Leo replies and says that we’ll be there very soon.
“Will you guys let me know how she is?” Rory asks. “I have to go with my mom to check out places for Sawyer’s birthday dinner next week. As he gets older it gets harder to find places he’s not banned from!”
We promise to fill her in and then try not to laugh at Tara as she climbs onto the bubble-gum-pink bike that she’s been borrowing from her cousin Emily. It’s WAY too small for her. Tara sees our expressions and holds her head high. “Obviously you two are jealous of this fine machine.”
“I’m definitely jealous of the tassels on the handlebars,” Leo says.
“I’m jealous of the stickers on that banana seat,” I add. “But seriously, that bike is much closer to my size. You take mine.” I wheel it over to her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yup. I’ve always wanted a banana seat. You don’t see those much anymore.” We trade, and Tara looks much more comfortable. Since the pottery store is on the way, we decide to stop there first. The woman behind the counter looks pretty much the same as when we saw her less than an hour ago, except for her clothes and a few more gray hairs. Leo places the receipt on the counter. “We’d like to pick these up.”
She takes a look at it, then peers closer. “Is this right? You made these three years ago? You certainly kept the receipt in excellent condition.”
She’s right; the paper doesn’t even have a crease on it, and the ink isn’t even dry.
“Time just flew by,” Leo says.
She looks doubtful. “Well, we do have a bin in the back for unclaimed items. We can see if it’s there.” She leads us to the back room and slides a box out from below the counter.
“Have at it,” she says, pushing the box toward us. Leo and I kneel down and pull out random pieces of pottery. Unicorns, Christmas ornaments, picture frames, bowls, and at the very bottom, a dusty rabbit and dancer tied together with a rubber band. Leo holds the small bundle aloft. “Success!”
Besides the videos changing, this is the first real, hold-in-your-hand proof that we have of visiting the past. Tara whistles. “That’s pretty cool.”
Leo wipes the dust off, and they shine much more than when we handed them in. The glaze really makes them look kind of nice. The woman wraps them in bubble wrap and I lay them in the basket of the banana bike and try not to go over too many bumps on the way to Grace’s house.
I had expected the house to be really quiet like a hospital, but loud music reaches us as we climb up the porch steps. “The doctor said stimulation is good!” Mrs. Kelly shouts over the noise as she lets us in. “Connor’s up with her now,” she says. “Her friend Bailey just left. It’s nice of you to want to support Connor. This is very hard for him. They’re very close.” Her eyes fill with tears. If Rory were here, she’d hug her. But since she isn’t, I do it instead. She seems surprised but smiles at me as she points the way upstairs.
When we came here to gather Grace’s stuff, I hadn’t noticed the poster of Playing It Cool taped on her bedroom door. She drew antlers and a beard on Madison’s face in red marker. I snap a picture of it with my phone to email Rory.
Tara knocks, and Connor swings open the door. “Hi, New Girl.”
“Tara,” she says, then slower, “Ta-ruh.”
Connor shrugs. “I like New Girl.”
“Yeah, whatever, that’s fine.” Tara pushes by him and goes over to the bed. It’s much quieter in here. Just some soft music playing that sounds very familiar.
“Wait, is that from Fiddler on the Roof?” I ask. “Like, our actual production of it?”
He nods. “I made a recording from my dad’s video. Since Friday was the last night she was … well, normal, we thought hearing the singing might help.” He steps aside so we can get closer to the bed. Grace is propped up on pillows, and her eyes are open again. They still seem blank. A tube attached to her arm is feeding her a steady stream of clear liquid. Her face looks less pale, but the big change is in her hands. Her fingers are moving! They tap together, almost like she’s knitting something, except there is no yarn. And no knitting needles. And she’s not, like, an eighty-year-old grandmother. Still, it’s a good sign, I think. At least I hope it is!
“I wanted to surprise you guys,” Connor says when he sees our jaws fall open at the change in Grace. “She also talks a little.”
“She does?” Tara asks, wide-eyed. This is the first time she’s seen Grace in this state, but she is doing a good job at not staring. Well, not staring too much.
