An inscrutable expression falls over his face. “Look, as much as I appreciate your voracious appetite for resolution, this is an important year. We’re two weeks into the semester and a bit in over our heads, so let’s get through the rest of this week, make sure William cools it with the, uh, chauvinistic incidents, then circle back to the whole time-travel conundrum.”
My face heats for the second time tonight and, darkness be my friend, I hope it’s not obvious. Ranking and grades and college matter to me, too, but right now, this seems bigger than all of that. As much as I wish it weren’t true, I could really use Sumner’s help right now.
I cross my arms across my chest. “Why are you dragging your feet on this?”
“Because,” he says deliberately, as though I am being completely unreasonable, “it’s not something we’re going to solvetonight.” He raises a brow. “Unless you have a time machine I don’t know about.”
This is the sensible answer, one hard to argue with, so I withhold my urge to lob a smart retort his way.
Sensing this conversation is over, he starts walking backward, pointing at me as he takes careful steps toward Segner House. “I’ll find you this weekend.”
A deep sigh unearths itself from my lungs. It’s not a promise, but at least it’s a start.
16
Analiese and I lounge ona blanket near the lake, textbooks and spiral notebooks and gel pens spread between us.
This is what we’ve always done. Studying in the common room on Tuesday and Thursday nights, lake or library on Sundays, depending on the weather. This routine provides me with stability, even if so much is different now. Studying has its own rhythm and order. I entrap myself in a bubble where it’s okay to get lost in the work, and it tethers me in a way my scattered thoughts can’t.
When Analiese asked why I’d been so absent this week, I created vague excuses. I let her believe I was in my room when, in reality, I was showing William how to use my old phone and WhatsApp to send messages. “Like a telegraph,” he’d marveled. And after I’d answered his ten thousand questions, he began sending texts one word at a time until I explained it didn’t really work like that.
There was another evening he’d rushed to find me in the Hyde commons and, voice low and urgent, said, “Youmustcome see what’s going on in the toilets.”
“You know,” I’d replied, “it’s okay to keep some things to yourself.”
As it turned out, he was utterly fascinated by the concept of automatic hand dryers.
Other evenings, when Sumner was off doing god knows what, I took over trying to keep William out of trouble while simultaneously explaining the finer points of our current era—like why you can’t drink mouthwash and how “What’s up?” isn’t a question that requires a literal answer. Another time, he’d thrown a finger toward the sky and exclaimed, “Preposterous!” at an airplane, which then led to a deep dive on modern aviation.
Technology was another challenge. I taught him how to submit assignments from the library’s computer lab and how to check his class portal. Watching him sit there, studying the screen, almost made me believe he could fit in. Despite teaching these contemporary advancements, it’s started to feel like he’s always been here.
But then he opens his mouth and says things like, “That Stelmak is a splathering imbecile,” and I’m reminded that none of this is normal.
He’s been lying low with socializing as promised, taking a more observational route, but I don’t miss the stony glares students shoot him between passing periods. Word of his rudeness has gotten around. I’m sure the rowing team had something to do with it.
Yesterday in Honors English, Inessa claimed the seat next to me and said, “The new kid, Enzo, is a giant asshole, isn’t he?” thenexplained how he wore an expression of abject horror when she removed her uniform cardigan during class, as though her bare forearms were offensive.
“Well, what was so wrong with modest petticoats and engageantes?” he’d asked me later.
“Nothing, geez,” I had to explain. “We just have more choices now.”
All this to say, I don’t dare share anything else about William with Analiese. I’m hoping she’s no longer targeting him as the focus of her article. The more he avoids confrontation and blends in, the better.
I’m trying to concentrate on the assignment Mrs.Vidar-Tett expects me to turn in tomorrow, but every so often I’m distracted by shifts in the breeze and the faint woodsmoke and earthy soil scent it carries. A promise of fall. The edges of leaves are tinged in rich reds and oranges. Water laps at the creaky dock in the distance, soothing and methodical. Beyond that, the gray-blue outline of the mountains hugs the horizon. I categorize these moments in the folds of my memory, my own sacred collection.
I give up on the assignment. Instead, I retrieve my dad’s journal from my bag and begin flipping through it, pausing when I come across a passage.
We remain on this infinite search for meaning, only to be met with answers we may never get. Our search for a greater significance is a comfort to our ephemeral existence. Perhaps these mysteriespropel some of us to dive deeper into enlightenment. For others, uncertainty is unsettling. But if I had to put my firm belief in anything, it’s that we must know when to relinquish and embrace the unknown.
My fingers run over his words. I hear his voice so clearly an ache twists uncomfortably in my heart.
When I turn the page, I linger on a strange drawing. It almost looks like the cent symbol, an elongatedCwith a line through the middle. My brows pull together. There’s a detailed sketch of some kind of box on the following page, almost like a blueprint accompanied by complex equations. Written at the top is the wordisoborometer. I’ve never heard of this before, but my dad always had his hands in different areas of theory. He’s even written notes to himself in the margins.
Suddenly, overlapping chatter carries over from the lake. A group of guys are gathered on the dock, their attention drawn to someone in a canoe. I recognize Justin Lee and Luke Stelmak and a few others from crew, but only one of them is wearing a full suit of armor out on the open water.
Analiese’s gaze flicks toward the chaos. “They’re so stupid.”
Gooseflesh prickles up my arms as panic coats my throat. I slam my laptop shut and spring to my feet. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have a strong feeling I know who’s involved.
