by L. E. DeLano
“Honors history,” I explain. “Ben’s kind of a prodigy.”
“Really?” He looks at Ben and his eyes narrow slightly. “And how long have you lived here in Ardenville?”
“I moved here middle of last year,” Ben answers. “My mom got a job up here.”
“And how did you meet Jessa?”
“Finn,” I say with a smile through gritted teeth. “Ben and I met in class. And didn’t you promise Danny a game of Mario Kart?”
Finn raises his eyebrows. “I did.” He nods to Ben as he stands. “Hate to meet and run, but I promised Danny.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to take him on?” I ask him.
“I’ve done it once or twice,” he answers. “I’m sure I’ll manage to keep up.”
“Not with Danny,” Ben and I chorus together.
Finn’s eyes hold mine for a moment before he leaves the room. Ben watches him go.
“So what’s his story?” he asks me quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“You meet this new guy and coincidentally, he’s there when someone tries to run you over?”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. “Ben.” I can’t keep the exasperation out of my voice. Honestly, between the two of them I’m ready to jump off the bridge again. “He pulled me out of the creek. He saved my life—I would have drowned.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean he owns you,” Ben grumps.
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t say that he did.”
He gets up from the chair. “I need to get going.”
“You just got here,” I remind him. “You know you can stay awhile.”
Ben’s eyes move to the doorway Finn just passed through, then back again. “Can’t,” he says. “I just came by to see how you were holding up. I’ve got a game tonight to get ready for.”
“Maybe your soccer honey will be there,” I say hopefully.
“Nah. She’s into somebody else already.”
I raise my brows. “Great girl you almost had there.”
“Tell me about it.” He drains his soda, setting the can on the kitchen counter. “See ya Monday, St. Clair.”
“See ya,” I call after him. I hear Finn and Danny shout their good-byes, and as the door closes, I get up to go see how their game is going.
As expected, Danny is gleefully beating Finn, racing circles around him. It’s not even close. As Baby Peach raises her trophy in the air, Danny jumps up to do a victory dance.
“Beat you!”
“And he did it in a stroller, even,” I point out.
“I never stood a chance,” Finn says, shaking his head. “He’s a demon on wheels.”
“Do I kill people with my car?” Danny asks.
“No, Danny,” I affirm. “We don’t kill people.”
“Does Ben kill people?” he asks.
“What?” I look at him and shake my head. “No, Danny. Ben doesn’t kill anybody. How can you say that? Ben is your friend.”
“But when he doesn’t drive his truck, does he kill them?” he insists. “When he’s in his blue Dad car?”
I slide my eyes to Finn, who gets up from his chair slowly. “You saw Ben driving the car?” Finn asks. “The one that almost hit Jessa?”
“I didn’t see. It was too fast. Too fast.” Danny sits back down and reloads the game. “Let’s race!” he says.
“I’m done for now, Danny,” Finn says. “I have to go.”
He walks with me into the other room, and then puts his hand on my arm. He lowers his voice and asks, “What was all that about?”
I sigh. “The car that almost hit me was a blue car,” I say. “And he knows Ben’s dad drives a blue car, because Ben’s driven it here before. In his mind that means from now on, anyone with a blue car kills people.”
“And Ben drives a truck.”
“Yeah.” I fold one leg under me as I start to sink down into the couch. I freeze halfway down and I’m sure I look comical for a moment, before I shake my head and finish sitting.
“What?” Finn’s too clever to have missed that.
“It’s nothing. Stupid.” I paste a smile on my face, but my stomach is suddenly in a knot.
Finn crouches down in front of me, raising my chin with his fingers. “What, Jessa?”
I almost forget to answer him. His face is very close, and my eyes slide down to his lips, like they’re beyond my control.
“Jessa—what?”
I take a deep breath. “Ben’s truck broke down on Monday.”
Finn’s eyes widen. “So he could have been in his dad’s car?”
I dismiss that outright. “No, he said his dad needed the car. He even canceled a date because of it. He couldn’t have been driving—I would have seen him.”
“It all happened very fast, Jessa,” Finn points out.
“This is Ben we’re talking about.”
“I know. And you wouldn’t necessarily have noticed him, because you weren’t looking for him.”
“What are you saying, Finn?”
“I’m saying, maybe he was looking for you.”
22
Accusations and Assignments
It’s Saturday night, but I’m not out having a social life. Instead, I took a pain pill for my shoulder that put me to sleep and now I’m sitting on the edge of Mario’s desk in our classroom, swinging my legs back and forth and trying really hard not to roll my eyes as Finn speaks.
“Because of some new information,” he says, “we think it might be Ben.”
“Ben. Hmmm.” Mario’s eyes meet Rudy’s, and they both look concerned. We’re having a full meeting tonight, to consider what Finn calls the new development.
“Finn thinks it might be Ben,” I correct him. “He potentially could have been driving a blue car on Monday, but that’s pretty far-fetched.”
“And he doesn’t have an alibi,” Finn supplies.
“Yes, he does,” I refute. “He said his dad took the car to work.”
“He said,” Finn reminds me. “And we do know he’s got motive,” he continues. “I’m sure he’s not exactly thrilled to have me here.”
