Loop

by Karen Akins

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  To Bill, for doing everything in his power

  to bring this book to life

  and

  to Henry and Oliver, for doing everything

  in their power to prevent it.

  In Memory of Tim Berry

  acknowledgments

  Thank you so much to everyone at St. Martin’s—I still pinch myself every time I look at the cover. A special thanks to my fabulous editor, Holly Ingraham, who seamlessly wove Loop into her list. Thanks also to Jeanne-Marie Hudson, Marie Estrada, Bridget Hartzler, Kerry McMahon, and the rest of the SMP team. And, of course, Terra Layton, who was Loop’s first champion—xie xie!

  My agent, Victoria Marini, is the best possible combination of a firecracker and a bulldog. I’m so grateful for her vision for Loop—she helped make it shine before finding its home.

  Word Nerds, I love you guys so much. This book wouldn’t exist without you. Kristin Gray, Kim Loth, and Unicorn Sparklepants, ahem, I mean Mandy Silberstein, you are the best!

  I have been beyond blessed with the most amazing critique partners ever: Elizabeth Briggs, Evelyn Ehrlich, I. W. Gregorio, Rachel Searles. You keep me on my toes and talk me off of cliffs.

  Early readers and along-the-way cheerleaders, thank you: Abby Annis, Jenny Benson, Britain Castagna, Jessica Castagna, Rachel Cobb, Megan Daniel, Sara Ford, Anna Hagen, Erika Hagen, Melissa Hurst, Shelli Jones, Ashley Keylor, Kate Lacy, Stacey Lee, Emily Moore, Tracey Neithercott, Jonna Nixon, Eoghan O’Donnell, Amy Oliver, Cortney Pearson, Lora Scott, Morgan Shamy, Angela Story, Serra Swift, Dana Tomlin, Hannah Tomlin, Jenna Wallace, and Abigail Wen. Kelly Butterweck and Ashley Seat, thanks for loving on my kiddos. You two never forget to be awesome!

  A big ol’ thanks to: Authoress and the MSFV Sort-of-Secret Society, The Lucky 13s, SCBWI, my Woodway gals, and all the family and friends who have supported me along the way. I wish I had ten pages to thank you all by name!

  Thank you to my parents, Carl and Connie Hoffman, who never made me turn off the reading lamp. To my sisters, Ellen Matkowski and Sara Hoffman, for listening to my stories long before anyone else wanted to. And to my whole family: Bill and Betty Akins, Carolyn Wagnon, Mark and Julie King, Owen and Myles, Anna and Noah, and all the Hoffmans and Wings. I love you all!

  Henry and Oliver, I love you more than all the words in the world. Okay. You can go back to destroying the living room now.

  Bill, thank you isn’t strong enough. From the moment I admitted my secret dream of being a writer, you have cheered me on, read my words, and listened to every squee and whine and dream. Your support has been legen— (Wait for it.)

  And to the One who whispers truth when I’m tempted to believe lies, thank you.

  contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.—ALBERT EINSTEIN

  chapter 1

  HITTING THE GROUND is the hardest part. Nine times out of ten, it’s dirt or grass. But all it takes is that one time on concrete or, worse, asphalt to send even the most experienced Shifter into a panic.

  My feet slammed into cobblestone. Muskets cracked and echoed down the alley where I’d landed. Acrid gunpowder stung my nostrils, searing my throat as I fought back a cough and crouched down. The gunfire grew louder and louder, bouncing off both sides of the narrow passageway, so I couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from.

  Where was I? Valley Freakin’ Forge?

  Wyck had missed the target by well over two centuries! Good grief. How hard was a twenty-third to twenty-first Shift? And of all the Shifts, it would have to be this one. He’d pay for this when I got back. Don’t get me wrong. I love a good transporter prank as much as the next girl, but plop me in the middle of Lex and Concord? I am not having that crap.

  Puffs of fresh gunsmoke clouded the already-dim alley. Get it together, Bree. I slipped behind a barrel and pulled out my QuantCom. A Virginia address and instructions popped up: “Bree Bennis, pre-Tricentennial midterm. Deposit package contents on Muffy van Sloot’s grave with following message: ‘There’s no time like the past.’”

  I squeezed the small white box before sliding it into my pocket. I tried not to think about the other object, the one hidden in my shoe. Guilt burbled up in my stomach, but I squashed it down.

  Hard to believe so much could ride on one trip back to the past.

  Also hard to believe any person would name their child Muffy van Sloot. It almost sounded like some rich person’s pet.

  Boom! The gunfire sounded right outside the alley.

  So help me, I thought, if this is all for a dead cat, heads will roll.

  Dr. Quigley could flunk me for all I cared. Okay, that wasn’t even a teensy bit true. I couldn’t afford a single red flag on this test. Still, I wasn’t taking a musket ball to the head for anyone. But at least I knew which state I was in. Unless Wyck had flubbed that, too.

