Rift (Rift Walkers #1)

by Elana Johnson

  “Get us there this time,” I say, bringing myself back to the moment. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  She smiles at me—a real smile, the kind that will keep me up at night daydreaming about her mouth—as we move into the rift again.

  This time, there’s a girl reading in the window seat when Cascade and I arrive in the bedroom. Cas shoves me toward the bathroom and eases the door closed. “She didn’t see us,” she whispers. “We made it to the right time, but we’ve got to get out of this house.” She creeps through the bathroom and toward the door leading out of the spare bedroom.

  In this time, traps exist everywhere. Heaps of clothing, a lacrosse stick, a tower of old computer parts. We navigate through the mess to the closed door. Even as I crack it, I hear someone say, “I was there. Researching,” and then rushed footsteps fly up the stairs—straight toward us.

  Price

  CASCADE HOLDS A FINGER TO her lips and presses into the wall next to the door. I do the same on the opposite side of the door, her words racing through my mind. He’s using the rift illegally. My dad? I don’t know if I believe her, but I can’t figure out why she would lie about it.

  My next thoughts whirl around how I can convince Dad that it wasn’t me that went through the rift. At least not the Price from June 4, 2078. I want to ask Cas if it would be a future-me or a past-me using the rift, but footsteps race down the hall, keeping my whisper silent.

  My bedroom door slams, tearing my attention from the thought that I need to change my clothes before I return home.

  “Saige?” I whisper.

  Cascade nods, and flicks the phone to life.

  “Why can’t we just go talk to her now?” I ask. She’ll recognize me. Cascade doesn’t know that, and I’m not sure how to tell her.

  “Don’t want to freak her out.”

  “She’ll talk to me,” I say with too much confidence.

  Cascade takes a step toward me, and it doesn’t feel like it’s a good thing. “She’ll talk to you?” She pockets the phone along with her hands. “How do you know she’ll talk to you? How did you know her name?”

  Part of me wants to cower, and then I remember that I’m the Black Hat. I’ve been in tense situations before. I’ve hacked into government systems. I’ve answered Dad’s questions. Cascade Kaufman doesn’t scare me. The truth is, I’m scared she won’t let me kiss her later.

  So I remind myself that I’ve kissed other girls, and while I really want to kiss this one, I won’t die if I don’t.

  “I’ve talked to her before,” I say. “That’s how I know she’ll talk to me.”

  “You’ve talked to her before?” Surprise flitters across Cascade’s features, and her f-pat seems twice as bright. The flashing light on her face makes it easy to tell she’s bordering on angry.

  “I went through the rift last night.”

  “Straight here?”

  I cock my head to the side. “Yeah, straight here. Why did it take us three stops to get here this time?”

  The muscle in her jaw works as she presses her eyes closed. “Someone used it after you, but before us.”

  “Explain.”

  “The rift makes sort of a tether, a straight line if you will. If someone came from Saige’s time and into yours, the rift tethers to that time. The tether has to be broken, or the next rift walk takes you directly back to her time.”

  I feel like I’m trying to put together a computer with only old socks and plastic wrap. “So you’re saying that I went straight back to Saige’s time because that was the last rift walk done…. After I got home last night, someone else used the rift to go to a different time, which snapped the tether…. So the first house we landed in—the one with the lacy curtains and the blue walls—that time was tethered to ours.”

  Cascade nods through it all. “Impressive. Most people can’t wrap their minds around time travel.”

  “Count me in that group.” I suddenly feel so tired, I want nothing more than to find a bed and sleep the time away.

  “Never, Black Hat,” she whispers and I snap my gaze to hers. An intensity dances there that I can’t quite make sense of. It pulls me toward her until one of my hands cradles her cheek and she closes her eyes. She relaxes into my touch, the first showing of anything but tension and fury from her.

  “I wanted to tell you my identity that day at the track,” I murmur. “I would have if I’d known you were the Dark Panther.”

