Loop

by Karen Akins

  Reality was I had no idea what to do next.

  “So what now, Nancy Drew?” I asked.

  “For someone who was born after my great-great-great-grandchildren, you sure make a lot of anachronistic references.”

  I shrugged. “My mom had a thing for the twentieth century.”

  Finn made a low rumbling noise and punched one of my pillows. Up to this afternoon, I would have described his behavior as go-with-the-flow. To the point of obnoxious, really. Crash my Porsche? No problem. Suck me through time against all laws of physics? Just say when.

  He wasn’t going with anyone’s flow now.

  “What shimmied up your shorts?” I asked.

  “You’re trying to tell me this trail of bread crumbs isn’t driving you berserk? Your mom loved the twentieth century. My parents were born in the twentieth century. Does that seem like coincidence?”

  “It was a century, Finn. Do you realize how many people were born in those hundred years? Billions. More than any century before. Or since.”

  He picked the pillow up and twisted it, ignoring me. “If only there was a way to track any overlap when they could have met. Maybe your mom went on a mission to my mom’s time.”

  I chewed the edge of my lip. If I did find a connection, it could forever dissipate any doubts about my mother’s sanity. And any talk of her ending up in Resthaven. But if Finn and I got caught, ICE would yank their offer. She’d definitely end up in Resthaven.

  Blark. I wasn’t kidding anyone. Nothing gambled, nothing gotten.

  “There is a way,” I said.

  He dropped the pillow. “How?”

  “The chip.” I pointed to the nape of my neck. “Every Shift is registered. It’s public record.”

  One of the first concessions we made once we came out of hiding.

  “So not only do they track you across space and time; they record everywhere you’ve been? Isn’t that invasive?” he asked.

  “Better invasive than the alternative.”

  “The alternative being…?”

  I opened my mouth to answer but then snapped it shut. I couldn’t discuss this with him. It didn’t matter that he was in my time. He was still the son of a Shifter.

  “Nothing. Look, just trust me. Chips are a good thing. For everyone.” I fed him the usual rhetoric. “They keep Shifters safe and allow us to control when and where we go. And they give nonShifters peace of mind that we’re not taking advantage of our ability.”

  “Taking advantage? In what way?”

  “Well, look at your family and your money and your art collection. I know your dad doesn’t bring the paintings back with him, but it’s still cheating.”

  Some might even say stealing.

  Finn shrugged. “He can’t hold down a steady job. There’s no way he could explain the absences. He doesn’t do anything illegal. He only invests in companies in the past if he believes in what they’re doing and sees positive results.”

  “I know. But now that Shifters are out in the open, we can’t do stuff like that anymore.” The exact kind of stuff I’d agreed to do for Leto. Well, no. Leto was worse. He wasn’t investing in entrepreneurship or creativity. He was destroying them.

  “So we can track all your mom’s trips?” Finn clasped his hands together. “Good. Let’s go.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “You’re right. You should go. I’ll write down the dates to look for.”

  He pulled a journal and pen out of his pocket and started writing.

  Clueless.

  “The information is only available at the Central Infobank,” I said.

  My words didn’t produce their intended shock-and-awe. He didn’t look up from his scribbles.

  “Okay. How soon can you get over there?”

  “Let me blink and teleport there.” I closed my eyes. “Oh, wait. I forgot. I can’t.”

  “Actually, you kind of can. But I see your point.” He put down his pen.

  The location wasn’t even the problem. Even if I could teleport to the Central Infobank, I couldn’t access any records as a minor. And it was a secured database. I’d need valid ID.

  Finn sat back down and pulled me next to him. I was so spent, I didn’t even fight him. Neither of us spoke.

  Time was not on our side. Time to think. Time to discuss. Time to plan. It was an odd feeling. I had long thought of time as an ally of sorts. As of late, it was more like a snake waiting to strike or strangle. Or slither away.

