by Jess Evander
She peeks over my shoulder toward where he stands. “You don’t like him?”
Oh, more along the lines of liking him far too much. Just the memory of him tucking my bangs back in place last night makes my heart beat off-kilter.
Lark’s eyebrows draw together. “I don’t know what happened, but I promise he’s a nice guy. Not to mention, easy on the eyes.” She winks.
Not helping.
She sidesteps me and eats up the distance between us and Michael. I trail her like a homeless mutt. Lark pats the horse’s forehead and eases the reins out of Michael’s hands. “So how about I teach Gabby instead of you?”
His eyes dart to mine, full of questions. He hooks his hand on the back of his neck. “Not gonna happen.”
Lark’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, but I don’t think she’s blushing. “Why? Why do you automatically get to do everything?”
“Don’t make it sound like I’m lording something over you. It wasn’t my choice, but I’m her Trainer. I was picked to do this. Nicholas practically tossed her in my lap.”
Wasn’t my choice. Tossed her in my lap. His words pierce, burrowing deep beneath my skin like long wooden slivers. The pain’s probably for the best. If Lark’s right, then it means Michael has a Pairing waiting for him in his time. Even if I’m not crazy about Porter, I should respect Michael’s Pairing. The warm feeling I had yesterday when he held my hand can’t be right.
I take a half step forward, skirting the horse, whose radar ears follow my movements. Creepy creature. “Um, in case you forgot. I’m standing right here.”
Michael tightens a strap along the horse’s stomach. The horse stomps on the ground a couple times, kicking up dust. “Let’s get you on.”
I back up. “If you don’t even want to be my Trainer, why can’t Lark teach me?”
Michael’s jaw drops, he closes it, and opens it again. “Wait…” He throws his hands to the side. “Don’t tell me you’re offended by what I said. Girls are so weird.”
Lark stands at an angle, crosses her arms, and juts out her chin. “You did say that training her wasn’t by choice. That doesn’t sound like you’re all warm and fuzzy about the job.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. Stop bending my words.”
I bite my cheek. “That’s what I heard too.”
“Well, we’ll have to have Darnell check your hearing later. Lark, you can head out.” He points at me, then the horse. “You, horse, now.”
Lark faces me and gives my arm a squeeze. “Just ignore him if you can. I’ll see you later. You’ll need my help with the bomb making. Even he’ll admit that I’m way better at that than he is.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and strolls out of the arena.
Bomb making? My heart sinks.
Michael clears his throat. “All right, Gabby, we don’t have all day.”
I knit my fingers together. “How about we start with something else?” Guns sound easier than horses. More predictable.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of Polly? She’s an old mare. A pet kitten would be more dangerous than her.”
Once when I was younger, Dad brought home a pet rabbit. Thought I needed company. A day later, ten-inch scratches on my arms proved that me and animals don’t mix. Emma took the demon bunny off our hands. We’ve never had another pet since.
I kick the toe of my shoe into the sand. “Well, Polly keeps moving her ears in circles like she’s possessed or something. I don’t trust her. Besides, kittens have claws. So they don’t exactly fall into the harmless category in my book either.”
He strokes Polly’s shoulder. “That’s how a horse senses their surroundings. See, her ears are up now. She’s safe. Horses are good like that. They’ll let you know if they don’t like you. Or don’t trust you. If that was the case, Polly’s ears would be flat against her head.”
“Let’s make a deal. If I shift to say, something B.C., then I’ll just walk.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to work.” He holds out his hand. If I don’t do as he asks, he’ll probably grab my hand. That can’t happen. My eyes meet his, and Michael gives me a heart-robbing smile, which really doesn’t help. My heart beats a little faster. I clench and unclench my fingers.
I stalk forward and grab the foot piece on the saddle. “Fine. Now what?”
“Get your foot in the stirrup.”
“All the way up there? I’m sure you could find me a shorter horse. A pony?”
“Here.” He crouches on the ground, his fingers knit together to form a step.
Note to self, Michael’s not the compromising type.