  Another moment passes before Cascade opens her eyes. “I think it’s safe to sneak out now,” she says, stepping back and regaining the stiffness in her shoulders.

  “Yeah, okay,” I say, my voice too high. Just when I think I’m getting close, she’s forever putting walls between us.

  “We’ll call Saige again once we make it to the backyard,” Cas says.

  I’m not sure if I’m more surprised by the fact that I’ve been calling Saige or that Cascade opens the door and darts to the left—toward my parents’ bedroom.

  I follow her, my eyes taking in as many details as possible. The floor in the hall is wood, but it’s lighter than mine. The silence in the bedroom feels heavy, like if I breathe too loudly someone will come running. Carpet covers the floor, and the bed in the middle of the room isn’t made. The space screams for a good interior decorator and a renovation. I can’t help but wonder what the rest of the house looks like. If that bulletproof door lingers just beyond the porch….

  I haven’t spent any time in my parents’ bedroom, but I know how to open a window. I stride to the far wall and shove the curtains to the side. Fifteen seconds later, my feet touch grass and I reach up to help Cascade the rest of the way down.

  We scamper behind the shed in the corner of the backyard—my family has the same shed sixty years from now—our hands pressed together.

  I never want to let go, but she extracts her fingers from mine to retrieve the phone. She extends it toward me. “Call Saige again.”

  I take the phone from her. “I still don’t see why we can’t just go talk to her. We know she’s home.”

  “So is her mother,” Cascade says. “Call her, okay? We don’t want anyone but her to know we’re here.”

  I dial Saige’s number.

  Saige

  I DON’T ANSWER THE PHONE. I can’t. I didn’t give Price my number; he can’t have my phone number.

  The cell was once Mom’s. Does she know Price Ryerson? She left her contacts in the phone—she must know him. I grip the wheel at ten and two, reeling. I glance down, shocked at how fast I’m driving. I didn’t realize I’d been stomping on the accelerator. I ease off, wishing I could erase the anger as easily.

  I park in the driveway, half-wishing my phone will ring again. And I’d answer it and demand answers from whoever is on the other end of the line. The flashing light of the rift spills from my bedroom window, and I push away the inclination to scream. Instead, I square my shoulders and, with a freaky sense of calm, get out of the car. After collecting my purse and backpack, I enter the house through the front door.

  “How was the library?” Mom asks from her perch on the barstool in the kitchen. She’s still wearing her white lab jacket and professional slacks.

  “Great, fine.” I open my mouth to ask her about time rifts, but she spins faster than I’ve ever seen her move.

  “Liar.” The word slaps me. “Sarah Jane is upstairs, waiting for your study session.” Mom folds her arms. The gesture matches the displeasure in her eyes. “When I told her you were already at the library—studying with her—she said she must’ve forgotten. Did you even go to the library?”

  “Yes.” I bristle at her condescending tone. I rifle through my purse and produce the receipt for my printouts, which is time stamped.

  My phone rings again as I brandish the paper toward her. “I was there. Researching.”

  She snatches the page from me, but I don’t wait for her to speak. I silence Price’s call and hurry upstairs, worried about what I might find in my bedroom.


  I sprint to my closed door, and then hesitate. The rest of the house is quiet—typical for this time in the afternoon. Shep probably went skateboarding, leaving Mom alone in her fury.

  Upon opening the door, I find Sarah Jane—alone—sitting in the window seat, reading a book. The silver light is gone, and everything is normal, including my piano, my bed, my computer, and my best friend.

  “Hey,” I say breathlessly, trying to blink away the argument with my mom and quash the disappointment that I can’t ask her about time rifts.

  Sarah Jane looks up, her eyes round and worried. “Hey.” She closes her book. “Your mom was so mad.”

  I wave her concerns away. “She’s fine. Look, I have to tell you something.” I move to my piano bench and sit down. It’s time to get back up on my side. After all, Price’s been telling someone everything. I need someone else—someone who wasn’t once medicated and hospitalized—to tell me they can see and hear what I see and hear.

