In response he holds up his Switch and peels his headphones off his ears. “I’m just gaming.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say as he slides them back on. Lionel’s a bit of an outsider, a twiggy senior who’s had braces all four years of high school and must get mistaken for an eighth grader anytime he goes anywhere. I’d temporarily forgotten he likes to occupy this lounge, but it doesn’t matter.
I nod to the furthest corner from Lionel and turn to William. “Okay,” I say. “I’m going to need you to explain why the year 1859 is written all over your notebook.”
He stares at me for several seconds. “You went through my notebook?”
“I thought it was mine,” I say. “My dad has similar journals. I’ve been reading through them and—” I stop because this isn’t the point. “I’m just really confused.”
“Imagine how I felt,” he starts, “when that friend of yours began calling me Enzo.”
I freeze. “Your name isn’t Enzo?”
“No, and it’s rather vexing he—and everyone else—believes this to be true,” he says, frustration bubbling. “I must say, the absurdity of the last few days has been entirely troubling.”
My heartbeat slams against my rib cage. “Four days ago,” I say slowly. “What day was it?”
His amber eyes hold my gaze. Something in them softens, as if we share a mutual understanding of the events that haven’t quite added up.
“September second,” he whispers, then, sensing I’m seeking more from him, “in the year 1859.”
A sharp inhale fills my lungs. For a moment, we just stare at each other. Unmoving. I’m waiting for him to explain, or say he’s kidding, or provide any further context that could make this make sense.
My phone chimes.
He raises a finger in its direction. “That was my first bit of evidence.”
I try to process the fully illogical thoughts spiraling through my brain as I read Sumner’s text:where are you?
I start crafting an excuse when he sends me a screenshot of an Instagram message.
yo sumner, it’s ur assigned roommate enzo. idk what kind of magic trick u pulled but thank u. my parents enrolled me but I’m in Ibiza because my bud has a spot and we’ve been launching this dope vape brand and I was dragging my feet on school anyway but they insisted bc they want me out of trouble. can u keep covering for me that’d help me out a bunch, thx man
Oh my god.
My gaze lifts. “You’renotEnzo.”
“I’ve just told you that,” he insists. “And as I’ve said before, my name is Lord William Cromwell, born the first son of Lord and Lady Cromwell of Dunbry.”
I’m not familiar with British peerage, but even I can’t deny that sounds important. I cast a sideways glance to make sure Lionel is still immersed in his game. The back of his head of hair bobs over the couch as he sways to music only he can hear.
“Then why are youhere?”
“If I knew, believe me, I’d tell you.”
I call for backup.forgotten lounge, I text Sumner, then shove my phone in my pocket. “What is happening,” I say, more to myself. “This is not real.”
“Right, returning to my dream theory—”
I’m shaking my head. “You don’t have any identification on you? A license, or, like, a passport?” If I can identify this guy, then maybe there’s a chance of figuring out where he came from. And if that place happens to be a psychiatrist’s office.
William only removes Enzo’s student badge from his pocket.
“I don’t understand,” I say, which might just rank as the number one statement of the evening. “How did Sumner get you that?”
“You tell me,” he says, exasperated. “I don’t have my papers. Yet everything was already in order.”
Right, Sumner had said that, hadn’t he? Enzo had pre-registered. Since he’s the wait-listed transfer they were expecting, no one must have questioned him when Sumner brought him to administration. A fault in Ivernia’s security, sure, but there’s a bigger problem on our hands. William is not supposed to be here, and he is certainly not supposed to be posing as another student.
