by Julie Cross
“There’s this one Billy Joel song called ‘Don’t Ask Me Why.’”
I sang the first line of the song into the phone.
“I can’t believe you know that song.”
“I can play it on guitar.”
“No way!”
“Seriously, I can. I’ll show you sometime.”
“Cool.”
Okay, so I cheated a little with the song thing, but I couldn’t help it if I knew her favorite song and if I had already learned to play it on the guitar to impress 009 Holly.
I went to sleep that night feeling more like myself than I had in a long time. I’d let Adam wrap his much more capable brain around the new information acquired and do as he said, play along with my dad. For now, I was stuck in this strange purgatory, waiting for something or someone to tell me what to do next.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 7, 2007
I know I’m not supposed to time-travel for a while. Considering the fact that I felt like death for several days after the last time jump, Adam’s orders needed to be followed. But this morning I woke up thinking about Courtney … things I wished I could fix … like seventh grade. Since we were not only siblings but also classmates, I knew everything that was going on with my sister. A lot of stuff I didn’t want to know.
Like her nervous stomach issues … anytime we had a test or band audition she’d get terrible gas and diarrhea. I’d see her running off to the bathroom and know exactly why. I really didn’t think much of it and never brought it up until one day my best friend, who had an obvious and unrequited crush on Courtney, watched her race out of the gym right before her presentation for the Science Fair. He asked me if she was sick and without even thinking about it, I blurted out, “She’s fine. She just doesn’t like to fart in front of people.”
As soon as my friend snickered, I knew exactly what I had done and there was a second where I could have said it was a lie. Or taken it back. But I didn’t. I just laughed with him and for several weeks after the Science Fair, Courtney had to deal with the nickname “Hershey Squirts.” It was horrible.
It’s hard to believe after everything that’s happened to her and to me, a stupid fart joke in middle school is causing me to feel like the world’s biggest asshole. The worst part is, I never told her it was me who unintentionally started that rumor. We never talked about it. Almost like she knew I wasn’t bold enough to stand up to my friends for my sister. Like she understood. But she shouldn’t have and I shouldn’t have been such a coward.
I tried to put the key in the lock on the gym door, but everything was spinning so much that I couldn’t get it to match up. After a few weeks of rest in my new home-base year, I’d broken Adam’s rules and spent a full four hours in the year 2003 with my sister. Now I was paying the price. I had only planned to stay a few minutes, but then I just couldn’t leave. Adam had also prescribed daily workouts to build myself up a little in case it helped with the time-travel side effects. I’d probably reversed the three weeks of running and weight-lifting in my four-hour excursion. At least that’s what it felt like.
The door appeared to open on its own and I stumbled through it, hearing a familiar voice.
“Jackson, what’s up, man?” Toby said.
“Are you okay? You look really … pale.” Holly’s voice, like it was coming from a distance.
Both of their faces spun in front of me and then I just closed my eyes and fell into nothing.
* * *
“You got any other shoes to wear home?” I heard Toby say.
“No, but I can drive barefoot,” Holly said.
I started to peel my eyes open and saw the gray lockers in the staff lounge and realized I was lying on the couch.
“Look who’s awake. Are you hungover, man?” Toby asked.
“He doesn’t smell hungover. I’m sure it’s that flu going around. I had it a couple weeks ago and barfed, like, every fifteen minutes for six hours straight.”
“Since you’re conscious now, I’m gonna take off.”
“See you later, Toby,” Holly said.
I felt a wet washcloth on my forehead. “What year is it?”
Holly laughed and sat down beside me on the couch. “Do you mean what time is it?”
“Yeah, that, too.”
“It’s five.”
I tried to sit up, but she pushed me back down. “Don’t get up. You’ll just fall over again and I’m not nearly as strong as Toby.”
“I’ve got to get my work done.”
“We took care of it.”
“Seriously? You guys didn’t have to do that.”
“You should have called in sick,” she said.
No, I should have saved the time travel for my day off. “Yeah, I guess. How did I get back here?”
Holly smiled and shifted the washcloth on my forehead. “Well, you fell over on Toby, who caught you before your head hit the floor. Then, when he stood you up, you barfed all over my shoes.”
I covered my face and groaned. “Sorry.”
“It’s no big deal. Like I said, I had the same thing. All these kids in the gym wiping their snotty viruses everywhere, you’re bound to pick one up.”
“I’m just glad you were here. Otherwise I’d be passed out in front of the door. Probably with a big bump on my head.”
She laughed and brushed her fingers over my right forearm. Just that small touch from her made me crazy. Three weeks of email exchanges, mostly about nothing—jokes or stories about the crazy “gym moms” Holly had to deal with, but not one time had I seen her outside of work. I didn’t exactly plan it that way, but Adam’s words stuck in my head and I was afraid of being alone with her—starting something that was more than just friendly coworker stuff. Besides, 007 Holly was only seventeen. In 2009, I never, ever would have considered hooking up with a seventeen-year-old.
Her fingers moved over my scar. “What happened?”
“I fell out of a tree when I was six.” I reached out to touch her, just under her chin. “How did you get that scar?”
