Heist

the courtyard. Ian Kronin.

  I need to attract his attention for my plan to work. I close my eyes and whisper an apology to the bust before I place my hands against her backside and push. It falls with a crash, echoing throughout the courtyard.

  "Hey! I've got him!" Kronin yells.

  Dad appears on the balcony. "Take him down with the others."

  I streak across the patio in the middle of the courtyard. Hoping to get caught.

  "Gotcha!" Kronin grabs my arm and jerks me back. "You're the kid from the street. I knew we should've nabbed you then, troublemaker."

  Kronin pushes me along, a painfully tight grip on my upper arm. "Escaped from the party, eh? Out to play pranks on cops just doing their duty. I could have you locked up for this."

  I clench my teeth to hold back the many sharp retorts I want to spit out. But I can't screw this up. He leads me back to the entrance, down the stairs to the basement level, and down the hallway. With one last push from Kronin, I stumble into the room where the one guard is duct taped to a furnace pipe.

  My knees slam into the floor and pain shoots up my leg. Quickly, I stick my hand in my pocket for the taser. The guard peeks out at me through the duct tape, his eyes wild with terror. He looks like a mummy.

  I hear the rip of duct tape and that's all it takes. I whirl around, lunge, and stick the taser into Kronin's thigh.

  He shudders and falls to the floor, twitching and jerking. I finish ripping off the duct tape and wrap strips of it around Kronin's face and head to look exactly like the guard. Grunts and groans escape his mouth, along with drool, but I don't feel any compassion, only a slight bit of satisfaction. I drag him over to another pipe and tape him to it.

  The brochure with Frank's name on it burns a hole in my pocket and I tape it to the pipe. If Frank agrees to my plan then Kronin will go straight to jail; his brother, Kyle, will go to jail; and Dad will go free in exchange for the stolen paintings.

  I race down the hallway and up the stairs to the lobby. Part two of the plan. It just took a little detour for me to get there. Dad hurries down the marble stairs, rolled-up paintings tucked under his arm. His face is grim, his mouth a thin line of determination.

  I dive behind the service desk and the red panic button stares at me again.

  Ready to be pushed.

  2:30 a.m.

  I wait for Dad to take another trip out to the car and come back into the lobby. He seems to take forever, the quiet in the museum playing tricks on me. What if he doesn't return? Will my plan really work? I planned on letting him go free, but what if I can talk to him and stop him from stealing the paintings; and then, what if he turns away from a life of crime? Inspired by a teenage boy.

  I stand and lean casually against the counter, my legs trembling, waiting. He enters, heading straight for the stairs.

  "If you're looking for your partner, you won't find him."

  Dad whips around. At first he's surprised, with fear in his eyes, but he masks it and takes on the swagger of a cop. "You pesky little kid. How did you get in here?"

  "I have my ways." I struggle to keep my voice from cracking.

  "Now, now." He heads toward me. "We're here for a routine investigation. Why don't you come with me, and I'll show you out."

  I place my fingers on the button. Nausea churns in my stomach and I sway, a bit dizzy. I'll be leaving soon. "Don't come any closer! Or the real cops will be here in seconds."

  His eyes flicker down to my hand below the reception desk. Knowledge is there but he's the master and stays in the role. "Son, we are the cops. We got called in for a disturbance in the courtyard."

  A pulse pounds behind my eyes, rocking my head. My fingers clench into a fist. Dad's words slid out like butter on a hot pan for pancakes. I think about his stories, his charm, his laughter. I think about the morning when Dad, dressed in a tux, shared about working undercover. I blindly believed him.

  Slick as butter.

  Angry tears spring to my eyes and my hands shake. Rage that has always been a part of me pushes to the surface. I yell, the words flying out. "Stop lying to me!"

  Dad says nothing, his face pale, like he's been in prison for three years.

  "You never tell the truth. I know you're not a cop. You're Joseph Brodie. The biggest con artist to ever live!"

  At that moment, I want to press the button and see Dad rot in jail. If I don't save him though, what else will go wrong? What about Mom? And Jetta? I have promises to keep. I breathe deep and get under control. I speak calm and confident. "Leave now and I won't push the button until you're gone."

  Dad steps closer.

  "Stop! If you take one step closer, I'll press it. Your partner is down in the basement with the guards." I want to order him to return the paintings but I don't have time. If I disappear before Dad leaves then he and Kronin will go free. Nothing will be solved.

