by David Potter
Sincerely,
Kurtis
President, Things Go Wrong, Inc.
SEVENTY-SIX
I READ IT AGAIN.
And then another time.
After that, I recheck the stuff in the bag. I feel like eating the Hershey bars, but something tells me that just might be the last thing I’d ever eat.
I pick up the gold coins. I look at the maps, which are perfectly laid out, easy to read, and show precise locations and routes.
President, Things Go Wrong, Inc.?
What the heck is that all about?
“Mel?” I hear behind me.
I turn my head. Bev, Daniel, and Elizabeth are standing ten feet away. They must have followed me across the battlefield. Daniel and Elizabeth are grim, but seem determined; Bev, on the other hand, seems a little shell-shocked.
“Are you okay, Mel?” Bev asks. “We heard that you … that you …”
“Were taken ill,” says Elizabeth.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Considering.” I check over the scene: our guys are rounding up their guys. Our generals are still on horseback, shouting out orders; their generals are walking with their heads down, ashamed.
About a dozen houses have had their roofs torn up or their front doors blasted through or all their windows broken—the owners won’t be happy when they find out. Debris is strewn everywhere: broken bags of flour, scattered remains of food, pieces of furniture, mismatched planks of wood, pieces of roofs, and other sorts of unidentifiable junk.
“How about you guys?” I ask. “Bev?”
“It was horrible,” Bev says. “Absolutely horrible. I’m not sure I can … I know how to …”
“Deal with it?”
“Yes.”
“Think of the cause, Bev. Think of the results.”
“This will be a lesson to them,” Elizabeth says, glaring. “When we put our minds to it, we shan’t be stopped. They’d best leave, the British, and take their Hessians with them. They’ll never conquer us. Never.”
“Elizabeth,” I say. “I have a feeling that you’re one hundred percent right about that. But our job is done here. Anybody seen Brandon? We can’t go till we find him.”
“We’re going?” says Bev.
“You’re going?” says Daniel.
“We have to,” I say. “Once we’re all together.” I hold up Kramm’s leather satchel. “I found some interesting stuff. Pieces to the puzzle, you might say. We’ll take it back with us and figure things out.”
“Back?” says Daniel. “Back where?”
“Back home. Our home. Now—when’s the last time anyone saw Brandon?”
Daniel raises his hand, points down the hill. “Your Brandon went that way. He said he needed to find something.”
“Find what?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Oh brother.” I start down the hill. “Let’s go,” I say. “Bev, from here on in we all stay together. And we only have one last thing to do: locate Brandon. Then we can get out of here.”
We begin walking. Our Continentals are lining up Hessian prisoners, and going through the houses they used for barracks. But no Brandon among them.
Below us is a bridge. It’s at the bottom of a sloping hill, past the battlefield and beyond the small number of buildings that constitute the city of Trenton. It’s a stone bridge, and it crosses a meandering stream called the Assunpink Creek. The Hessians could have retreated across the bridge instead of staying to fight. Could have, but didn’t.
Brandon is in the middle of the bridge.
Leading the mare and the chestnut shorty that brought us here.
“Brandon!” I say. “What are you doing?”
“Getting the horses, dude. We told that guy we’d bring ’em back, remember?”
“How did they get across the bridge?”
“Must have run when the shooting started. Horses get scared, you know, and don’t know what to do. Just like people sometimes.”
He stops. Brandon’s face isn’t right, though. He’s usually kind of goofy, if you want to know the truth. Never serious.
Except now.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Brandon. What’s the matter?”
“Well, it’s just that … these horses? I really couldn’t let them get away. It’s been on my mind. After what we put them through? We rode ’em all night in the blizzard. And I don’t know when they’ve last eaten.”
“Well, you got them. So we’ve done all we can. It’s time. For us. You know. To go back.”
Brandon gives each horse a nose rub. “I don’t know, Mel.”
“You don’t know about what?”
“About going back. To school? Term papers? Tests and quizzes? Maybe I should stay. Take my chances.”
“Come on. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why’s it so ridiculous, Mel? I might not even make it out of the sixth grade. I think I’m pretty much failing everything.”
“That’s because you don’t even try, Brandon.”
“No, it’s because I don’t even care, Mel. I tell you what I do care about, though: horses. Too bad I can’t go … you know. Home.”
“You mean, like New Mexico home, right?”
“Right. We used to have horses, on our ranch. Then everything changed. You know. When my mom started to get all … kind of weird.”
“I know. Bev should be in California with her mom. I should be with my parents in New York. But … what are we going to do, Brandon? They don’t call us ‘left behind’ for nothing.”
“What we can do is we stay behind on our own. Not some place they dump us.”
“We all go, Brandon. Or we all stay.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“And who elected you, Mel? I don’t remember there being a vote.”
“You can’t stay, Brandon. This is the past, for crying out loud. What do you think you’re going to do ten years from now? Twenty? Think about it.”
“You and Bev can go. I’m staying.”
“What about us, Brandon? What if the phones have to be programmed for the same time? Then maybe it won’t work for any of us, and we’ll all be stuck here.”
“How could you know that?”
“ ’Cause I worked on the thing. Dr. Franklin helped me, remember?”
