Helplessly, I look into those bottomless eyes, and my mouth parts…

Nothing comes out.

I shiver. Does my older self have control over my body again? Or have I just finally regained my sanity?

I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. Because the moment passes and I didn’t do anything stupid, like blurt out the truth to a person whose involvement I’m still unsure about.

“I don’t actually know.” What’s one more lie to add to the pile I’ve already told? “Time travel is Cristela’s research project, and she’s convinced.”

He nods, accepting my answer. “I thought you were going to say that you’ve traveled to the future…and that you’re still obsessed with me, all those years later.”

I blink. And then the giggle rattles free. I sag against the straw wallpaper, probably getting stray fibers all over my clothes. I don’t care. I’m so happy he buys my story that his ego doesn’t even bother me.

Instead, I smack him across the shoulder. “You are the most arrogant boy I’ve ever met!”

Smacking leads to yelping, which leads to tickling, which leads to collapsing onto the floor in fits of laughter.

The situation’s not even funny. Not really. But we’re rolling on the hardwood floor, grabbing our sides, shrieking like little kids who stayed up past our bedtime. Maybe my near-confession and his night of vomiting have scrambled our brains. Or maybe we both just need the stress relief.

After a minute or ten, I push myself up on one elbow. As much as I’d like to lose myself in our mirth, I can’t. I have a mission to accomplish. A person to kill. And I can’t forget why I’m here.

I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. He’ll either go along with my request—or toss me out for my manipulation. But I won’t know until I try.

“Hey, I thought your uncle was really intriguing,” I say as casually as possible. The tension builds in my stomach and begins to climb up my esophagus. “Are you, uh, planning on seeing him again? If so, I’d like to tag along.”

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

For a moment, he just stares.

My heartbeat is a drumroll of palpitations. Does he suspect me? Was I too forward, too…obvious?

“Are you asking me out on a date, Alice?” he asks slowly.

My mind races. What is the proper move here? Should I—gulp—try to flirt? Problem is, I have no idea how to do that. And even if I did, he probably wouldn’t buy the act in a million years.

“No!” I say, letting my natural instincts take over. “I told you, I don’t date. But, um, I was asked to do this other dare…”