“Every few minutes, she comes out with these long bursts of words that don’t make any sense. Just wait, you’ll hear.”
While we wait, I place the dancer on Grace’s nightstand. “This made me think of her.” I hand him the bunny statue. “And Leo made this one for you.”
“For me?” Connor asks, taking it carefully from me. “A rabbit?”
“It reminded me of you,” Leo says. At Connor’s confused expression he explains, “Because of the orange ears. You know, your hair?”
“Cool. Thanks.” He tilts the bunny back and forth in the light. “I feel like I’ve seen this guy before.” He shrugs and sets it down on the dresser.
I take a deep breath. “Um, Connor,” I begin, “can I ask you something?” Before he can answer or I can chicken out, I blurt out, “Did you and Grace always get along?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Why?”
“Um, this is going to sound strange, but this girl I babysit for was at one of Grace’s birthday parties a few years ago. She said you leaned over and blew out the candles on Grace’s cake before she could do it.” I can’t meet Connor’s eyes. Now I’m going to have to find some girl from the party and see if her mom needs a babysitter so my story won’t be a total lie!
Connor scratches his head. “I guess that could have happened. I’m not sure. It’s very fuzzy. Like I think I remember doing it, but not why I would do it.” He thinks for a minute, then gives a surprised laugh. “I’m pretty sure I also ran right into her birthday cake one year and toppled it over. And another time I sat on one of the presents and smashed it. I must have a jinx on me or something!”
Tara, Leo, and I don’t dare look at one another. He might not be so far off. Maybe Angelina’s enchantment leaked onto him somehow.
“But Grace never got mad at me,” Connor says, looking down and patting her arm. The song that Connor and David performed together starts to play. He turns to Tara. “Hey, have you heard from the Hamburglar?”
“Bee Boy,” I mutter, but they ignore me.
“Not since yesterday morning,” Tara says quietly.
“Don’t feel bad,” Connor says. “It’s like that when he goes to visit his dad. I think he feels like when he’s there, he should be totally there, ya know?”
Tara nods. “I’m sure he —”
But she’s cut off by Grace, who has begun to speak. We all hurry to the side of the bed, even though she’s speaking very loudly.
“My boy first true love purple I’ll pay whatever you ask gold and tree bark two pinches of tarragon and elderberries waxing moon my apples you lout!”
Then, just as quickly, the words stop and her face settles back into its usual expression. Upon closer examination, though, she looks slightly less amazed, a little more confused, and now there’s something else mixed in — concentration and surprise?
“Does she always say the same things?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Never the same. She reads a lot, so my mom thinks maybe she’s saying things she remembers from books.”
“When exactly did it start?” Leo asks.
Connor thinks for a minute. “I guess right around lunchtime yesterday.”
Again we have to avoid making eye contact with each other or he’s going to start to wonder if something’s up. But maybe our theory was right, and fixing the beach party did have something to do with her change.
At that moment Grace bursts out laughing, like she’s just heard the most hilarious thi
ng in the world, then stops and resumes her silent staring and invisible knitting.
Connor sighs. “Oh, yeah, she does that now, too.”
“You’re sure this is the right way?” Ray asks. We don’t answer because we’re not sure. We passed the end of Elm Street about five minutes back. Now we’re on a dirt road that as far as we can tell, just leads farther into the woods near Apple Grove. Over the last year that Leo and I have been working to bring the apples back to Apple Grove, we’ve never explored this area. I didn’t even know the woods went back this far.
“Do you think we’re lost?” Tara asks.
“Do you smell that?” Ray asks. He leans his head toward his open window.
“Apples!” we exclaim.
“We must be getting close,” Rory says.
“You’re officially one of us now, Ray,” I tell him.
“Unless we just passed an apple tree,” he replies.
“Oh, Ray,” Tara says. “Have I taught you nothing? There are no more apple trees in Apple Grove. Well, except the little ones that don’t make apples yet.”
“Look!” Leo shouts from the front seat. “That’s gotta be her house!”