  Dad stops and holds out his hands. Any fake charm disappears and the swagger is gone. He lowers his voice. "Why are you letting me go?"

  "Let's just say this isn't about you." I swallow a hiccup. "Not anymore. Leave."

  Dad stares for a long moment. "You've got spunk, kid." Then he turns and walks out.

  As soon as the door closes, I slump to the floor. An engine starts outside and roars away down the street.

  Seconds later, I disappear.

  MARCH 17, 2013

  DAY FOUR

  6:03 a.m.

  The smell of lavender floats in the air. It's a nice scent but one I don't smell often. I'm supposed to return right to the coffee shop and the smell of cinnamon. I dig my fingers through the soft material and into the hard surface beneath me.

  I shift and groan. My body feels wrecked.

  "Now, now," a cheery voice says, "don't move too quickly. You've had a tough journey. Why don't I make you a hot cup of green tea? It's known to calm the nerves."

  The strange voice jolts through me, and I open my eyes to a bright yellow ceiling. An ache spreads across my back. I move to my side to get up but roll off a table and hit the floor with a thump.

  The woman laughs, a nice sound that warms me. "I told you not to move too quickly."

  I stand and stare at the angel-like vision. Long silver hair flows down her back. Kindness reflects in her eyes and when she smiles her whole face lights up. She looks familiar but I can't place her.

  My stomach sinks as I take in what used to be Mom's coffee shop. Panic pricks my heart and spreads fast. A lone table covered with the red velvet cloth is in the middle of the room. Shelves hang on the wall, filled with candles, jars of dried herbs, and health food. Big comfy velvet pillows line the other wall; and an espresso machine sits in the back.

  "Nice of you to drop in," she says. "I'm Izzy."

  "Where am I?" The closest thing to a coffee shop is the espresso machine.

  "You're in my shop, Be Healthy Be Whole."

  I breathe deep. Mom never had the coffee shop. I'm not sure what that means to me, or how I screwed up my world with my last trip back. The side of my head throbs and the pieces of my life are scattered everywhere, far enough that I can't find them.

  The teakettle whistles. "I'll be right back."

  I walk over to the wall where the paintings used to hang. I run my fingers in between the shelves, searching for the tiny nail holes, proof that at one point they were there. The wall is perfectly smooth. I walk to the door and check on Waldo's Gas-n-Go. Some things are the same.

  I stare at the door, willing a girl to walk through wearing a green-striped shirt with soft pink lips and a dazzling smile. This is when she's supposed to appear in my life. Right now. First thing in the morning. But the longer I stare at the door, the truth sinks in that it might not happen.

  "Here you go. You might want to let that steep for a bit. It's hot." Izzy places the teacup on the table. Steam rises in small curls and then vanishes. "Come take a seat."

  I shuffle over and sit. I wrap my hands around the teacup, the heat my only grasp on reality, o
n this world that is so different from all the others. I touch my lips, remembering the kiss that happened within the past couple hours.

  "Cheer up. What's on your mind?" Izzy asks.

  "Is there a coffee shop around here?"

  "You have to travel uptown to find those shops. The closest coffee here is at Waldo's, and their coffee is terrible, which is why I offer some to my customers."

  "Oh." My mind is a blank screen when it comes to what kinds of questions to ask this lady. I probably should go to school and figure out where I live, but a part of me doesn't want to know. Once I walk out this door, the disaster called life will smack me in the face. I want to curl up on my bed and never leave my room. Wherever that is.

  Izzy chuckles.

  "What's so funny?" My guard goes up.

  "I'm sorry, Jack. You really don't remember me, do you?"

  I study her face. Her bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks are like something from a storybook. "No."

  "We've been having breakfast together every morning for years. Ever since your mom opened one of those fancy shmancy shops uptown. She leaves early in the morning, and you come down and eat with me before school."

  Shock ripples through my system and it takes a few seconds before I can form words. "I still live upstairs?"

  "Sure do. Frank told me that on this day, you'd arrive here and wouldn't remember a thing. I didn't believe him."

  "Frank?" My insides twist knowing he had a hand in anything. He's poison, infiltrating and flooding my life.

  "Oh, gosh. You don't know anything. Let's just say in a previous life I was a psychic, so Frank and I had a connection."