  What I needed was to find somewhere safe to figure out my next move. Without a sound, I pushed myself up and prepared to dash to the street for a better look at the battle. But before I could move, I heard an unexpected sound. A digital beeping. A boy and a girl, not much older than me, had slipped into the alley. The girl held up a mobile phone. “It’s Rachel,” she said.

  “Hey, where were you?” the girl said into the phone. As she talked, the boy caressed the back of her neck. She flicked his hand.

  What? I ducked back down and glanced at my Com as it analyzed the phone’s ringtone. Early twenty-first century. Right where I was supposed to be. Okay, maybe Wyck wasn’t a complete idiot after all.

  So what the blark was going on?

  “I swear we were at the pub for like twenty minutes. No, not Ye Olde Tavern. Ye Olde Pub,” she said. The boy nibbled her ear. She swatted his shoulder.

  “Ah, c’mon.” He kissed a path of pecks down her neck to her jaw. She hesitated a moment, then turned the phone off.

  The fade timer on my Com blipped down second by second. I only had five hours before being pulled back to my own time. Tight for any assignment, but even more so with today’s less-than-legal extracurricular activity. With a frantic finger, I tapped the edge of the round, smooth device—perfectly masked as a pocket watch to fit into most eras. Come on. It was taking forever to pinpoint my location, and my destination could be hours away. There was no mor
e time to waste. I had to do something.

  “Hello.” I stood up from behind the barrel. The boy and girl jumped apart.

  “You sh-sh-should … Th-th-this is … private,” stammered the girl.

  “Yeah, nothing says private like a makeout session amid musket fire,” I said under my breath as I pushed my way past the lovebirds and stuck my head around the corner of the alleyway.

  A sea of scarlet coats, side-holstered drums, and fifes greeted me. Crowds of spectators lined the street. Ahh, heck. Duped by a Revolutionary reenactment parade. I checked my fade timer again. I’d lost precious minutes. Then again, I couldn’t see my transporter doing something drastic like force fading me as soon as the time limit was up. Not that I would let it come to that.

  I’d been rubbing the eyelash of a scar at the base of my skull without even thinking about it. Enough. Focus. I flipped my Com to the geolocator. Williamsburg. A good 150 miles from this Chincowhatever place on the other side of Virginia.

  Contrary to public opinion, time travel is not an exact science. Whenever I need a good giggle, I’ll watch an antique movie where the hero zips back twenty years, mere minutes before an explosion, to save the heroine in the nick of time. Or, for an even bigger laugh, watch one where he Shifts forward to meet his grandkids. Snort.

  When Shift came to shove, getting me within two days and two hundred miles of my goal wasn’t shabby transporting. Not shabby at all. Not that I’d admit it to Wyck’s face.

  I stepped into the bright street and disappeared into a mob of strollers and camera-wielding dads. I stood on my tiptoes, a necessary measure given my small stature, in search of …

  Bingo. School buses.

  It wasn’t like I got extra credit for being frugal on missions. But then again, nobody handed out medals for blowing a big wad of era cash on a three-hour cab ride. A few bonus points for resourcefulness might even push me up a grade if I was teetering on the line. Up until six months ago, I never would have worried about a measly midterm. Then again, there were a lot of things I never would have considered before six months ago.

  Temporal smuggling, for one.

  Stop it. I had precious little time as it was. And certainly not enough to waste on a squeaky conscience. Everything had to appear completely normal on this assignment or I could get caught.

  I jogged across the street, into the sea of buses. Up and down the rows, I searched. Blark, there were a lot of them.

  “Come on, come on, come on.” I raced down the final row and let out a sigh of relief. The last block of buses said “Accomack County School District,” my destination. I staked out a hiding spot near them, behind an old oak.

  A swarm of elementary kids clambered past. Too bad I couldn’t hop on their bus. I was short for sixteen, but I wasn’t that short. Rule number one of Shifting: Don’t stick out.

  Okay, technically, that would be Rule number two, the first one being: Don’t bring anything from the past back with you. But that one’s a no-brainer. Fiddle with the past all you want, fine. It’s not like you can change it. Not really. (That’s what I had to keep reminding myself to go through with the extra job I’d been hired to do today.)

  But the future? No one wants to mess around with that.

  A familiar voice drifted toward me, and I leaned deeper into the tree’s shadow.

  “No, not the tavern. The pub.” It was the phone girl.

  “Well, you should have been in the bathroom covering that hickey,” said her friend.

  “Everyone knows it’s not a hickey until the blood vessels break. It’s a love bite.”

  “Yeah, well, guess what you can bite?”

  “Jealous much?”

  They stepped on one of the other buses with a group of high schoolers. Sweet relief. Their insipid banter was going to give me a headache.

  Except no.

  I reached for the base of my skull.

  My head wasn’t hurting. At all.

  Most Shifters called it the Buzz—those painful twinges that scrambled your thoughts and blotched your vision. Like mosquito bites in your brain. Some Shifts were worse than others. But it was always present. Until now.

  I pulled out my vial of Buzztabs. God bless the Initiative. Without their Assistance Fund I couldn’t afford the pills, and they were the only thing that quashed the sensation. Of course, if today’s side mission went well I’d never need their help again. I shook the tube. I wasn’t sure if I should take one even though I felt fine. But why did I feel fine?

