by Megan Crewe
“You look like you’ve had an idea,” Win says, offering a tentative smile.
I bite my lip to keep from grinning. I can do it. I already did, right? I’ll go get Noam, and bring him—somewhere safe, until I’m done Traveling with Win—and then we’ll decide what to do next.
But I have a feeling Win isn’t going to like this plan. I exhale slowly. I don’t have to ask for it all at once. I can just ask for the favor I was already thinking of when I first saw how far his time cloth could take us.
“I want to see my brother,” I say. “I want to go back to the day he ran away. So I know for sure what happened.”
Win’s smile falls. “Won’t that make you feel worse?”
“No. I think it’ll actually help me cope better. The not knowing, that’s what really messed with my head.” And once we’re there, Win will go along with whatever I do. Because Noam’s already disappeared, so he must. Right?
“I don’t know,” Win starts.
“I don’t want long,” I say, breaking in. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do so far. I’m just asking you for this one thing.”
“But, Jeanant . . .” He lifts the flap of his satchel to look at the two slabs now wedged inside. “You did talk to him? What about the rest of the weapon? What did he say we should do?”
“He told me where we need to go,” I say. Where the trees were laid low. Presumably the message on the second slab will fill in the rest. My fingers drift up to the hem of Jeanant’s cloak. He understood how hard this journey has been for me. I think he’d see why I need to do this. If finally knowing Noam’s okay will mean I can help Win finish this mission without another breakdown, it’s better for everyone.
Win’s watching my hand on the cloak. “He gave you that,” he says. It’s hard to tell whether he means it as a statement or a question.
“I was cold,” I say. “He said I needed it more than he did. Look, Win, even if you don’t get why this is important to me, can’t you just believe me that it is? If you want me to be your tool, I’ll do a lot better job if I’m sane.”
His shoulders stiffen. He gives the window one last glance. “You don’t have to say it like that,” he says, his voice rough. “We’ll go. It’s only fair. What’s the date?”
20.
Win has the time cloth set us down several blocks from my grandparents’ house, to give us some distance if the Enforcers trace the jump. We hurry out into a chilly Friday afternoon in early March, three months before my sixth birthday. Other than the smattering of snowflakes drifting down around us, nothing’s moving. It feels as if I’ve stepped into a memory where the world is frozen, immutable.
Five-year-old me will have just sat down at the kitchen table while my grandmother pours me a glass of apple juice. Noam will have ducked into the spare bedroom with his cell phone. In about five more minutes, I’ll be curled up on the couch watching cartoon antics while he heads out past the faded blue door, and never returns.
But he will. I just have to make it happen.
Win’s staring up at the sky, blinking as errant snowflakes stick to his eyelashes. His mouth has curled into a wondering smile. No snow on a space station either. I let him meander, picking up my pace as we turn onto my grandparents’ street. Only three short blocks away now. It’s hard to believe Noam’s so close, after so long.
“Wait—Skylar!” Win says, but I keep walking. This time it’s my mission, not—
Smack. The sensation crashes into me from head to toe, like I’ve slammed into a concrete wall—or a concrete wall speeding at two hundred miles an hour has slammed into me. I stumble, my forehead aching and my ears ringing, every joint shuddering as if I’ve jolted a dozen funny bones all over my body at the same time. The startled noise I make sticks in my throat. I press my hand against the side of my head, my nerves jangling, fighting to stay upright.
My eyes creep open, and my balance wavers. Where am I? This isn’t—No, wait, it’s the right street. Just . . . a few blocks more distant than I was a moment ago. There’s Win, somehow ahead of me, jogging back toward me.
The word comes to me: doxed. So this is what it feels like. I don’t want to do that again. Tiny pricks of pain are still sparking in the strangest places: the roots of my teeth, the bases of my fingernails. Fixing my consciousness in the still, cold world. This isn’t just a memory. This is a real place, a real present, even if it’s one that’s also my past.