I slip my foot into his hands, and he gives me a boost. I’m in the saddle before I have time to react. The horse moves its feet, making me list to the side. I grab for the saddle horn, but my sweaty hands slip right off.
Michael strokes the horse’s neck, his voice firm. “Steady.”
“She doesn’t like me.” I move to get down, but Michael lays a hand on my calf.
“If you’re really that scared, I’ll ride with you.”
I chew on my lip. “Should I get down? Doesn’t the guy usually ride in front?”
He barks out a laugh. “You’ve watched too many movies.” With a nudge, he moves my foot out of the holder and swings up behind me. I slip my foot back into the stirrup. He’s not in the saddle with me, so he must be actually on the horse. His arms come up around me, and he grasps my hands as they hold the reins.
“We’ll steer together. You wouldn’t learn anything if you just held on behind me. Go ahead and give Polly a little kick with your heels.”
The horse begrudgingly lumbers forward. We’re moving about as fast as a merry-go-round. Even still, I lean back against Michael a little. His solid presence behind me helps quiet my nerves. Well, about riding at least.
When he speaks again, I can feel his breath warm against my ear. “When we were talking to Lark and I said I didn’t choose to be your Trainer, I said that so she couldn’t fight me. I wanted to make it sound like Nicholas only wanted me helping you. Make it impossible for her to argue, you know?”
The Pairing. The Pairing. The Pairing. Maybe if I repeat it enough… I try to picture what his Pairing must look like. Maybe she’s an exotic girl with dark eyes and long, shiny hair. Or a pretty red-head with a smile that makes him light up. Ugh. I don’t like her already.
“You ... you didn’t want her training me?”
“You’re different, refreshing. Is it so bad if I want to keep you nearby? Besides, since you crashed my mission, I feel responsible for you.” I feel him shrug.
If we weren’t plodding along on a horse, I’d close my eyes—take in his words. No one has ever felt the need to watch out for me. No one ever cared enough.
He mistakes my silence. “Oh, gosh. Tell me I didn’t do it again. I didn’t mean responsibility like a burden. I meant it in a good way. I’m just ... going to be quiet now.”
I take in a few deep breaths. “Believe me. I’m not that easy to offend. You’re fine. Besides, you have to talk to tell me how to work this beast.”
His arms relax beside mine. A soft chuckle escapes from his lips. “Not a beast—Polly. Lesson one, respect the horse.”
“Got it. Lesson two?”
“The secret to working with any horse is they want to know you’re worth trusting. If you’re afraid, they’ll sense it, so you have to shove down your emotions and take command. Once you do that, a horse will do almost anything you ask it to.”
Not so different than my plan for the Elders.
“Um, how do I get it to not walk into this wall?” Okay, so we’re ten feet or so from the edge of the arena, but I’m not going to wait until the horse bangs into something to ask about turning.
“You pull the reins whatever way you want the horse to go.” He takes his hands off mine. “Hold the reins in one hand, like an ice cream cone. Your free hand can either rest on your thigh, or you can hang onto the horn if you want. Then g
o ahead and turn Polly. She’s not the brightest, so if you don’t turn her she’ll just stop when she gets to the edge.”
I feed the reins through my hand like he said, then clutch the horn for dear life. Polly stops before I have time to turn her. I let my head droop.
His hands brush against my forearms. Hope he doesn’t notice the goose bumps. “Give her a good kick while you turn the reins.”
Following his instructions, I walk Polly back and forth over the arena for the next ten minutes, feeling more comfortable by the end. As I complete a final loop Michael points to the edge of the stables and tells me to park her there. I obey.
The moment we stop, he slides down. “Go ahead and climb off her. Bring your leg over and drop to the ground.”
Okay, so Polly proved she wasn’t so bad. Easing my foot out of the saddle, I swing the other leg over the horse’s back. Michael sets a hand on either side of my waist and helps me meet the ground slowly. I turn in his arms. The pressure of his hands burns into my skin.
Pushing away, I brush my errant bangs back behind my ear. “What’s next?”
