Alora’s brow crinkles, but she doesn’t say anything. She picks up the forgotten sketchbook and shoves it back in her bag. When she stands, she glares at me. “You know, you can’t kiss somebody then pull back and pretend nothing’s wrong. Did I do something?”
I jump up and grab her hands. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I felt bad. I thought I was taking advantage of you.”
“You weren’t,” she snaps.
I’ve got to be smart about this. She thinks something is wrong with her and that’s not it. “Alora, you’ve been through a lot in the past few days. And you’re about to go to another doc and go through who knows how many tests.” I take a deep breath as the guilt spikes. “So I don’t feel right doing this. Not now.”
She snatches her hands back. “You know what? I need a friend. I need someone who likes me and wants to be with me. Not another protector. Aunt Grace has that area covered.”
She turns and stomps away, leaving me gaping at her.
I should follow Alora, but I stay put. I could kick myself for kissing her. I acted like Zed. No, I’m worse. He just leers at the hot ghosts and talks a lot of junk, but he’s never acted on it. Me kissing Alora, now that was stupid.
And what if she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore? Grace is putting all her faith in letting docs find the answers, but they won’t. It’s impossible for them to detect the space-bending gene. Alora is going to be subjected to test after test. It’s going to torment her. I don’t want her to go through that.
But what if she’s supposed to go through those tests? I’m not supposed to change things.
This is so damn hard to figure out. Things would be so much simpler if I could flip a switch and make her memories of why her parents abandoned her all those years ago come back.
Something clicks with that thought. I’d already wondered if Alora’s memories were deliberately erased. That could have been what happened, especially if Colonel Fairbanks is involved. Or Alora could have just forgotten because it happened so long ago. Either way, I can help her regain her memories. A Mind Redeemer can reverse the effects of a memory erasure or help suppressed memories resurface.
The problem is I’d have to shift back to 2146 to get one.
34
ALORA
MAY 16, 2013
“You need to finish your lunch,” Aunt Grace says, glancing at the half-eaten cheeseburger I wrapped and tossed on the truck’s dashboard.
We’re back in Willow Creek after spending most of the morning at the medical imaging center in Athens. It took forever for someone to call me to the back, and another hour to perform the scan. I wonder if they’ll find a tumor. Then again, finding nothing won’t be much comfort, either, but I won’t know for a few more days. Just what I wanted, more waiting and wondering.
“Worrying won’t help. You need to keep your strength up.”
I ignore her. Arguing with Aunt Grace is pointless. She doesn’t understand forcing food down my throat will probably make me puke. She’s old school—eating always solves problems. Or at least lessens them.
I wish I could talk to Sela, but we’re still on the outs. Despite everything that’s happened to me, she walks right by me at school as if I’m invisible. Just like everyone else. Even though the police investigated and declared that I’m not to blame for Trevor’s accident, everyone still thinks I’m responsible. They’ve been saying that it’s really convenient that I can’t remember Trevor supposedly stopping and letting me out somewhere, which is what the police chief concluded. If Trevor said I’m to blame, then that must be the truth.
I stare out the window and frown. It’s too bright and cheerful for my mood. I bet if I rolled the window down, birds would be chirping a Disney tune.
Aunt Grace slows and pulls into the parking lot of The Gingerbread House.
“Why are you stopping here?” I ask.
Aunt Grace gives me one of her are you serious looks. “Because I’m tired of your moping.”
“Aunt Grace, I don’t . . .”
She holds up a hand. “Let me finish.” She sighs and her face softens. “I know you don’t want to go through all those tests, but if something’s wrong, we need to know so we can get it fixed. You’re all I’ve got left in the world and I’m gonna do what it takes to make sure you’re all right.”
“But what about the bills?”
“Don’t worry about that. You’re more important.”
I open my mouth, ready to argue, but instead a choked sob slips out. She leans over and holds me close, stroking my hair. When I’m done crying, I look up, hiccuping.
“Now, don’t you feel better?” she asks, smiling.
“I guess so.”
“That’s my girl. Keeping that stuff bottled inside is toxic. You could give yourself an ulcer, worrying about things all the time.”
“That would be better than a brain tumor.”
“Not funny,” she answers in a flat voice. “Now come on. There’s nothing some cupcakes won’t fix.”
When we walk in the store, Mrs. Randolph gasps. “Well, well, look who’s decided to grace me with her presence.”
Normally I’d have a retort, but my mind is blank, thanks to the tumor I more than likely have. “I know,” is all I can think to say.
Aunt Grace goes straight to Mrs. Randolph and begins to chat with her. Aunt Grace is probably spilling my business while Mrs. Randolph shares the latest gossip. The joys of small-town life.
I wander around the shop, inspecting the spread. The smell of fresh bread, warm cookies, and cakes welcomes me like an old friend. My traitorous stomach doesn’t care. It churns and protests. Sweat beads on my face.
Aunt Grace and Mrs. Randolph don’t even notice as I slip away to the restroom. I close the door and prop my hands on the sink, taking in huge gulps of air. Then I splash my face with cold water. When I feel stronger, I straighten and lean back against the door.