“No,” Rudy agrees. “I would imagine he’s not.”
Mario taps his chin thoughtfully. “We can’t rule him out as a possibility.” His eyes are staring off somewhere in the distance, as if he can see all the multitude of unrolling possible futures branching off every choice and diverting factor.
“He wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I assert vehemently. “I know Ben. He’s not like that.”
“It’s possible that Ben is being influenced,” Mario says. “Travelers—particularly seasoned ones—know exactly how to set off a subtle chain of events to achieve a desired goal.”
“Could someone influence him to borrow his father’s car and drive across a bridge that’s been closed for decades?” Finn asks.
“They couldn’t,” I answer through gritted teeth, “especially if he wasn’t in the car.”
“When I talk about influence, I mean that Ben might be unknowingly providing information to the Traveler who’s targeting Jessa,” Mario says. “Someone does seem to have information regarding her whereabouts.”
“Is it possible that Ben is the Traveler?” Finn asks.
“I’ve already looked into anyone who deals with Jessa on a day-to-day basis,” Rudy explains. “If there were another Traveler among them, I would have been informed. We’ve put the word out and so far, no Dreamer has claimed ownership of a rogue Traveler.”
“You all need to get this out of your heads,” I say. “Ben’s not a Traveler, and he’s not a killer.”
“You trust him.” Mario makes it a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” I am firm on this. But a look at Finn says he’s not so sure.
“Perhaps Finn isn’t being entirely unbiased,” Rudy says, eyeing him shrewdly.
“Ya think?” I snark.
Finn glares at me in response. “I’m looking at every option, Jessa.” He leans sullenly against the wall.
“We should investigate a little more thoroughly,” Rudy suggests.
Mario nods. “Agreed.”
“She needs someone closer at hand,” Rudy says thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should make accommodations for Finn to join her at school.”
“You can do that?” I ask.
“We can set events into motion and arrange it,” Rudy says. “Just as I arranged his arrival here in the first place.”
“Then I can keep a closer eye on you,” Finn says. “And Ben, too.”
“You’re wasting your time with Ben,” I say again.
“We just want to observe the situation,” Mario says placatingly. “In the meantime, I’ve got your first assignment.”
“Really?” I brighten instantly.
“She’s not really at the top of her game,” Finn says, frowning.
“This is an easy one,” Mario assures him. “A minor adjustment. She won’t be gone more than ten minutes.”
“It’s just as well,” Rudy says. “Finn, you and I have some follow-up to discuss.”
Finn’s not listening, so Rudy gently clears his throat.
“Sorry,” Finn mumbles, pushing off the wall where he’d been leaning. He gives me one last look over his shoulder before he follows Rudy out the red door.
Mario gestures for me to take a seat at a desk as the whiteboard shimmers to life behind him. A scene appears—like I’m watching a movie. It’s a park with lots of grass and benches, walking trails, and a fountain in the background.
“Where is that?” I ask.
“Arizona again,” he says.
“Arizona has grass?”
“In places. It’s not all desert, you know.” He leans back against his desk. “So, Jessa, are you ready for your first assignment?”
“I guess. You said it won’t take long, right?”
“It’s not difficult. Just a routine reroute.”
“So what do I do?”
He turns back to the scene to gesture toward a girl with curly brown hair, sitting alone on a bench near the far side of the open field.
“See her? Go over there, and recommend the book that’s on the bench next to her.”
I look at the girl. “That’s it?” It certainly doesn’t seem difficult.
“That’s it,” he affirms.
“That doesn’t seem life-altering.”
He shrugs. “This is typical, Jessa. You seem to think we’re going to send you on epic quests, but a lot of what we have you do is pretty minimal.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll give it a try.”
“You’ll need to make the transfer at seven thirteen tomorrow morning,” Mario instructs. “Go straight over to her and find a way to talk about the book. Then get right out of there.”
“What am I using for a mirror over there?”
Mario smiles. “There’s a public restroom just behind us.” He waves a hand and the scene behind him changes to show me the location. “Just follow the running trail back around to it. It loops the field.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“It usually is.”
“Usually?”
“If it’s done right.” He waves his hand and the scene changes again. “Here’s the inside of the restroom, so you know what to look for. Once you’ve been somewhere, you can just think of the place, but early on you might need more visual cues. Like landmarks versus street directions when you drive.”
I study the scene, focusing on a bit of graffiti on one wall. I should be able to remember that. Once I’m satisfied I’ve gotten a good look, I turn back to Mario and give him a thumbs-up.
“We’ll work up to more. But this is a good start,” he says, striding over to the red door. I follow him, glancing back one last time at the scene on the board.
“Remember, Jessa—do the job and keep it simple.”
“Simple. Got it.”
He opens the door for me to step through. A moment later I’m in bed, staring blearily at my alarm clock, and it’s 7:05.
“Crap!”
I hastily brush my teeth and pull on some clothes.
“A little more notice would be appreciated,” I grumble aloud, in case Mario can hear me. I know I don’t have to worry about how I look, since I’m changing bodies, but I don’t want her coming over to my morning breath and ratty pajamas.
