Traveler (Traveler #1)(20)

“This is still wildly beyond comprehension,” I sigh. “It really is.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he tells me, scraping out the bottom of his bowl with his spoon. “Mario’s got it all under control. He’ll guide you along until you get the hang of it. I would imagine he’ll give you your first official job soon.”

I hold up a hand. “Whoa. Oh, no. Not yet. I’m not ready for a job yet. I haven’t even agreed to sign up for this,” I remind him.

“You’re already signed up for this, Jessa,” he points out. “And you’ve been seeing other realities for a while—you just didn’t realize it. Now you can consciously travel. That’s the only difference. I can help a little with some of it, teach you how to shift in dim light, or into water, or when your image is clouded or rippling. It just takes practice. Lots of practice.”

“I haven’t given an official answer about any of this,” I protest.

“Jessa…”

I’ve had enough. I’m not ready to commit to this. “I want to go home,” I say firmly. “Now.”

“Come on…”

“Now, Finn.”

He sits back in the booth. “So go ahead.” He shrugs. “Go back.”

“You’re not coming?”

He crosses his arms. “No. Figure it out yourself. You know how.”

I glance over at the restroom door, but it’s closed and occupied.

“Great,” I huff.

“You don’t have to have a mirror, you know,” he says, raising a brow. “Any reflective surface will work, so long as you can see yourself.”

I glance around, and the polished chrome wall next to me in the booth catches my eye. I can see myself, and everything else behind me. I can see Finn, and his eyebrow’s still raised in a way that really irks me.

I set my hand against the chrome and try to concentrate on my reflection.

“Don’t let yourself get distracted,” he warns. “You could end up somewhere you don’t want to be.”

“Quiet.”

I take a second and look around me, so I have something to compare to when things start to change in the reflection. I look back at myself, and I try to see me sitting in a booth at my Mugsy’s. I stare so long and hard, my eyes start to water.

“You’re trying too hard,” he says in a singsong voice, and it makes me even madder.

“Will you shut up? I’m new at this, remember?”

I straighten my shoulders and try again, and this time, everything behind me starts to get duller, more muted. I see the glittery, gold-speckled booths and gleaming, ornate decorations bend and morph into mundane photographs of coffee mugs and deep-red corduroy booth upholstery. Finn is saying something, but I tune him out, pushing my fingers into the chrome.

And I’m back.

I take a second to look around me. Mugsy’s is half-full, but no one seems to have noticed me just appear. Then I realize that I was here anyway, or at least, other me was. What did I use, though? I turn the teaspoon over in my hand and see myself in the bowl. Wow, she must be good at this if she could travel through a teaspoon.

I stare at the other me for a moment.

“Hi,” I whisper. “Bring me a cupcake next time.”

I stare down at the humdrum chocolate chip cookie in front of me, and I wonder if I’ll be able to resist the temptation to travel again.





11

Fate and the Social Norms

“You’re holding out on me, St. Clair,” Ben says, tossing an entire fistful of Milk Duds in his mouth.

“Huh? What?” I realize I’ve been sitting here zoning out and haven’t heard much of what he’s said. The movie hasn’t started yet, so I’m going to have to answer him.

“Are you even listening to me?” he complains.

“Sorry. Got a lot on my mind. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that the partner project in Draper’s class is due on Wednesday, and I need your essay so that I can build the diorama and feature your key points.”

“Crap! That’s due Wednesday? We just finished the invention project!”

“Where have you been?” he laughs. “Draper announced it, like, a week ago.”

“Sorry. I haven’t even started. Can I e-mail it to you tomorrow night? Or maybe Monday morning? How much time do you need?”

“Relax.” He throws an arm around me to pat my back, and he leaves his arm on my chair. “I can put it together in a night.”

“Thanks.”

I’m very much aware that he hasn’t taken his arm off the back of my chair, so I lean forward and turn to him.

“Do you believe in fate, Ben?”

“Fate?”

“Like we’re all part of some preordained plan or something. Destined to do things or meet certain people. Fate.”

He eyes me speculatively. “Like, it’s fate that we met? Is that what you mean?”

I roll my eyes. “Not that specific, but yeah, maybe you were meant to move all the way here from Texas—”

“New Mexico,” he interrupts.

“Whatever. You sound like you’re from Texas.”

“That’s because it’s right next door to New Mexico,” he reminds me. “And for the record, we were fated to be friends as soon as I realized that you knew my home state was actually a state. You’d be surprised how many of y’all ask me what my country’s like.”