Lalana loves cupcakes. Over winter break last year, we not only spent an entire day learning about the ancient art of tea making (my choice), but we also had a cupcake bake-off (her choice). She was in charge of the timer—so there would be no danger of me burning them—and Archie was our judge. He awarded her the win. Mine were “marginally edible,” he proclaimed before dissolving into laughter. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh so hard. But Lalana brought out the fun in him. She did in all of us.

Heat pricks behind my eyes, and there’s a lump in my throat that has nothing to do with the food I haven’t eaten. It’s only been two days since we’ve spoken, but I miss her. Terribly. How am I supposed to get through the rest of spring break—let alone my life—without her?

I stare at the cupcakes that Cristela’s doling out and make myself hope for the striped one with the delicate pearls. She places that one in front of my brother, however. No matter. The moment she turns away, I switch our cupcakes. Archie doesn’t even notice. He’s abandoned his notes and appears to have nodded off. Looks like my brother’s true to form, anyway.

There’s one cupcake left in the box, which Cristela says she’s saving for her “good friend Bandit.”

My mind whirls. So Cristela and Bandit know each other. They’re also both involved, in one way or the other, with the future. The question is: how?

More importantly, are they my ally…or my enemy?

The speeches of the other award recipients drone overhead, with their incomprehensible talk of space debris, cloud tracking, and mutations in cancer development. Barely listening, I move my newly acquired cupcake an inch to the right and snap a photo in an attempt to settle my roiling nerves. Another inch, so the pearls catch the light, and another picture. A quarter rotation. On the plate. Off the plate. Next to the fork. Behind the glass. Click, click, click.

Zeke leans forward. “Um. You do realize you’ve taken a hundred photos in the last two minutes? Of an inanimate object?”

I take a picture of his hand hovering near the cupcake. “I need to get the perfect shot.”

“Just in case the cupcake blinks?” he asks, amusement dancing in his eyes.

My lips twitch. “She’s having a good frosting day. Gotta capitalize on that.”

I raise my camera just as Zeke breaks into a grin.

There. The light falls across his face perfectly. His features are chiseled, his expression warm. I can’t believe it. An Instagram-worthy shot in just a single frame. It’s a miracle.