“Our tracers know the wolves won’t come near the fire,” he explained. “The tracers aren’t afraid. But when we’re apart from our tracers, we never know . . .”
Apart from his tracer, Antonio was terrified of the wolves, Jonah realized. Even now, separated only slightly from his tracer’s head, Antonio had sweat pouring down his face and was panting heavily, gulping in mouthfuls of air. This was a particularly bizarre sight since his chest, still joined with his tracer’s, rose and fell with a calm, even pace.
“My tracer’s not afraid of anything,” Antonio said. He separated from his tracer a little more, to turn toward Brendan. “Is yours?”
Brendan shook his head.
“Not really,” he said slowly. “I mean, he knows terrible things could happen—we could starve, we could be attacked, we could die a million different, horrible ways—but if that happened, he knows it would just be the will of—”
“Don’t say it!” Antonio ordered. “Don’t say ‘Great Spirit,’ or anything like that, because that’s not how it translates—it doesn’t translate, and they’ll just laugh. . . .” He separated his arm from his tracer’s to gesture angrily at Jonah, Katherine, and Andrea.
“Us?” Katherine said, with fake innocence. “Say it in Algonquian, and Jonah and I will understand. We’ll help you translate.”
“Never mind,” Antonio muttered. He turned angrily away. Surreptitiously, he slid his head closer to his tracer’s, so that barely anything except his mouth remained separate. “The tracers are cleaning up and getting ready to camp overnight,” he said gruffly. “Brendan, you’d better get back together with your guy so we can do this the right way.”
“Okay,” Brendan said, shrugging.
“Jonah, while they’re doing that, could you help me with something over by the canoe?” Katherine asked.
“What?” Jonah said.
“I, uh, think I might have lost a ponytail rubber band,” Katherine said. Jonah glanced at his sister.
“It’s in your hair,” he said.
She shook her head, her ponytail flipping side to side.
“Not that rubber band,” Katherine said. “A different one. It could mess up time forever if we don’t find it.”
Even though he’d slept all day, Jonah was still really tired. Just the thought of standing up seemed beyond him, not to mention having to walk over to the canoe and search for some stupid little rubber band that was probably buried under three inches of sand by now. How much could one rubber band matter anyway? Second had tossed whole jars of paint into the wrong time period.
And five kids and a dog.
“Wouldn’t Andrea do a better job looking?” Jonah said. “She’s a girl. She knows about stuff like ponytail rubber bands.”
Katherine shot a glance toward the other kids. Antonio and Brendan, completely joined with their tracers now, were bent over the fire. Andrea, with Dare beside her, was gazing down at her sleeping grandfather. None of them was looking toward Jonah and Katherine.
Katherine jabbed her elbow into Jonah’s side.
“Ow!” Jonah cried. “What—”
But Katherine already had a finger poised over her lips. She jerked her head to the right, toward the direction of the canoe. Then she quickly pointed to herself and Jonah, and started thumping the fingers of her right hand against the thumb, like someone operating a puppet.
“Oh, you mean—” Jonah began.
Katherine shook her head firmly and pressed her finger against her lips once more. She grabbed Jonah’s arm and began tugging.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming!” Jonah muttered.
They walked several steps, and as soon as they were out of earshot of the others, Katherine burst out, “You are so dense! You would be the world’s worst spy! Any of my friends would have caught on about ten years ago that I wanted to talk to them alone!”
“Well, duh,” Jonah mumbled. “They actually care about ponytail rubber bands.”
Katherine rolled her eyes. Then, near the canoe, she dropped to her knees and began sifting sand through her fingers.
Jonah groaned.
“Please tell me you didn’t really lose a rubber band,” he said.
Katherine paused long enough to glare up at him.
“No, but you need to look like you’re looking for a rubber band,” she reminded him. “In case they’re watching.” She tilted her head, indicating the other three kids.
Reluctantly, Jonah knelt down beside his sister and began scooping up random handfuls of sand. His knees ached. His shoulders ached. His head was still woozy—the day of sleeping in the sun, having nightmares, hadn’t come even close to curing him. Worst of all, he was getting chills again, the little prickles of fear all along his spine that warned of some approaching danger.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked Katherine, his voice coming out rough and accusing. “Don’t you trust Antonio and Brendan after all?”
Katherine brushed aside sand, revealing more sand.
“It’s not that,” she whispered. “It’s—I don’t trust their tracers.”
Jonah dropped a whole handful of sand, sending up a puff of dust.
“Are you crazy?” he asked. “Did you get sunstroke this afternoon? What do you mean, you don’t trust the tracers? They’re tracers! They’re not really there! They don’t know we’re here! They don’t care if we’re looking for a rubber band or not. To them, we don’t even exist!”
The dust floated up to his mouth and nose, making him cough. While he was coughing, he thought of a new argument.
“The way I see it, the tracers might be the only ones we can trust!” he said. “We know they’re doing what they’re supposed to be doing because, duh, they’re tracers! They have to be accurate! I like Andrea—”
“You like her too much,” Katherine said.
Jonah ignored this.
“—but she doesn’t care what happens to time,” he continued. “Brendan seems okay, but how can we know for sure that he and Antonio aren’t working for Second?”