Loop (13 page)

“Sweet!” He ran around to the far side of it. “It’s like the Jetsons.”

“The Whatsons?”

“Never mind.
This
is how I pictured the future.”

“Shhh!”

Public-sanctioned time travel, spectral holo-imaging, the elimination of carbon pollution. And the guy went gaga over a glorified golf cart.

I climbed in opposite Finn and screwed up my nose as the petals closed around us, sealing in the odor. “Ugh.”

Undaunted, Finn’s face lit up. “Do you think I could drive it?”

“Umm … sure.”

I leaned forward, close to the mouthpiece. Publi-pods were notorious for being finicky and temperamental. The console reeked, triggering my gag reflex. My companion didn’t notice, too busy turning the front-view window on and off with a look of wonderment on his face.

“Destination: Four-Twelve Piccadilly Avenue.” I turned to Finn and lowered my voice. “Okay, say ‘go.’”

“Go!” he shouted with glee. The Pod took off. Finn grabbed the handle in front of him.
Double ugh.
If he had any clue of the filth, the years of grit and grime, the disgusting … Actually, he was a boy. He probably would have grabbed it anyway.

“No wonder you’ve been so hissy about spending time in the twenty-first century,” he said. “This thing is great.”

I didn’t know about “great,” but it was efficient. Dodging other Pods and hopping curbs, we sped along without stopping once.

“I’m surprised these don’t have seat belts,” said Finn, trying without success to hide the nervous edge in his voice as we swerved past a light post at the end of my street.

“Foam.”

“Huh?”

“Foam. If they sense an impact, they fill with a breathable, biodegradable—never mind.” Apparently, Future Me really hadn’t told him much about the present. Well, I certainly wasn’t going to. “We’re here.”

The Publi-pod had halted in front of a crumbling brownstone town house, built a hundred years before Finn was born. The shutters were drawn, and weeds poked through the gaps in the front walkway. Mrs. Jacobs from next door had laid out a few small pots of mums on our home’s otherwise empty front stoop to make it look a little more lived-in.

It wasn’t until Finn and I stood in front of the scanner next to the door that I felt a wave of misgiving about the plan (or lack thereof). Finn would wait at my house and then what? Sneaking him into the Institute would prove nearly impossible, but there was no way I could afford a private Shift Pad or even a rental. And this was all assuming it was even
possible
to Shift him back. I still had no inkling how he’d made it to the twenty-third century in the first place, much less alive and well … and petting my cat on the porch swing.

It didn’t help that the one person I could trust with my questions, who should have been on the other side of that door with a batch of fresh-baked lemon bars and a bear hug, was lying in a hospital bed in a coma. There would be no more lemon bars. No old-movie marathons or picking a new paint color for my bedroom every summer. I’d be lucky if the spiders hadn’t barricaded themselves into the hall bathroom.

But there were no other options. Finn couldn’t run around unchecked. I swept my hair through the scanner and tucked it resolutely behind my ears. I pushed the door open, and we stepped inside. A net of scents swung over me, trapping in all the memories of the years, good and bad. Linseed oil, dried eucalyptus, furniture polish for all my mom’s antiques, that funky stench we could never get rid of after the curry incident. Even though it was a husk of the home it used to be, my soul filled with longing for what the house represented, for what it could be again if my mother ever recovered.

No. Not if.
When.

All she needed was the right care—the
best
care—and that meant staying where she was. I had to convince Leto to give me another chance. I could prove myself with another delivery, a freebie. And then maybe he’d pay me for the next few.

Listen to me.
The next few.

“You’ll want to hide before they get here,” I said quietly. “I doubt they’ll poke around too much, but you should stay in my closet until they’re gone. My bedroom’s on the second floor, first door to your right.”

I looked over at Finn, who was surveying the room with a frown, unable to hide his disappointment. I turned my head to follow his gaze and realized I couldn’t blame him. The place had been pretty much abandoned for six months. Not that it was much to be impressed with before.

“I’m sorry it’s not as nice as you’re used to,” I said.

The center of Finn’s eyebrows knit together to form an unspoken question, but before he could ask it I added, “My mom doesn’t make that much,” then corrected myself, “
didn’t
make that much.”

