“I didn’t mean to. And how could it be helping anyone to have me drown him with my soda?”
“Well, if you had done what I told you,” Mario says, “everything would have worked out fine. The kid would have been upset, the worker would have rushed out, and he would have offered to let the kid have an official Greaver’s Pizza apron to wear. He would have taken care to tie the ties so it covered the kid just right, and he would have written the kid’s name on it with the green marker, because green is the kid’s favorite color. And the mother—who’s single, by the way—would have noticed all of this and thanked him and blushed when he told her it was fine, and starting next week, they’d be back to dine every Friday night, until he finally asked her out.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.” Mario glares, obviously pissed at me. “He’s going to make a great stepfather, by the way. Only now I have to find some other way to get them back on track, all because you couldn’t do what you were asked.”
“Was I supposed to just let him scream?”
“Yes. Do what I ask you and don’t get crazy embellishing things.” He sits back down behind the desk and laces his fingers together, eyeing me. “Incidentally, your words to the other woman created some ripples, too, but they’re nothing bad, as far as I can tell. They just … alter some things.”
“Doesn’t everything alter something?” I grumble.
“Yes. But not everything altered is terribly important. We all live a lot of boring lives, believe it or not. So many of the decisions we think are very important are really only that way to us. They don’t always impact ourselves and others in a truly life-changing way and therefore … no ripple.”
I wish for a moment I could travel back to the pizza parlor and get myself an underage drink.
“Well, if you’re going to use me for this stuff, you’re going to have to know that I’m going to react sometimes. I couldn’t just walk away,” I snap at him.
“Travelers have to learn to be unbiased, Jessa,” he reminds me firmly. “If you let yourself get too involved in the other realities, you won’t be able to do the job correctly. And that could have big repercussions. That’s why we send you out. Making changes in your own reality is hard to do without feeling invested.”
“I can’t be unbiased about everything! And definitely not about this!”
“You’re going to have to learn to be.”
“So … what? I lose all my empathy? I don’t care who I’m screwing with or what I do to them? Are you going to have me pushing people into traffic next?”
“You need to calm down.”
“The hell with that!” I shout. “And to hell with you! I’m done here!” I stomp out of the classroom and through the red door to find myself staring at the alarm clock, lying in bed, with my hands still clenched into fists.
26
The Enchanted Pirate
I’m still glowering as I sit in history listening to Mr. Draper drone on about the Gadsden Purchase and Manifest Destiny, and I’m writing stray thoughts down in my journal, looking across the room at Finn when I can and trying not to zone out too much.
“St. Clair.”
I look over at Ben, who just whispered my name.
He points down at his phone, and I very carefully pull mine out, half hiding it under my journal.
I make sure the ringer is off and check my texts.
I see his jaw tighten as he reads my message.
He pockets his phone and I slide mine out from under my journal and put it away. I look over at him, but he’s looking at Mr. Draper and not at me. He’s probably just making sure I’m okay after my near-death experience. Whatever it is, I’m just glad to be communicated with. He hasn’t said two words to me in the two days since Finn showed up at school.
Ben says nothing to me for the rest of class, even when he and I are assigned to the same four-person group for a project. When the bell rings, he lingers as I gather up my notebook and my backpack.
“Can I walk you to class?” he asks. “I promise not to make fun of your hair.”
I look up with a begrudging smile, glad to have him talking to me again. “Sure.”
“We can both walk you to class,” Finn suggests, coming up behind him. He’s not going to let me out of his sight, and the look on his face tells me he’s definitely not going to let me out of sight with Ben.
And Ben has had enough. He rounds on Finn. “We’re trying to have a conversation here.”
“So have it,” Finn says. “I’ll wait.”
“A private conversation,” Ben stresses. “That means you can find something else to do.”
“Finn…” I start to ease my way into the conversation, but the testosterone pushes me back out again.
“I’ve got a pretty boring life,” Finn retorts. “I don’t really have anything else to do.”
Ben steps forward, getting in Finn’s face. “I’m fixing to give you something to do.”
“Ben!”
“Who the hell does he think he is?” Ben demands, gesturing at Finn. “And since when did you decide he’s your babysitter?”
“I didn’t see you by her side last week much,” Finn says.