“We don’t have to play,” Jonah said, though he wondered if Alex had always disliked basketball, or if this was another way the fifteenth century had changed him. “Here.”
He motioned for Alex to bounce the ball his way, and he dropped it on the concrete. Then he flopped down in the grass by the driveway, and all the other kids followed his lead. For a second Jonah got a flashback to weeks earlier, when he and Chip had been playing basketball and then flopped down in the exact same spot, carefree and laughing, only moments before Jonah got the first hint that there was something very odd about his life.
At least Chip and Alex know who they really are, and where they came from, Jonah thought. Even if they have trouble remembering to speak modern American English, at least they have their mysteries solved.
In the cave, after returning from the Battle of Bosworth, Jonah had been so eager to return to normal life—to see his parents, to eat pizza, to be a typical twenty-first-century kid again—that he hadn’t asked about his own original identity. This was what bothered him now, more than any lingering questions about the fifteenth century. Sometimes when he was alone in his room, late at night, Jonah would whisper, “JB? JB, can you hear me? Are you watching? Is it my turn in history yet?” But then he felt foolish, talking to no one. And scared. Chip and Alex had come so close to dying tragically in their moment in time. What if Jonah’s original identity was even more dangerous?
“But did you read anything about the Shakespeare play?” Katherine was asking indignantly. She shook her ponytail for emphasis. “His Richard the Third is pure evil. And a deformed monster, when, really, he looked perfectly normal.”
“Shakespeare changed all sorts of things in his history plays, to make his stories better,” Alex said. “And when Queen Elizabeth, a Tudor, was on the throne, it was definitely to his advantage to make the Tudors’ old enemy seem like the devil incarnate.” He clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oops,” he said, wincing. “I think I’m quoting my mother exactly. Ugh!”
Jonah had gotten a good look at Alex’s mother when she dropped him off. She was not exactly what he’d expected: She had bright-red-framed eyeglasses and dark blond hair that was even curlier than Chip’s and Alex’s—practically an Afro—and she was wearing a T-shirt that said something Jonah thought maybe would be obscene, except that it was in Shakespearean English.
“But people should know that Richard wasn’t that bad,” Katherine said. “They should know what he did at the very end. Do you think … do you think he really was forgiven?”
“I forgive him,” Chip said softly. “I … I know what it’s like to be willing to kill for the throne.”
Jonah had a flash of remembering the murderous look in Chip’s eye as he charged out onto the battlefield, crying, “My crown! That’s my crown!”
No wonder Chip looked so haunted by his past. No wonder he’d wanted JB to erase his memory.
“Isn’t it different, being willing to kill someone on a battlefield?” Jonah asked. “Instead of wanting to kill innocent kids in their beds at night?”
“You said death on the battlefield was pointless,” Chip reminded him. “You said if I died there, it would mean absolutely nothing.”
“I didn’t know you were supposed to die trying to save your brother’s life,” Jonah said.
He’d surveyed the others—he was the only one who’d caught that last glimpse of the tracers, the glowing ghostly versions of Chip and Alex under the battle-ax. He was actually glad none of the others had had to see it.
But he was also glad he knew how the story had ended. It made him think better of Chip.
Jonah saw Katherine reach out hesitantly and squeeze Chip’s hand. To Jonah’s relief, neither one of them had made a big deal about the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing. Chip squeezed back, and then they both let go.
Jonah peered off into the distance—a distance defined by two-story houses and faux wrought-iron streetlamps and neatly trimmed suburban oaks and maples. Even after the brief time he’d spent in the Middle Ages, it was still a bit of a jolt to see so much … civilization. It must be much, much stranger for Chip and Alex, he thought. What’s a “doth” here and there if they can still manage to act somewhat normal?
Far down the sidewalk a man was coming toward them, walking a large English sheepdog. Beside Jonah, Katherine suddenly stiffened.
“Oh, no,” she muttered. She jumped up and began running toward the man.
Jonah squinted, and understood.
The man was JB.
“No!” Katherine yelled at him. “I know what you’re here for—you can’t take Jonah away. I won’t let you! I’ve been thinking about this all week, and I’m going to scream and yell and say you’re a kidnapper, and—”
“I’m not here to take Jonah back to his time period,” JB said. “I didn’t come to force anyone to go anywhere they don’t want to go.”
Katherine still stood firm, blocking the sidewalk—a five-foot-tall, eighty-five-pound barrier. The sheepdog probably could have knocked her over with one paw. But Jonah was a little touched that she was trying.
“I promise,” JB said, drawing closer. “Look—I’ve learned a new expression from your time period.” He raised his right hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Jonah exchanged glances with Chip and Alex. He wondered which of them would have to tell JB that no grown man should do that, unless he was a Scout leader—dealing with really, really little kids.
Both of the other boys just shrugged.
“Well, then …,” Katherine sputtered a little, shifting gears. “Tell us this: When are you ever going to release the ripple? Is everything okay with time?”