Traveler

by L. E. DeLano

  “How…?” I don’t know what to say, much less what to do from here.

  “Don’t question, Jessa. Just push through. Go ahead.”

  I hesitate a moment. “You’ll come, too?”

  “I’ll be right there with you. Promise.”

  I start to press my fingers in, and the glass now feels like stiff rubber. I take a deep, shaky breath and push harder. My hand slips through more easily this time, like pushing into a tightly pulled rubber band, but without the rebound effect. My arm follows my hand, and before I know it, the rest of me seems to just step through until I am there.

  Wherever there is.

  10

  All That Glitters

  I’m in a golden restroom. Instead of the lone porcelain toilet, there’s a gilded, monstrous throne with an ornate braided pull rope hanging above it. A crystal chandelier hangs overhead and the walls are chrome, polished to a high shine. Light bounces off every surface, even the golden sink, blinding me and making me blink my eyes.

  “What the—?” I let go of his hand, pressing my palms into my eyes. “Sheesh. This is a bit much.”

  “They’re big on flair over here,” Finn says. “It doesn’t change the coffee much, but wait until you see the baked goods.”

  “So what happens to her?” I ask. “The other Jessa?”

  “Simple,” Finn says. “She’s you. She’s just in your reality now.”

  “Won’t everyone notice she’s different?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand. She’s not really me.”

  “Yes, she is,” he explains. “You’re still you, no matter where you go. You’re just you reacting to different circumstances. And because you’re a Traveler, you’re more aware of yourself than most. The things that make you essentially you will always be preserved because of that. You also gain all her knowledge and she gains all yours the minute you transfer. You’ll bring up the memories as you need them.”

  “This is seriously confusing. You know that, right? Some of this … it’s just beyond comprehension.”

  He gives me a slight smile. “You get used to it. I’m trying not to overload you with too much at once. Come on. Let’s see what’s cooking on this side of the mirror.”

  “Wait,” I say. “I’m not going to encounter an evil version of everyone, am I? My parents and Danny aren’t going to have goatees or anything, right?”

  Finn shrugs. “How do I know? Let’s go see.”

  He reaches for the door handle, and as he opens it, a woman in a shiny silver coat guiding a young child steps back from where she’d been waiting to get into the restroom. She sees me coming out from behind Finn and gives us both a look that should incinerate us.

  Finn gives her a nod that can only be described as regal, and I clap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing as he pulls me past her and over to the counter.

  “Oh my God,” I say, in a hushed whisper. “She thinks we were…”

  “Yes, she does.”

  He threads his fingers through mine and gives my hand a squeeze. We make our way to the front counter, and I can’t stop looking at the glittering lights and polished chrome walls. Finn reaches up with his other hand and turns my head so that I’m looking full-on at the array of baked goods on display in a shining golden case with ornate prism crystal shelves.

  Once again, I am dazzled. Everything looks like it was the prizewinning dessert on a Food Network showdown. There are brownies with gold leaf glittering on the top, cupcakes that sparkle and stand six inches high with shimmering, fluffy frosting over gilded golden wrappers. The cookies are glowing under the lights with silver and gold chips, and they’re easily the size of my outstretched hand.

  Finn nods to the girl behind the counter. “Two chocolate spice specials and two bowls of glitter mousse, please.”

  “No mocha with cinnamon?” I ask, still drooling over the cupcakes.

  “That’s not what they call it here. Think about it a moment—the memory will come to you.”

  He’s right, and it does. Cinnamon is just referred to as “spice” here.

  He pays the girl and takes our tray of treats, motioning me toward a booth in the corner with a tilt of his head. I slide in, staring at the small, circular pot of sparkling stuff in front of me. It looks like whipped cream, but in an eye-popping shade of silvery blue.

  “Glitter mousse?” I ask. “What flavor is this?”

  He shoves a spoonful in his mouth.

  “Glitter,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

  I take a dab on the tip of my spoon and slide it into my mouth. The flavor explodes on my tongue, sweet and tart and screamingly delicious. My eyes are literally rolling back in my head.

  “Mmmmmmmm!”

  “Told you so,” he says. “Now for the best part.” He opens his mouth, smiling widely.

  I suck my breath in, choking on a laugh. “You’re glowing!” His teeth and tongue are shining like neon.

  “Should have brought you here at night,” he remarks. “The effects last for hours.”

  I bring my hand up to my mouth self-consciously. “How am I going to explain this? When we get back?”

  Finn answers around another spoonful. “You won’t have to. You’ll be back as your other self. She didn’t eat this stuff.”

  “In that case, maybe I’ll have two.”

  He raises his brows. “I don’t think the other you would appreciate it.”

  I look down at myself. My clothes detract a lot from the rest of me because they’re pretty loud and flamboyant, but it’s clear I weigh more here. I’m not obese or anything, but I am definitely overweight.

  “Are you making a remark about my—our—weight?”

  “Not like you think. I just know that this Jessa used to weigh more. A lot more. She’s been working really hard to get in shape.”