  “I need you gone.” I knew it sounded cruel, but it was true. It would solve so much. I wouldn’t have to worry anymore about ICE discovering his presence.

  “I’m not going anywhere until we follow up on this. You don’t even know how to get rid of me. That Pad thing didn’t work. And I’m not going near another one until we’ve figured out this clue.”

  “Clue.” I snorted. More likely, a pointless Pod chase.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I realize the longer I’m here, the riskier things get for you. And the last thing I want is to put you in danger. I’ll leave…”

  My face split into a triumphant grin.

  “… after we find out what that saying means.”

  I did still need to figure out how to even Shift him home. This way, I’d be doing something productive in the meantime.

  “Deal.” I stuck out my hand. “I’ll try to figure out what an enigmatic grin is.”

  “We’ll try to figure it out.”

  “Fine. And, yes, the logical starting point would be researching my mother’s missions.”

  “So it’s simply a problem of getting to the Central Interbase?”

  “Infobank. And, no, that part should be fairly simple.” I ran my fingers over my head. “It’s a problem of hair.”

  * * *

  Oh my gosh, I was not doing this.

  I closed my eyes and dipped my fingers a few inches closer on the second try, but no dice. It was too gross. Just. Too. Gross.

  The door opened over on the student side of the locker room. My classmates’ chatter reverberated off the frosted-glass wall that separated the students’ side from the faculty’s—where I was currently crouched in the farthest shower stall peering down a filthy drainpipe. A single strand of hair clung to the side. I’d seen it once in a Mergie Hendrix movie. She had to impersonate a Canadian spy, so she snatched a hair the only place she could, in the shower—right before it would have gone down the drain, never to be seen again.

  It wasn’t this icky when she did it.

  It was now or never. Not only because of the threat of discovery posed by the students on the other side of the thick glass wall or a teacher walking in. The greater threat would soon be misted out of the inconspicuous spray nozzles that lined the edge of the pipe, leaving it as sparkling clean and hair-free as all the other ones. It was a miracle I had found this one.

  Yep, now or never.

  I gave the pipe one last inspection. Blech. Never. I pushed up on my hands to walk away. There had to be another way. The railing was slippery when I grabbed it. My hand smacked back down on the shower floor. The silver bracelet from my mother clanked against the tiles. The sound steeled me.

  “Now.”

  I plunged my hand as far as it would reach down the murky drainpipe, nearly up to my armpit. The tip of my middle finger grazed the edge and found the hair. Inch by inch, I pulled it up the side of the drain. The trail of sludge left in my finger’s wake grew thicker and thicker, but I didn’t dare move or reposition my hand lest the strand slip away. The lip of the drain posed a special challenge, how to get the hair all the way out without leaving a noticeable pile of pilge.

  There was also the small matter of not heaving up the twigs and seeds I’d eaten for lunch. Keeping one finger firmly glued to the precious hair, I pushed the heap of glop down with the other hand. It was just in time, too. The sprayers released their cleaning concoction. All signs that the drain had ever been used evaporated before my eyes.

 
; But I had the hair. Of course, if I was caught with the hair … Nope. Couldn’t think about that now. I was scared Shiftless as it was.

  I got up to leave, then stopped with a jolt. Coach Black’s voice boomed over the speaker. It took me a second to realize it was over on the student side. “Break’s over, ladies. You’ve got three minutes to get back out here before I send in the tru-ants. With their stingers on.”

  “They can sting my—” One of the girls on the other side of the wall must have enjoyed Gym about as much as I did.

  “Speaker’s turned on two-way, Silvey,” Coach’s voice boomed again.

  I was glad I hadn’t said it. I’d thought it. When I’d left after the first round of bruiseball, Coach Black had been under the impression I was headed straight to Nurse Granderson’s office with an aching shoulder. Coach might not take kindly to my detour into the faculty locker room. I wouldn’t last long with a bunch of tru-ants on the loose, though.

  BZZZZZZZZZZ!

