A familiar claustrophobic feeling settled over him. He was trapped here in normal time. Trapped by the cops, by the Bixby curfew, by the suffocating, inescapable blanket that was gravity. Stuck like an insect drowning in glue.

All Jonathan could do was squeeze Jessica’s hand.

The police car’s doors opened, and a spotlight popped on, ripping into his eyes. He spun away, covering his face with his hands.

“Think you can hide, Martinez?” a deep voice called, laughing. “I recognize your pretty face.”

Jonathan’s heart sank, but he tried to make his answer sound brave. “Turn that thing off, St. Claire. We’re not going anywhere.”

He heard the crunch of boots, then felt Sheriff Clancy St. Claire’s hand fall onto his shoulder. It felt like a hairy lump of lead clamping itself onto Jonathan, pushing him down into the quicksand that the ground had become.

“Jonathan Martinez, you have never spoken truer words.”

“Hey, Clancy, where do you suppose Martinez got himself a girlfriend?” another voice called from the car.

“Hmm. Now, that is a puzzle.” Then St. Claire’s voice softened. “Man alive! What happened to you, girl?”

Jonathan managed to open his eyes, squinting against the glare. Jessica looked dazed and battered, her face deathly pale in the spotlight. The knees of her jeans were stained with grass and blood, her hair wild from an hour of flying.

“I fell down,” she said feebly.

“You fell down? Sure, you did.” Jonathan felt the sheriff’s hand tighten on his shoulder. “I don’t believe I know you, honey.”

“Jessica Day.”

“And how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“So, Jessica Day, I don’t suppose your parents know where you are?”

The spotlight went dark, and Jonathan was blind for a moment in the sudden blackness. He heard Jessica’s breath catch as she tried to think of a way around the question. There was defeat in her voice when she finally answered.

“No. They think I’m home in bed.”

“Well, honey, that’s probably where you should be.”

They sat Jessica down in the back of the police car while St. Claire talked on the radio for a while, waiting for more cops to arrive. The police in Bixby always liked to do things in overwhelming numbers.

Jonathan wished he could talk to Jessica, even for a few moments. He wanted to explain that this was no big deal, really. The cops just took you home and woke your parents up. He’d been through the procedure seven times in the last two years, and it didn’t seem to get any worse than that. His dad would be grumpier than usual for a couple of days, but he’d told too many stories about his own wild days to stay angry at his son.

“I’ve never been arrested, Dad, only detained and transported to parental custody.” Those were the magic words. Dad couldn’t say the same.