“So Benjamin Franklin told you we all have to go? At the same time?”
“He didn’t, but I bet he would. Whether the app works that way or not. He’d say we all have to hang together, because if we don’t, we’ll hang separately. He was talking about all the guys who signed the Declaration of Independence, but it goes for us too, just the same.”
Brandon doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t disagree either. Instead he scratches the horse again, and both of them nuzzle closer.
“They have horses in New Jersey, Brandon,” I say. “Even today.”
“I know. It’s just that I never get near any.”
“So maybe we can do something about that, okay?”
“Okay,” he says. “When?”
“As soon as possible. But first, there’s another thing: see this?” I show him Kramm’s satchel. “I think there’s a lot more to it than just this. Kramm isn’t the only bad guy. There’s a bigger bad guy who goes by the name of Kurtis. We’re going to need to figure out who he is and what he’s up to before … before stuff happens. Or doesn’t happen, as the case may be. So this might not be our last adventure.”
I finally got his attention. I’m trying every trick I have, because I know I’d never forgive myself if we left Brandon behind.
It would be kind of … un–American, wouldn’t it?
SEVENTY-SEVEN
“COME ON, MAN,” I say. “Let’s go. Can I take one of these? Maybe you can teach me how to ride a horse someday. It could come in handy.”
Brandon hands me the reins to the mare. I give her a tug, and together we all walk back across the bridge. Bev and Danie
l and Elizabeth are waiting.
“We good?” says Bev.
“We’re good,” I say.
“So that’s it? We can go?”
“Pretty much. We have to make sure the horses get back to their owner, though, right, Brandon?” I shift my eyes to Daniel and Elizabeth, and scratch my chin. “If we could only find two people who could use a ride back.”
Brandon hands them the reins. “See if you can find
them something to eat,” he says. “They’re probably starving.”
“As are we,” says Elizabeth, and takes the reins. “But we shall do what we can.”
Someone shouts at us from up the slope. It’s Captain Hamilton. “Let’s go!” he shouts. “We’re heading up the road we came down!”
“Already?” says Daniel.
“I’m afraid so,” I say. “General Washington doesn’t like it here. He thinks the entire Continental Army is too exposed. He won’t rest until everyone’s safely in Pennsylvania.”
“He must be mad,” says Elizabeth. “We couldn’t possibly walk that far. We’re too exhausted.”
“Maybe so. But he’s going to make you. That’s why he’s in charge.”
“Are you privy to the general’s thinking?” says Elizabeth.
“Kind of,” I say. “I’m privy to history, is more like it.”
“Hurry!” says Captain Hamilton. “You do not wish to be left behind, do you?”
No, sir. We do not. But this trip is not one Bev or Brandon or I will be taking.
We walk up the slope to Captain Hamilton, who is in a very big hurry. I think some of the Continentals—probably MacDougall’s New York Regiment—have found something besides Hessians and boxes of ammunition. Rum, namely. Things are starting to get a little rowdy.
“We must leave,” says Captain Hamilton. “We are to return to Pennsylvania without delay.”
“Understood,” I say. “Daniel and Elizabeth will join you, and bring back these horses. The three of us will … um … have other plans.”
Captain Hamilton looks me directly in the eye. “Are you quite certain?”
“We are. We will not be troubling you again. All will be well, Captain Hamilton. Trust us. From here on out.”
“Very well,” Captain Hamilton says. “Good luck to you.” He then rejoins his men.
They are nearly done forming the return column. It’s ragged, but orderly enough: 2,400 brave Americans, a thousand or so Hessian prisoners, six German cannons, cartloads of food, an ammunition wagon, and even a Hessian marching band. Then the whole thing starts to move out. They’re going to have to go back along the half-frozen and totally rutted roads they came in on, but this time they’ll be marching not as rebels, but as victors.
Next is Daniel and Elizabeth’s turn.
“Goodbye, Daniel,” I say, and shake his hand. “Goodbye, Elizabeth,” I say, and shake her hand as well. I don’t think kissing or hugging members of the opposite sex—especially those who haven’t been properly introduced to your parents—is something she’s quite ready for. So I don’t try. She takes my hand, and gives me a very delicate shake.
“I think you ought to stay,” says Elizabeth. “We’ve unfinished business. The British are quite far from being defeated.”
“That is true,” I say. “But you will prevail.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I know. Believe me. But we don’t belong here, Elizabeth. Our mission is complete. Nothing good will come from overstaying our welcome.”
Daniel and Bev shake hands, and Brandon says his goodbyes. Then Daniel gets astride the chestnut shorty, and Elizabeth gets on the mare. “I do know how to ride,” she says, “and I will, whether anyone likes it or not.” Then the both of them are off.
That only leaves General George Washington. We make our way up the street, and there he is, astride his horse, yelling at his men to hurry.
It doesn’t take long. “General Washington,” I say. “We must leave now. Every success imaginable will be yours. We thank you for the privilege of serving.”
“You enlisted?” he says.
“Kinda sorta,” I say. “But not really. Speaking of enlistments, I know your men have only another week before their time is up. You’re going to need an army, General. Especially now. You might get another six weeks or so out of your men, if you ask.”
