Dad turns around, his eyes hard as stones. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that.”
He walks back to the kitchen without saying another word. I wish he would come back and try to talk to me. Ask me again about where I’ve been and really believe me when I tell him the truth. But none of this happens because he thinks I’m a liar. I’ve thought about disappearing in front of him, and maybe someday I will, but I would rather have him believe me first. Take my word as truth like he should.
A shiver runs down my spine and my skin goes cold.
I run upstairs, taking two steps at a time, and lock myself in the bathroom. I’m breathing heavy now, not understanding why I feel cold—I haven’t even been back a day yet. It’s too early to travel.
I won’t for another four days, maybe three from the pattern I’ve been in lately.
I stare at the sink, counting numbers in my head to distract myself.
The feeling drains away, leaving me more anchored to this place. Here and now. I let my breathing become steady along with my heart, becoming surer of myself. After years of doing this, I should be able to control it. And in the past, I had even started to feel like I could.
But for the last few months, something has been different. I’ve been trying to ignore that I’ve been leaving more often—more than ever before. Trying to pretend like nothing is wrong.
But I can’t anymore.
I wake the next morning with Bryce shaking my shoulder. I groan and push him away, but he plants himself on the end of my bed. It dips down with his weight.
“What time did you go to sleep last night?” he asks. I hear him rub his head, his hair too short for him to mess it up.
I crack my eyes open to see daylight fighting against my curtains.
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “What time is it right now?”
“Eight.”
“Then two hours ago.”
I can hear him thinking. He grinds his teeth when he thinks.
“What happened last night?” Bryce asks.
“What do you mean?” I sit up and put a hand over my ribs. They still hurt from the mortar two days ago.
Bryce stares at my bruised body. Sees my dog tags over my chest. His eyes tell me he wants to question me, but doesn’t ask. I wish he would so things can go back to being normal again between us.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Dad was acting weird this morning, so I figured it was because of you.”
“Do you know what time he’ll be back?” I ask.
“He said after lunch.” Bryce looks at me, something he doesn’t do often. Usually he looks at the things around me, but never me. “What happened last night?” he asks again.
“It was nothing, we just got in a fight. The usual.”
“Kale—”
“What?” I’m running out of patience with his questions.
Bryce shakes his head and stands. “I don’t even know why I try.”
“You call this trying?” I ask. “What’s the real reason you came in here?”
He stares back because he knows I’m right. He wishes this was trying, because then he wouldn’t feel so guilty about not talking to me anymore. Not caring. Bryce started hating me the moment Mom left.
He blames me for it, I know he does. And he has every right to.
Bryce makes to leave, but pauses at the door. Then he adds, “Oh, and Kale?”
My tongue forms a silent curse before he turns back around.
“What?”
He looks me in the eye. “Dad said the next time you leave, he’s going to sell your car.”
I fight to keep my face expressionless—he knows exactly where to hurt me the most. “Thanks for the message,” I say tightly.
After Bryce leaves, I don’t know who I’m angrier at—Dad or myself. He won’t be the one taking my car away; I will do it myself the moment I leave again.
I get out of bed and pull on a T-shirt, still wearing my jeans from the day before. The steps are blurs under my feet and the front door slams behind me.
I don’t go back when I realized I’ve forgotten my sweatshirt.
It’s not worth it.
I pass my car, sitting where I had left it the night before, and head straight into the woods, following the path I used to know so well. It’s nearly overgrown now, looking and feeling different from when I was younger. The quiet forest does nothing to calm my heart or keep my hands from shaking.
I’m cold again.
I want to stop thinking. About Adams. About Dad. About the place I’ll be traveling to in a few days.
It’s a thing that builds up with every passing day, and one day, when the slightest breeze can make me shiver, I just disappear. I’ve learned when it’s going to happen, down to the second, but I can’t stop it—nothing I do can make me stay here.
Sometimes I can delay it. I’ll take a hot shower and gain a few hours in the present. I try to prolong it by wearing a sweatshirt, but I don’t know if it does any good.
When I was younger, the summers were warm to me because I would leave once a month. My body would acclimate to the temperatures, and when that month would pass and the days grew colder for me but nobody else, I knew it was almost time.
But now, when I’m leaving every four days, I’m always cold.
Symptoms of a time-traveler. Even when I travel somewhere warm, it’s always the same. My ability’s way of warning me.
The path before me ends, bringing me to a small clearing with green grass and calm water. I stop at the river and let the sun attempt to warm my skin. It tries … and I want it to succeed.
Someone comes through the woods, and my thoughts stop spinning. I know only two other people who come here, one of them being Libby, and she’s gone. So that leaves Harper, which makes me feel weird inside.
She doesn’t notice me right away. She has a pair of earbuds in and her eyes are on the ground, following the path from Uncle Jasper’s house. Her red Converses are tied today, something always rare to see, and she’s wearing a Overwatch T-shirt.
My heart starts to slow with her being here—that feeling of leaving far, far away. Then it speeds up for an entirely different reason.
Harper catches sight of me and stops short. “Kale.” She pulls out her earbuds, her eyes on me the whole time. “I wasn’t expecting to see you out here.”
I feel my skin start to warm. “I wasn’t expecting to find myself here, either.”
She smiles at that, small and fleeting. “You look horrible, by the way,” she says. “Couldn’t sleep last night?”
“Something like that.” It becomes a problem when your nightmares come to you even when you’re awake. “How were the fireworks?” I ask, needing a change of subject.
“They were all right. Nothing special, anyway.”
Harper steps closer, stopping right next to me at the edge of the river. I try not to stare, though it’s hard. She’s changed a lot since the last time I saw her. Her hair is close to blonde in the bright sun. Some of it curling behind her ears where it’s escaped her ponytail. Her cheekbones stand out now and her ears don’t seem as big. She’s still Harper, though. Still the girl I saw again for the first time last night.