Ray pulls to the side of the road. Even though it’s half hidden by thick trees, the yellow three-story house could belong to no one else. With its white wicker shutters and wraparound porch, it almost looks like a house from a storybook. Herbs and flowers neatly divided into small gardens fill the front lawn, while a large birdbath sits directly in the middle. We pile out of the car and stop in front of the gate. A low wooden fence surrounds the entire property. We could easily step over it, but no one does.
A wooden sign staked into the ground warns, IF I DIDN’T INVITE YOU HERE, GO AWAY.
“Well, ya gotta hand it to her,” Ray says. “She doesn’t waste words. Guess we’ll be going.”
“No way,” Leo says. “We came for answers.” He reaches for the gate, which I fully expect to be locked or enchanted or something. But it swings open easily, without even a creak. He steps through and the rest of us start to follow.
“I’ll just hang back here,” Ray says. “You know, guard the periphery.”
“You’re sure?” Tara asks, holding the gate for him.
“Hey, anyone who can get people stuck in time and send people BACK in time ain’t someone I need to mess with.”
“Fair enough,” she says.
It turns out he didn’t need to worry because no one is answering the door. Leo keeps ringing the bell while Rory, Tara, and I wander through the lawn reading the names of herbs printed on little sticks. There are some really strange ones. Feverfew, coltsfoot, pennyroyal, fenugreek seed, marjoram, nettle. Some are only a few inches tall, others reach my knees. The gardens look very well kept, although nothing seems to have been cut recently.
I pass the birdbath (which is also a sundial) and join Leo on the porch. “Maybe she’s still asleep? It’s not even nine o’clock yet.” We’d had to get an early start because the pottery party starts at ten.
“I don’t think she’s here,” he says. “I guess gone fishing really means gone fishing. And the windows are tinted or something. I can’t see inside at all.”
I check the time on my phone. “We better go. We still have to pick up the trick candles at the drugstore.” He knocks one more time and gives up. Tara looks up from a patch of tiny white flowers atop long green stems. The sign is labeled YARROW. “Look close,” Tara says, pointing to the sign. Below the word yarrow, I can just make out the word love in tiny handwriting. “I think Angelina uses these to make potions.”
Leo laughs. “I don’t think Angelina’s the potion-making type.”
Tara shrugs and turns on her heel. “You don’t know everything, Leo Fitzpatrick.”
I laugh and nudge his arm. “She sure told you.”
“I was going to bring you some candles,” Rory says as we climb back in the car. “But my dad used them all up on his own birthday. He thinks they’re hilarious.”
“No wonder our dads were friends growing up,” Tara says.
We arrive at the pottery store with only ten minutes to spare, so we’ll have to buy the candles when we get to the past. Leo takes out his dollars and trades with Ray until he doesn’t have any bills more recent than four years ago. He’s good at remembering these little details.
The streets are pretty crowded as far as Willow Falls goes, so we decide to wait around the back of the store. “What do you guys see when we disappear?” I ask the others.
“We only saw it happen at the beach,” Rory says. “It was superquick. Like, in a split second, you were just gone. Poof!”
“And no one else noticed?”
“Nope.”
“Has Jake remembered anything about the time he was out?” Leo asks.
“I don’t know,” Rory says. “He’s been so busy with publicity stuff for the movie that I’ve only gotten short emails.”
“At least you know he’s thinking about you,” Tara says. “I still haven’t heard from David. I’m a little worried. I mean, I know he’s with his family, it’s just, well, there’s so much I’ve kept from him since I’ve been in town, like all the Angelina stuff, and everything about why I was sent here in the first place. Maybe he just got tired of not knowing what was going on.”
“Okay,” Ray says with a wave. “That’s about as much teenage girl drama as I can handle. I’ll meet those of you who don’t disappear back at the car.”
“Oh, sure,” Leo calls after him. “Just leave me here all alone to represent our gender!”
“Sorry, Leo,” Tara says. “We can talk about sports if you want. Go, team!”
