When she finishes talking, I see that she’s crying. That makes me want to cry harder. I can’t stand to see my teacher crying.

“I have to tell Cora, don’t I?” I whisper.

“It would probably make you feel better to tell Cora. But I think you definitely need to tell your parents, Quinn. And I really think it would help you to talk with someone. I could call your parents and give them some names if that would help?”

I shake my head.

“But you’ll talk to them, right?”

I bite my lip. “I’ll think about it.”

There’s a knock on the door of Mrs. Euclid’s office. She gives me a look that lets me know both that it’s okay to go, and that this probably won’t be the last time we talk about this. I race back to the tables and pick back up my pencil. The acorn looks different than before.

How do you draw guilt? I wonder.

But swiftly another question comes to me. One that’s even harder.

How do you draw forgiveness?

I imagine sketching it, aloe lotion on a sunburn, a grilled cheese on a snowy day, a soft sweatshirt that feels like a second skin.

But I can’t quite figure it out so I go back to shading the acorn’s top.

Twenty-Seven

Cora

Here are the statistics:

Since me and Quinn’s last attempt at time travel, I have:

Watched three documentaries

Read seventeen more scientific articles

Took four pages of notes

Played out at least fifteen different scenarios in my head

Which is all to say that I’m ready for today. Today is going to be The Day. It’s going to be because it has to be. And also because I’ve done the homework and good things always happen when you do the homework. That’s a solid fact.

I tighten my grip on my backpack. I’ve stuffed it full of some of Mabel’s belongings. I’m nervous about bringing them outside, but it’s the right thing to do. If it helps make the wormhole appear, it’s worth it.

When I get to the tree, Quinn is already there. I watch her for a minute. She’s pacing by the trunk of the tree, muttering something under her breath.

“Hey, you okay?” I call out.

“Yeah.” Quinn spins around. Her white freckled skin is splotchy with pink from the cold air, and her red hair falls in a tangled mess around her face. She doesn’t look okay at all.

“You sure?”

Quinn eyes my backpack. “You brought the stuff?”

I nod. “And did you?”

She points at a sad-looking plastic grocery bag. “I couldn’t find much.”

“Your parents threw out a lot of his things?”

She looks like she’s about to say yes, but ends up shaking her head. “I, uh, I, didn’t know what to bring.”

I narrow my eyes. “I gave you specific instructions.”

“I—I—I know. I just—” Her hands hang at her sides. “I’m sorry.”