I turned back around. “Perhaps,” I said slowly. “Perhaps.” I tested the word out, and it felt funny in my mouth. Perhaps wasn’t a word I usually used.
“Which floor are you staying on?” Molly asked. “I don’t think you said.”
“I—oh, I don’t know. That is, I’m not sure I remember.” I glanced across the room at a magazine on the dresser. If only I could hold it for a second, I might be able to confirm my impossible suspicion. “Hey,” I said, “can you—maybe remind me of today’s date? It’s, like, the eighteenth, right? August eighteenth?”
Molly shook her head. “It isn’t like the eighteenth. It is the eighteenth.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s what I meant,” I said. “August eighteenth, nineteen …”
“Well, 1937, naturally!”
I sat back down on the bed. Hard.
1937?
1937!
Had fifty years just melted away? It wasn’t possible. And yet …
Molly kept right on chattering. “I don’t suppose you know how to play any card games? I like to play cards during breakfast, when I have company.”
“Yeah,” I said distractedly. “Sure I do.”
Molly beamed. “How nice!”
All the while I was thinking: Magic? Magic? It was happening. To me, Annie Jaffin. I’d fallen into a dream, a story, the past. Mom hadn’t told me anything about this place, but now I’d get a chance to explore it myself. 1937! What would that be like? Flappers? Were flappers from the thirties? Or Marilyn Monroe?
I looked up. Molly was watching me intently, the way she might have watched a TV show (not that she’d ever seen one—I was pretty sure they didn’t have TVs in 1937). “You look,” she said, “as though you’re thinking about something fun.”
“You could say that,” I said, grinning uncontrollably.
“What is it? Will you tell me?”
“Oh, I can’t,” I said. “But it’s nothing. Really. I promise.”
“Please?”
I shook my head. “If I told you,” I said, “you’d think I was bonkers.”
“Bonkers?”
“Nuts,” I said.
She still looked puzzled. “Nuts?”
“Crazy,” I said. “Because it’s impossible. The thing I’m thinking about.”
“Well, I like impossible things,” said Molly. “The impossibler, the better.”
I wasn’t sure what to do. In so many books I’d read, magic was supposed to be a secret. I didn’t want to break the rules and have my adventure end before it began. But what if Molly was supposed to be part of my adventure? Maybe Molly and I had a treasure to find or a mystery to unravel. Maybe we were supposed to bring two star-crossed lovers together.
“Okay,” I said at last. “Okay, but you have to promise to believe me.”
“Oh, I will,” she said. She leaned forward, waiting. “My eldest sister says I’ll believe anything!”
“And you can’t laugh!”
“Of course not,” she said.
I took a deep breath. “See, the truth is—well, I think I just time-traveled.”
I sat back and waited for her to register shock, but Molly only looked confused. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What does that mean? Time-traveled?”
“I mean, I think I came here by magic. I don’t know how or why, but I’m here from—the future.”
Molly stared for a minute. She mouthed the words the future silently. Then suddenly she clapped her hands loudly and shouted, “I did it!”
“You did?”
Molly nodded. “I did this. Or I think I did. I wished you here!”
“You what?”
“I’ve been wishing, you see. On stars. Each night, before bed.”
“For me?”
“For someone. Anyone. Now here you are, and you’re someone! So it must have worked, my wishing. How else did you get here?”
“I—I don’t know,” I admitted. It hadn’t occurred to me that my adventure might be the result of some random stranger’s wish. “I only know that I belong somewhere else. Or somewhen.”
“Somewhen? Is that a future word?”
“Oh,” I said. “No. In fact, I think maybe I just made it up this minute.”
Molly beamed. “Well, in any case, this is marvelous! Until you go back to somewhen else, you can stay with me. We’ll play and talk. You’ll be my secret.”
“Stay with you?”
Molly nodded vigorously. “You will, won’t you? Please? Say yes!”
I shrugged. “Sure. Until the magic sends me home.”