  A soft hand brushed my shoulder before I had a chance to pop a tablet in my mouth.

  “You need to give those back to the nurse, dear. We’re about to leave.” The chaperone, who thankfully appeared to be a frazzled mother rather than a teacher, nudged me along without making eye contact. I put the pills back in my pocket.

  Chincoteague Island, here I come.

  While I hadn’t taken any formal classes like some of my friends, I considered myself a master of social camouflage. A pulled-down wisp of bang here, a curled-up slouch there, and I was all but invisible. As the bus filled, I fixed my eyes out the window and splayed my arms out so that I took up exactly two-thirds of the seat. Not so much that the chaperone would come and make a fuss. But enough to make it clear I liked riding solo. No one in their right mind would choose to sit by me.

  Unless it was the last seat left.

  A scrawny redheaded kid who was being devoured by a backpack twice his size shuffled up the aisle. His thick, concave glasses squished the sides of his head in like an insect. Everyone else on the bus appeared the typical sixteen or seventeen years old, but I doubted the increasingly flushed kid had seen the better side of fifteen yet. He gripped the back of the padded seat two rows up in desperate search of another vacant spot. When the chaperone began calling out names, he gave up and slumped down next to me.

  “Here,” he responded to the name “Finn Masterson,” saving me even the most basic of pleasantries. He watched me out of the corner of his eye with a look of part anticipation and part curiosity as we neared the end of the list. When the bus pulled out onto the highway, he broke down and said, “They didn’t call your name.”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Why didn’t they call your name?”

  “Probably because it wasn’t on the list.” I rubbed my thumb against some graffiti on the vinyl seat in front of us.

  “What is it?”

  “My name? Bree.”

  “Bree what?”

  “Bree Bennis.”

  “Oh.” He stared past me out the window, either deep in thought or avoiding eye contact, I couldn’t tell. Or care. I wasn’t even sure why I’d given him my real name, especially right now. Most of the time on Shifts, I doled out fake ones. But this kid had a sweet earnestness about him that kept the lie off my tongue.

  Plus, he might prove useful when we got to our destination. A little civility never hurt anyone. On occasion, it made the difference between getting home to the twenty-third century to sleep in my own bed and standing in line at a nineteenth-century soup kitchen while I figured out an assignment.

  Today it might be the difference in life and death.

  Finn dove into a comic book. I pulled out my mission package. There was no point in thinking about the extra job if I didn’t finish the assigned one. Nothing special with the wrapping. I shook it, and whatever was inside rattled around—probably a long-forgotten wedding ring or some other sentimental crap. It never ceased to amaze me the stuff people sent back to their ancestors. Lost love notes, baby teeth, underwear.

  Oh, the undies.

  And for what? Shifters saw it for what it was—pointless. It was always nonShifters who wanted to forge some imaginary connection to their past. So they could know that they were the ones who returned Great-Aunt Gertrude’s precious applesauce muffin recipe when it mysteriously showed up tucked in her front door after she’d misplaced it all those years before.

  Something bothered me now as I stared down at the box. Somethi
ng amiss. Muffy van Sloot. The name oozed money. Rich people never used the Institute for deliveries, any more so than they’d walk into a barber school for their next haircut. They used professional chronocouriers. Ehh. Maybe this was a feeble attempt to make amends for losing the family fortune.

  Or maybe it was all for a dead cat.

  Finn tucked away his comic and pulled out a dinky action figure. At first I thought he was engrossed in putting it together, but without looking at me he said, “You a new student?”

  “Kind of.” Vagueness was usually the best policy on missions. I hated lying, and technically, I wasn’t. I was a student. Just not of this school. Or century.

  “You weren’t on the same bus before.”

  I shrugged.

  “Do you live on the island or inland?”

  “You’re just a bundle of questions, aren’t you?”

  Finn’s cheeks flamed, and he snapped the last piece onto his toy. “I’m collecting the whole set.” He held up his little treasure and examined it before unzipping the leg pocket of his cargo pants. “I’ve seen the movie three times already. Seen it yet?”

  I looked at the action figure before he put it away. “Yeah.” And all three horrible sequels as well. Plus the franchise reboot that came out forty years after the original.

  I pressed my forehead against the window and watched trees whir past in a blur of green and brown. There was something comforting about forests, sticking around from one lifetime to the next. The cool glass rattled and thrummed against my temple, sending Buzz-like vibrations all the way to my teeth. But it wasn’t real. I still felt fine—better than fine. Did it mean something was wrong? A startling thought addled my mind: Maybe Mom stopped getting the Buzz before …

  No.

  She would have mentioned something like that. Mom wasn’t reckless, no matter what people whispered.

  Six months of what-ifs had seared me with a perpetual paranoia. But I needed to stay focused, especially today. Everything about this midterm had to appear absolutely normal. The sky started to peek through the foliage in a blipping Morse code, and the next thing I knew the bus began kathunk-kathunk-kathunking across a bridge. A long bridge.