“Me?”I almost laugh. This entire conversation is twelve different types of deranged. “I’m sorry, Ivernia didn’t adequately prepare me for dealing with time-traveling nobility.”
Now that the words are spoken, hanging in the air as heavy and dense as an incoming storm, I want someone to correct me. To say,Is that what you think’s happening? You couldn’t be more wrong.Instead, nobody moves. It’s as though we’re all waiting for someone else to take charge.
“Okay,” Sumner says, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. “What arewegoing to do?”
There’s a distant look behind William’s eyes. “This is madness,” he utters. “Might I return home? To my time? Though I do appreciate the help you’ve bestowed me and the, er, novelty of this era, I think it’s best if I take my leave.”
“We’re not that far advanced,” Sumner says. “There’s no way to send you back.”
William looks to me for confirmation. Even though I barelyknow him, the urge to stabilize this issue dominates all other emotions. Because not once has he been deceptive. He offered his real name. He told me exactly where he was from. William isn’t a con artist, or a scammer, or a liar. He’s a genuinely confused human currently living through an unexplainable phenomenon.
I turn the shilling over in my hand. If we get anyone else involved, I’m not sure what will happen. Will they take him away? Institutionalize him, at the very worst? And while he wouldn’t be our problem anymore, he’d face a world of new ones. I can’t bring myself to do that. He’s a student. Maybe nothere, exactly, but he’s also not a danger to anyone.
Nothing about this situation feels remotely real. But if what William’s saying is true, thenwhyis he here?
“Well,” I begin, “it can’t hurt to try. In the meantime, this should stay between us, right?”
“Right.” Sumner nudges his frames up his nose, then releases a relenting sigh as he turns to William. “I guess keep going to class? Or Enzo’s classes. Just to lie low until…” He’s looking at me now, like I can somehow conjure the end of that sentence.
“Until we figure this out,” I add.
“You’re willing to assist me?” There’s so much hope in the question, a reminder he also doesn’t have answers we’re seeking. I’m in way over my head, but Idowant to help—even if it feels impossible.
My mom runs a program for unhoused people in need ofassistance at her library in Pennsylvania. They partner with a local resource center to get their needs met. It took a ton of effort to get it off the ground, but she fought for it for years. And when I asked her why, she told me, “Because you don’t give up on people who really need it.”
I have my mother’s spirit in me, my father’s sense of curiosity. At the very least, I can try. It’ssomething.
So I say, “Yes.”
Sumner, who’s been studying me with a look of careful scrutiny, slouches into an unsteady chair, which tips over as soon as he makes contact. He topples to his side and immediately rights himself onto his shins, blinking at the offending piece of furniture before looking up at us.
I clasp a hand over my mouth to hide a laugh.
“It appears to be broken,” William offers helpfully.
But Sumner remains unfazed. He points a finger in my direction.
“Hope you’ve packed a spare flux capacitor,” he says. “You’re gonna need it.”
13
My perpetual state of denialdissipates the moment I spot William walking toward the dining hall for breakfast the following morning. Everyone’s huddled in groups or pairs, but William is by himself, outwardly looking like any other Ivernia student. For a split second, it’s as if I imagined everything else. Then I recall the weight of those coins, the tidy dates inked in his journal. The unexplainable and the impossible colliding into chaotic nonsense.
This does not happen in real life.
How do you go about correcting an implausible reality? Wrapping my head around William’s presence is already bewildering enough, not to mention it goes against most laws of physics and carefully constructed scholarly theories.
The grass is speckled with misty dew from the night before. I weave through chattering students on the paved walkway and slip beside William.
His grin reaches his eyes. “Good morning.”
“Hi.” I lower my voice. “Where did you get the uniform?”
“Sumner,” he says like,What else would you expect?
I make a quick mental checklist of items he may need. His own uniform, for starters. Clothes to wear in his downtime. Atoothbrush—though he must have acquired one by now. Did they even have toothbrushes in 1859? He can get by using the computers in the library, though not having onedoesmake him stand out. He’ll need a crash course on how to use it, let alone type. We only have so much time before the lost luggage excuse wears thin.
All of this is costly. I don’t have that kind of money, but that’s an issue for later. If I revive my old iPhone and connect it to Ivernia’s Wi-Fi, at least he’ll fit in better.
