Mia and Owen are waiting for me at the end of the hallway. I’m not sure how much of this conversation they’ve heard. Hopefully not any of it.

“Please, Cora!” Quinn shouts out. Her voice echoes against the lockers. “It’s time travel. You know all about it. It’s—it’s—it’s . . .”

She doesn’t complete the sentence, and I don’t turn around. But even though I don’t turn around, the words time travel knot inside me. What is she talking about? A staticky feeling tingles in the tips of my fingers. I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to ignore it, but it lingers.

I jog to catch up with Mia and Owen. When I reach them, Mia’s lips are a straight, pursed line, and Owen’s awkwardly shuffling his feet.

“Are you okay?” Mia asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mia’s lips stay pursed. We all stand there for a couple seconds. Mia keeps looking at me like I’m a math problem with a remainder that she’s not sure what to do with.

Finally, I raise my hand in a little wave. “Well, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” I peel away from the group to walk toward Grams, who I spot waiting for me in the parking lot, that tingly feeling still in my fingertips. Time travel.

Four

Quinn

Dear Parker,

Did you know Mom and Dad fight all the time now? I know when you were around they used to argue, but that was normal parent type stuff, right? Like Mom getting mad that Dad forgot to sign my permission slip or Dad getting annoyed that Mom put the empty cereal box back in the cabinet instead of tossing it out.

Now they argue about you. And why you did what you did. Everyone says it was Mom and Dad’s fault. Mom’s mad about Dad’s guns, and I get that.

Honestly, deep down, I know it wasn’t Mom’s or even Dad’s fault. I don’t think they knew anything.

But I did. That one afternoon, I saw you.

I should’ve said something, but I didn’t.

Your sister,

Quinn

Talking with Cora did not go the way I wanted it to. But at least I know that Cora hasn’t opened the box. Maybe now she will because she’ll be curious. As mad as Cora is, I also know she’s never been able to resist a good mystery.

I’m counting on that.

I push open the door and head out of school. Our school backs up to a large forest preserve. The forest preserve runs across the width of the whole town. Which means that I can cut through the woods to get home. Technically, we’re not supposed to do that. We’re supposed to walk the long way on the sidewalk. And I always followed those rules until last year, and then the rules didn’t seem that important.

As I walk deeper into the woods, the rest of the world starts to fade away. The trees stretch up high above me, shading most of the sky. Their leaves are still mostly green, but some of them are starting to turn orange or burnt golden at the edges. The outside air smells like campfire smoke and cinnamon.