“Oh, thank you,” Molly said very seriously. “I’m so grateful. You can’t begin to imagine.” She tilted her head slightly, in a funny practiced way, and when she did, a memory shook loose in my mind. Her dark eyes and the angle of her jaw gave me a flash of déjà vu, a faint memory of a head turned just so.
“You know,” said Molly, “you haven’t told me your name yet.”
“Oh!” I said. “I’m Annie. Annie Jaffin.”
“Annie. That’s pretty,” said Molly. “Nice to meet you, Annie Jaffin. I’m Mary Moran, but please call me Molly.”
“M-Mary?” I stuttered. I stared at the girl, who smiled and held out her hand to shake. She was waiting for me.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
I stared back at my grandmother. “Oh, no,” I said. “No. I think I’m just—hungry. You said something about … muffins?”
“Now,” Molly said, climbing down from the bed, “if you’re going to stay, we should find you something to wear, don’t you think?”
I nodded, stunned into silence. This girl was my grandmother? This laughing, pretty girl was going to grow up to be—that? It didn’t make any sense.
“What color do you like best?” she called out from the closet. “Blue? Green?”
“Pink,” I said. “I like pink.”
Molly stuck her head back out at me, smiling. “That’s my favorite too!” She reached for a pink dress, then walked back over to the bed and laid it out, along with socks and shoes, and some weird baggy underwear.
In the time it took me to undo my buttons, Molly had stepped out of her own nightgown and pulled a bright red dress over her head. Her curls popped up through the collar as she quickly zipped the side of the dress closed. “Ta-da!” she said, spinning around. “I win.”
“No fair,” I said. “I didn’t even know we were racing. Plus, it’s not what I’m used to, all these buttons.”
“Oh, here, let me help you,” said Molly. As I managed to get my arms into the sleeves, she began to button me up the back. “Tell me, what do future clothes look like? Are they silver? Do they help you fly?”
I laughed. “Nope, no flying. I wish.” I looked down at my pink dress, which was crisply ironed and smelled like soap. It was something I might have worn in kindergarten for the school Easter parade. “Our clothes aren’t so different, just stretchier, and girls wear pants a lot.”
“Pants?” Molly’s voice was shocked. “In what year?”
“In 1987,” I said. “Am I done?” I turned to face her. “How do I look?”
Molly shook her head, amazed. “Pants … 1987,” she repeated. Then, for no clear reason, she reached out and tickled me. “Got you!”
“Hey!” I yelped. “Stop!” I jumped away from her and nearly fell over. “Cut that out! I hate it. The last person who tickled me was a kid named Reuben Meyer. I punched him in the gut.”
“Oh,” said Molly. She put her hands behind her back. “I thought it would be funny.”
I straightened my dress. “It’s not, but I’ll forgive you. Just don’t do it again. Okay?”
Molly nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just … my sisters have been gone for quite some time now.”
“How is that an excuse for tickling someone you barely know?” I asked.
“I only meant … I’m not used to having actual people about, and it’s very hard to upset imaginary
friends. Would you really punch me?”
“Probably not,” I admitted. “But why are you alone so much of the time?”
Molly sat down on the bed. “Mother took Ginny and Maggie away. To Pittsburgh, for a wedding, for the whole summer. I couldn’t go because I’ve been ill, and Papa is busy, so I’m alone.”
“Still, you can go out, can’t you? To see friends? Now that you’re better?”
Molly squirmed. “My parents worry. They like for me to be careful.”
“Well, sure. That’s what parents do. They’re always trying to protect you. They want to know where you’re going, and they make you wear dumb raincoats and carry money for the pay phone, just in case. It’s so annoying.”
Molly shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s not raincoats. Not for me. I was very sick.” She paused theatrically and whispered, “I could die.”
“Well, sure,” I said. “Everyone could die.”
“No. That’s not what I mean,” she said, shaking her head. “Or it is, but—oh, I don’t know. It’s different for me.”
“What do you mean? Different how?”
“I mean … my parents are very careful. They don’t like for me to leave.”
“Don’t like for you to leave where?”