  After I finish, Sarah Jane flops onto my bed. Her hands shake as she brushes them across her face. I know how she feels; I felt like that the night I slept in Shep’s room.

  I want to ask her if she’s okay, but I don’t. How can she be? I just told her that a guy from the future stood in my bedroom with a glowing blue light in his palm.

  I’d shown her the chat transcript between Shep and Price. The two missed phone calls.

  “What should I do?” I ask. The best thing about the past few minutes is that the flashing silver light has not reappeared.

  Sarah Jane sits up and looks at me. “I think the next time Price calls, you should answer.”

  “You don’t think I should tell my mom?”

  “Heck no!” Sarah Jane says. “She’ll take you back to the loony bin, like that.” She snaps her fingers. “Let’s call Price.” A gleam enters her eyes. I know that look; it’s the light in her eye when she talks about her boyfriend. It’s how I know she really likes him.

  I shake my head. “I am not calling him.”

  Before Sarah Jane can argue, my cell rings. We leap toward it, see Price Ryerson on the screen, and stare at each other.

  My finger presses too hard against the screen as I hit talk. I imagine his voice will be twice as high because it has to travel through the phone lines as well as sixty years of time.

  While I sit on the piano bench, I wonder if he’s lounging in the same room, maybe wearing those fancy-pants jeans of his.

  “Hello?” I hear breathing on the other end of the line. Immediately, I toss the phone to Sarah Jane, who’s watching me with this ultra-eager look on her face. She fumbles the phone, cussing while it slips through her fingers.

  “Someone’s there,” I hiss, though I don’t know why. Of course someone’s there.

  She shoves the phone back toward me, but I refuse to take it.

  Sarah Jane groans and puts the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  Her eyes are wide and round, flicking back and forth between mine. She blinks rapidly. “No, this is Sarah Jane.”

  Suddenly listening to Sarah Jane’s end of the conversation is torture. “Put it on speaker,” I say, and she does.

  A girl’s voice comes through the line, mid-sentence. “…thought it would be Saige…is she there?” The voice is mostly robotic, and the way she says my name is freaky-weird.

  Sarah Jane looks at me expectantly. “I’m here,” I say, barely loud enough to hear myself.

  “Saige,” someone else says. “It’s Price Ryerson. I’m here with my friend, Cascade.”

  As I sit there, absolutely still, it’s as if I can feel the earth moving under me. Rocketing through space at however-fast that happens, and the days and years roll together. My breathing slows, and sixty years pass.

  “We need help,” Price says over the phone; not in the room. “Can you drive?”

  Ten minutes later, I still don’t have the freaking keys from my mother. She’s gripping them so tightly her knuckles are white. Mine are too, though it’s because I’ve had my fingers in a fist for so long. It’s all I can do not to punch her and forcibly take the keys.

  “We’re really going to the library,” I say, my voice deadly even despite my inner thoughts. “Sarah Jane forgot she needed to look up something for her history essay.”

  Mom hasn’t said much of anything. She flat-out refused to give me the keys the first time I asked, saying I’d already been to the library and needed to stay home. Her way of saying, You treated me badly. You have to apologize before I’ll give you my keys.

  So I had. It wasn’t good enough. I’d asked her what else she wanted, and she wouldn’t say. She just doesn’t want me to go. If I’m not home, she can’t monitor me. She can’t hover over me.

  Sarah Jane had retreated to the living room, her face a mixture of fear and anxiety. My phone had rung twice more, and each time, my mother’s eyes had flown to it like it was the reason why I couldn’t have the keys to the car. A glance from Sarah Jane confirmed what I already knew. Price needs us. Now.

  “Please, Mom,” I say. Bargaining hadn’t worked. She didn’t care about the dishes or laundry. My grades were good enough. I had nothing she wanted—except my freedom.

  Before I can fall to my knees and truly beg, the backdoor swings in. Shep comes through with one of his skater friends, laughing about something. Shep does what he always does—he steps to the fridge and opens it, completely oblivious to the situation.

