Traveler

by L. E. DeLano

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…” She’s rocking him back and forth as she repeats it over and over again, and I see him desperately pulling at his shirt, trying to get the wetness of it away from his body as he continues to shriek.

  Something in the way she’s soothing him, the dirty look his brother is giving me, and the child’s overblown response clicks, and I crouch down next to him, completely horrified. I look at the mother.

  “I’m so sorry. Listen, I have a tank top on under this.” I lift up my shirt to show her. “Can I give him my shirt? It’s dry. He won’t notice the wetness that way.”

  She looks at me gratefully. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I feel terrible about this.” I yank off my T-shirt and hand it to her.

  “It’s okay,” she reassures me, as her eyes dart around to all the people staring her down. I watch one woman in the booth next to us mouth the word brat, and I am suddenly on my feet.

  “He’s a little boy!” I say to the woman in the booth. “I just startled him badly and his shirt is soaked through, making his skin cold and wet. He’s having a hard time processing all of it at once, okay?”

  The booth woman looks at me like I’m crazy, but she’s smart enough to mumble “sorry” to the mother, who is wriggling her son into my shirt. He begins to calm and I squat down, getting on eye level with him.

  “I’m sorry I knocked you over. It was an accident. I’m sorry.” I smile at him, and he’s still clinging to his mother, but he’s not crying or shrieking anymore.

  “He doesn’t talk much yet,” his mother says to me. Her eyes shift to the woman in the booth. “Thanks for sticking up for him.”

  “I have a brother who’s a lot like him,” I say.

  This is how we talk, when we meet someone who has a kid or a brother or a sister like ours. We won’t say the word for fear that we use the wrong one, or we’ve found an undiagnosed kid, or a parent who just plain hates to hear the word. But we all know. We can recognize it from across a room.

  “I need an address, so I can mail your shirt back,” she says to me.

  “No, keep it. I don’t like the band anymore, anyway.”

  She gives me another grateful smile as she guides her son to his feet. He stands, tracing the words and designs on the oversized shirt with his finger while she wipes off his chair. One of the workers helps her, asking her if she needs anything else or if her son was hurt. She thanks him and tells him they’re fine, and the worker hurries off.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say again.

  “Oh, it’s okay. It was worth it to hear you take that woman down.” She gives me a conspiratorial grin. “We’re all in this together, right?”

  I nod. “Right. Anyway, it was nice meeting you…” I look at the little boy.

  “Mark,” she prompts.

  I squat back down, looking him in the eye. “Mark. It was nice to meet you.” I put out my hand and he looks at it a moment. Finally, he takes it, shaking it twice.

  “Bye,” I say, straightening up. I look back over my shoulder as I walk away, and Mark is still standing by the table. He is waving at me. I wave back and then rush to the bathroom, so I can get myself home.

  When I come through, I am fuming. I am so angry at Mario, I’m practically vibrating with it.

  That gives way to shock as I stare at my new reflection in the mirror.

  “You cut my hair?” I say in disbelief. “You cut my hair!”

  I stare in dismay at my new bangs, hanging just at my brow line. I haven’t had bangs since sixth grade, and it’s taken me all those years to grow them out again. She—I—up and decided to do myself a favor and give me bangs again. She also ate almost an entire box of crackers while lying in my bed. Ugh!

  My fingers poke and shove at my bangs, but there’s no way to change this. They’re even a little crooked. I look down at the scissors lying on my dresser, and the locks of hair tossed into my trash can.

  “Why would you do something like that?” I demand, looking in the mirror again. Great. Now I have to stop at the haircut place by Wickley’s and get these things straightened out. And spend another six years growing them out again.

  As I’m heading out the door, Danny calls out after me.

  “Are you coming back, Jessa?”

  I stop in the doorway to reassure him. “Yes, Danny. I just have to run an errand, okay?”

  “Are you coming back?” he clarifies.