“Here.” She looked around the room.
“Here? You mean, you stay in this room all the time? Alone?”
“I have a sitting room,” Molly said, gesturing at the door, “and a bathroom. But yes, this is my—my Lonely Room.” She said this like a Lonely Room was a dining room. Like it was a normal thing.
“Lonely Room?” I asked.
Molly sat up higher on her knees. “My sister Ginny named it that. She and Maggie visit every day, when they’re home. You see, I have asthma, and it’s been much worse since I caught influenza. That’s why I couldn’t go to the wedding.”
“Still, they went off and left you? Your whole family? For the entire summer?”
Molly shrugged.
“Well, you don’t seem sick now,” I said.
“I am better … that’s true. The asthma comes and goes.”
I nodded. “I know. I have asthma too. Of course, we have medicine, in the future, for stuff like that. But I know how it feels. Ugh. It’s the worst.”
“Medicine, for asthma?” Molly looked amazed. “That’s better than silver flying suits.”
“I guess so,” I said. I glanced out the window. “I wonder, what do you do all day, sitting in here with nobody to talk to?”
“I have a radio!” Molly said. “It talks to me. I have loads of books. And Nora comes with my meals. Speaking of which, she could be here any minute. Let’s go wash our teeth.”
As I walked from the room, the thin white socks Molly had given me slid down into my Mary Janes. I stopped to tug them up, then looked around. Everything in the sitting room was different. There were walls in different places and the kitchen was missing. At the center of the room were a maroon brocade couch and a low table. A big wooden radio sat against one wall, flanked by bookshelves. I walked over to read the spines of the books but only recognized a few. The Cuckoo Clock … East o’ the Sun and West o’ the Moon … Roller Skates … I reached for a copy of The Secret Garden—the copy, I supposed. “At least I’ve read this one,” I said.
“Oh, that’s my very favorite,” said Molly. “I’ve read it five times.”
“Five?”
“It’s special,” she said. “Mother gave it to me.” She pointed to a row of well-dressed dolls sitting on the floor against a wall. “And these are from Papa.”
“Funny, I have one exactly like this,” I said, crouching down to stroke the golden hair on one doll in particular.
“You do?” said Molly. “That’s Arabella.”
“Mine’s named Junebug,” I said, noticing a familiar scratch on the doll’s arm. “She belonged to my mom. But I don’t really play with her anymore. I haven’t for years.”
“Oh, me neither,” said Molly. Then we both grinned and I could tell she was lying too.
“Over here is the bathroom,” Molly said as she continued across the room. I followed her into an expanse of shining sea-green tile. Silver fixtures gleamed on a high sink. “Do you want to share?” said Molly, holding out a toothbrush with dark bristles that looked as if they might be actual hairs.
“Eh, no thanks,” I said. “I’ll use my finger to, umm, wash my teeth.”
“Is that how it’s done in the future?” Molly asked. She squirted a thick line of goop onto her brush and began to scrub ferociously.
I read the tube. The label said it would be Double-Quick. It also claimed to be delicious, but when I put a little on my finger and touched it to my tongue, I couldn’t help making a face. There were bubbles in my mouth, actual soapsuds. Blech. I missed my Aquafresh.
When I was finished rinsing, I reached for a stiff-bristled wooden brush on the edge of the sink and attempted to pull it through my hair, which still had snarls in it from the windy car ride the night before. “Ouch!” I winced.
“Here, let me,” said Molly. Before I could say anything else, she was pushing my shoulders down. I perched on the toilet seat as Molly brushed my hair and then braided it in quick, surprisingly gentle strokes until I had one perfect braid down my back.
“Nice!” I said, standing to look in the mirror. “Now it’s your turn. Sit!”
“Really?” She touched her hair. “You don’t have to. It musses again right away.” She shook her curls. “See?”
“It’s only fair,” I said. “Sit.”
