“It does seem a little bit like a stretch,” Owen agrees.

“But wait. Why are you so interested in time travel?” Mia asks.

For a brief moment, I lock eyes with Owen. And I get a feeling that he understands why, but he keeps his mouth shut. I look away from them both.

“This song,” he says. He points at one of the large speakers in the gym. “It’s pretty cool. Would you guys want to dance?”

I follow his eyes to the small group of kids dancing in the back corner of the gym. My stomach flips. For a second, I forget all about thunder and time travel and wormholes. I’m about to say yes when Mia gestures at her robot costume. “Um, no. This box is not suitable for dancing.”

I wait for him to ask me specifically, but he doesn’t. The moment seems to be gone.

“All I was saying is it’s interesting to think about the shape of thunder. And the shape of time,” I say, but my voice sounds smaller than a microparticle.

“Well, I think time travel is a lot more complicated than just figuring out the ‘theoretical’ shape of thunder,” Mia says, making actual air quotes with her fingers.

Right then, I hear a big boom of thunder. It rattles through the whole gym. At first, I think it might just be in the song. But a moment later, there’s another boom. Even bigger this time. So big that everyone pauses talking and looks around.

“It’s like it heard you talking about it,” Owen says with a small grin.

I can’t quite believe it. The weather forecast from this afternoon had predicted storms, but not until later. And the likelihood had only been 30 percent. Life has done me wrong in so many ways, but I can recognize a gift when I see one.

Another crash of thunder. “Hey,” I say, already walking away. “I have to go.”

Thirty-Two

Quinn

Dear Parker,

Sometimes I feel like Mom can’t decide how she feels about me. One moment I’ll catch her looking at me with so much love. And then another second, I’ll see her watching me with fear.

I wish she could look at my face without being afraid.

Maybe if I can actually follow through with this plan, she’ll be able to.

She’ll be able to look at us both.

Can you imagine that?

Your sister,

Quinn

I weave my way through the crush of people, constantly murmuring apologies for bumping into someone’s shoulder or knocking their costume’s wig out of place.

“Ah. Sorry,” I say for the hundredth time as I collide with a robot.

“Quinn.”

I look up at the robot’s face. It’s Mia. Cora’s friend. “Oh, Mia. Hi.”

“Hi.” Her voice is clipped and blunt. “Have you seen Cora? Do you know where she went?”

“Actually,” I say, leaning back on my heels, “I was just looking for her.”

“She left,” another voice says.