  It’s spooky how he knows this. His brain doesn’t work like ours, I know, but it’s spooky and comforting at the same time. Danny will always know the real me, I guess.

  “Yes, Danny. I’ll be back, just like this.”

  “With your new hair?”

  I grit my teeth. “Yes, Danny. With my new hair.”

  My hair gets fixed—well, as fixed as it can get—and after dinner I get involved in writing a new story. Eventually, I make myself go to bed because I’ve got a lot I want to say to a certain Dreamer.

  He’s waiting for me in the classroom, sitting behind the teacher’s desk and tapping a pen against the desktop.

  “What the hell!” I round on him. “You made me throw a soda on a kid who was … you know!”

  “Yes,” he says, more than a bit perturbed. “And you just wrecked the whole scenario.”

  “What? You’re mad at me?” I sputter. “I terrified that kid!”

  “I didn’t ask you to flatten him,” Mario points out, standing up and coming around the desk. “Just spill on him. You went overboard.”

  “I didn’t mean to. And how could it be helping anyone to have me drown him with my soda?”

  “Well, if you had done what I told you,” Mario says, “everything would have worked out fine. The kid would have been upset, the worker would have rushed out, and he would have offered to let the kid have an official Greaver’s Pizza apron to wear. He would have taken care to tie the ties so it covered the kid just right, and he would have written the kid’s name on it with the green marker, because green is the kid’s favorite color. And the mother—who’s single, by the way—would have noticed all of this and thanked him and blushed when he told her it was fine, and starting next week, they’d be back to dine every Friday night, until he finally asked her out.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. Oh.” Mario glares, obviously pissed at me. “He’s going to make a great stepfather, by the way. Only now I have to find some other way to get them back on track, all because you couldn’t do what you were asked.”

  “Was I supposed to just let him scream?”

  “Yes. Do what I ask you and don’t get crazy embellishing things.” He sits back down behind the desk and laces his fingers together, eyeing me. “Incidentally, your words to the other woman created some ripples, too, but they’re nothing bad, as far as I can tell. They just … alter some things.”

  “Doesn’t everything alter something?” I grumble.

  “Yes. But not everything altered is terribly important. We all live a lot of boring lives, believe it or not. So many of the decisions we think are very important are really only that way to us. They don’t always impact ourselves and others in a truly life-changing way and therefore … no ripple.”

  I wish for a moment I could travel back to the pizza parlor and get myself an underage drink.

  “Well, if you’re going to use me for this stuff, you’re going to have to know that I’m going to react sometimes. I couldn’t just walk away,” I snap at him.

  “Travelers have to learn to be unbiased, Jessa,” he reminds me firmly. “If you let yourself get too involved in the other realities, you won’t be able to do the job correctly. And that could have big repercussions. That’s why we send you out. Making changes in your own reality is hard to do without feeling invested.”

  “I can’t be unbiased about everything! And definitely not about this!”

  “You’re going to have to learn to be.”

  “So … what? I lose all my empathy? I don’t care who I’m screwing with or what I do
to them? Are you going to have me pushing people into traffic next?”

  “You need to calm down.”

  “The hell with that!” I shout. “And to hell with you! I’m done here!” I stomp out of the classroom and through the red door to find myself staring at the alarm clock, lying in bed, with my hands still clenched into fists.

  26

  The Enchanted Pirate

  I’m still glowering as I sit in history listening to Mr. Draper drone on about the Gadsden Purchase and Manifest Destiny, and I’m writing stray thoughts down in my journal, looking across the room at Finn when I can and trying not to zone out too much.

  “St. Clair.”

  I look over at Ben, who just whispered my name.

  He points down at his phone, and I very carefully pull mine out, half hiding it under my journal.

  I make sure the ringer is off and check my texts.

  I see his jaw tighten as he reads my message.