  “Mom, please,” I say. “I need to take Sarah Jane home, at the very least.”

  Her eyes flick to where Shep’s friend stands, watching us. He nudges Shep with his elbow at the same time Mom drops the keys into my palm. She’s always so worried about what people will think of her. I don’t care why Mom decided to give up the keys. I clench my fingers around them, and Sarah Jane and I fly into the garage just as Shep says, “We’re going to play the computer upstairs.”

  I’m annoyed that Mom doesn’t question him about his homework, or if the leftover pizza he’s eating is really the wisest choice. She would’ve done both to me.

  As I start the car, I can’t help thinking about what the crap I’m doing. I shouldn’t be going to meet this futuristic guy and his futuristic girlfriend.

  But I feel like it’s important. Like maybe if I do this, I’ll find what’s been missing these past five years.

  Price

  “WHERE IS SHE?” WE’VE BEEN standing on the street corner for at least ten minutes. Before we’d left the backyard, a woman—Saige’s mother, I’d assumed—had paced in front of the sliding glass door, her face blotchy. Then Cascade had pulled me toward the street.

  I wonder if Saige will even be able to leave the house. I’ve called her twice with no response. My eyes come to rest on Cascade as she cuts off the tune she’s nervously humming under her breath. “She’ll be here.”

  “Have you contacted her before?” I ask. We’re two blocks from my house, standing in front of a home that doesn’t exist in sixty years. I briefly wonder how far it is to the second rift site, and then obsess over what Dad will say when I finally get home. If I even make it home. He certainly won’t be happy. A strange mix of satisfaction and pure terror surge through me.

  “No.”

  “How did you get her number? How do you even know her?” I have a ton of questions, but I stop at the scowl on Cascade’s face. She looks completely out of place in this time, what with her f-pat lights moving across her forehead. The glinting jewelry and black leather jacket only add to the scare factor.

  “I don’t know her.”

  “How do you know she’ll come then? Where is she going to take us?”

  “I have an address.”

  “To the other rift.”

  “Yes.”

  I regard her, trying to figure out what to say next. The seconds tick past, and the silence settles into the cracks between us.

  “You’ll tell me everything, right?” I glance at her knapsack. It gives me a lot of answers already: Cascade knew it was there; she pr
obably put it there. In that bathroom—my bathroom—at some point in the past. Which means she knew about the rift and has possibly used it before. I shove down the rising panic and tell myself, One problem at a time. Get home first. Figure out Cascade later.

  She shifts subtly and some of her frosty exterior melts. “As much as I can.”

  Autos stream down the street, but none of them pull over to pick us up. I realize that even once I get home, I won’t be able to relax. I exhale and turn away from Cascade. This date has turned into so much more than I thought. I simply wanted to spend some time with her—time where I wasn’t trying to convince her to do something illegal.

  “Tell me about my dad,” I say, unable to look at her. I don’t need to. I feel her tension increase at my words.

  “You won’t like it,” she says.

  “I like very little about what’s happened today,” I say. “Tell me anyway.” I turn toward her again, noticing that jumping jaw muscle. I want to smooth away her anger; instead, I ball my fists. “Cascade, I’m not going to stop asking.”

  She glares my face off, and she looks twice as scary in this time as in ours. Cascade purchases, downloads, and activates cosmetic codes as often as she updates her f-pats. I used to wonder about her natural hair color, or what she’d look like without four sets of dangling hoops in her ears. I stopped caring, because Cascade’s constant modifications are simply who she is.

  “Fine, don’t tell me.” I face away from her. “I’ll find out on my own.”

  “Your dad knows how to manufacture rifts. That’s what he’s done at your house.”

  I frown, barely turning toward her, my brain whirring with bits and pieces of information. “My dad is a technology developer. He doesn’t deal with the time travel aspect of the Bureau.”

  “Your dad is a technology developer,” she says. “I’ll give you that. And he’s developed the rift at your house to function the way he wants.”

  “Function? Like, open and close?”