“So I shall,” he says. “So I shall. Well then. Off with you, and Godspeed.” He doesn’t offer to shake our hands. Instead, he gives us a salute, and we salute him back.
Then he goes up the hill, joins his men, and disappears.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
THE FIRST THING I do when all the troops are gone is show Bev and Brandon the leather satchel. “Check this out,” I say, and point to the initials stenciled on the bag: T.G.W., INC. “I have Kramm’s bag.” They peek in, see the extra Luger magazines, the Hershey bars, the maps. I read Kurtis’s note aloud.
“Who is Kurtis?” Bev says.
“You mean, who is Kurtis besides being the president of Things Go Wrong, Inc.? I have no idea who he is exactly, but I think I know what he’s up to.”
“Which is what?”
“I think he’s the dude who invented the iTime app. Do you remember what it says when you open it up? That thing about “the aim is to play, to mess about, who says things have to be this way and not another?” Remember that?”
“Kind of,” says Bev. “What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know if I want to tell you what I’m thinking, Bev,” I say. “ ’Cause what I’m thinking is pretty weird. Though I’m pretty sure I’m right.”
“Mel has a theory,” says Brandon. “Don’t you, Mel? What is it?”
“Like I said, it’ll sound weird.”
“Out with it, Mel,” Bev says. “What could be weirder than anything else we’ve gone through in the last twenty-four hours?”
“You have a point,” I say. “All right, here goes: this guy Kurtis? I think he invented the iTime app for one thing—to go back in history and screw things up.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bev says. “Why would anyone want to do that?”
“Just for the fun of it,” says Brandon, as if he understands Kurtis perfectly, and maybe he does. “Just because everything seems so … so … perfect.”
It doesn’t make a bit of sense to me. But then I remember this birthday party I was invited to when I was about six or seven. It was at a Chuck E. Cheese’s, and everyone was going haywire. Then a kid named Alfred, who was going bonkers with all the noise and commotion, decided to tip over the birthday cake.
Everyone screamed.
Except Alfred, who laughed like a hyena. He had just ruined the party, and nothing could have made him happier.
“All right, guys,” I say. “You ready? I think we should stand in a circle.” We all take out our iPhones and tap on the iTime icon.
“Make sure the date is changed,” I say. “To yesterday. Christmas Day, remember? But put in the right year.”
Everyone puts in the right date, and the right time. To make sure, I go around and check. “On the count of three,” I say. “We’re going to hit the Submit button, okay?”
“Okay,” says Bev.
“Roger,” says Brandon.
I count down. We hit Submit and stare at our screens. Then, the magic begins.
The spinning thing first. Then it feels like we’re going up a long, long roller coaster in the dark. And finally we come crashing down, until we land, with a thump, thump, thump, in the basement of the general store.
In our own time.
We can tell. The first thing we see is the MacBook that got us here in the first place.
The second thing we see is Mr. Hart, our teacher and present-to-past texter.
And the third thing is the old man. The one we noticed before, scurrying away from the basement of the general store. Now he’s stooped over the MacBook, clacking away on the keyboard, and he seems very, very annoyed.
; SEVENTY-NINE
“IT’S ABOUT TIME,” the old man says, glaring at us.
Mr. Hart rushes forward and nearly knocks us over, he’s so happy. Bev is definitely not in any mood to be hugged. Same deal with Brandon and me. But I guess from Mr. Hart’s point of view, it kind of fits the occasion. We’ve only been missing for, like, over two hundred years.
Once the hugs are out of the way, it doesn’t take long for Mr. Hart to go from relieved to aggrieved. “Guys, are you kidding? I was scared out of my mind. Do you have any idea what could have happened to me? I could have lost my job, for starters. And then there’s no telling what misery your parents could have put me through.”
“We’re happy to see you too, Mr. Hart,” Bev says. “How’s your day going?”
“Awful,” says Mr. Hart. “Most incredibly awful. It’s not every day you lose three kids … just like that.”
“It wasn’t,” says the old man, “just like that. One of you must have done something to this computer. It was set up perfectly—just not for any of you.”
“And you are who?” says Brandon.
“This is Professor Moncrieff,” says Mr. Hart. “He worked very closely with Albert Einstein, at Princeton. Professor Moncrieff has invented an application that is able to transport people through a tunnel in the space-time continuum. I think you may be familiar with it.”
“Oh yeah,” I say.
“I’m not sure I really believed,” Mr. Hart says, “that such a thing could even work.”
“Of course it worked,” Professor Moncrieff says. “Have I not explained it to you, Mr. Hart? Have I not allowed you to text your student there, of all things?”
“Well, yes, you did,” says Mr. Hart. “But …”
“But nothing,” Professor Moncrieff interrupts. “I have spent the last thirty-five years of my life seeing to it that it would work. And, if I do say so myself, it worked to perfection. Now tell me: Physically, do you feel disoriented? Nauseated? Light-headed?”
“I feel hungry,” says Brandon.
“I feel like I could use a shower,” says Bev.
“Never mind any of that! My observations are that you are all intact, and in perfect working order. Now then: who messed about with the computer?”