  He pockets his phone and I slide mine out from under my journal and put it away. I look over at him, but he’s looking at Mr. Draper and not at me. He’s probably just making sure I’m okay after my near-death experience. Whatever it is, I’m just glad to be communicated with. He hasn’t said two words to me in the two days since Finn showed up at school.

  Ben says nothing to me for the rest of class, even when he and I are assigned to the same four-person group for a project. When the bell rings, he lingers as I gather up my notebook and my backpack.

  “Can I walk you to class?” he asks. “I promise not to make fun of your hair.”

  I look up with a begrudging smile, glad to have him talking to me again. “Sure.”

  “We can both walk you to class,” Finn suggests, coming up behind him. He’s not going to let me out of his sight, and the look on his face tells me he’s definitely not going to let me out of sight with Ben.

  And Ben has had enough. He rounds on Finn. “We’re trying to have a conversation here.”

  “So have it,” Finn says. “I’ll wait.”

  “A private conversation,” Ben stresses. “That means you can find something else to do.”

  “Finn…” I start to ease my way into the conversation, but the testosterone pushes me back out again.

  “I’ve got a pretty boring life,” Finn retorts. “I don’t really have anything else to do.”

  Ben steps forward, getting in Finn’s face. “I’m fixing to give you something to do.”

  “Ben!”

  “Who the hell does he think he is?” Ben demands, gesturing at Finn. “And since when did you decide he’s your babysitter?”

  “I didn’t see you by her side last week much,” Finn says.

  “Because she’d have to make room for me on the couch next to you!” Ben throws back.

  Mr. Draper has finally figured out that there’s about to be blood splashed on his classroom walls, and he hurries over to remind us that it’s time to get to our next class. We step out into the hallway, and I turn to Ben.

  “Let’s finish this conversation at lunch,” I tell him, giving Finn a look. “Alone.”

  Finn does not like the sound of that. “Jessa—”

  “Lunch, Ben,” I reiterate, and he gives me a stiff nod before he stalks off.

  Finn glowers as we walk toward our next class. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “He’s not a threat. He’s my friend, Finn. And you’re only a text message away,” I remind him.

  “So what am I supposed to do for lunch?” he gripes.

  “You’ll survive.” I push past him and he follows me into the classroom.

  “Finn!” Ms. Eversor comes up behind us and puts her hand on his back, making her bracelets jangle noisily. “I must tell you how I loved your story! It was inspired! To have yourself as a fat, ugly pirate disguised by a magician’s spell—so creative!”

  My lips twitch. “That was your backstory? An ugly pirate?”

  He shrugs, but Ms. Eversor isn’t done singing his charms. “Yes, it was! Just as yours was, Jessa, though your pirate was much more dashing. Finn’s story had such a good plot device,” she bubbles. “His pirate’s spell was discovered when he got too close to the girl he was trying to woo and she smelled him!” She claps her hands together with pleasure, as she heads up to the front of the room to start class.

  “The odor shattered the illusion and broke the spell,” Finn supplies.

  I give him a look. “An ugly, malodorous pirate? Really?”

  “And fat,” he adds. “Really morbidly obese. I thought about giving him a clubbed foot, but decided it was a bit of a stretch.”

  “A bit,” I deadpan. I slide into my seat and he takes his place next to me.

  We spend the next half hour working with Chloe Merrick to craft a group poem, utilizing words that begin with the first eight letters of the alphabet. I hate assignments like this, since the structure is so confining, but I think we do a pretty good job of it. We finish early and we’re just sort of talking when Chloe turns toward Finn.

  “Hey,” she says. “Did I hear you say you have nothing to do for lunch?” She gives him a megawatt smile, and I find myself sitting up in my chair from my former slouched position.

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t,” he says, and his eyes shift to me briefly before he gives her his full attention.

  “Well, I’m, like, in the drama club and we’re supposed to do this show tonight?” It’s not a question, but the way she talks, it sounds like it. “It’s a really boring show,” she goes on. “About some stupid judge here in town and a big trial or something. The lady from the historical society wrote it. Anyway, we haven’t finished painting the set and we could really use a hand.”

