Ama looks like she’s patting an invisible dog with her hand. ‘Keep your voice down, Elle. Chat later, yeh.’

It’s hard to know when to speak and when not to speak. When to be loud and when to be quiet. It’s not 2048 that’s outta synch. It’s me. I wonder whether I’ll ever learn how to say the right things at the right time. Getting it wrong makes me so angry. When Big Ben gets so angry that he has a meltdown, he throws chairs. I’ve never thrown a chair, though I feel like doing it ten times a day.

Maybe when I think I’m sad or scared, really I’m angry. I should have gone to the Mind Full workshop this morning. It was run by the E-College-E teacher with purple hair who teaches philosophy. They learnt how to empty your mind, how to breathe when you feel angry. You have to count and hold on to each second, day, month, year. I need to learn how to do that.

But sometimes I’m happy.

Big Ben’s been holding my hand for the last half-hour, like I’m a little child and would get lost if he didn’t. Or maybe he feels lost, like a child. He wasn’t like that yesterday; he was happy to run. I smile at him. ‘That was nice but I don’t want to hold hands any more.’ He nods, and walks on ahead with Ama. I look up at the trees and feel the drazzle on my face. Is this really happening, 2048, or has it not happened yet? Is 2020 really the present or do we just think it is?

We’ve stopped to look at a different type of mushroom that could kill you. They have very long stalks and purple heads speckled with white dots. They’re more like flowers than mushrooms. GMT comes over to me.

‘You all right, kid?’

‘I’m ok.’

‘Really?’ she says.

‘Maybe,’ I say.

‘What’s bugging you?’ She sees me frown and carries on. ‘You don’t have to TELL me. You could text.’

Text? Maybe she knows. I shake my head. I’m not going to text GMT about SOS L. But I like her. The sound of her voice is a warm shower. I think of something to say that relates to time. She’s an expert on time.

‘If we’re in 2048 now, what happens when it really IS 2048?’

GMT sits on a tree stump. ‘Ever heard of multiple futures?’ I shake my head and she continues. ‘The future’s a story we’re constantly rewriting. Every second someone in 2020 does something, it changes the future. Every nanosecond.’ I think of Big Ben when she says that word. ‘There’s an infinite number of futures.’