A World Without You(9)

Part of me wants to pull my sister aside and tell her that the sign is just a front. It’s not like we can advertise what the school really is, what all of us can really do. Dr. Franklin and the rest of the unit advisors all have powers too, and they know how important secrecy is. It sort of sucks, though, the way Phoebe thinks I belong on the short bus.

Or maybe she knows the truth. I can’t tell—not with her—and I’m too exhausted to try. Especially today, after watching a memorial service for someone who’s not dead.

After trying to save Sofía again. After failing. Again.

“Next weekend,” my mom whispers, pulling away from her tight hug. “You’re okay staying here until then?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I say.

My parents and sister get into the Buick, and my family is gone before I head back inside.

“Tomorrow I’d like to have an extra session with you,” the Doctor says, holding the door open for me.

“Of course,” I answer. Another session would definitely help. Even though Dr. Franklin can’t control time like me, he says my emotions are causing the block, making it so I always snap back to the present when I try to reach Sofía. So if a “feelings” session with him can help me regain control of my power, I’m all for it.

When I first came to the Berk, I had no idea that so much of learning to control my powers would come from inside my head. Most of the first week was even spent in psychoanalysis. The Doctor assured me that every student goes through such rounds, to make sure they are “suitable for the special environment afforded at Berkshire Academy.”

As I head upstairs, I calculate how much time I can focus on saving Sofía. We had a day off with the fake memorial service, but classes resume Monday. I may be able to negotiate some extra time from some of my teachers, though. Our classes are small and tailored to each of our strengths, paced individually. I’m several lessons behind Ryan in math, but I’m already in a different textbook from everyone else in history. Maybe a little “independent study” during that class would allow me some time to work on saving Sofía.

When we reach my floor, the Doctor tells me goodnight and reminds me of lights-out, even though it’s a few hours away. He heads down a different hallway, going to the back stairs that lead all the way up to the top floor, where the staff live. It’s kind of weird to think that so many people live in this one house. The way the mansion is divided and our schedules are made, I only ever see the other students here in passing. The only people I really talk to are Harold, Gwen, Ryan, Sofía, and our teachers as they rotate from unit to unit. We stay in our one big classroom all day, being served history and math and science, with a sprinkle of how-to-control-your-powers and a dash of try-not-to-explode-everything.

I haven’t had control of my powers . . . ever, really. I’m like someone who never had a real driving lesson but figured out the basics on a flat road on a sunny day. I’ve occasionally been able to steer my time travel, but when it really matters, like with Sofía, I’m behind the wheel in the mountains with ice and fog. I keep skidding off the road, crashing into trees.

It’s not going to stop me from trying, though. I was so close earlier today. Sofía was right there.

As soon as I’m in my room, I grab my notebook off my desk and flip it to the pages I’ve been using to record my efforts to save my girlfriend.

Here’s what I know: Sofía Muniz, a Latina girl with an accent, dressed in modern clothing, is trapped in the very white, very strict, very conservative world of Puritan colonial Massachusetts, 1692. She also has a habit of turning invisible, and she isn’t always able to control when it happens, so I’m sure the Puritans are going to think that’s a swell party trick that has nothing to do with the devil. And I put her there, and I can’t save her. Every time I get close, I get thrown back to the present—without her.

My eyes scan down the list. I’ve tried to go back to 1692. I’ve tried to go back to just before we left. I quickly add a few notes about today—the closest I’ve come to actually seeing her again.

Something was different about today. I didn’t intend to go back to the day she disappeared, but there I was. If I can figure out how I got there, re-create whatever it was I did to end up there . . .

No time like the present to try. I close my eyes, calling up the timestream.

I can feel rather than see all of time stretching out around me. The timestream is made of strings extending out, swirling around as if they’re resting on top of water. There are hard knots at certain points—the points where I am not allowed to go.

Woven through the strings is one bright red thread—Sofía’s life.

My fingers hover over it, careful not to touch it and pull myself into her past. Not yet, anyway. I can pick out the pattern of her past—her home in Austin, her family, her friends, the Berk. Me. Her string twirls around mine like an embrace.

And then it shoots backward, violently and sharply, directly into 1692. That spot in history looks like a black hole, far darker than any other spot in the timestream. The end of Sofía’s string is somewhere in there, disappearing into the void.

Beyond my reach.

I extend my hand toward that spot anyway, hoping that my fingers can feel what my eyes cannot see. I strain to get closer, and sharp pains shoot across my skin like electric bursts. I grit my teeth, ball my hand into a fist, and punch at the inky black vortex.