“You’re saying you want me to fix the world?”

“‘Fix’ is a relative term,” he said. “But I’ll bet you can find a world where the worst things—the worst people—never happened. You don’t have to settle for baseline—you can find a trillion better worlds than that.”

For all my balance, I was feeling dizzy at the thought.

“It’s all about shifting time,” Teddy told me. “Do you know that if there was a planetary time shift of only three seconds, the asteroid that struck this planet and wiped out seventy-five percent of life—including the dinosaurs—would have missed?”

“Yeah, but I can’t shift time.”

“Just because you haven’t doesn’t mean you can’t.”

After he put it out there, he just let it sit, dangerously perched on the tip of the roof. It could fall either way. An absolute no, or a decisive yes.

“How do the others feel about this?”

Then Teddy gave me that wicked little grin once more. “I don’t see why we have to involve them at all.”

Have you ever tried to make a list of your perfect universe? It’s like being that greedy little kid on Santa’s lap. “I want a new bike, and a lightsaber, and world peace, and a puppy that shits candy all day long.”

Now imagine that you’re not just sitting on Santa’s lap, but you’re Santa as well, and you’re sitting on your own lap—which has got to be illegal in most universes or at least certain states. When you’re in that kind of power position, you not only know what to ask for, but what you’re able to give. Which is all of it.

And what if Santa actually gave you a puppy that shit candy? Would that be amazing, or would it be so scary that you’d need serious therapy for the rest of your life?

I went to Hunter’s game, but my head was somewhere else entirely. Each time the crowd roared, I had to refocus to see what had happened on the field. Hunter was a lineman, too, but on the offensive line. He was the center, snapping the ball to the quarterback. It’s the most invisible position in the game, because nobody looks at the center. All eyes are on the quarterback, as if the ball shot into his hands out of nowhere.

If I was now a universal quarterback, that would make Teddy my center, putting a ball in my hands—a ball that I couldn’t pass. I’d have to take it up the middle on my own.

I made an appearance at the Edwards’ that evening, because I was afraid they might all show up on the roof. Most of them looked exhausted. Only Teddy appeared rested and relaxed. He said nothing of our conversation that morning.