My hand creeps up and cups my necklace. Now that I know most of the truth about my father, it’s been a comfort, like a long lost gift from him. I hate that I have to hide it under my shirt. Squeezing it, I close my eyes. I wish everything was different.
Things began to fall apart when Trevor first hit on me. I wish there was some way I could go back in time and refuse to even meet with him that Wednesday. Then maybe he wouldn’t be in ICU, near death, and Naomi would still be alive. And I wouldn’t have this heavy guilt on top of the whole blackout business.
A too-familiar wave of dizziness washes over me. Crap, this had to happen again. I force myself to hold still and breathe slowly, but it doesn’t work. Panicked, I crack open my eyes, but everything is going black.
When I come to, I’m still leaning against the door. Maybe I wasn’t out too long this time. That would be nice for a change, instead of being unconscious for hours.
I check my appearance in the mirror. My face is colorless and dark smudges line my eyes. My hair is a mess. I try to quickly smooth down the flyaway strands and frown. It’s funny how this light makes my skin look shimmery. Or I could be imagining it. That’s possible if I have a brain tumor, right?
The air in the bakery is cooler than it was in the restroom. As I hurry to the front of the store, I expect to hear Aunt Grace and Mrs. Randolph still yapping, but all I can make out is the faint sounds of a television set.
The moment I get to the end of the hallway I freeze, unable to believe what I’m seeing.
It’s me, standing on the other side of the room at the cash register.
When I’m able to catch my breath, I take a few hesitant steps forward, thinking the other me will disappear. It has to be a hallucination.
It has to be.
The other Alora finishes talking with Mrs. Randolph and heads toward the door. She’s wearing a pink T-shirt and faded denim capris—the same outfit I wore when Trevor first asked me out right after detention.
Oh my God. What’s happening to me?
I’m drawn to her like a magnet. I watch as she slows b
efore reaching the door and studies the shop. I remember doing that, thinking someone was watching me. Then someone touched me. I’m standing so close I could touch her, but I’m afraid.
I look down at myself. I’m still here, but the other Alora can’t see me. She has to be a hallucination or I’m here in spirit form. I almost laugh, thinking how some of Aunt Grace’s guests would love that.
The other Alora’s face pinches as she turns back to the door. Before I can change my mind, I reach out my hand. I’m not sure what I expect, but when my fingers brush against warm flesh, a chill shoots through my body.
She yells and Mrs. Randolph rushes around the counter, asking what’s wrong. I don’t hang around. I’m pretty certain I’m going to puke.
I make it back to the bathroom and lean over the toilet for a few moments, expecting to hurl. I never do. My stomach still churns, though.
How was that possible? I keep replaying the episode in my head. Maybe I imagined it. But I remember it happening weeks ago. How the touch seemed to sear into my skin. I thought I was going nuts then, but now it’s worse. The other me felt so real.
Pressure settles over my chest and I gasp for air. Not again. I drop the lid to the toilet and sit, while lowering my head between my knees. Breathe in. Breathe out.
I close my eyes and clasp the necklace. I’d give anything to get back to where I was. Erase the last few minutes I witnessed.
Then blackness swallows me.
The first thing I do when I come to is puke. Footsteps run down the hallway, and the door bursts open. “Oh, sweet heavens!” Aunt Grace shrieks as she rushes to me, her face pale.
Mrs. Randolph hovers in the doorway, looking horrified. Her hand flutters to her chest and she asks, “Do you want me to call 9-1-1?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should take her to the hospital myself.”
I jolt up when I hear those words. I want to tell her about the hallucination, but hearing the word hospital makes me realize I don’t want to go there. If I am dying, I’ll have to spend enough time there in the future. “I’m fine, Aunt Grace. I’m just nervous.”
She makes a tsk-ing sound and helps me stand. “That cheeseburger probably didn’t help. You need soup.”
Mrs. Randolph chimes in, “Oh yes, that’ll make everything better.”
If only that were true.
Aunt Grace escorts me back to the truck like I’m an invalid. As I wait for her to climb in the driver’s side, I can’t help but wonder if I should have told her what I saw.
I wonder what I’ll see next if the hallucinations continue.
35
ALORA
MAY 16, 2013
It’s almost three o’clock when I wake from my nap. I stretch on the soft covers, feeling a little better, but then the incident at the bakery ignites in my mind.
Instant bad mood.
The room seems to shrink. I grab the bag with my sketchbook and head out to the river. At least I don’t have to worry about running into Trevor.
I’m almost done with a sketch of me and the other Alora when Bridger emerges from the woods. Heat rushes through me as I remember the kiss from last week. I don’t know why, but he’s been distant since it happened, and that hurts so much. I thought he was starting to like me in that way. I guess he changed his mind.
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” he says when he reaches me. “Grace told me you weren’t feeling well.”
“I’m okay now. I just needed a nap.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
I wait for him to say something else, but he just clasps his hands behind his back and rocks on his heels. I don’t like how awkward he acts around me now. Even though he’s only been here for a month, it feels like we’ve been friends forever. But that amazing and awful kiss changed everything. I shift my gaze from him.
