I don’t say anything—because I just stare at him. This can’t possibly make sense.
Ben shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have broken up with Nick for me.”
“What?” Hot rage flows through me, and I curl my hands into fists. “I didn’t break up with Nick for you. That had nothing to do with you.”
“Wait, that’s not what I meant. I—”
“Then what? Did I misinterpret something? Did you not mean what you just said to me?”
“No, of course not.” Ben takes a step toward me, but then backpedals and reaches up and grabs his hair with both hands. “But that’s not the point. How I feel, that doesn’t matter, because we can’t be together.”
“Why?”
“I can’t do this,” he says. “I can’t be this close to you after wanting it so long, only to have it all ripped away.”
“What are you talking about?”
He closes his eyes, and his voice comes out strained and barely above a whisper. “Janelle, we all might die in eight days, but even if we don’t, I’m… I’m not from here.” His eyes flick open again, and his face looks pained. “Don’t you get what that means?”
I don’t say anything.
Ben reaches out and grabs my shoulders. “I’ve spent every waking moment of the past seven years trying to get back home.”
“Back…,” I say, and I can’t get anything else out, because of course I know that. All the experiments, the quantum physics, the open portals, and the bodies coming through. “Home to your universe. You’re leaving.”
Ben nods.
“But when?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he answers. “Whether it’s tomorrow, the next day, or seven days from now, or ever. My goal is always going to be to get home.”
Home. For him, it’s a place I don’t belong.
08:15:56:47
“Where the hell have you been?” Struz says when I open the front door to my house and slip inside.
My heart rate skyrockets and I lean against the door for a second, reminding myself that I left the backpack at Ben’s, and the approaching interrogation is more about the fact that I’m coming in at one in the morning on a school night.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I say.
“Damn straight,” Struz answers. He’s in the kitchen, putting dishes away from the dishwasher. “You gonna tell me now where the hell you’ve been? And don’t even say Alex’s. I saw his car pull in almost an hour ago.”
“Did you hear his mother yelling from here?” I ask with a laugh.
“As a matter of fact I did, but answer the question.”
“I was up at a friend’s house on Black Mountain Road,” I say. I’m not exactly lying to him. I’m just withholding some of the truth. “Alex was there for a while too. We were talking about physics.”
“Next time, could it occur to you to call, maybe, and let me know?” he says, and I instantly feel guilty. I just did to Struz what my dad used to do to us all the time.
“You’re right, I should have called.” I nod.
“Okay, well, now that I made you feel bad, I have something for you.”
I love that he’s like that. “What is it?”
He pulls something from his pocket—square and black—and immediately my eyes water, because I know it’s my dad’s wallet. The one I bought him for Christmas a few years ago. The leather is already starting to wear, but he wouldn’t buy a new one, because this was the one I’d given him.
“Thank you,” I say, forcing the words through the tightness in my throat. I know my mother was fine when I left, but I still feel compelled to ask, “How did tonight go?”
Struz shakes his head. “It was a quiet night. She’s sleeping now, I guess. She took some food into her room but I don’t know if she ate anything.”
I nod and turn to head up the stairs. “Good night, Struz,” I call, knowing he’ll either crash on the couch or let himself out, depending on how tired he is and how early he has to get up in the morning.
In my room, I throw my purse on my dresser, kick off my shoes, and fall into bed. I’ll change my clothes tomorrow. I open up the wallet and pull out everything that’s inside. There’s a picture of Jared and me from Comic-Con three years ago, a twenty-dollar bill, my dad’s driver’s license, a couple of credit cards, a gift card to Target, and a slip of paper with the numbers 3278 on it. I want that to be a clue, but I know it’s probably his locker number at the gym.
Even though I know he’s probably asleep and that it’ll go straight to voice mail, I call the number for Barclay’s FBI phone and listen to it ring. I need information, and I’m hoping he can get it for me without asking too many questions. He doesn’t care about me like Struz does, which means he won’t be worrying about what I’m up to. When the generic voice mail picks up, I leave a message, asking him to call me back tomorrow. I even tell him we need to meet, exchange information.
As I’m hanging up, there’s a knock on my door.
Instinctively I throw the phone down and leap off the bed, wondering if whoever’s knocking just heard me leave that message.
I crack open the door, and Struz is there. He’s got his sweatshirt on and his car keys in his hand.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to pretend he didn’t almost just catch me calling an analyst so I could illegally involve myself in a federal investigation.
“I just want to say…” He coughs into his hand and shifts uncomfortably. “You know you can come to me, with whatever you’re into?”
“Of course,” I say, probably too quickly for it to be believable.
I start to shut the door again, but then his hand comes out and stops me. My heart beats faster. What does he think I’m into—what does he know?
I almost tell him. I almost let Ben’s seven-year secret just pour out of my mouth, but I can’t do it. Even if Struz did believe me, I don’t know how the FBI would really help. I know someone like Elijah isn’t going to talk to them.
Instead I just look up at Struz and wait.
He clears his throat. “Whatever you’re doing with the backup gun and the files that were in your dad’s safe, be careful.”
