Unscheduled Departure (9 page)

"Crap," I mumbled.

"Yeah," he said, sitting back on his heels. "We've got to go back to the airport."

12:21 PM

First, we had to wait for Finn to call. After another nearly-sleepless night, we sat on Finn's couch, pretending to watch daytime television between bouts staring at my cell phone. Lindsay showed up after her last class, bearing take-out and another pile of books on cross-dimensional travel, so I poked at my Thai noodles and half-heartedly flipped through pages of
Shifting Realities.

It wasn't until early afternoon that it finally happened, and I grabbed the phone, filled with a mixture of relief and dread.

"Hello? Finn?"

"Ro, what the hell is happening?"

It was embarrassing that it had only taken Finn about ten minutes in the other Rowan's company before he realized something was terribly, terribly wrong. And it had been him, not me— the other me, God, this was confusing— who'd called Lindsay and come to the same conclusion that we had. Similar to my experience, no one else in his reality could hear me over the phone, and I couldn't hear them. There was just this weird connection between Finn and me, my last tether to my own world.

"So what do we do?" he asked.

"You need to get . . . Rowan— the name felt thick and strange on my tongue— to the airport," I said, a rush of images filling my mind: a support column, a black scuff mark on industrial tile . . . a text message wavering before my eyes.

A rush of dizziness that now meant so much more than I could have imagined.

"Tell her she needs to go to the spot by the security line where she texted you when you left," I said.

Other Finn leaned in. "How are you going to—"

I held up a hand. "It's going to be tricky on my end," I told my Finn. "We're going to have to time this perfectly. It's almost 12:30, so, let's say two o’clock on the dot. She has to be there at two. And she has to be focused on getting home— getting home to
her
Finn.
Her
world.
Her
friends." But not her family. She had no family. "Call me when you're in place," I told Finn before hanging up.

Guilt twisted in my stomach. "Should I have told Finn to tell her? That my mom is alive?"

Lindsay shook her head sadly. "You can't, Ro. It would only make it more difficult for her."

"But she could have seen her one last time. Said goodbye, maybe?"

"It would only have made it harder for her to leave," Finn said.

Lindsay nodded, reaching out to take my hand. "It's not just that," she said. "Everything I've read says we're on borrowed time, here. There's no telling how long the passage you used will even be there— if it still is."

I knew as she said it, that Lindsay was right. Still.

"I just feel so badly for her," I said. "It must have been horrible."

Lindsay sighed. "It was. But Ro, she dealt with it a long time ago. She's okay, now. Don't make it worse for her out of your own guilt."

I took a deep breath and stood up, letting Lindsay go. "Okay, then. We need to get to the airport, and I need to hang out by the security line without drawing attention to myself, or getting flagged as a potential terrorist." I looked at both of them expectantly. "Suggestions?"

1:50 PM

"We're in position," Finn said, his voice clearer than ever over the phone. I hoped that was a good sign. "Security's side-eying us a little, but no problems so far."

I nodded at Lindsay in the rearview mirror as she circled the airport dropoff again. We figured it was safer than trying the parking garage. I adjusted my sunglasses and blonde wig, hoping the disguise would be enough.

"We're on our way," I said, checking out the security guards posted at the entrances. "There, Linds." I pointed over her shoulder at an empty spot at the curb.

She pulled over and grabbed my wrist before I could leave. "Good luck," she said.

I nodded and hugged her over the seat. "See you soon. Thank you," I whispered.

We got out of the car and Finn grabbed the empty suitcase we'd brought along to try and fit in. I held his hand firmly as we walked across the sidewalk and through the sliding glass doors. We both tensed as we stepped off the escalator and the ticket counters came into view. Finn squeezed my hand and we forced ourselves to smile at each other and make small talk as we passed the security guards manning the luggage checking station.

They didn't spare us a second glance.

So far, so good.

1:58 PM

"Well?" Finn glanced over his shoulder nervously. "Where is it?"

"I . . . I don't know," I replied, circling back to the edge of the security line, then pacing back to the wall. "There was a black scuff, but they must have waxed the floors or something.”

I looked up at the support posts and lifted the phone to my ear. "Is she sure she's in the right spot?" I asked.

I heard a rustle on the phone, Finn talking to the other me, then he said, "Yeah. She says there's a scuff on the floor."

"Well, it's gone here." I looked up at the posts again. "I think it's this one," I murmured.

“Trust your instincts,” Finn said, touching my shoulder.

I swallowed down a rush of nerves and leaned against the post as I had when I'd sent the text. A movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I spotted a security officer looking my direction and speaking into his radio.

I looked down quickly and cursed under my breath.

"What is it?" Finn asked. Both Finns asked.