“I tried to tell you,” Win says as he reaches me, panting.
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the last of the tingles from my arms under Jeanant’s cloak. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ve gotten used to not having one of your ‘bubbles.’”
“Your younger self is in that house, isn’t she?” Win says. “Meeting yourself is the biggest paradox there is.”
“Well, let’s get back there, as close as we can,” I say. “Noam will leave soon, and I don’t know which way he’s going to go.”
We’re almost at the spot where I was doxed when a figure emerges onto the sidewalk up ahead. A figure in black jeans and a navy hooded jacket I recognize immediately. He veers across the street toward us, taking the usual route to the convenience store. Well, if I’m right, he never intended to go anywhere else.
Noam turns the corner, too close to the house for me to follow him directly. I’ll have to cut him off farther down. “We’ll go around,” I say to Win, and lope over to the street parallel to the one Noam’s on. As I jog on, Win quickly falls behind, his breath ragged. That’s fine. It means he’ll have less chance to interfere.
I round the block. A moment later, Noam comes into view up ahead. I slow to a brisk walk.
“Noam!”
He flinches before he turns around. Which is weird, but I don’t have time to wonder about it, because in that time I’ve covered the last short distance between us, and I’m staring at my brother’s face for the first time in twelve years.
He looks oddly young. I’m the same height as him, a disorienting perspective, and I don’t remember quite so many freckles marking his pale skin, or the way he cocks his head as if trying to give the impression of toughness. But it’s really him. I have to restrain myself from reaching to touch him.
“Yeah?” he says, his brow knitting.
I open my mouth, and stop. For some reason I thought the right words would come to me in the moment. Because they must have before. Instead, I’m tongue-tied. Win’s footsteps thud around the corner behind me. I have to spit something out before he messes this up.
“Noam,” I say, “this is going to be hard to understand, but I need you to listen to me. It’s me. I’m—”
The second I try to voice my name, my throat contracts and my lungs clench, as if all the air has been sucked out of the space around me. A sharp prickling races along my jaw and down my chest. I gasp, and snap my mouth shut.
Noam’s eyes dart away from me and back again. “Are you okay? Who are you?”
I suck in a breath. “I know this’ll sound crazy, but I’m—”
The feeling shocks through me again, my bones wobbling with it, and this time I know without a doubt that if I push just a smidgeon farther, I’ll find myself doxed across the city. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
“Hey!” Win rasps, almost here, and I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head.
“Don’t go, Noam. Don’t run away. If you come with me, I can make sure everything’s all right.”
His stare becomes incredulous. “What are you talking about?” he says. “Why would I run away? Who the hell are you?”
“Sorry,” Win forces out as he catches up, grabbing me by the elbow. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying—she’s not well. You go on ahead with whatever you were doing.”
He starts to drag me away, and the protest bursts from my lips automatically. “No! Noam—you have to see—” My fingers fumble before I manage to open my purse. “Look!”
I hold out the bracelet. Noam was already starting to walk away, but he stopped
at my movement. He’s looking at it.
“You recognize the beads, don’t you?” I say. “I had to restring them, but they’re still the same.”
The words have barely left my mouth before Win’s wrenched my hand back. “That’s enough,” he says in a low voice. And then, louder, for Noam’s benefit, “You need to stop bothering this guy. Come on, it’s time to go.”
Noam’s gaze lifts to meet mine, and just for an instant, I see something like recognition in his eyes.
Then he’s shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but I can’t deal with this right now. I’m sorry.” Gripping the strap of his knapsack, he rushes across the street.
I move to run after him, and Win’s hand tightens around my elbow. I spin around to face him.
“What are you doing?” he says before I can speak. “Weren’t you just complaining about changing the past? What do you think’s going to happen when you’re talking to your brother like that?”
“I’m not trying to change anything,” I say. “I’m trying to do what must have already happened. You heard him. He isn’t going to run away. I must have taken him somewhere. With you, in the time cloth.”