Molly sat as I wet my hands and then finger-combed her curls until they hung in corkscrews. I added a little bit of lotion I found. It said LEMON VERBENA and smelled nice. I twisted some gently into each curl until it shone. Then I pulled all of Molly’s hair up into a high side ponytail and tied a ribbon around it tightly, so that it stuck straight out. “Cute!” I said.
“What?” Molly turned her head sharply, so that the ponytail bounced. “Oh my, it feels funny!” She stood up and examined herself in the mirror. “Is this how people wear their hair in the future?” She batted at the bouquet of curls and leaned in for a closer look. “Lopsided?”
“Not everyone,” I admitted. “But Valley Girls do. And rock stars. It’s cool. You just need some dangly earrings.”
“Rock stars,” Molly asked, staring at herself. “What’s a rock …?”
Just then we heard a key turn in the lock.
“Nora!” mouthed Molly, looking back at me.
“Nora …,” I repeated. I set down the brush.
“Don’t fret,” Molly hissed. “I have a plan. Follow me.”
We walked back into the sitting room just as a maid came in, a tall girl in a black dress and white apron, with a white cap on her head. She was carrying a tray on one arm, so she could close the door with the other. When she saw me, her mouth dropped open. She set the tray on the coffee table, brushed her hands against her apron, and looked at Molly.
“Miss?” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t understand—”
“My hair?” Molly said, reaching up to touch her burst of curls. “It’s … new.”
“No, miss,” said the maid. “Not your hair.” She jerked her head in my direction. “Your company!”
“Oh,” said Molly. “Oh! This is Annie. She’s visiting. Isn’t that nice?”
Nora took a deep breath. “Miss, you know you aren’t to have visitors. Doctor’s orders. Your father said—”
“Please?” Molly pleaded. “Just this once?”
So far Molly’s plan wasn’t much of a plan, and it wasn’t working.
Nora shook her head. “She’ll have to leave, miss. I am sorry.”
“But I’m always by myself,” said Molly, slumping. “Always.”
For a second I thought Nora might change her mind. Then she shook her head again. “I’ll see her out, miss. And I’ll speak with your father about guests. You’ve been much stronger lately. Perhaps, if the doctor agrees, s
he might come for an hour, in the afternoon—”
Suddenly Molly’s posture changed. She straightened up and put both fists on her hips. When she spoke, her voice was rigid, scolding. “In that case, Nora, maybe you shouldn’t have been so careless as to leave the door unlocked last night!”
I stared at Molly. She didn’t sound like herself. Was this her plan?
Nora was staring too. “But I never did—” she said defensively. “Why, I just now—” She held out her ring of keys.
Molly continued. “Luckily, Annie has turned out to be nice. But she could have been anyone, a thief! We don’t want Papa to hear about this, do we?”
Nora stepped back a pace and folded her hands in front of her apron. She leaned against the door. “Why, miss—” she said.
“Poor Annie’s an orphan,” lied Molly. “An orphan with nowhere to go. Last night she snuck into the hotel and found my door open. She came in to escape the rain.”
“But”—Nora looked at the key in her hand—“but, miss, I’m sure it wasn’t open. Why, I just unlocked it this minute. Didn’t you hear the key?”
It was true. I’d heard it turn in the lock myself. But Molly didn’t seem bothered by this pesky fact.
“Then how did Annie get in here, do you think?” she asked the maid. “If you didn’t leave the door unlocked.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Nora, shaking her head.
“You’re the only person with a key. You must have left it open.”
“I never did!”
Molly drew herself up until she was standing on tiptoe. The glare she shot the maid was almost cruel. “It doesn’t much matter, does it?” she said. “What do you think Papa will do, Nora? What will happen to you if I tell him this story? It would really be a shame to lose you.” Molly’s eyes got squinty as she finished her speech, and it made me nervous. It was like I could see my witchy old grandmother peeking out.
Nora pursed her lips, gave a slight bob of the head, and said as she turned to leave, “All right, miss. Just as you say. I’ll fetch your dishes when I bring lunch, like usual.” Nora slipped away through the door and pulled it behind her. The key turned in the lock.
Seven Stories Up Page 3
