I reach out and pluck at the red string again, already bracing for the memory that will overtake me.
Gwen bounces with excitement. “It’s almost time!” she cries, pulling Sofía behind her as she leads us all outside. Dr. Franklin looks almost excited as her. We’re heading to the beach well past lights-out, but he got special permission for us to view a NASA rocket shooting off from somewhere in Virginia but visible all the way up here. Gwen’s not a science nerd, but she’s obsessed with firepower, and she begged for the chance to watch the rocket fly by on its way to space.
The night is beyond freezing. I’m wearing my puffy coat and a hoodie and two shirts under that, and it’s still cold.
Beside me, I notice Sofía shivering, so I pull off my hoodie and offer it to her. This was before we were, you know, a thing or whatever, but she accepts the hoodie and pulls it over her head, the sleeves dangling off her wrists. The whole thing is comically large on her, and she flaps the arms around herself.
“Thanks,” she says, still twisting so the sleeves of the hoodie thwack her back.
And I don’t know what to say because I’m an idiot, so I just sort of stand there and grin.
“T-minus five minutes!” Gwen shouts, glancing at her cell phone. She and Dr. Franklin stand excitedly on the beach. Harold’s chattering to one of his ghosts, and Ryan’s playing on his cell phone, not really caring.
Sofía and I step back from the group. Not far enough to draw attention, but enough so that we feel like we’re a little bit alone.
“Thanks,” she says again.
“No problem,” I say, zipping up my coat.
“No, I mean . . . for being nice,” she says. “Not just now, but just . . . in general.”
She looks up at me, and I’m so flustered that I don’t know what to say or do. As I stare at her, her pupils go transparent. That was the first time I noticed it, but I noticed it every time after. Sofía’s eyes always went invisible before anything else. It wasn’t like her pupils suddenly disappeared and showed her brains or whatever, it was like they became this sort of laser-focused, pinpointed reflection of the world.
And because behind her is the ocean and the sky, that’s what fills her eyes.
I just keep staring, and her eyes sparkle with it all—all the stars, and then all the stars again, reflected in the waves. The transparency spreads into her irises. Moonlight dances on her eyelashes.
I grab her hand.
“Don’t go,” I say.
So she blinks, and the stars are gone, and she is back.
A crackle of lightning bursts behind me, and I turn to see Gwen sparking up, the strands of her hair electrified, little licks of flame sizzling on her skin.
“Tone it down a notch,” Ryan complains.
“It’s almost here!” Gwen shouts, ignoring him.
Sofía moves closer to me. And while everyone else’s eyes are on the rocket, my lips are on hers.
CHAPTER 8
When I open my eyes, my whole body is trembling. Living through these memories again is messing with my head.
But it’ll be worth it if I am able to reweave time. I stare down at the chaotic, beautiful timestream spreading out in front of me. I can see the three little puckers I’ve made to the red string. I reach out to try one more time, but even as I watch, the red string of Sofía’s past evens out along the weave, smoothing down flat again. Any chance I had of pulling the end of Sofía’s string from the vortex disappears before my eyes.
Time has a way of correcting itself, and I won’t be able to save Sofía this way.
I stagger, almost falling when I get up from my desk chair. The weight of those memories drags me down and reminds me of just how much I have to lose if I lose Sofía.
And yet, like a drug addict looking for another hit, I want to dive back into the timestream and relive more memories. I almost bring it back up, but I force myself to lie down instead.
It’s dangerous to dwell in the past. You don’t have to be a time traveler to know that. But more than that, I can’t let myself be satisfied with just memories. I need to find a way to save the real Sofía, not the image of her I carry around in my head.
Ugh. I need fresh air.
I used to hate Sundays. They always felt too close to Monday and to responsibilities. Since coming to the Berk, though, Sundays have become my favorite day of the week. They’re the days I return from my parents’ house to the place where I really belong, and to Sofía.
As I head out of my bedroom, I can hear someone, probably Ryan, playing a loud video game in the common room. A stream of curses follows a particularly loud blast on the television—definitely Ryan. I head outside. I want quiet. I need the ocean.