  Aiggh. I threw my hands over my ears. I could only imagine how bad it was on the other side of the glass wall with those things chasing the girls around like the student-seeking missiles of annoyance that they are.

  Coach Black’s voice over the speaker was a blessed relief from the high-pitched, droning screech: “That was a warning, ladies.”

  Some warning. But it must have gotten through, because the next sound I heard was their feet running toward the door. Then silence. Except for the whir of the ants hovering around in the girls’ locker room, clanging into lockers and bumping into bathroom stalls.

  I took a tentative few steps toward the exit. Most of the ants had never had a reason to go on the staff side. It was unlikely they’d go on a manhunt for me here. Almost as if reading my mind, though, one of them zeroed in on my silhouette on the glass wall and began bumping against it like a bruiseball on the rampage. The tru-ant whined and whimpered, only a mild nuisance for the moment. But I needed to get out of there.

  The exit was only a few feet away, but before I could reach the button the door slid open a few inches. Murmurs of a hushed argument drifted into the room. I bolted for the farthest toilet stall and pulled my feet up as the arguers entered the locker room.

  “Do you think she’s put the pieces together yet or not?” asked the first person in a low voice. I could tell it was a man. It sounded like he was facing away, then toward me, then away again. It took me a moment to realize his voice was coming out of a speak-eazy. That voice. It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “Shh! Let me check if I’m alone.” The second person’s whisper was barely audible. I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. I would guess woman based on the location, but it was pretty clear whoever it was had ducked into the locker room for the sole purpose of getting out of the hall.

  “We’re running out of time,” said the man over the speak-eazy.

  “No such thing,” said the other person. There was a strange pitch to their voice now, like it was coming from an odd direction, below me, and I realized they must be checking under the shower and bathroom stalls. I pulled my feet up higher.

  “But what if she—?” asked the man.

  “This isn’t the time to discuss it. But, believe me, she will. Don’t underestimate her. I’ve made that mistake.” Even in hushed tones, the speaker cut the man off with authority. The person moved back toward the door, but before it opened they added, “And we need to be ready when she does. It certainly didn’t take her mom very long to figure things out. The last thing we need right now is to clean up another mess like that. But don’t worry. If it becomes a problem, I’ll take care of her.”

  chapter 18

  MOM’S CHIP HAD MALFUNCTIONED. That was all.

  An accident.

  So why couldn’t I breathe?

  The sound of gushing blood roared through my ears with each heartbeat as I felt my way blindly down the hall. I’d say the trip back to my room was a long one, but that would imply I remembered a single step of it. Somehow, I had the presence of mind to wrap the precious, precious hair around my pinky.

  I reached my dorm room and leaned my forehead against the wall outside. These walls that had been my only home for the last six months were suddenly caving in. Every night I’d spent crying, praying, screaming—someone had done this to me. To her.

  I could take the jabs, the insults and insinuations. But not this. Please not this.

  I bent my head toward the scanner but paused. I had no clue how to handle this with Finn. With all that protection talk from my future self, he already acted like I was walking around with one foot in the crematorium. If he knew what I now knew—that someone actually was a threat—I wouldn’t be able to pry him out of this century with a crowbar.

  I opened the door slowly in case Mimi had beaten me back and freed Finn from his closet exile already. But Mimi wasn’t there. As I moved toward the closet’s sensor, I heard his voice coming out of it and hesitated, pressing my ear to the door.

  “She’ll come around … no, she won’t. Come on, yes, she will. She doesn’t realize yet how she feels about you, but it’s in there. Oh, who are you kidding? You clung to her like a spider monkey. I mean, seriously? That was your plan? Georgie could have done a better job protecting her.” Finn laughed at his own joke. “Okay, maybe not Georgie. But the monkey might give you a run for your money.”

  I jerked away. There was no way I would let Finn know I’d overheard that. I backed up to the doorway and coughed.

  Finn’s personal pep talk came to a halt.