I nod, but I can’t help but wonder why so many people seem to have so much trust in me to do the right thing.
I hope I don’t let them down.
08:05:46:15
Barclay calls me back when I’m at lunch. I see his name on my caller ID and practically jump up from my seat next to Cecily and answer the phone.
“It’s Janelle,” I say, because hello seems just a little too social for the two of us.
“What do you need, Tenner?” he asks. “I only do designated-driver runs after midnight.”
“I’m sure most girls find your humor tantalizing. But actually I was hoping you’d meet me after work,” I say, trying not to let my voice show how desperate I am for him to agree. “I have some information about a case that I think would be of interest to you, and I have some questions.”
“You think you’re going to get me to give you information?” he asks with a laugh.
“I know I will,” I say. “After all, I know you violated a direct order and brought a civilian—and minor—to a crime scene that’s been kept under wraps.”
“I’ll just get a slap on the wrist from Struz.”
“Maybe, but what will happen to you if this gets leaked to the press?” I say, even though I’m not a hundred percent sure where that threat is coming from. Too many bad Mafia movies? “I’m sure they’d be shocked and appalled to hear how traumatized I am.”
Barclay must be trying to digest that, because he doesn’t say anything.
“I have information for you too, you know,” I offer. I don’t want to scare him off too much.
“Information?” he asks. “What could you possibly have?”
“Just all my dad’s files.”
I swear I can hear the intake of breath through the phone.
“All right,” Barclay says. “I get off a
round five. Where do you want to meet?”
I tell him the address of the Chili’s in Mira Mesa, the location Alex and I agreed on. I’ll get information from Barclay, and Alex and Ben will drive around and compare gas stations to the photo my dad had of alias Mike Cooper.
When I hang up, I head back to my table. Alex is eating with Cecily and a few friends—people we’ve had classes with the past two years. They’re still talking about the upcoming calculus test and whether we’ll be prepared for the AP test in May—the same thing they were talking about when I got up. They have no idea how little that will matter if the world ends.
I pretend to listen, but glance around the quad, looking for Ben.
He and Elijah are in their usual spot on the grass, with girls like Roxy and Alicia, and laughing loudly.
Ben looks casually disinterested, the way he always does, and for some reason this time I feel insanely jealous and wish he were eating lunch with me.
“So Ben Michaels…,” Cecily says suddenly, and when I turn back to our table, she’s smiling at me.
A couple of people laugh, like they’re waiting to be let in on some joke, but Cecily just keeps looking at me with her big smile. “He is cute,” she giggles.
I shrug. “If you like that mysterious bad boy kind of thing.”
She smiles wider and looks in Ben and Elijah’s direction. “I do, actually.”
“I’m not sure I understand the whole allure of the bad boy,” Alex says. “Frankly, I’ve always thought the intelligent and hardworking valedictorian type should be more appealing.”
“Oh, Alex, how little you understand girls,” I say with a laugh.
Cecily turns back to us. “Ben Michaels seems pretty damn smart in physics. I seem to recall a recent lab where he told one of those intelligent and hardworking valedictorian types what he was doing wrong.”
Alex nods. “I suppose this means I need a new wardrobe.”
Which springboards an entirely too long conversation about what Cecily would do to make over Alex in order to make him look like a bad boy.
My eyes wander back to Ben.
Until Alex bumps my shoulder.
“What?” I say, turning my attention to him.
He nods his head at something, but he’s terrible at it, and I have no idea what direction he actually wants me to look.
After a few seconds of me blankly staring, he rolls his eyes. “Kate,” he says. “She’s eating lunch by herself?”
I turn to look at the tables by the gym where Kate and her friends always eat, and sure enough, Alex is right. Kate is eating at a table by herself, while the girls she always eats with are several tables away. As I’m watching, Brooke gets up from her table and practically bounces over to Kate and says something.
But Kate just shakes her head and looks down until Brooke walks away.
“I wonder what that’s all about,” Alex says.
“Does it matter?” I ask, turning back to my food. And wishing it didn’t.
08:03:34:58
“So you’re now more than halfway through the novel,” Poblete says, “and you just hit a major turning point. Based on your reading last night, what new revelation have we learned about Gatsby?”
I should be relieved to be in school. It’s the only time of the day I can actually forget about the countdown, alternate universes, and alias Mike Cooper and pretend to be normal. Except when I realize how behind I am, how little I know about what’s going on in class, panic wells up in my chest, because with everything else going on, I didn’t do my reading last night, or the night before.
But apparently Poblete has radar for that. “Ms. Tenner, give us one new thing we learned about Gatsby.”
Right when I’m about to just bite the big one and admit I’ve got no idea what she’s talking about, I see Ben tap his notebook a few times.
Everything Gatsby’s done has been for Daisy.
Thankfully, I have read The Great Gatsby before. I actually love the tragedy of the story, but I’m not entirely sure how far we’re supposed to be in the book. So I go for Ben’s answer and add my own two cents about Gatsby doing everything from throwing elaborate parties to getting his neighbor’s grass cut, and having a hundred different shirts. Sure enough, after I give my answer, she says, “Thank you, Ms. Tenner.”