Win blinks at me, and suddenly the logic that made perfect sense to me minutes ago seems shaky. His expression softens into what looks like pity. My gut twists.
“It doesn’t work like that, Skylar,” he says. “Haven’t you seen? You can’t feel the effects of a shift you haven’t created yet. If there was a time when your brother hadn’t disappeared, because you weren’t going to meet me for twelve more years, we wouldn’t have met in the first place, because you wouldn’t have been noticing shifts and I wouldn’t have noticed you. So you couldn’t have taken him away. He’s always been gone.”
“But . . .” He releases my arm, and I rub my forehead. Noam is hurrying out of view, still headed toward the store. I can’t let him get too far out of my sight. I start to walk after him. Win sticks close by my side.
“It doesn’t ever work that way?” I say weakly. “You never see something because of a change you’re going to make later?”
“The idea that time is static and anything that’s going to happen has already happened—it’s a nice thought,” Win says. “But it’s from your movies and books, not actual science. If it were really that way, there wouldn’t be any shifts for you to sense, because everything would always have been the same.”
I understand what he’s saying, logically. But the idea that Noam disappeared through time with me felt so right. And just now, he sounded like he honestly had no idea why I’d accuse him of being about to run away.
“You knew you were going to do this when you convinced me to bring you here,” Win says. “But you didn’t tell me.”
“Like that’s so different from all the things you didn’t bother to tell me before whisking me across hundreds of years?” I respond.
He scowls at me. “At least I knew what I was doing.”
“Yeah, well . . .” My annoyance fades as quickly as it rose up. He has a point. I just don’t want to admit it. “He’s my brother. I’ve spent all this time wondering where he is, beating myself up for missing the signs—I thought I saw a chance to sort it all out, so I took it. I still don’t understand. If I don’t take him away, and he didn’t mean to leave . . . what happened to him?”
Win sighs. “Look,” he says as we reach the commercial strip with the convenience store on the corner. “I have a brother too. If he disappeared, and I didn’t know how or why . . . I don’t think I’d deal so well with that either. We’re here now. The plan was supposed to be to find out what happens to him. I take it you still want to?”
Something inside me balks. “What could have stopped him from coming home? What if . . .”
I don’t know how to finish that sentence. All I have is a vague feeling of dread.
“We can find out, or we can leave,” Win says, with a gentleness I hadn’t expected. “You just have to promise not to get involved. Hopefully that little conversation didn’t shift anything recordable.”
Fear washes over me, before I remind myself that if Noam disappeared before I ever Traveled here, then it can’t be anything I’ve done now that caused it. If I had nothing to do with it, neither did the Enforcers.
“If something is going to happen to him—if he’s going to disappear anyway, couldn’t we take him away instead?” I ask. “I mean, that wouldn’t even change anything, really, right? He’ll be gone either way.”
“And what do you think we could do with him if we take him?” Win says.
I hadn’t really thought it through before. I just assumed the solution would come to me the way I assumed the right words would. “We could bring him back to my present.” Even as I say it, I know how ridiculous it sounds. “Although . . . okay, he’d still be fifteen, and that would be really weird, and probably shift a whole lot of things.”
Win nods. “And the Enforcers aren’t going to ignore some story about a boy who disappears and returns twelve years later the exact same age.”
There has to be something I can do. But I can’t make a plan before I know exactly what happens.
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll just watch and see. I have to know.”
There’s no sign of Noam through the convenience store window. When I look up, I spot him stepping away from the bank building halfway up the block. Stuffing a handful of bills into his knapsack.
My heart sinks. His savings. What’s he going to buy with $650, if he’s not leaving town?
Noam hurries off in the opposite direction. After a few minutes, he reaches the park where in my present I do cross-country practice. He heads down one of the paths branching away from the road. When we reach the edge of the park, he’s waiting by a bench under a broad oak tree. The memory flashes through me: running there beside Bree, the swish of her ponytail, the thump of our feet. I jerk myself back behind the public restroom when Noam turns our way.