  He’s right. The memories of all the early morning workouts and the ways I’ve cut back come to me. Now I feel bad. I really shouldn’t sabotage everything I’ve been working toward over here.

  “Guess I’ll stick with one.”

  I take another spoonful, sighing in contentment as it melts on my tongue.

  “So…,” I muse.

  “So…?” He licks his spoon.

  “You know me here.” The memories are trickling in as I access them. “But we’re not together.”

  “I know you everywhere.” he replies, “and we’re not officially together yet because I only just got to know you.”

  The memories are getting clearer now. Finn used to work here, and in a complete change of events, I told him that he was a Traveler.

  “So just because I know I’m a Traveler in one reality doesn’t mean I know it in another?” I ask. “I mean, I knew before you over here. We don’t all become aware at the same moment?”

  “No. What are you, Skynet?” he smirks.

  “That,” I say, pointing my spoon at him, “was a solid nerd joke. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

  He looks at me blankly.

  “No Harry Potter, huh?”

  He shrugs, still clueless. “No Terminator, either. I just happened to catch it on TV once, when I was traveling.”

  “So you’re not from here?”

  “Here?” He glances around at the shining chrome and sparkling chandeliers of glittery Mugsy’s.

  “There,” I qualify. “Back where I’m from. You’re not from my reality.”

  “No.” He looks uncomfortable.

  “Do you know me, where you’re from?”

  “I did.”

  I let that hang in the air for a minute before I bite my lip and ask.

  “Did I move away?”

  He holds my eyes.

  “No.”

  “When—” I clear my throat. “When did it happen?” I can’t bring myself to ask how it happened. I get the feeling he was there.

  “Three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and I really am. I can see the hurt in his eyes. Whoever we were to e
ach other, we were obviously close.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “Not like I really lost you, after all. We’re Travelers. We’re always around somewhere.”

  He gives me a stiff shrug, but it doesn’t quite cover the pain in his voice. I can’t help myself. I reach across the table for his hand. He rubs his thumb across the back of my knuckles, and the feel of his hand on mine is incredibly familiar.

  “That’s got to be weird, though. Seeing a different me every time.”

  “You get used to it.”

  He says it, but something in his voice tells me you don’t, really.

  “What if ‘other me’ kills somebody or OD’s on drugs or something?” I ask.

  “It’s possible,” he concurs, “but not likely. You’re still you, after all.”

  “Not over here, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “That’s why you’re a Traveler. You’re still you, no matter where you are. You’re just you, reacting to different circumstances.” His fingers tighten on mine. “The things that make you fundamentally you won’t change, Jessa.”

  “What if I had a hard life? Grew up on the streets? Hung out with murderers?”

  “You’d still be you.”

  That makes me feel better. “So, that’s why I can do this? Because none of it will change me?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Finn replies. “You can’t help but be shaped by the events around you, to some degree. But as a Traveler, you can recognize that they’re all just random particles that swirl around you and might become part of a bigger plan. It’s all transient. Maybe we’re a little smarter, or braver … maybe just more resilient. I don’t know. But we’re this way for a reason.”

  “This is still wildly beyond comprehension,” I sigh. “It really is.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” he tells me, scraping out the bottom of his bowl with his spoon. “Mario’s got it all under control. He’ll guide you along until you get the hang of it. I would imagine he’ll give you your first official job soon.”

  I hold up a hand. “Whoa. Oh, no. Not yet. I’m not ready for a job yet. I haven’t even agreed to sign up for this,” I remind him.

  “You’re already signed up for this, Jessa,” he points out. “And you’ve been seeing other realities for a while—you just didn’t realize it. Now you can consciously travel. That’s the only difference. I can help a little with some of it, teach you how to shift in dim light, or into water, or when your image is clouded or rippling. It just takes practice. Lots of practice.”

  “I haven’t given an official answer about any of this,” I protest.

  “Jessa…”

  I’ve had enough. I’m not ready to commit to this. “I want to go home,” I say firmly. “Now.”

  “Come on…”

  “Now, Finn.”

  He sits back in the booth. “So go ahead.” He shrugs. “Go back.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  He crosses his arms. “No. Figure it out yourself. You know how.”

  I glance over at the restroom door, but it’s closed and occupied.

  “Great,” I huff.

  “You don’t have to have a mirror, you know,” he says, raising a brow. “Any reflective surface will work, so long as you can see yourself.”

  I glance around, and the polished chrome wall next to me in the booth catches my eye. I can see myself, and everything else behind me. I can see Finn, and his eyebrow’s still raised in a way that really irks me.

  I set my hand against the chrome and try to concentrate on my reflection.

  “Don’t let yourself get distracted,” he warns. “You could end up somewhere you don’t want to be.”

  “Quiet.”

  I take a second and look around me, so I have something to compare to when things start to change in the reflection. I look back at myself, and I try to see me sitting in a booth at my Mugsy’s. I stare so long and hard, my eyes start to water.

  “You’re trying too hard,” he says in a singsong voice, and it makes me even madder.

  “Will you shut up? I’m new at this, remember?”

