Traveler (Traveler #1)(21)

“No, I wouldn’t. But I’m talking fate in a general sense. Like there are some people that we’re just supposed to meet, for whatever reason.”

He takes a drink of his soda, considering for a minute. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do. I think we all have people that we were meant to meet. Not so sure about things we were meant to do, though.”

“But how do you accept one and not the other?”

He shrugs. “I guess I’d like to think that I have a hand in shaping my future for myself. Otherwise, why bother doing anything, right? Might as well just strap in and wait for the ride.”

I start to lean back, but I remember his arm is there and shift forward again. “Yeah, I guess.”

I hear his sigh as he moves his arm, but I’m not really looking at him. I’m a thousand miles away, thinking about what Finn said.

My logical brain tells me I shouldn’t be getting mixed up in all this. But my gut is telling me that I trust him. I trust Finn because I know Finn.

And that’s crazy. I realize that’s crazy.

Ben drives me home after the movie, and we sit for a moment in the driveway, with the truck idling.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, St. Clair,” he remarks. “Why so philosophical?”

I shake my head. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“I need to stop having an existential crisis and go inside and write an essay,” I remind him. “Or my project partner will hang me in effigy inside his diorama.”

“Now there’s a thought,” he says, grinning widely.

I reach for the door handle. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yeah. See ya Monday.” He stares at me expectantly for a moment, and then realizes he hasn’t unlocked the door. He pushes the switch with a loud thunk, and I escape to my house and my room, where I hope to get a grip on myself.

That turns out to not be an easy thing. I am afraid to go to sleep.

I stay up as late as I can, finishing the essay and e-mailing it over to Ben before I tackle a new assignment for Ms. Eversor about a controversial subject. I choose “Internet Etiquette” and I realize halfway through writing it that I don’t find it very controversial and I am probably the most boring person on earth.

I’d be a better writer if I’d ever done something, or been anywhere, or even met anyone interesting.

Like a hot guy who can travel through dreams and reality.

I catch my reflection in the mirror across from my bed and stick my tongue out at it. I am certifiably crazy.

I scroll through the received calls on my phone and look at his phone number. I want to dial it just so I can scream into the phone, Why are you messing with my brain?

But I guess that would definitely be crazy. Worse, he’ll probably have an answer for that.

Come on, St. Clair. No guts, no glory.

Great. I sound like Ben now.

I finally text Finn.



I press send. It’s late. He’s probably busy. Or asleep.

The phone rings less than thirty seconds later. I glance down at it in dismay. I let it ring twice more before I tap the answer button with entirely too much force.

“Why are you calling me? I texted you,” I say angrily.

“I’m aware of that,” he replies, completely unconcerned. “So what do you want? You reached out to me, remember?”

“And you were supposed to text me back,” I say, still perturbed that he’s broken a serious social rule here.

“Sorry. I prefer conversation.” He lets out an audible sigh.

“What if—what if I don’t want to do this?” I ask tentatively. “If I decide to be a normal person, maybe whoever it is that’s hunting me will leave me alone.”

“But you’re not a normal person,” he says. “It’s a moot point. And that wouldn’t stop them. They’ve killed you before, and they’ll kill you again. They’ve already tried once.”

“We don’t know that for sure. That one was my fault. I walked into the forklift.”

“You keep coming up with excuses,” he says. “But this is your life now. You are a Traveler, and we need your help to figure out how to save you. Do you really want to ignore what you are and just be a sitting duck?”

I am suddenly incredibly tired.

“I don’t want to hear any more about it, Finn.”

“You need to hear it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Or you wouldn’t have called.”

“Texted.”

“Whatever.”

I punch the end button and throw the phone down on the bedcovers.





12

The Other Side

I wake the next morning to Danny, sitting on my bed and shaking my shoulder so hard my teeth rattle.

“Ugh…,” I say. “Danny, get off.” I yank at the covers he’s sitting on, trying to roll over, but I give up. He won’t be budged.

“You have to get up,” he says. “You have to work soon.”

I glance at the clock. “Not till one,” I tell him. “It’s only eleven.”

“You have to get up,” he insists. “Mom said to make sure.”

“I’m up, I’m up.” I sit up in bed so he’ll leave, mentally cursing my mother as he shuts the door behind him.