He takes Polly’s reins and leads her through the wide doors of the stable. A man in jeans and a tucked-in T-shirt steps forward and takes Polly from him. Michael turns back to me. “So, what are you already good at?”
I stumble over my feet, sending a cloud of dust up in front of us. “Honestly, not much. I ran track in high school. I came in fourth at State. They don’t give awards for that, though.”
“And you can deliver some mean karate moves.” Michael rubs his stomach like it still hurts.
“Sorry I did that. When we first met—”
“Don’t apologize. You had no clue what was going on. I should have realized that sooner.” We start walking across the empty arena.
“My dad made me take self-defense classes.”
“So he didn’t have you completely unprepared.”
“That, or we live near Chicago … high crime rates and all.”
Michael cocks his head. “You do?”
“Why, is that weird?”
“It’s just ... I grew up near Chicago too. In the same time as you did.”
I stop. “Really? Wouldn’t it be strange if we had seen each other—back in our time?”
Cracking his knuckles, he turns his back on me. “I haven’t been back there in forever.”
But Lark said I’d go back because of Porter. My heart plummets into my shoes. “So since you shifted the first time ... you haven’t gone back?”
“No. Um, let’s go do something else. We’re wasting the day.”
“Lark said you’re special.” My cheeks instantly burn. It’s word vomit. I didn’t mean to say it. But the words are there, and I can’t take them back.
“Special? Ha, not likely.” His voice sounds hollow, dead almost.
“But you shifted when you were eleven.”
Michael rounds on me and his brow wrinkles. His gaze roves over something above my head. “They wouldn’t call me special if they knew why I shifted.”
“No one knows?”
“No one.” He turns and strides out of the arena.
“Why did you shift?” I’m a step behind. I don’t know why, but I have to ask. Suddenly knowing is the most important thing in the world.
“It doesn’t matter.” He braces a hand on the wall in the hall and closes his eyes. “Please don’t ask again.” The anguish marring his face sends a lance of pain deep into my chest. And I have to obey. There’s no choice. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend here and he looks ... sad.
I pat his shoulder. “Okay, I won’t.”
For now.
The next morning, I’m scooping scrambled eggs onto my plate in the cafeteria when Eugene sidles up to me. Now that I see him in the light of day, I guess that he’s in his thirties.
He snatches a few sausage links from a warming dish. “The eggs here are passable, but I’d suggest grabbing a pumpkin muffin too. They’re out of this world.”
I add two small cartons of orange juice to my tray. “How about us? Are we out of this world?”
The corners of Eugene’s lips lift as he points a butter knife full of cream cheese at me. “You’re one odd girl. It’s a lucky thing that I like you.”
I lower my voice, tilting my head closer to him. “Seriously, is Keleusma still on Earth, or are we ... you know, somewhere else?”
“Very much still on terra firma.” He places a pumpkin muffin on my plate, then two on his.
I roll my eyes and turn toward the seating area. “Terra firma. Nerd. And you said I was strange.”
He’s at my elbow. “Sit with me, over here.” Jutting his head, he indicates an open table. I’m not really in a situation to be choosy about my friends. Besides, Eugene’s lovable, in a dorky, older brother sort of way.
Based on the rest of Keleusma, I figured the cafeteria would be fancy. Plush seats and waitered tables—that sort of thing. Yesterday I discovered that this is just your standard lunch room. Hard plastic picnic tables boasting permanent juice stains line the area. Crude wooden napkin holders sit beside salt and pepper shakers. They look like they were nicked from a late night diner. A grease smell permanently hangs in the air.
On the way to our table, we pass a wall with four giant, framed pictures. The Elders. All of them stare at you while you eat. Lovely. The first is Lark’s father. Even captured in a photo, his eyes pierce me and make me feel less than I am. Underneath hangs a gold-plated plaque reading Donovan Anderson, which sounds appropriately doom-worthy. Peeking at me next are the twins, Clarissa and Mimi Walsh. Last hangs the cat lady—smiling bright—Beatrix Vaughn. A gaudy banner suspended above them reads: Thank you for your votes.
