A World Without You(62)

It was. Before all this shit happened.

“She mentioned that she broke her arm when she was a kid. Do you remember that?”

That seems like an odd thing for her to bring up.

“What’d she tell you?” I ask.

“Just that it was an accident.”

So she didn’t spill that I was traveling to the past when I was that young. Phoebe at least can keep my secrets, if nothing else.

“What else were you talking about?”

“Your mom just wanted me to reach out to her.”

“Why?” I shoot back aggressively. “What’s wrong with her?” My heart clenches, and I wonder: Am I more concerned that something’s wrong, or am I worried that she’s going to outshine me in this too—that she also has a power, a better one than mine?

“No, no,” the Doctor says. “Nothing like that. I just wanted to make sure she’s okay. She’s under a lot of stress.”

“Stress? Phoebe?”

“There are different kinds of stress, Bo,” the Doctor says, his voice placating and annoying. “You’re dealing with your problems, but that doesn’t mean Phoebe doesn’t have her own.”

Choosing a college and wondering whether or not she’s going to get an A, that’s her stress. She doesn’t have to worry about whether or not her power is driving her crazy, or if she can save her girlfriend from dying in the past while also saving everyone else and the school in the present.

Stress. Okay.

Dr. Franklin tells me how proud he is of me, how much more in control of my emotions I’ve been lately. If he knew that the timestream was leaking everywhere, I doubt he’d say that.

But I have to remind myself that this isn’t the Doctor I know. This is a Doctor under the influence of the officials.

He tells me about the medication he wants me to take during spring break. “Of course, I’ve spoken with your parents about all this as well.”

That could prove to be a problem. Whatever the Doc’s been telling Dad has already made him distrustful of me. If he piles a bunch of pills in Mom’s hands, I’m sure she’s going to try to make me take them.

I know this is the officials’ doing. They can’t alter my perception, so they’re trying a different tactic—they want to drug me into submission. I should warn Ryan that they might try to drug him too.

“When you get back,” the Doctor continues, “Dr. Rivers and Mr. Minh will be gone. They’ve concluded their investigation into Sofía’s death and the school’s practices.”

“Gone?” I repeat.

Dr. Franklin nods.

“They’re just . . . going to go away?” I ask, still not believing it. They have total control of the school. Why just . . . leave?

“Their work is done. They’re issuing a report to the board, and the school may change based on that, but it’s all pretty much over.” His voice is a little sad.

Outside Dr. Franklin’s window, an old-timey ship bobs on the waves in the ocean. When I blink, it’s gone.

And so am I.

I’ve been pulled back into a different time. Snow and frost crust the windows, and the radiator rattles in the corner. No one else is in the Doc’s office. I stand up from the blue plastic chair, slowly turning around, looking for a clue. The door starts to open, and I dive behind Dr. Franklin’s filing cabinets.

Dr. Franklin walks into his office, but it’s the Doctor from sometime in the past. I’m not sure when. Not too long ago.

He goes immediately to his desk and sits down. I stand motionless. How did he not see me? I’m not that well hidden.

A knock at the door, a quiet, hesitant tap.

“Come in,” the Doctor says, and the door to his office widens a little more.

Sofía walks in.

She looks right at me.

But it’s clear she doesn’t see me. Neither of them do. I may as well be invisible.

This doesn’t make sense, I think. I can travel through time, but it’s still me. My body. They should be able to see me.

“Let’s talk,” the Doctor says kindly.

Sofía fiddles with her necklace—a silver chain with a dolphin charm.

“What’s wrong?” Dr. Franklin says when Sofía doesn’t speak. “Can you tell me about it?”

Sofía doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t shrug or dismiss the Doctor; she’s just still and silent.

I creep closer, looking at her, really looking at her. Sofía was very good at going unnoticed even when she wasn’t invisible. But I look now, and I see the dark marks under her eyes. I see the way her lips are chapped and dry. I see the way her skin lacks its usual glow.

I see the way she sits on the edge of her seat, her eyes pleading with the Doctor’s, begging him to see that something is wrong with her. Hoping he can understand. That he can help.

“You have to talk to me,” Dr. Franklin says, and I notice desperation in his voice. “I want to help, but I can’t do it without you.”

I sit down beside Sofía, in the same seat that I was occupying before I slipped back in time. Neither of them acknowledges my existence.

The Doctor waits a long time for Sofía to talk, but she remains silent.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, even though I know she can’t see me. “I didn’t realize.” I still don’t realize. I just know that something is wrong, something important, and I didn’t see it before. She needed me, and I didn’t see it.