“Now Ms. Zhou had previously claimed that Daisy was just an innocent victim of her terrible husband. What do we think of her now, after this chapter?”
I look over at Ben, half-thankful he just saved me, half-mortified he had to. When this is all over, I need to get my priorities straight.
“Now,” Poblete says, “let’s look at some of the language Fitzgerald uses in chapters four and five. What are some quotes you annotated that would point to Fitzgerald using Gatsby as an example of the withering American Dream?”
“Didn’t you read this, like, two years ago?” Ben whispers to me, his breath warm in my ear.
I stiffen and look over at him. I wonder how he knows that—he must read the question on my face, because he leans in again. “Not many people at this school sit out on the quad during lunch and read. Even fewer alternate between The Great Gatsby and Harry Potter.”
“Harry Potter is a classic,” I whisper back.
“What’s your favorite book, if you had to pick one?”
“The Electric Church by Jeff Somers,” I say without hesitation. “If I had to pick one—it’s this crazy science fiction noir, and the main character is badass. And it’s different, nothing else quite like it.”
“If we get through all this, I want to borrow it.”
I’m about to make that a deal and ask what his favorite book is, but Poblete says, “Mr. Michaels, please stop asking Ms. Tenner to marry you and pay attention.”
My face flushes with heat and I look back at my notes, but Ben just laughs. “Why are you bent on ruining all my shots at getting a date?”
I’d love it if the floor could swallow me up right about now. Because I can’t help thinking about our date and how Ben says we can’t be together, which means we won’t ever have another one. It makes me feel a little like someone’s cutting me open.
“Not all your shots, just the ones infringing on my class time,” she says, and then she’s back to Gatsby.
At least for a second. Because the next thing I know, I feel dizzy and nauseous, like I’m about to be sick. And I realize it’s because the ground beneath my feet is moving.
08:03:30:01
The floor shakes, the walls rattle, and the tables and chairs dance around. Everything moves right and then left and right again, and I feel like someone’s jerking me side to side. Poblete stumbles and falls into the wall. For a minute, we all just sit there, shocked that the whole classroom appears as if it might collapse around us.
Someone behind me says, “Holy shit, are we having an earthquake?”
And then Poblete is yelling for everyone to get on the floor under the tables, like we’ve been taught to do every year since we were in preschool. This is California. We knew what to do in an earthquake before we even understood what it was.
I push my chair back and get under my table, trying to focus on the fact that this is okay, this is normal, it’s just an earthquake. Only I look over and this time I’m the one trying to help Ben. He just sits sort of dazed in his seat, and I can picture the windows blowing out and a chunk of glass hurtling at his face. The thought makes me feel even more sick to my stomach, and I reach up and pull him by one of his arms, tugging him out of his chair and onto the floor.
And the ground keeps shaking, harder and faster, like we’re on some kind of crazy theme park ride, and I realize we haven’t hit the worst of it yet. It’s hard to breathe, like air is catching on something in my throat, and I’m starting to feel disoriented, like I don’t know how to keep my head above the rest of my body.
My whole body feels like it’s vibrating, like I have no control over my own skin. Books and backpacks fall off the tables and chairs and bounce ar
ound on the floor. I try to grab the leg of the table to steady myself, but that only emphasizes how much it’s jerking around. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster gone wrong—like we’re about to run right off the tracks.
Pictures fall off the walls, sparks fly from Poblete’s computer, the lights go out, the windows break, glass rains down on the tabletops, and someone screams.
And then it takes me a second to realize it’s over—that my hands and body are still shaking, but the ground has in fact stopped.
It’s only when it’s quiet that I realize how loud the earthquake was—like thunder, only coming from beneath the earth, like the earth was screaming, letting loose some kind of roar.
Now I can hear my own heart beating, and I reach over to grab Ben’s wrist, listening to the steady thrum of his pulse against my fingers. I can hear all forty of us breathing and the quiet sobs of someone behind me. And then the PA system crackles and I hear Mauro’s voice. “This is a Code White,” she says. Earthquake. “Lock down your classrooms, this is a Code White.”
And then it’s quiet again, and we’re left with the sounds of our breathing and the smell of fried circuits.
“Is everyone okay?” Poblete asks. A chorus of shaky affirmative replies echoes through the room. “Ms. Crowley, you okay back there?”
“Just dandy. I banged the shit out of my knee, but I’ll live.”
“Please do. Any blood?”
“Nope, just hurts like a bitch.”
“Well, that is at least promising. Ms. Desjardins, are you hurt?” Poblete asks.
It’s Alex who answers for her—she’s crying too hard. “Maddy’s fine. Just scared, but she’s starting to calm down.”
“Good. Good.” Poblete gets up and moves to her desk. “Stay where you are, in case there are any aftershocks. I’m going to try to check in with admin.”
Murmurs move through the room, everyone asking one another, “Are you okay?” or giving some brief description of what they thought was happening when it first started, or even telling stories about other earthquakes they lived through.