Wait ... people chose these monkeys? My esteem for anything Keleusma goes down the proverbial drain.
I drop onto the bench with my back to the photos and take a bite of my eggs. Willing my throat to swallow, I reach for the pepper. One point for Team Eugene—the man knows his food.
Darnell drops down beside me, steam curling off his raisin-sprinkled oatmeal. Healthy junk. How doctorish of him.
He arranges his silverware and lays a napkin on his lap. “Enjoying your training?”
I take a long swig of orange juice. “As long as horse racing and shooting arrows aren’t in my future, I’ll be fine.”
“That good, huh?”
Eugene fires a warning look at Darnell. “It’ll get better. I promise. Beginnings are always bumpy. Do you know what your plans are for the rest of the day?”
I didn’t realize Lark was standing behind me, but her voice is unmistakable. “Sword fighting and bomb making.” She claims the other seat beside me. “Maybe some history too.”
Great. Nothing like getting maimed today. Or dying.
Michael must have been with her, because he rounds the table and sits next to Eugene. Nudging me with his foot under the table, he smiles good morning. “Pumpkin muffin. Smart girl.”
I peel the wrapper off the muffin. “It was Eugene’s idea.”
Eugene’s cheeks turn red, like I just paid him the highest compliment. He pulls a spiral memo pad from his back pocket and jots something down. I try to see what he’s writing, but his other hand blocks the paper. Then again, Michael did warn me Eugene was odd. I sink my teeth into the muffin. Odd or not, the resident computer whiz is completely trustworthy. Bad eggs. Delicious muffin. I guess that’s all it takes to win me over.
“So.” I clear my throat. “Tell me everyone’s kidding about bomb making.”
Lark does her bug-eyed thing again. “The bomb lessons are for real.”
Pushing my eggs around on my plate, I look down. “I mean, how often can we really run into a time where we’ll have to use that skill?” One in a million ... billion would be better. Or never.
Lark snaps her fingers, forcing my gaze back to her. “Do you want to get stuck in a situation where you have to disable a bomb in less than two minutes and not know how to do it? I’ve
been there, multiple times. Unlike you, I knew how to handle it so I was fine.”
I push the images from the Wall Street bombing out of my mind and point my fork at Darnell. “You said Nicholas won’t send me somewhere I can’t handle. I’m pretty sure another bomb meets that requirement.”
He steeples his hands. “True. But you can handle a lot more than you think you’re capable of.”
Darnell’s words lodge into my mind like a snow-cone-induced brain freeze. I shiver and push my tray away. I fight the urge to kick something. “I don’t ever want to touch a bomb. This isn’t fair. Nicholas isn’t fair. How can you guys sit here and talk about him like he’s wonderful when he puts Shifters in these horrible situations again and again?” I meet each of their eyes. “None of you has a choice about where you go or what you do. Doesn’t that make you angry?”
Michael fiddles with his cup of coffee, swirling the liquid. “We always have a choice.”
I shake my head. “But that’s just it! You don’t. He treats you like robots. Making you do whatever he wants.” My voice is rising.
What’s wrong with them? Being out of control is never okay. My father constantly hands over control to his drinks—what does that get him? Nothing other than something to point at and blame, which for some is enough. But not me.
Lark rests her hand on my shoulder. “Maybe we don’t have a choice about where in time we shift, but we choose what we do in that moment. Say I shift to one of the World Wars and I’m supposed to save someone named Grant. I can choose to save him, or I can do nothing and let him die. It’s completely up to me. Now, I’d go ahead and save the guy, but I don’t have to.”
Eugene scrubs the back of his hand across his mouth. “Lark’s right. Our choice is the thing that holds the most impact on the future. If you want my opinion, that amount of responsibility on us feels overwhelming. It’s our choice of action or inaction that matters in the end. I sometimes think it’d be easier—safer, to be a robot.”
My fork clatters to the table. “How soon do you think I’ll have to go back out there?” Translation: is there an opt-out clause?
Michael rests his elbows on the table. “Don’t worry. You always shift with your Trainer the first time. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”
