In my memory, both Cora and I liked setting up dinners for fairies that we made out of pebbles and moss and pretending to be wind spirits, racing quickly through our backyards, but I don’t argue with her. I’m not about to start a fight.

“But this is really science,” she continues. “And I owe it to Mabel to try.”

In the distance, I can hear the smack of soccer balls moving through the air, and the muscles in the back of my ankles prick with a desire to be out on the field.

“Quinn?” Cora snaps. She’s caught me daydreaming about soccer. “Are you even paying attention? This is important, you know.”

“I know it’s important.” I’m relieved I’m able to find words so fast. “It was my idea in the first place.”

Cora tilts her head to the side like she’s weighing what I said. She plays with the end of one of her dark curls, her fingers climbing up the strand of hair like the spider from the old nursery rhyme we sang together in preschool.

“It was your idea, I know. But when I was talking, it seemed like you were somewhere else. Like you were distracted.”

“I’m listening,” I promise her.

“Okay,” Cora says, and her mouth pinches with something that looks a little bit like satisfaction. “I think if we’re going to do this, we need to structure the whole thing like a science experiment.”

The word science always makes me think of diagrams and other boring things, but I try not to let my mind wander again.

“So all science experiments start with a question, right?”

I nod. That sounds vaguely familiar. I’ve never been able to keep all the steps of the scientific method straight. I mean, there are so many of them. If the whole thing is supposed to make the process easier, why do you need so many steps?

Cora keeps talking. “At first, I thought the question I was asking was ‘Can I save Mabel by time-traveling?’ But then when I went to write the hypothesis, I realized my question was lacking in scope.”

“Lacking in scope,” I repeat like I completely understand what she’s talking about. Which I definitely don’t.

“What I’m saying,” Cora explains, “is that I realized I need to broaden it. The question I should’ve been asking is whether or not we can travel back in time to prevent Parker from hurting everyone, including himself.”

My heart might’ve cartwheeled before, but now it’s an Olympic gymnast, swinging from the high beams. Cora didn’t have to add that last part of her sentence, but she did. She added it for me. I feel the sudden urge to hug her, but I stop myself.

Including himself. The fact she added that answers the question for me.

It’s possible.

It’s possible for things to be okay again.

Cora doesn’t seem to realize how extraordinary what she just said is because she keeps right on talking. “Step two is ask a question. It’s also where the research part happens. And I did a lot of research last night.”