“What are you drawing?” he finally asks.
I snap the book shut and slip it into my bag. “It’s nothing.”
Bridger sits next to me and stares at his hands, which he’s rubbing together. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, startled.
“For last week. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I took advantage of you.” He’s still won’t look at me.
And now I feel even worse. So he thinks he’s to blame for my awful mood. Sure, the kiss unnerved me, but I did like it.
“Don’t apologize,” I say, drawing my legs to my chest. “The kiss was nice.” Just great, that sounded super lame. Who says a kiss is nice? “No, it was more than nice. It was really sweet.”
That didn’t sound much better.
Bridger finally looks my way, offering a tentative smile. “I’m glad. I thought you hated me.”
“I couldn’t hate you for that. Not when I enjoyed it.” Yeah, I wish I could take that last sentence back.
He gives a light laugh and stares at his hands again. “Me too.”
More awkward silence. I want to go back to being comfortable around him, being myself. I need to make things right. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you much at breakfast. I was worried about my appointment. And then I had another blackout.”
His head snaps in my direction. “What? Did you wake up somewhere else again?”
I’m not sure I want to tell anyone about this latest incident. It’s still burning in my mind, a reminder something is very wrong with me.
“No, I stayed in the same place.”
“That’s not so bad,” he says, looking hopeful. “You must not have been out very long.”
“Yeah, but . . .” I start and then stop. I want to kick myself for almost blurting out what happened next. It’s one thing to black out and not remember how you get from one place to another. It’s crazy territory when you think you can see yourself from several weeks in the past. I hope he didn’t notice the slip.
“But what?” he asks, his expression full of concern. I feel my resolve starting to slip. Maybe he won’t think I’m crazy. Maybe he’ll still want to be my friend.
I swallow and take a deep breath. Bridger smiles encouragingly, so I tell him what happened.
But by the time I’m finished, he’s not smiling anymore. He’s still as a stone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I . . . it’s just,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck, “I wasn’t expecting to hear that.”
“Yeah, it freaked me out too.”
“I can imagine. Look, I’ve got to go. There’s something I need to do.”
My stomach sinks as he hurries away. I feel so completely and utterly stupid for telling him the truth, so naive for trusting him. I wish I could take it all back.
As I watch him melt into the forest, anger punctures through the hurt. How could he act all concerned and then just leave? Running away with some lame excuse isn’t going to cut it. I snatch up my backpack and sprint after him, shouting his name. He ignores me at first, but I keep at it, determined to make him stop.
“What’s your problem?” I ask when I catch up to him. “Why did you want to know what’s going on with me and then take off the minute I told you?”
“It’s not like that. I remembered something I have to do.” He can’t look me in the eye again.
“Right, and I’m a fairy princess. I don’t expect you to understand what I’m going through, but don’t treat me like this. Whatever’s wrong with me isn’t contagious.”
His face reddens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Whatever,” I mutter. “I know you think I’m nuts, but you could’ve at least had the decency to not run off. I mean, do you think I like having this happen to me? I didn’t choose this.”
Bridger’s face is a flurry of emotion. “I know you can’t help it. It’s something you were born with.”
My heart does this weird thud. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t say anything for several uncomfortable seconds. “What if you weren’t hallucinating at the bakery?”
&n
bsp; I snort. “Okay, and if I wasn’t hallucinating, then what was it?”
“What if I said you traveled back in time?”
My mouth drops open.
He rushes on, “You said before you blacked out that you wished you could go back to before all this started, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, that could’ve been the trigger to send you back in time.” He steps back and raises his eyebrows at me, as if taunting me.
I’m not taking that bait. I jab him in the chest with my finger. “You must think I’m an idiot.”
“No, I don’t,” he says, frowning.
“Yes, you do. I mean, really, time travel? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. If you think I’m crazy, then say it to my face. Don’t make up a stupid story.”
“But I’m not . . .”
I brush past him. “Save it,” I hiss over my shoulder. “And don’t worry about having to be around me anymore. I have no interest in continuing this so-called friendship.”
36
BRIDGER
MAY 17, 2013
It’s a little after two in the morning when I make my move. I activate my uniform cloak and slip out of my room. The silence is suffocating as I creep down the hallway. My mind is still reeling from the knowledge that Alora is a Space Bender and a Time Bender. A Dual Talent.
They’re not supposed to exist.
When I stop at Alora’s door, my pulse spikes. Fure, I hate doing this. But if I’m going to shift to 2146 to get a Mind Redeemer, I’m not leaving without the Jewill. Future tech can’t remain in this time. And if I can’t return, at least I’ll know the Jewill can’t be used to alter the timeline.
Before I can change my mind, I twist the door handle. It’s locked. Figures. I pull a pin out of my pocket and within seconds, the door is open. Careful to not make any noises, I slip in through the cracked door.
I survey the room before moving. It smells like Alora—full of that lavender sent that always clings to her. I shove aside the guilt for invading her room yet again. Then I stay still until my eyes adjust to the darkness.
I don’t even bother searching the room. I only need two things.
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