  I counted to three as slowly as I could and walked back to the closet. When it slid open, Finn met me with a smile so forced I wondered if he had sprained his cheek muscles.

  “Hey. I didn’t hear you come in.” He pushed himself up from his makeshift bed composed of a pile of clothes and blankets and brushed some nonexistent dust from his hands. He folded that same journal he’d pulled out earlier closed, tucked a pen in the back. “I was writing. Well, doodling. Mom made me start journaling after I found out about Dad. Couldn’t exactly go to a shrink, could I?”

  Oh, but he should have. First I caught him babbling to himself. Now he was flat-out lying to save face. Must. Stop. His. Mouth. I can think of one way to stop it. My mind drifted back to our kiss the day before. Get ahold of yourself, brain.

  “Have you been out there, uhh, long?” He bent down and massaged his calf.

  “No,” I said a tad too quickly, and flashed Finn a reassuring I-don’t-think-you’re-an-idiot look. It must have worked, because a relieved smile replaced his overexuberant one. I’d been so caught up in my own fears the last few days, I’d ignored the fact that Finn had his own. He winced as he tried to stretch his leg out. It really was cramped in that closet.

  “I got the hair.” It uncoiled from my finger, and I placed it in an empty Buzztab vial on the desk, picked it up, put it back down again. I couldn’t stop replaying what had happened in the locker room in my mind. Over and over. I was feeling claustrophobic again. I needed to go somewhere to think.

  Finn’s joints crackled as he stretched his shoulders.

  “Hey, would you like to get out of here for a little bit?” I asked.

  “Are you serious?” He looked at the door. “Is that smart?”

  “Not that way.” I pointed to the abandoned air grate at the top of my closet. “Through there. It’s a vent that leads to the greenhouses. Our Botany teacher’s leading a field trip all day with the younger students, so no one will be in there.”

  “I’d like that.”

  I shoved the vial containing the hair into my pocket. There was no way I was letting it out of my sight. Finn hoisted me through the grate, then scrambled up behind. The smell of lemongrass and rosebuds enveloped me as we approached the greenhouse opening. I peeked out to make sure it was empty. Finn helped me down before dropping beside me.

  “You come here often?”

  “Not as often as I’d like. It’s so peaceful. So green.”

/>   “It’s not easy being green,” said Finn, only in this garbled singsongy voice.

  “I … suppose.”

  “Really? You know who Ron Weasley is, but you don’t know Kermit.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Oh, please. You have Potterphile written all over you.”

  Hmmph. “She told you?”

  “Yep.”

  “You have no idea how much I wish I could smack her right about now.”

  “You have no idea how much I wish I could hold her.” He looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Neither of us gets our wish.” I twisted a waxy hoya leaf between my fingers. “It appears I’m good at starting messes. Not at clearing them up.”

  Before he could defend her, I said, “So who’s this Kermit guy?”

  “A singing frog puppet.”

  “That’s bizarre.”

  “Hey. I saw a tiny cow fly by your window this morning. A cow.”

  “They’re called pegamoos. It was someone’s pet. They’re notorious little escape artists.”

  “I want a pegamoo.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I do.”

  “You can’t house-train them.”

  “They fly.”

  “They bite.”

  “They fly.”

  “What if I told you they breathed fire?”

  “They. Fly. Plus, I don’t believe you.”

  “Why not?” I tried to look cross, but really I was curious.

  “Your tell.”

  “I have a tell?”

  “Your right eyelid twitches when you’re lying.”

  “It does not!” It twitched. Dang tell. “Did I lie to you often?”

  “Only once.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. We sat in silence for a minute, until, in a quiet voice, he said, “This is what I miss. Not some dramatic moment that you seem to think defines your future self. I miss the Kermits and the Harry Potters. This is when it’s hard to remember that you’re not you.”

  I squeezed his knee. “You’re still not getting a pegamoo.”

  “You don’t know that.”