“No.” He reached over and touched my shoulder. “It’s not that at all. I just thought it would be more, umm, futuristic.”

“Oh.” I looked around the room again, trying to see it through his eyes. Through past eyes. It
was
old, even to Finn. But that was the way Mom liked it. We could have bought a bigger place out in the suburbs, but my mother was too attached to this place for some reason.

“The kitchen’s been redone over the years. And the circuitry’s new. But, yeah, I can see what you mean.”

When I took a step forward, the hardwood floors squeaked as if to agree with Finn’s assessment of the place. Even if our house were thoroughly modernized, though, I doubted he would have been impressed. People during his time were so obsessed with faster, smaller, sleeker. That doesn’t always make things better. Sometimes simple is best—cotton and curtains and shoelaces.

I gave my head a little shake to clear it. Company would arrive at any moment. Finn needed the basics. I gestured to the left.

“There are some insta-meals in the pantry. Ten seconds in the reconstituter and they’ll be … edible.”

I pointed out the entrance to the bathroom and was scanning my hair to open it when I realized, shoot, Finn needed access. I rummaged under the sink for a pair of pincers and clamped them down on a couple strands of my hair.

“Hold these.” I handed the pincers to Finn. “Tight.”

“What? Why am I—?”

I yanked my head away from him and let out a yowl. But the hair came out.

“Aighhh!” He dropped the pincers. And the hair.

“Dang it, Finn. Help me find it. We don’t have much time.”

“Find what?”

“My hair! It acts like a key for all the locks.”

“Why didn’t you pluck it out like a normal person?” He bent down to help me look. “Or, better yet,
not
pluck it out like a normal person. You could have cut it.”

“No. The follicle has to be attached for the DNA to register.”

“So nobody sheds in the future? You’re born with the hair you have your whole life?”

“Don’t be silly.” I pictured a baby with a pompadour. “Our hair comes out when we wash it with a special solvent. In the shower.”

“Of course it does.” He lifted up the strands from a crack in the tile. “How silly of me.”

“Don’t lose those,” I said.

He started to push himself up when my smoosh-nosed fluffy white cat, Tufty, jumped into his arms.

I looked frantically at Finn’s hands for the hair.

“Got it.” He motioned to his fist. “By the way, this is by far the ugliest cat I’ve ever seen.”

“Shh.” I covered Tufty’s ears. “He’ll hear you.”

“At least he’s not deaf as well,” said Finn with a chuckle.

I laughed, too. Finn wrapped his free hand around the back of my head, and before I had a chance to back away he leaned down and kissed me on the forehead.

“That’s not, umm…” I jerked away, my cheeks burning.

“Sorry. I forgot for a second that you’re not you. I mean, you’re not her.”

“Looks like you have everything you need,” I said a little too loudly. “Food, shelter, and”—Tufty nuzzled against Finn’s bare chest—“oh.”

Clothes.

“There are some unisex shirts in the back of my closet.” Which was where Finn needed to be. “Any questions?”

Finn leaned against the banister. “Yeah. How am I supposed to protect you from here?”

I blinked. “By laying low and not bringing attention to yourself until I figure all this out. Oh, and if my future self shows up here, tell her to get Leto’s delivery to me. But you stay put.”

“What if I’m supposed to protect you from something at your school?”

“If there were evil minions stalking the hallways, I would have noticed them. Now go upstairs.” Even I was taken aback by the clipped, military cadence of my voice. Finn was right. I really was a shrew from the bowels of Hades around him. Okay, maybe he hadn’t said the “Hades” part. But he was probably thinking it.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” He lifted his hand in a mock salute.

Any remorse I felt for how I’d treated him vanished. As he started up the stairs, I grabbed his arm. “This isn’t some game, you know. This is my life. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble when I get back. I’ll be lucky if they don’t expel me.” And I’d be lucky if Leto didn’t break my thumbs.

Finn’s voice softened: “I know. Just be careful. Remember, I’m here to help. You don’t have to worry about me. Or Tufty.”

The cat swooned as Finn scratched his ears. Tufty wiggled free and hit the ground in a rapturous stretch. Finn trudged up the steps, Tufty close at his heels.