  Psychic? I slap my forehead. The psychic? The one who closed down her shop due to an angry customer, and Mom then opened the coffee shop? The one my friends and I pranked until she moved out of the building? I gulp. Did she remember anything else about the alternate realities?

  "I'm only allowed to tell you so much. Something about overloading the senses. Time travelers can be pretty sensitive."

  My eyes widen. "Time travelers?"

  "I'll let Frank fill you in on that later."

  A question burns and I have to ask. "What about my dad?"

  "Your dad?" Her eyebrows shoot up as if she doesn't know him.

  A metal hand reaches in through my chest and clamps down on my heart. What horrible life have I inflicted on Dad this time? "He hasn't been around?" I whisper.

  "I've never met your dad, and your mum keeps pretty quiet about those things. So do you for that matter." Her eyes are inquisitive but I can tell she won't push the issue and be nosy. Not that I can answer her questions anyway.

  I flop down on one of the big cushions and let the air out of my chest in one big breath. Dad's alive, but he still isn't around. Probably in jail. I gave him a second chance, and he failed. Maybe I should've forced him to listen back at the Gardner. Maybe I should've done more.

  "Did Frank tell you anything?" I ask, desperate for any kind of information.

  "Something about confidentiality. I was told you'd need a friend today, and a little push in the right direction."

  My throat is dry but I have to ask. "What about-"

  Izzy points to the teacup. "Take a sip. You need it. I also have breakfast waiting for you. Mind you, I'm not as good a cook as your mum, but you've seemed happy enough. I have it warming in the oven. Hold on." She heads back into the kitchen.

  I hold my head between my hands. I want to go back. To the first day. Before I time traveled. Dad might've been in jail but that was looking like cheesecake compared to this. Everything has changed?again.

  Izzy returns with scrambled eggs and bacon. I lift the teacup to my mouth and sip the hot liquid. It warms my throat and stomach. I think of another morning with Jetta and scrambled eggs and bacon.

  "What about Jetta?" I ask, my fingers gripping the teacup. Somehow I get the words out.

  Izzy tilts her head, her eyes tender. "I know you have questions. I can tell this Jetta means a lot to you. But?"

  I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then open them. "You've never heard of her, have you?"

  Izzy shakes her head sadly. "Sorry."

  I shovel down the rest of my breakfast barely taking the time to chew. "Thanks."

  "I'd do anything for you. You know that." I can see in her eyes that she speaks the truth. In this reality, she's happy. "You're like a son to me. The only family I have."

  "Where do I go from here?"

  "I thought you'd never ask. You need to head to your mum's shop before school. Special anniversary today to celebrate the arts. You have permission to miss the first part of school."

  This doesn't sound like Mom at all. In fact, my spirits rise because if she's celebrating the arts then maybe Jetta had a hand in it. "Where's the shop?"

  "Just head to the Garden. I promise, you won't miss it."

  "Thanks for breakfast. Thanks for everything."

  Izzy wraps me in a warm hug. I stiffen. This lady might know me, but she's a stranger. She lets go and I head for the door.

  "Don't forget to wear your suit."

  Her words sink in and I dread finding out why I have to wear a suit. I can't handle another funeral. Up in my room, I slip my arms into crisp white sleeves. They reach down to my wrists. No buttons are missing. I pull on the smooth black pants and zip them. They hang at my waist, not too tight and not too loose, and don't stop at my ankles. Even though the black jacket and the tie fit perfectly, they feel awkward and wrong.

  This is not my cousin Tommy's suit. I hunt around for black shiny shoes but find an almost new pair of white Nikes. I put them on and leave.

  8:30 a.m.

  I walk into school to gawking faces and gaping mouths. It must not be often that anyone enters dressed for a wedding. Or a funeral.

  I walk past the office and Ms. Kale.

  I walk past the auditorium where later Principal Nelson will be talking about behavior on visitor's night. The buzz of students and teachers in the hallways feels normal. But I don't care about any of that. I don't care about Mom's coffee shop. That can wait.

  I need to find Jetta. The need to find her and see her in flesh and blood, alive and well, is stronger than the desire to find out about my own welfare. Her heart beats with mine and I want to hold her close and tell her about the past three days.

