Instead, I ran to the corkboard in my room, where I keep old photos of Cora and me. My corkboard is a collection of things that I love. On it, I’ve pinned a small poster of the US women’s soccer team, the menu from my favorite hamburger place, a picture of my soccer team from last year, and one of me with my mom on a beach in North Carolina when we were visiting Gammie and Papa. I used to have a photo of my whole family, but I took it down last November. I couldn’t stand to look at my brother’s face.

And the rest of my corkboard is filled with photos of Cora and me. Even after it happened, even after Cora stopped talking to me, I didn’t take down any of the pictures. There are photos of us at all ages, including what I think is the first picture of us ever. It’s from Cora’s birthday party when she turned two. That was her first birthday after her mom left.

I never met her mom. Or if I did, I don’t remember. I don’t remember the party either, but I’ve always loved this picture because it proves that Cora and me go way back. I would look at it whenever I felt moody that she was spending so much time after school with the Talented and Gifted club or wasn’t able to eat lunch with me because she’d been invited to a special pizza party that was only for kids who got an A on the math test. It helped remind me that she really was my best friend. My best friend since forever.

In the photo, my face is smeared with chocolate cake, and my white freckled arms are squeezing Cora’s waist. Cora’s smiling perfectly for the camera, and there isn’t even a speck of chocolate icing around her lips. While my striped purple shirt has sloppy brown splotches all over it, her pink dress is completely unstained. My light red hair was already long, falling in front of my face in a tangled mess. Cora’s hair hadn’t come in all the way yet, but you could already tell that it was going to be thick and curly like her dad’s. She has his same dark olive skin tone, too. Grams has always said that Cora’s golden-hazel eyes come from her mom, but I’m not sure. I just know that her and Mabel had the same eyes. Cora was always proud of that.

After last November, looking at that photo felt like pressing on a bruise. I would see it and it would remind me of everything that was lost.

But that night, after I read the article about time travel, I saw potential when I looked at that photo. I saw the word possible.

Maybe Cora and I had become friends for this very reason. Because we were meant to fix everything.

“Eureka,” I repeated, staring at our two-year-old faces.