  I straighten my shoulders and try again, and this time, everything behind me starts to get duller, more muted. I see the glittery, gold-speckled booths and gleaming, ornate decorations bend and morph into mundane photographs of coffee mugs and deep-red corduroy booth upholstery. Finn is saying something, but I tune him out, pushing my fingers into the chrome.

  And I’m back.

  I take a second to look around me. Mugsy’s is half-full, but no one seems to have noticed me just appear. Then I realize that I was here anyway, or at least, other me was. What did I use, though? I turn the teaspoon over in my hand and see myself in the bowl. Wow, she must be good at this if she could travel through a teaspoon.

  I stare at the other me for a moment.

  “Hi,” I whisper. “Bring me a cupcake next time.”

  I stare down at the humdrum chocolate chip cookie in front of me, and I wonder if I’ll be able to resist the temptation to travel again.

  11

  Fate and the Social Norms

  “You’re holding out on me, St. Clair,” Ben says, tossing an entire fistful of Milk Duds in his mouth.

  “Huh? What?” I realize I’ve been sitting here zoning out and haven’t heard much of what he’s said. The movie hasn’t started yet, so I’m going to have to answer him.

  “Are you even listening to me?” he complains.

  “Sorry. Got a lot on my mind. What were you saying?”

  “I was saying that the partner project in Draper’s class is due on Wednesday, and I need your essay so that I can build the diorama and feature your key points.”

  “Crap! That’s due Wednesday? We just finished the invention project!”

  “Where have you been?” he laughs. “Draper announced it, like, a week ago.”

  “Sorry. I haven’t even started. Can I e-mail it to you tomorrow night? Or maybe Monday morning? How much time do you need?”

  “Relax.” He throws an arm around me to pat my back, and he leaves his arm on my chair. “I can put it together in a night.”

  “Thanks.”

  I’m very much aware that he hasn’t taken his arm off the back of my chair, so I lean forward and turn to him.

  “Do you believe in fate, Ben?”

  “Fate?”

  “Like we’re all part of some preordained plan or something. Destined to do things or meet certain people. Fate.”

  He eyes me speculatively. “Like, it’s fate that we met? Is that what you mean?”

  I roll my eyes. “Not that specific, but yeah, maybe you were meant to move all the way here from Texas—”

  “New Mexico,” he interrupts.

  “Whatever. You sound like you’re from Texas.”

  “That’s because it’s right next door to New Mexico,” he reminds me. “And for the record, we were fated to be friends as soon as I realized that you knew my home state was actually a state. You’d be surprised how many of y’all ask me what my country’s like.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. But I’m talking fate in a general sense. Like there are some people that we’re just supposed to meet, for whatever reason.”

  He takes a drink of his soda, considering for a minute. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do. I think we all have people that we were meant to meet. Not so sure about things we were meant to do, though.”

  “But how do you accept one and not the other?”

  He shrugs. “I guess I’d like to think that I have a hand in shaping my future for myself. Otherwise, why bother doing anything, right? Might as well just strap in and wait for the ride.”

  I start to lean back, but I remember his arm is there and shift forward again. “Yeah, I guess.”

  I hear his sigh as he moves his arm, but I’m not really looking at him. I’m a thousand miles away, thinking about what Finn said.

  My logical brain tells me I shouldn’t be getting mixed up in all this. But
my gut is telling me that I trust him. I trust Finn because I know Finn.

  And that’s crazy. I realize that’s crazy.

  Ben drives me home after the movie, and we sit for a moment in the driveway, with the truck idling.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight, St. Clair,” he remarks. “Why so philosophical?”

  I shake my head. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try me.”

  “I need to stop having an existential crisis and go inside and write an essay,” I remind him. “Or my project partner will hang me in effigy inside his diorama.”

  “Now there’s a thought,” he says, grinning widely.

  I reach for the door handle. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  “Yeah. See ya Monday.” He stares at me expectantly for a moment, and then realizes he hasn’t unlocked the door. He pushes the switch with a loud thunk, and I escape to my house and my room, where I hope to get a grip on myself.

  That turns out to not be an easy thing. I am afraid to go to sleep.

  I stay up as late as I can, finishing the essay and e-mailing it over to Ben before I tackle a new assignment for Ms. Eversor about a controversial subject. I choose “Internet Etiquette” and I realize halfway through writing it that I don’t find it very controversial and I am probably the most boring person on earth.

  I’d be a better writer if I’d ever done something, or been anywhere, or even met anyone interesting.

  Like a hot guy who can travel through dreams and reality.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror across from my bed and stick my tongue out at it. I am certifiably crazy.

  I scroll through the received calls on my phone and look at his phone number. I want to dial it just so I can scream into the phone, Why are you messing with my brain?

  But I guess that would definitely be crazy. Worse, he’ll probably have an answer for that.

  Come on, St. Clair. No guts, no glory.

  Great. I sound like Ben now.

  I finally text Finn.

  I press send. It’s late. He’s probably busy. Or asleep.

  The phone rings less than thirty seconds later. I glance down at it in dismay. I let it ring twice more before I tap the answer button with entirely too much force.