At the top step, he turned around. “So you’re going to sit here and wait for them to come snatch you?”

“Don’t be a drama queen,” I said, “and, yes, I’m going home.”

“I thought
this
was your home.”

My finger snaked its way through a layer of dust. For a flash, I saw my mother’s hand along its path.
Why dust, sugar booger? It’s God’s doodling pad
. A faint grin splintered my lips, but with it I felt a crack form in the wall that had grown around my heart. A wall I
needed
. I wiped the smile away and put a fresh layer of plaster over the crack before Finn could see me waver.

“There’s nothing for me here.”

chapter 11

I STOOD AT THE HALL MIRROR
on the far side of the living room and practiced my best dazed and disoriented look. Hmm, perhaps dazed with a touch of contrition would be the better bet. Except with contrition came culpability. I mussed up my hair and smudged my eye makeup but only succeeded in making myself look like a boozy raccoon.

They’d send the school nurse. Oh, and, good gravy, our guidance counselor. Counselor Salloway would fret and fuss over me, especially since the first place I went was my abandoned house.
Was all this because of your mother’s accident? Do you want me to find you a support group? Would you like to talk about it?

No, no,
and
heck
to the
no.
But I’d play along. I had to.

Footsteps shuffled on the porch. Distinct words escaped a cloud of muffled whispers on the other side of the thick door. “Forced. Hurt. Locked.” At least I hadn’t heard the word “expelled.” Yet. The handle jiggled and rattled, and something metal scraped along the edge of the frame. I crossed my arms across my chest. There was no way this could end well.

The voices on the porch quieted, and a lone pair of feet clunked up the rickety old steps. A familiar, booming voice said, “Emergency override,” and the door swung open without the expected
bang
. I still jumped.

A new lump of fear strangled my tonsils as my rescuers entered the room. Leading the way was Headmaster Bergin himself. He twiddled the ends of his snowy mustache and squinted into the hazy, dust-moted air. Trailing behind him was Dr. Quigley, looking thoroughly furious, and then the nurse and counselor as I’d expected. There were even a couple medics in red scrubs standing in back of everyone. They seemed familiar, but before I could place them Headmaster Bergin spotted me standing in the corner and rushed to my side. He threw a comforting arm around me, and my shoulders stiffened at his touch. The smell of menthol and mustache wax overwhelmed me as he opened his mouth to speak.

“There you are, child. We’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Have you?” I asked in a flat tone.
Dang it.
I was going for mild concussion. It came out bored zombie.

“Oh, my dear, you’re not yourself. She’ll need to be evaluated for trauma.” Bergin motioned to the medics in the back, but instead Nurse Granderson pushed his way through the gathered throng.

“I’ll check Bree out. It sounds like she might be concussed. And of course, there are the aftereffects of the forced fade.”

He pointed some sort of laser into my eyes and rolled a scanner from the crease of my elbow to the tip of my middle finger. A perplexed look crossed his face. He rubbed his goatee. “Heart’s racing. But, otherwise, her vitals are all normal.”

Stupid vitals.

He examined the scrape across my forehead. I winced, and he pulled his fingers away. “But she’s clearly been in some form of altercation.” He moved the scanner this way and that around my face. I sucked in a sharp breath at the coldness of the metal probe. Nurse Granderson made a goofy face that only I could see, and I relaxed a little. He was used to treating upset tummies for homesick First Years. He probably enjoyed a nice gash once in a while.

“There’s sand present in the wound,” he said. “I’ll clean it out and close it up when we get back to the Institute, but the spot may be a bit tender for a day or two, kiddo.”

Counselor Salloway bustled to the front, her unruly hair flouncing to the sides. She grabbed my hand with a showy flourish and patted it. “She might be a little emotionally tender right now, too.”

Bleh.
That was me fighting the urge to throw up in my own mouth.

“We were surprised you came here instead of the Institute.”

I needn’t have looked up to know who was speaking. Dr. Quigley rubbed the polish on her nails without even glancing at me.

“I … I must have been disoriented,” I said. “Went home without thinking.”

“Of course, of course. Understandable given the circumstances.” Headmaster Bergin pinched his chin and looked at the door. “You don’t happen to remember what those circumstances were, do you?”