  Somehow, I have to convince her to carry the taser even if it means she hates me, punches me, or screams at me again. I'll even destroy her entry to the art festival if I have to, because I care that much. The crime she accused me of, I'm now willing to commit. When I make promises, I follow through. Then I'll go check out Mom's shop.

  That's when it hits me.

  I stop and press my forehead into the cool cement of the hallway wall, the truth rising inside me. The destroyed paintings prevented Jetta from entering the art festival.

  It was to protect Jetta.

  Jetta's dad not only gave her kung-fu lessons but a taser. For self-defense. Her dad knew the grandmother was after Jetta. He spent his life running, moving them from place to place, all for Jetta. He cared enough to protect her, even if it meant taking a job as a janitor at her school and asking a boy who seemed like a troublemaker for his name and then framing him.

  All of a sudden, I don't feel so alone. Someone else cares enough or more than I do about Jetta. With a racing heart, I continue down the hall, past the janitor's closet to the art room. I hold my breath and poke my head around the corner.

  "Oh, you poor thing," a gentle voice croons. Ms. Charpetto crosses the room to a cactus plant with her watering can. "I keep forgetting to water you."

  I step into the room and clear my throat.

  Ms. Charpetto jumps. The water spills from the can and splashes to the floor. "Sorry about that. Students usually don't sneak up on me this time of day. They're rushing off to homeroom." She narrows her eyes. "Isn't that where you should be? Jack, right?"

  I nod. "I'm on my way. I wanted to stop by."

/>   She mops up the water with a paper towel. "Come into my office." She throws away the soaking paper towels and sits on a long black desk.

  "Do you have any new students today?" I ask.

  She purses her lips.

  I add, "Students really good at art and you've signed them up for the art festival this afternoon?" My heart thuds loudly.

  "Why Jack, did you enter some artwork?"

  I shake my head. "No, I didn't enter. But, I'd like to sign up for that creative art sculpture thing class."

  She smiles. "You mean the one graded on effort and attendance."

  "Yeah, that one."

  "I'll sign you up. Maybe you can convince your friends too."

  "I'll try." I stumble over the next words. "Did? I mean, do you?has a girl named Jetta talked to you yet?"

  "Oh, I get it, now. Taking art to impress a girl? I guess it's not the first time." She walks over to her desk and looks at her attendance and notes. "No new students named Jetta."

  8:45 a.m.

  On the way to the office, kids wave and say hello. I receive a couple of high fives and a few girls smile shyly at me, their eyelashes lowered. Girls never smile at me like that. I would've died and gone to girl heaven if they smiled at me like that a couple years ago.

  I stumble through the halls, no longer invisible.

  Other students know I'm here and my presence is welcome, not spurned like the day before. For some reason I don't like it. I find myself randomly smiling at other kids as we pass in the hall but it feels forced, like it's not me. I want to be invisible again with just my besties.

  The first bell rings. Kids scatter into first period classrooms. Doors shut with stragglers sliding in at the last second to avoid detention. I'm one of the only ones still shuffling through the hall.

  I stop in front of the office. Ms. Kale must be inside and the door is cracked open. Files lay open on her desk next to a paperweight that reads, "I'm the boss!"

  I sneak in and peer over her desk at the papers, looking for Jetta's name and homeroom number on records, on a transfer slip or a class schedule. Something.

  "Excuse me!"

  I shoot up, knocking over a picture frame on her desk. I cringe, waiting for the barrage of words heading my way. And possibly a couple detentions.

  "Why, it's you." She waggles her finger with a smile on her face. "You coming around for a late pass again? I don't know how many more I can give you and your friends."

  My jaw drops. Ever since I woke I haven't been able to make sense of this world. I've never seen her smile at a student. Clearly, in this dimension I'm in her good graces. It feels a bit creepy.

  "Trying to catch all the flies in my office?" She winks.

  I snap my jaw shut and smile. "No."

  She waves her hand. "Oh, you remind me so much of your dad."

  Those words sink like they're attached to a brick. Just like my dad? At one point I would've given anything to hear those words, but now I'm not sure. Did I want to be just like him? He charmed everyone with his swagger and sweet words, but on the inside, he had a heart of stone. He only cared about one person. Himself.

  "What do you need? A pass?" She whipped out a pad of paper.

  "No thanks." I hesitate. This is my last chance. If Jetta's not at school then I have no idea where she is. She has to be here. She just