“Listen, Tara, David’s not mad about anything,” he assures her. “Boys don’t think about what girls are thinking. I’m sure he didn’t even notice you were hiding anything. We’re not that observant.”
“Boys don’t think about what girls are thinking?” I ask, hands on my hips.
“Yeah,” Tara says. “I thought you were, like, this sensitive poet type.”
Leo takes a step back as we all wait patiently for him to come up with an acceptable answer. He raises his wrist, points at his watch, and says, “See ya in four years.”
But instead of us being the ones to disappear, it’s Rory and Tara. I mean, I know it isn’t really, but from where I’m standing, it looks that way. I quickly glance around to make sure we’re alone. A squirrel jumps up from the curb and skitters away, but that’s about it.
I reach out to the spot where they had been standing and wave my hand in the air. “So weird. It’s like we know they’re here, in the same space, just not the same time.”
“I know, it’s enough to drive you bonkers if you think about it too much. And you know us boys, not liking to think about stuff.”
“Come, my sensitive poet, let’s get to the drugstore before there’s a last-minute run on trick candles.” I grab his arm and we snake through the back alleys of the stores until there’s no other choice but to go back onto Main Street. Even though we know we don’t look like ourselves, it still feels risky to be out in public view like this. We keep our heads down and walk the next three blocks as quickly as we can.
The drugstore is unusually crowded. “What’s with all these people?” Leo asks, pushing his way through the door. A lady on her way out points to a sign on the door. OUR TEN-YEAR-ANNIVERSARY SALE, EVERYTHING 20% OFF AND DOUBLE COUPONS!
I pull him off to the side, away from the lines at the register. “Let’s just get in and get out, as Angelina would say.”
“But what would Rory’s mother say?”
“Huh?”
He turns me around until we are practically face-to-face with Rory’s mother. I jump back and almost knock Leo into a display of lipsticks. Mrs. Swenson glances up, clutching a bright pink lipstick in one hand and a pile of coupons in the other. “Do you think this is a good color for me?” she asks, holding the lipstick up to her face. Without waiting for an answer, she says, “Too young looking? Y
eah, you’re right.” I’m trying to shrink into the background but she must not notice because she holds the lipstick out to me. “Here. With your shade of strawberry blond and those cheekbones, this will look really pretty on you.”
So I guess I’m strawberry blond today. With cheekbones. Doesn’t everyone have cheekbones? When I don’t move, Leo lifts my arm. Mrs. Swenson places the lipstick in my hand and takes off down the aisle.
Leo laughs at me. “You realize we barely even knew Rory four years ago. Even if we looked like ourselves, her mom wouldn’t have known who we were.”
“Yeah, yeah, it was still scary.” I turn around to place the lipstick back on the shelf and catch sight of myself in the makeup mirror stuck on the wall. I gasp without meaning to. I’m hot! Like, supermodel hot. Well, I can only see my face, so I can’t vouch for the rest of me, but there’s not a single blemish on my skin and my silky hair falls in gentle waves over my shoulders.
Leo’s eyes widen when he sees my reflection, then he shrugs. “I like you with freckles.”
I shake my head. “You’re crazy.” I step aside and he takes my place.
“I’m Japanese!” he shouts, then quickly lowers his voice. “That is the coolest thing!”
“I love the scarf and the red tips on the ends of your hair,” I say. “Very punk!” We admire him for another minute before two teenage girls elbow their way in front of the mirror. They both check him out, but he doesn’t even notice. I pull him away possessively. A guy with an official badge around his neck walks by and I stop him to ask where to find the candles.
“Party supplies are at the end of the baby aisle,” he says, pointing a few aisles away.
“Thanks,” I tell him and drag Leo behind me.
“I can walk on my own, you know,” he complains.
“You can’t be trusted not to wander off. I know how you get in stores like this.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. It’s not my fault my mom never took me shopping as a little kid.” He imitates his mom’s voice. “As famous philosopher Henry David Thoreau once wrote, ‘That man is the richest whose pleasures are the cheapest.’” No sooner are the words are out of his mouth than I catch him looking longingly at a huge display of paper napkins.