“What do you think he’s doing here?” Win murmurs beside me.
“I have no idea.”
I hug Jeanant’s cloak, trying to ignore the snowflakes speckling my face. A few minutes later, a guy who looks vaguely familiar slinks into view. I lean forward as far as I dare.
“Hey Darryl,” Noam calls. Ah. Darryl: Noam’s friend who mostly hung out at the house when Noam’s other friends, the baseball guys, weren’t around. I remember Mom and Dad discussing him in a way that gave me the impression they didn’t like him very much.
Darryl veers over to join Noam. “You’ve got it?” he says, and when Noam nods, he ducks his head, swiping a hand over his lank blond hair. “I didn’t know who else to call,” I think he says.
Noam makes a couple comments, his voice so low all I catch is something about a “stupid idea.” I itch to move closer, but Darryl keeps glancing around. And as soon as he notices me coming over, Noam will too.
After a final brief exchange, they fall silent, Noam kicking at the frost coating the grass, Darryl checking his phone. Finally, an old Miata with patchy red paint pulls up to the curb across from them. Darryl’s back goes rigid.
A couple guys who look about my age lumber out of the car. The shorter one has his chest puffed out inside his white training jacket, like he’s trying to compensate for his babyish cheeks and the zits speckling his jaw.
“All right, let’s go,” Babyface says with affected gruffness.
“Go where?” Darryl asks.
“We’re not talking about this here, retard. Come on, we’re taking a drive.”
“But I thought—”
“You do remember that you’re stuck in the same school as us for the rest of the year, right?” Babyface says. “I can make all those days really, really miserable if I want.”
Darryl’s face falls. Noam looks uncertain, but he shrugs. “Let’s get this over with.” He marches over to the car. Darryl hesitates, and then follows.
As Noam reaches for the car door, I step forward automatically
, my pulse thudding. Win holds out his arm in front of me.
“We’re just watching,” he reminds me, leaning close. “But we can follow them. All right?”
I tense as they climb into the backseat. Despite Win’s words, I have the urge to run out there, to interrupt the situation somehow. But the somehow stops me. What, try to drag Noam out of the car? Like that’s going to do anything other than make me look even crazier than I already have. I still don’t understand what’s going on. Those guys are just high-school kids too—how bad could this possibly be?
“So, marshlands?” the taller guy says to Babyface as they reach the sidewalk.
Babyface nods, a grin I don’t like at all creeping across his face. “Yeah.”
They hop in the front of the car. I bite back a protest as the doors slam shut. The engine guns. Then the Miata roars away from the sidewalk, away from us.
21.
Do you know those guys?” Win asks.
“No,” I say, tearing my gaze from the spot where the car turned out of view. “You said we can follow them?”
“We can beat them to wherever they’re going. What’s the marshlands?”
“It’s a sort of nature reserve along the coastline, just east of the city,” I say. There isn’t much going on out there at this time of year. Which maybe is the point. “It’s pretty big . . . but there’s only one road that runs along it. We could watch for them there and see where they turn off.”
“All right,” Win says. “Just remember, if we have to stay in the spot we’ve jumped to, to avoid being seen, the Enforcers could show up almost on top of us. Then we’ll have to leave, no matter what else is going on.”
“I know.”
He pulls the time cloth around us. The characters flash by on the data display. After a moment, he nods, and his hand twitches toward me as if to rest on my back, the way he’s steadied me before. I scoot out of reach automatically. He jerks back, his mouth tightening.
Part of me wants to say it’s fine, to take his hand and let the tension still hovering between us release. He did bring me here; he’s doing this because I asked. But he hasn’t apologized, for anything: for the experimental kiss, for the patronizing comments, for dragging me around like a puppy on a leash. For all I know, he really is only agreeing to this because he’s worried about keeping his Jeanant communication tool in working order.