“Parachuting off the kitchen counter. Eight stitches.” She grabbed my fingers and held on to them. “Your hands are freezing.”
Her stare was so intense. I knew that look and as much as I wanted her to look at me that way, I wasn’t sure she should. “You’re probably ready to go home.”
“Yeah, my last party left an hour ago. But what about you? Will you be okay?” she asked.
“I’ll call Adam. He’ll give me a ride.”
“I could take you home. Where do you live?”
Nowhere close.
“That’s okay. Adam and I had plans anyway.” I pulled out my phone to call him.
Holly gathered up her things and sat next to me again. Then she did something that completely shocked me. She pulled the washcloth from my head and leaned forward, just barely brushing her lips over my forehead.
“You don’t have a fever. That’s a good sign.”
I didn’t know if it was just a friendly gesture, but I didn’t care. My arms went around her. I moved my hand over her hair and held her so tight.
Her head turned and I felt her breath on my neck, then she laughed lightly and said, “What are you doing?”
I dropped my arms and leaned back. “Just saying thank you. That’s all. My family likes to hug.”
She stood and smiled. “You’re welcome. And I hope you feel better.”
Holly stumbled a little on her way out the door, like she was dizzy or off balance. Adam showed up a few minutes later with a sports drink in hand. “I can’t believe you did it without me!”
I took the drink from him and opened it. “Sorry. It’s been a few weeks and I had a moment of weakness. Obviously I’m paying the price now.”
He waved a hand in front of me. “Forget it. I’ve got a really awesome plan. Well, it’s more of an opportunity to pursue the medical records task. And if that doesn’t work out … maybe just get info from the person who’s been recording all the n
otes in your records.”
“Does it involve a time jump? Because I’m pretty much spent.”
“And whose fault is that? But no, no jumping today. However, you’re gonna have to let your dad in on your secret job, assuming the CIA people haven’t been watching you this whole time. He’ll probably sit up and pay attention if you mention certain symptoms.”
I knew exactly where he was going with this and was glad that he was skirting around the issue. Especially after I’d just spent several hours with Courtney. He wanted me to fake brain cancer symptoms. Something my dad has been more than a little freaked about in the past few years. “Okay, what’s the plan?”
* * *
My dad was alone when he came rushing into the gym, with Adam greeting him at the door. “He just passed out and said his head was killing him,” Adam said.
I slid down on the couch and left my eyes half closed. “Dad, is that you?”
“Yeah, Jackson. Let’s go. I’ve already called Dr. Melvin. He’s waiting for you in his office.”
“Really? On a Sunday?” I muttered as Adam helped me off the couch.
“You’re a special patient,” Dad said.
Adam raised his eyebrows behind Dad’s back as if to say, I told you there was something in those records.
I was a little shocked when I found out Dad had driven himself here in my BMW M6. Hopefully, I could keep from spewing Gatorade all over it. I buckled my seat belt and Dad took off driving way too fast. “Don’t you think you should slow down?”
“Don’t worry. I have plenty of friends in the New Jersey State Police.”
Yeah, I’m sure you do, Agent Meyer.
“We will discuss this new job later. It’s the reason you dropped out, I assume?”
“I thought we were discussing it later.”
He muttered a string of profanities under his breath before making a sharp right turn, sending me flying into the window. “Is this because we have money? You want to feel normal for a change?”
“Not really. I just want to hook up with a girl who would never date a rich kid from Manhattan.”
He glanced sideways at me. “What?”
“Kidding, Dad.”
We were silent the rest of the trip, mostly because his crazy secret-agent driving was honestly freaking me out. He must have diplomatic immunity or some shit like that. Or he knew he could outrun the cops. It would be all Adam’s fault if I ended up on TV in some crazy-ass police chase, with helicopters flying over us.
He screeched to a halt in front of the hospital. “Wait for me inside while I park the car.”
Dad returned in record time and we headed for the elevator. He rocked back on his heels over and over while I pushed the button for Dr. Melvin’s floor.
“I thought they had some kind of lower level here. I don’t see it anywhere on the map. Something underground…”
I had been doing this for a few weeks now. Dropping little hints and testing his reactions. So far, I’d gotten nothing useful. He was good at covers. Damn good.
“No idea. I’m sure you can ask someone at the information desk if you really need to know.”
The old man with the wild gray hair and round belly met us outside the elevator. “How are you, Jackson?”
“Not great, Dr. Melvin.”
“We’ll go right to radiology and get an MRI, see what’s causing those headaches … and the fainting spells,” Melvin said.
His voice held the same friendly tone it always had, like a grandpa or a favorite uncle. Courtney and I had loved coming to see him. We were showered with presents and candy every time.
“I would prefer you did a full-body scan,” Dad said.
“Okay, we can do that.”
The machines in radiology were nothing new to me. Even the tunnel didn’t scare me anymore. I lay there patiently while the machine clicked over and over. When I was done, I got dressed in the MRI room. Through the glass, I could see Melvin and Dad in the observation area, and right after I pulled my shirt over my head, I saw Melvin drop the clipboard he was holding.
