “I say we just peek through the windows. See if Nancy and Monica are okay.”
“Good idea.” I'm not comfortable seeing Nancy face-to-face as a stranger, or the confused look she'd give me instead of a hug. I don't know if I can take that.
One peek, I decide. Then we'll leave as soon as we know that they're all right. Maybe Monica has another new sister to talk with about how Shauna's being such a jerk. One she can confide in. One she can take comfort in.
The kitchen curtains are open just a little, and it's dark enough so that we might not get seen if we walk across the yard. As long as no one peeks out the window, we should be fine. I head across the yard and glance into the kitchen.
Monica's there. She's opening the fridge and pulling out some pasta sauce. It's so normal that I have to take comfort in it. She's alive, at least.
Then a boy a couple years younger than us walks into the room and takes his turn at the fridge. He pulls out some milk. There's a pot boiling in the stove and everything's neat and tidy inside. He heads over and puts a pan on the stove. They're cooking something. I don't remember Monica ever cooking anything. Nancy always handled that.
Monica says something to the boy. He has blond hair and dark half-moons under his eyes like he hasn't slept in several days. He nods and points to the cabinet. Monica grabs something out of it. She's not smiling.
“It looks like she's here,” Isabel says. She backs away from the window. “I think we can go.”
“I haven't seen Nancy yet. What are you hiding? I mean, no offense, but--”
Then a man walks into the kitchen and asks the kids something. He's a tall man with perfect posture, gray-blond hair, and a pointed nose that reminds me of shark.
It's someone I've seen before.
