“Bandit, hold on.” I push the door closed, even though I shouldn’t be so presumptuous. Even though I have no right to another minute of his time. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t conspiring with Lee, okay? I never meant to hurt you. But even if I did, you shouldn’t let what I do affect you. I’m just some girl you barely know.” I lean against the door, my breath coming too fast. “Who else? Who else makes you feel worthless? Because they don’t deserve you. You’re too…” I stumble over an adjective. Smart? Caring? Sweet—who I’m beginning to suspect is the sweetest boy I’ve ever met? “Good. You’re too good to waste an ounce of energy on them.”

He stares at the chipped wood. “That’s not any of your business.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” I take a deep breath, collecting myself. “I can’t explain any more, but…I promise I didn’t know the cupcake was poisoned. Do you believe me?”

“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “Yeah, I think I do. This prank doesn’t fit in with what I know about you.”

Relief rushes through me, and I have the urge to confess everything. But the Voice’s warning flits through my mind: saying too much to the wrong person could result in disastrous consequences.

At the same time, I’m pretty sure Bandit’s not my enemy here. He might be connected to Charlie, but judging from his all-night vomiting session, he’s just as much a pawn in this process as I am. Just as manipulated by a future that we don’t understand.

“Do you think time travel is possible?” I ask.

The air around us seems to shiver, and Bandit squints at the two-tiered chandelier that flickers above our heads. “I’m a dreamer.” His words are careful, reluctant, as though he’s being drawn into the conversation despite his better instincts. “I believe that innovation—like the universe—has no boundaries. So, do I believe in time travel?” He moves me gently to the side so he can open the door. “Yes.”

“You’re right,” I blurt. “Time travel exists in the future, at least for a person’s consciousness, if not the physical body.”

His hand drops from the handle. Two, three, four seconds pass, and he continues to gawk at me. “You’re being serious right now?”

I nod, fixing my eyes at the hardwood floor. I can’t look at him. If I look at him, I’ll tell him the rest of it. How my future self has been visiting me, how she’s been making me do things I wouldn’t normally do.

“How do you know?” he persists.

I peek up. Just a glance, for one infinitesimal instant. The action should’ve been safe—it would’ve been safe—but his eyes catch mine and hold them as surely as any prison.