Dad picked it up, his face tight with concern. I turned my head when they looked in my direction and then waited a good five minutes until Melvin finally came in and we walked to his exam room. Dead silence hung in the air. Lots of secrets they probably wouldn’t tell me, but if I could just get a little bit of info, the trip here would be worth it.
I sat on the exam table and watched as Melvin displayed my brain images on a large flat-screen computer monitor. “Something’s wrong. I saw you guys in the observation room.”
Melvin turned to me and faked a smile. “Nothing serious. No tumors or contusions.”
“Then why did you look so wigged out?” I asked.
Dad paced the floor, then stopped to look at the pictures. “We’re not exactly sure what’s wrong.”
Melvin had hooked up the blood pressure thing to my arm and had the stethoscope in his ears. “Your blood pressure is low and you’re dehydrated.”
“That’s why you flipped out?” I totally wanted answers to all of my (and Adam’s) questions, but right now they were really freaking me out.
He tucked the stethoscope into his lab coat and glanced sideways at Dad, who nodded slightly. “I need to ask you a few questions before I make a diagnosis.”
“Okay,” I said slowly.
Melvin pointed to the right corner of the first brain image. “This section showed activity on the scan. That might indicate … maybe…”
“What?” I asked, hanging on his words.
“Well, it’s unusual and may explain some of your symptoms.”
Like getting stuck two years in the past? Is that considered a medical symptom?
“Unusual, like … different from the other pictures you’ve taken of my brain?”
“Yes,” Dad answered.
“Maybe it’s because I’m older.” Like … a lot older.
“Have you experienced any … memory loss?” He seemed to choose those last two words very carefully. “For example, waking up somewhere and you’re not sure how you got there?”
“Okay, you guys are scaring me.”
“What about a photographic memory? Can you recall pages from a book word for word, or possibly directions or maps?” Melvin asked.
“Should I be able to do that?”
“It’s possible with your genetics—”
Dad cleared his throat loudly.
“Sorry, I meant, it’s possible with that section of the brain showing activity,” Melvin corrected.
It would have been nice to be completely calm so I could choose my words carefully, but that just wasn’t happening today.
“What part of the brain is it? I’m not a complete idiot. I did take anatomy and physiology.”
“When?” both of them asked.
Oops, in college. “Um … actually, it was more like a seminar. A one-day workshop … honestly, I just went so I could get out of this algebra test—”
Dad turned around to look at me and his face was intense. “Look, Jackson. You … you’re adopted. Courtney, too, of course. I’m sorry I never told you, but there was never really a reason. Until now.”
Faking this kind of shock was tricky and I was nearly positive he dropped this bomb to distract me from the little slip about my genetics Melvin had made. He was really good at this secret-cover thing and would probably recognize that I was lying. I decided on a different course than fake shock. “Um … yeah, Dad … I kinda guessed that a long time ago.”
“You did?” Melvin asked.
“Well … we don’t look anything alike and, well…” I couldn’t come up with a good excuse because another question dominated my thoughts. “So, that story about my mother dying in childbirth … is it even true?”
Dad shook his head. “Not exactly. I’m sorry I never told you.”
Now it felt like I had moved backward. I already knew my dad wasn’t my dad, and now, it seemed, I actually knew less about my mother than I thought.<
br />
Melvin sat down next to me on the table, putting his arm around me like I was a hurt little kid. I half expected him to open his drawer of lollipops and hand me one. “Jackson, what you have to understand is … we have no family history for you. As a physician, I rely on medical history of family members when making a diagnosis.”
Hearing Melvin say out loud that I had no real family was tough to swallow. Was there anyone else who could do what I could do? Or was I just some crazy mutant someone found on the side of the road? “So … you think whoever I came from had weird brain activity like me?”
“Not exactly like you, but similar.”
To my surprise, Dad slipped right out of his careful cover and glared at Melvin, then said, “No, he’s nothing like them. I’ve been telling you that for years.”
He walked out the door and slammed it behind him. Melvin stared at the door for a minute before turning to me with wide eyes.
“He knows my real parents?” I asked.
Melvin shook his head. “He’s just upset about … your sister. It’s my fault for bringing up the bad memories. Her cancer was so aggressive and rare, and with your real parents being dead, no family history, you having the same cancer gene is a possibility that we can’t ignore.”
What a perfect story. Too bad something was missing. The underground people knowing me, Dad, and Melvin didn’t fit anywhere into this plot they were feeding me. What my father and Melvin had just done was a technique I had used many times. For example, when I was accused of doing something really bad at school or at home, I’d admit to a lesser crime to distract from the original accusation. It always worked like a charm.
“My biological parents are dead?”
Dr. Melvin nodded grimly. “Yes, I’m sorry. We don’t have any information other than the fact that they’re deceased.”
“But when … when did they die? Right after me and Courtney were born? How long have I been adopted? Did I live with them?” I drilled, not able to hold back.
Dr. Melvin glanced nervously at the door again, but I didn’t know if he was hoping Dad would come back or that he wouldn’t and maybe he could tell me something. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “All I know is you’ve lived with your father since you and Courtney were eleven months old.”