The music is so loud, it beats inside me, replacing my heart rate, taking over my pulse. Bodies crush around me, and the scents of alcohol and sweat battle in the air. I don’t mind the elbow in my stomach. The shoulders knocking into mine make me smile. Nothing can faze me today. Because today, I’m a college graduate.

I… Me… Mine.

There is no younger and older self in this moment. No separation between body and mind.

Why is this trip to the future different from my previous one? I don’t know. But when I fell into this Alice’s time stream, I also fell into her. I’m not simply observing her life.

I’m living it.

“Where is that hunky boyfriend of yours?” a voice says behind me. “Did he say where he was meeting us?”

I glance back. She’s older. More black makeup rims her eyes; her top is cut lower than I’ve ever seen her wear. But there’s no mistaking my best friend. Lalana.

My heart leaps, and I can’t tell if the emotion belongs to me or the older Alice. Our minds blend together like a milkshake, and it’s impossible to distinguish one from the other.

“He said in the club.” I rise onto my tiptoes. But with wall-to-wall people and arm-to-arm jostling, it’s like trying to find the one pink grain in a Santorini volcanic sand beach.

Except…there he is!

Miraculously, I glimpse Zeke’s beloved Silver Oak baseball cap, turned backward on his head. Four years since we’ve left high school, and he still wears that old thing.

“Be right back,” I murmur to Lalana. I push through the crowd, ducking under limbs and skimming past backs.

I catch up to him and wrap my arms around his torso. Definitely more solid than before. He just started a new workout regimen, and holy wow, is it working. I make an appreciative sound in my throat and run my fingers over his abs.

He turns, and my blood runs still. Oops. It’s not Zeke but a stranger with black hair and beautiful eyes that taper at the corners.

Cheeks burning, I snatch away my hands. Damn the long-sleeve collared shirt! “Sorry! I…uh, thought you were someone else.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Apparently.”

I nearly stumble. There’s something familiar about that brow. That bored, bored expression. I know this guy; I’m sure of it.

“We went to high school together,” I blurt. “You’re that kid who used to have blue hair.”

“And you’re the girl who has the genius brother,” he returns.

This, for some reason, hurts. “Is that all I’m known for?”

“I could say you were the girl whose attention I tried—and failed—to catch,” he says, the corner of his lips twitching, “but that would sound too much like a line.”