Blue ink spreads like ants across my brother’s skin. He moves the pen over his palm, dipping into the hollow of his hand and rising up again. Never stopping. Never slowing.

I take a deep breath. This part, I remember. This image, of the blue ink spreading like a colony of carpenter ants, I’ll never forget for the rest of my days. If I ever make it to the ripe old age of the Voice. If I live to be 101.

The next few minutes aren’t so clear. I tried to get Archie to eat. I walked off in search of Lalana. The Voice came to me then, and a series of independent moments flash across my mind.

“Listen up,” the Voice barks. She sounds feminine, but I can’t tell if she’s young or old.

A guy with electric-blue hair raises his hands to shoot the ball, and his shirt rides up, revealing nicely defined muscles.

The sharpest, most intense lightning bolt yet sears my brain. The world fractures into a dozen glowing stars, each one bigger and brighter than the last.

Is this enough? Am I recalling enough details, enough sensations? Have I activated the portal, so that I can move into the black void?

Apparently not, because I’m still here, in Cristela’s grandma’s bright and airy living room. I can still hear the low humming of the air conditioner. I can still feel the nails digging into my palms.

I wrench open my hands. The tangible bite of nails against skin is one more thing keeping me here. I need to sever all ties to the present, lose myself to the past.

“More.” Cristela’s voice urges me, but it’s fainter now, and that’s good. That means I’m detaching myself from my physical body. “Remember more. What were you doing? What were you feeling?”

“She was telling me she loved me.” All of a sudden, Bandit is hovering above me. “Relive that moment when you first tapped my shoulder.” His breath flutters against my skin. “I know I do. Every night.”

I’m drifting now, on the wave of my memory. Because that’s where I want to be. More than anything, I want to live that moment again, no matter how embarrassing it was. I want to be approaching this wonderful boy for the very first time.

Now what? Do I clear my throat? Tap his shoulder? Going for broke, I do both at the same time.

He turns and lifts his eyebrows, as though wondering how a mere mortal such as myself dares to approach him. He’s tall—really tall. Almost a head above my five feet five. His jaw is chiseled, his shoulders broad. I’m so close that I can feel the heat rising off his body.

My brain scrambles. I forgot to check if I had any food in my teeth! Did I brush my hair this morning? Put on clothes?