“Isn’t it?” Cristela runs a hand over a set of three brightly colored vases with holes in the shape of petals punched in the center. “I wish I could visit more often. My abuelita chose the bright colors that you find on the houses in Nicaragua. She said it reminds her of home. The whole family pitched in and helped her paint this room. My tío, my cousins. Mama and I even made the two-hour trip. It was a regular party in here.”

I feel a pang at the thought of her extended family. Both my parents were only children, so it’s just our small family unit. Another reason why Archie and I have always been close. We never had anybody else.

“Come.” She pats the leather sofa. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I lay down. The cushions are soft and yielding, but that doesn’t dry the sweat on my palms. It doesn’t drain the saliva pooling in my mouth.

“When did you say the Voice first came to you?” Cristela settles on the floor in front of the sofa.

“One week, two days ago,” Bandit says, just as I begin to count on my fingers.

We both turn to him.

“What?” he says defensively. “What happened that day… I’m not likely to forget it anytime soon. Or ever, really.”

I flush. His eyes flash at me, deep and dark. I’d drown in them if I could. Maybe, just maybe, I haven’t ruined things between us. Maybe one day, we’ll find a way to move forward.

“The scene should be easy to recall, then.” Cristela tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Are you ready?”

I bite my lip. Am I? How badly do I want these answers? Am I willing to chase my older self through time in order to get them?

Yes, my heart roars. Oh, I want these answers. More than that, I need them. I need to know the truth, in my heart, in my soul. I’ll never be able to save the future until I do.

My eyes drift to Bandit of their own volition. No matter where we’re at or what we’re doing, I will always look for him, again and again. “Wish me luck?” I croak.

“You don’t need luck.” He leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “In fact, I’m jealous of you.”

“Jealous? Why?”

He raises an eyebrow. “If this experiment works, you’ll get to relive that moment on the basketball court like it’s the first time.”

Now I do smile, his voice reaching across the room and giving me the confidence I so desperately need.

“Now,” Cristela says. “Bring back that day. Every detail, every moment. Make your brain believe it’s real! This is the most vivid memory of your life. This—and no other.”

I close my eyes and remember as hard as I can.