  “Sure,” he says. “Where do I go?”

  “I’ll walk you there.” She leans in, putting her hand on his arm.

  We don’t say another word to each other until the bell rings, and as he follows Chloe out the door, he turns back to me.

  “Maybe she has a thing for enchanted pirates,” he says.

  I press my lips together and glare at him. “Maybe she hasn’t noticed your smell yet.”

  27

  Tug-of-War

  I find Ben waiting for me outside the doorway to the cafeteria. He’s leaning against the wall, with one foot up against it, and he looks like he wants to be anywhere but there waiting for me.

  “What’s up?” I grab a tray as we file through the door and head up to the line.

  “So he let you off the leash?” Ben says snidely.

  I raise my brows. “We’re talking about Finn?”

  “My favorite subject,” he says. “You two are joined at the hip lately. I couldn’t get a word in if I tried.”

  I put an order of french fries and a bottle of water on my tray and give him a glare.

  “Last time I checked, I don’t have to report to you,” I say.

  He grabs a slice of pizza for himself, shoving it next to my food on the tray, and we make our way to the cashier.

  “I got this,” he says, reaching for his wallet.

  “Don’t do me any favors,” I say, pushing his hand away.

  “Don’t be like that.”

  “Then you don’t be like that.”

  He throws a twenty down before I can dig in my bag, and we take our stuff over to a table and sit.

  I grab my food, shoving a fry in my mouth and looking pointedly away from him. I hear him let out a sigh as he shoves his pizza away.

  “I hate this. What are we doing, St. Clair?”

  I look at him with chagrin. “I hate this, too. I miss you.”

  He leans across the table. “I miss you, too. I miss hanging out. I miss talking in class. I miss all our dumb nerd humor.”

  “Well, you’re the one who’s shutting me out,” I say crossly.

  “I can’t get anywhere near you without him in the way. Are you two officially dating, or what?”

  “It’s complicated,” I sigh. “Seriously. You can’t begin to know.”<
br />
  He leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. “Listen, I’m worried about him. He just shows up here out of nowhere and suddenly he’s signed up for school and acting like your shadow. What do you really know about this guy?”

  I look at the situation from Ben’s point of view. He’s right. All he knows is that Finn is practically a stranger and I almost died on a bridge with him nearby. He probably thinks Finn is dangerous, and he’s not entirely wrong.

  “I know you don’t trust him,” I say. “But he’s a good guy. I know more about him than you think.”

  “And is he going to be okay with you still hanging out with me sometimes? Maybe without him there? Or are we not allowed to be friends?”

  I consider that for a moment. “He’s going to have to be okay with it. Because I say it’s okay.”

  He bites his lip. “You mean that?”

  “I do.”

  I do mean it. Finn is going to have to get a grip. I can travel all over multiple realities ending up who knows where and dealing with who knows what, but I can’t hang with my best friend? He’s going to have to trust me on this.

  “Can we hang out tomorrow for a while?” Ben suggests. “I don’t have practice.”

  “Sure.” My mind works to find a suitable meeting place. Normally we’d go to Mugsy’s, but it just seems weird going there now without Finn.

  “We can go to that new ice cream place on Fifth,” I suggest.

  “I guess. Or we could just hang at your house, if you want,” he says. I think about that for a moment, but discard it instantly. If there’s any place Finn will be sure to hang around waiting, it’ll be my house.

  “No, I really want ice cream,” I say firmly. Lucky for me, I don’t have to try to convince him. He knows how much I love ice cream.

  “You’re on,” he says.

  “Do they even have ice cream in your country?” I tease. “Or refrigeration?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Even if I did live in Mexico instead of New Mexico, it’s not the middle of the Sahara. And it pains me that someone did actually ask me if I grew up with running water.”

  “No!” I can’t help it. I have to laugh. People are really, really stupid sometimes.