Warmth pools around my body and mixes with cold. The corners of my eyes start to water, and images blur.

“Andre, I’m serious! Do not leave! If you leave now…”

Rule number two of time travel may be to only jump from point A to point B, but rules are meant to be broken. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Whether Michael or Blake or anyone else likes it or not.

* * *

There’s something unsettling about being in the place where someone died.

I’ve been around death before. In the hospital one time, about five years ago, when we were visiting my cousin, another kid in the room coded. Mom and Dad did their best to distract me, thinking that, at twelve years old, I was too young to face death. Now, five years later, I’m more familiar with it—and the concept of it—than most teens have to be.

Maybe that’s what I should write my college essay on.

But this is different. I have the power to stop this.

And in a few minutes…seven, to be exact…Dave is going to get in his car, head home, and get T-boned by a drunk driver, dying instantly. At least, I like to think it’s instant. No one should have to suffer.

I take a moment to massage my side. The pain is intense, but the adrenaline running through me is enough to quell it. After I give myself a few seconds to take a deep breath, I walk half a block, until I’m standing in front of the coffee shop: Jameson’s. It’s one part bookstore, one part indie music house, and one part piss-poor coffee. A lot of the college students in town come here, and it’s a melting pot. As such, the owner caters to that crowd with movie nights, debate nights, and poetry nights. Hell, political watch parties happen here every two years, with ticket sales on a first-come, first-served basis. It makes sense that Dave is here.

I hesitate for a moment before walking quickly toward the door. My mind reels with dozens of scenarios and possible solutions. What if someone I know sees me? What if he isn’t here? What if I’m too early? Too late? What if I get distracted?

The possibilities are endless, but only one solution matters: success. I’m not lucky enough to have the luxury of failure as an option. I made a promise to myself. This is the right thing to do. This is what I should do. Fix Dave, and then he’ll fix me. Everyone wins.

Except Michael.

Will his life be better or worse without me? I’m not foolish enough to think that my influence on the world is going to have widespread positive, or negative, ramifications.