"I think I've been spotted," I said quietly. "We've got to do this now."

There were two officers watching now— no, three— and not only watching, but approaching in a wide circle. I closed my eyes and tried to focus, to think of home . . . Finn . . . my mother.

Finn mumbled something under his breath and my eyes flew open. He leaned in and kissed me. "Good luck," he whispered, and he whirled around and took off at a run, slamming into one of the officers and knocking him to the floor. The others took off in pursuit.

"Finn!" I shouted.

"Go!" he shouted back, and I closed my eyes and tried to do just that. Tried not to worry about what would happen when the other Rowan emerged, her boyfriend now joining her on the No-Fly list.

I owed her an apology.

"Tell Rowan I'm sorry," I murmured over the phone.

"For what?" Finn replied.

"She'll see." I closed my eyes. "I don't know if this is going to work, Finnefred."

"Lame," he said, laughter in his voice. "You can do better."

I smiled, focusing on his voice. "Car-Finn Miranda?"

He snorted. "Try again."

I thought of Finn— of the first time I met him, in line at the dining hall. Of our first date at a horrible Greek restaurant that he'd picked, trying to impress me. Of our first kiss after he'd bought me the most amazing ice cream cone to make up for it.

"Finnick Odair?"

"You've used that one before."

A swirl of images flooded my mind, one after the other in rapid succession: Finn’s smile, his touch, the sound of his laughter . . . the taste of his kiss. I leaned into the post, a rush of dizziness hitting me suddenly.

“Finn?”

“I’m here. Try again.”

I thought of that little scar on the corner of Finn’s mouth, the way he slowed his steps so I could always keep up.

The first time he told me he loved me, and he picked up my hand, pressing his lips to the tip of my finger, saying he always wanted it to point toward home.

Toward him.

"Finn-tendo sixty-four?"

Finn laughed, louder than expected. "Now you're talking," he said.

And I realized I hadn't heard it through the phone. In fact, I wasn't even holding my phone anymore.

I opened my eyes to see Finn leaning against the same post, right in front of me. He looked at his phone and shrugged, stuffing it into his pocket.

"Guess we got disconnected," he said, laughter in his eyes.

I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck as I inhaled his scent and he held me tight.

"Welcome home," he said.

1:06 PM

Friday

I walked out of the building after my World Religions midterm and blinked at the bright sunshine as I headed toward the coffee shop to meet Finn for lunch. I studied the faces of the people I passed, more than I ever had before, and I wondered how many of them were where they belonged.

I’d thought about it a lot since everything happened. It was hard to think of anything else, really. What led to me crossing over into that other world? Was it something I did? Or did my indecision about whether or not to beg Finn to stay create a middle-ground somehow, a way for me to live in both worlds for a moment, until I finally dropped into the other one?

I supposed I’d never know.

And I tried not to think about the other possibility: that we all, every one of us, were just floating along, sliding from reality to reality, with no idea at all that it was happening. That every time our hair stood on end, telling us something was wrong— or we were struck with a sense of déjà vu or an inexplicable hunch— it was really a sign of us shifting between worlds.

Or the world shifting between each of us.

I walked into the diner and saw Finn sitting at a table in the back, his face lighting up when he spotted me, and I couldn’t help it— I checked the length of his hair, the curve of the scar on the corner of his mouth, counted the crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiled.

I doubted I could ever look at him again and not feel compelled to check and make sure he was my Finn. But how could I know for sure? And in the end, what did it really matter? If our choices create our world, then wouldn’t any Finn be my Finn?

“Ro? You okay?” his voice jolted me out of my circular thoughts and I leaned down to kiss him, just to make sure.

Nope. Not weird at all.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said with a smile. “Everything’s good.”

My phone rang and I pulled it from my bag as I slipped into the seat across from him. The smile froze on my face at the sight of the words flashing on the screen.

Private Number.

No.

“What’s wrong?” Finn asked, tilting his head to try and see my phone. “Who is it?”

My thumb hovered over the accept button for a moment, then I glanced up at Finn and set the phone on the table, turning it so he could read it. His eyebrows shot up and he looked at me expectantly. Waiting.

“Probably a telemarketer,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Or a wrong number.”

“Could be.”

The ringing continued, the electronic melody combining with a vibration that bounced my phone a little across the tabletop.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asked, reaching for my hand.

I held on tight, took a deep breath, and answered the call.

Also by T.M. Franklin

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Unscheduled Departure
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Ava Michaels used to think she was special. As a child, she fantasized about having magical powers . . . making things happen. But Ava grew up and eventually accepted the fact that her childish dreams were just that, and maybe a normal life wasn't so bad after all. 

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