it. Now sit back down on my bed before I sucker punch you for fun.” She takes up my hands. “I’m going to take you wherever you want. Just make sure it’s the last thing you think about before you fal asleep. I don’t want to end up in Carly Foster’s bedroom with a machete.”
Now that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.
Chapter Nine
L.A.
I bear down on one thought in particular. A moment that I think is the crux, the turning point of my entire existence—the day my father died. It wasn’t easy thinking about one thing and one thing only. For instance, no matter how hard I tried to focus in on that one thought, my mind kept ricocheting to an unwarranted event from the past, like the time I was in ninth grade and wanted green Jel -O in the lunch line. Everybody and their mother made fun of green Jel -O. If you ate it you were logical y horny, so I stayed away from green Jel -O like the plague even though I was both horny and hungry.
It would be pretty horrible to transport Chloe and I back to that majorly irrelevant point in my life. But if we happened to end up there I’d probably hoard al the green Jel -O I could get my hands on just for the hel of it.
Another random thought that floated through my head was kissing Gage. Gage has become the uninvited guest in the theatre of my mind. I marry the two thoughts, wrestle him in green Jel -O—dive in a pool fil ed with the green succulent slime and relive that kiss over and over.
Gage knows how to bring the intensity, make it bear down on you like heat from the sun. There’s something heartbreakingly pure about the way he kisses me. It’s like he doesn’t expect much in return, he’s just glad to be there, roaming around my mouth with his tongue. His desperation lingers long after he’s gone. He invades my dreams, flashes through my thoughts at arbitrary points of the day when I’m in the shower, riding in the car, or when I see the shadow of a bird. Any random event is capable of triggering those desperate kisses. I wonder if I came across so desperate to Logan? Maybe as much as I find it endearing in Gage, Logan can’t stand it in me.
“Where the hel are we?” Chloe whispers.
“Right here,” I marvel, mouthing the words.
My bedroom. Same configuration as my room back on Paragon, same comforter, pil ow and sheets—same mess on the desk.
“We’re in L.A., my old house. What time is it?” I bolt over to the alarm clock turned on its side. “After eight. I’m already in school.” I search the far reaches of my memory. “He’s home. Stay here. I have a plan. I’l be right back, I swear.”
“You can’t leave this house. I won’t go looking for you.” She slides open the mirrored closet door and sits half in, half out. “Hurry up. I don’t want to be up al night. It’s two a.m. for me.”
“Got it.” I wipe my palms onto my jeans. After al this time, I’m afraid to see my father. Afraid I’l pass out at the sight of him.
The hal way is empty, quiet as a tomb. The familiar scent of our old house fil s me. It drenches me in grief that I hadn’t noticed until now that our house had a scent to begin with. Mom baked cookies the night before. The air is stil thick with their sweetness.
I walk downstairs gingerly. I hadn’t real y thought about what I would do when and if I saw my father. I’ve always thought if I could go back I’d steal his keys. I’ve played out this scenario in my mind a thousand times, long before I knew what a Celestra was or the fact time travel was an option.
His keys shimmer in the path of a fresh morning beam streaming through the tiny window in the front door. I snap them up and stuff them deep into my pocket. It feels like an apocalyptic worthy save. A flood of relief so strong penetrates me, I feel like fal ing to my knees, hugging the wal s and kissing them.
The rustle of paper comes from the dining room. Everything in me knows this is wrong. I shouldn’t go there, shouldn’t see
Now that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.
Chapter Nine
L.A.
I bear down on one thought in particular. A moment that I think is the crux, the turning point of my entire existence—the day my father died. It wasn’t easy thinking about one thing and one thing only. For instance, no matter how hard I tried to focus in on that one thought, my mind kept ricocheting to an unwarranted event from the past, like the time I was in ninth grade and wanted green Jel -O in the lunch line. Everybody and their mother made fun of green Jel -O. If you ate it you were logical y horny, so I stayed away from green Jel -O like the plague even though I was both horny and hungry.
It would be pretty horrible to transport Chloe and I back to that majorly irrelevant point in my life. But if we happened to end up there I’d probably hoard al the green Jel -O I could get my hands on just for the hel of it.
Another random thought that floated through my head was kissing Gage. Gage has become the uninvited guest in the theatre of my mind. I marry the two thoughts, wrestle him in green Jel -O—dive in a pool fil ed with the green succulent slime and relive that kiss over and over.
Gage knows how to bring the intensity, make it bear down on you like heat from the sun. There’s something heartbreakingly pure about the way he kisses me. It’s like he doesn’t expect much in return, he’s just glad to be there, roaming around my mouth with his tongue. His desperation lingers long after he’s gone. He invades my dreams, flashes through my thoughts at arbitrary points of the day when I’m in the shower, riding in the car, or when I see the shadow of a bird. Any random event is capable of triggering those desperate kisses. I wonder if I came across so desperate to Logan? Maybe as much as I find it endearing in Gage, Logan can’t stand it in me.
“Where the hel are we?” Chloe whispers.
“Right here,” I marvel, mouthing the words.
My bedroom. Same configuration as my room back on Paragon, same comforter, pil ow and sheets—same mess on the desk.
“We’re in L.A., my old house. What time is it?” I bolt over to the alarm clock turned on its side. “After eight. I’m already in school.” I search the far reaches of my memory. “He’s home. Stay here. I have a plan. I’l be right back, I swear.”
“You can’t leave this house. I won’t go looking for you.” She slides open the mirrored closet door and sits half in, half out. “Hurry up. I don’t want to be up al night. It’s two a.m. for me.”
“Got it.” I wipe my palms onto my jeans. After al this time, I’m afraid to see my father. Afraid I’l pass out at the sight of him.
The hal way is empty, quiet as a tomb. The familiar scent of our old house fil s me. It drenches me in grief that I hadn’t noticed until now that our house had a scent to begin with. Mom baked cookies the night before. The air is stil thick with their sweetness.
I walk downstairs gingerly. I hadn’t real y thought about what I would do when and if I saw my father. I’ve always thought if I could go back I’d steal his keys. I’ve played out this scenario in my mind a thousand times, long before I knew what a Celestra was or the fact time travel was an option.
His keys shimmer in the path of a fresh morning beam streaming through the tiny window in the front door. I snap them up and stuff them deep into my pocket. It feels like an apocalyptic worthy save. A flood of relief so strong penetrates me, I feel like fal ing to my knees, hugging the wal s and kissing them.
The rustle of paper comes from the dining room. Everything in me knows this is wrong. I shouldn’t go there, shouldn’t see
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