At 7:13 exactly, I touch my hand to the mirror, and away I go.
I’m in the bathroom, and once again, I’m finding it hard to breathe in my new body.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I moan. Ugh. This Jessa is a runner. Who gets up this early in the morning to run without rabid animals chasing them or something? I’m coated in a thin film of sweat, and it’s clear I’ve been running for a while. I run track at school here, and I’m training for a 10K next month.
“Okay,” I say, giving myself a pep talk as I jog in place. “I can do this.”
I jog through the door and out onto the trail, circling around the path on the far side until I come up behind the girl on the bench. She has a pile of papers sitting next to her, and the book is perched on top of them. She’s staring at her phone, and she doesn’t even know I exist. I run by, bump into the bench, and knock the book off the pile onto the ground.
“Oh my gosh!” I say, trying to sound convincing. “I’m so sorry! There was a squirrel—it ran right in front of me!”
“Oh, it’s okay,” she reassures me. “I don’t like this book anyway.”
I crouch down, picking it up off the ground. I don’t recognize the title, and I know nothing about it.
“Yeah, it starts a little slow,” I improvise.
“You’re telling me.” She rolls her eyes. “Everybody loves it, but I just couldn’t get past that first chapter.”
“You need to!” I say with conviction. “Seriously. It’s so worth it. Don’t let the first chapter throw you.”
“Really?” she says skeptically.
“Really. It’s one of the best reads I’ve had in a long time.”
She takes the book from me. “Thanks. I guess I’ll give it another shot.”
“You won’t regret it,” I assure her. Then I take off jogging.
I’m jogging, I think. I can feel my legs stretching and the blood pumping in my veins. I’m moving at a pretty good clip, and the wind is rushing past my face. I feel like I could run for hours. This is amazing!
I loop the path twice more before I reluctantly head back toward the restroom. I can’t risk stomping a butterfly or something and wrecking things over here, but at the same time … I’ve never been an athlete before. Not that I’m horribly out of shape, but I’m also not the most coordinated person I know. And I don’t just run here … I dance. Oh, wow. I dance.
The memories burst inside me of recitals and competitions, spinning and flying through the air as my partners lift me or I leap impossibly high. I’ve got a performance next weekend, as a matter of fact.
I hesitate outside the restroom, and then I get a grip on myself and force myself to go back inside. There’s a woman there with a toddler, and I grab some paper towels, wet them down, and dab them to my face while I’m waiting. They finally clear out. I start to put my hand to the mirror, but I pause.
“Hold on,” I tell her. “Do you mind?”
She doesn’t seem to object, so I step back and kick off my shoes. I give one more glance at the door, and then I spread my arms wide. I set my feet apart, and with one strong kick off my right leg, I am turning. My head snaps around, and I spot perfectly as my body spins almost effortlessly on the tiled bathroom floor. Oh, I could do this all day.…
I snap to a stop, panting, red-faced, and exhilarated. I throw my arms around myself and laugh out loud. “Oh my God!” I say. “I can dance!”
I look at myself in the mirror.
“I can’t dance,” I say with a sigh. “You can dance. I get to sit on a couch with a bruised shoulder.”
Now I feel guilty. She’s probably miserable in my body. I touch my hand to the glass, a
nd she does as well, but before we push through, I see her glance back one last time.
I’m standing in my mom’s room. She only works one job on Sundays, and today she doesn’t go in until later. She’s asleep in bed, and the covers are pulled down on one side. The other me had been lying there next to her, just watching her sleep. I’d curved myself into her, and she’d pulled me close, just like when I was little.
I shove my fist to my mouth, and tears blur my vision as the memories of another life fill my head.
My mom died four years ago in a car accident. Dad says if she’d been two minutes earlier getting onto the interstate, she would never have been part of the pileup.
I often picture her stopping at the end of the block that day because she forgot her purse, and turning around to go home and get it. Or hitting snooze one extra time on the alarm clock that morning. Who knows what choice she made that did it? And it doesn’t matter if I do know or not. It’s done. There, it’s done, and everyone has had to live with it.
Other me has seen her many times while traveling. And every time, every single time, all I want to do is just be there, normal and ordinary. Just living a life with her in it. I only wish she could have seen me dance just once.
I step through the doorway to the hall bathroom and blow my nose before I splash some water on my face and pull myself together. Then I go in and lie back down next to my mom.
“Hey,” she says sleepily. “Is your shoulder hurting?”
“No, not really. I had a bad dream.” That wasn’t really a dream.
She gives me a sympathetic look. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost nine.”
She stretches and gives a yawn. “I’d better get started on breakfast,” she says, sitting up. “Danny will be up soon.”
“Mom?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Do you think … could I maybe try dance lessons?”
She looks over her shoulder at me. “Dance lessons?”
“I can pay for them,” I say hurriedly. “I just think I might want to try it.”
She gives a shrug. “Sure. We have a lady who teaches classes at the retirement home—she runs the dance studio here in town. I could ask her for the information.”
“Would you, please?”
“I’ll be tossing roses at your first performance,” she says with a grin. “Promise.”