Michael quirks his brow. “You plan on staying forever? Well, trust me, you’re very fetching and all, but I don’t think my parents would be very happy with me having a boy or a Neg—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He pauses, studies my seriousness, and slowly nods. “A stranger in the house with me. But they won’t be home till tomorrow. So we got time.”

“Time for what?”

Michael smiles, the same one as before. He walks over to the couch and plops down, putting his booted feet on the table, crossing them at the ankles. “Time for me to figure you out.”

Before I can respond, he speaks again. “You’re from around here, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

With him sitting, I have the advantage if I need to run. I’m not giving that up. I’ve seen what happens in those science-fiction shows when people are stuck inside their mind and try to leave. This house is probably some metaphor for me being trapped inside my consciousness. I bet if I leave the cul-de-sac, there will be nothingness until I need there to be something.

“But I have no idea where you’re trying to go…hmm. What a puzzle you are, Andre,” he muses. “You smoke?”

I shake my head this time. Michael shrugs. “I should quit. You know smoking causes cancer? That’s what they’re saying. Not sure if I believe them.”

How could he not believe them? There’re layers upon layers of proof.

“I would one hundred percent agree with that choice.”

Michael smiles, showing off a row of perfectly straight white teeth. He rests his arms on the back of the couch, his shirt riding up slightly, revealing a tight set of abs with a light dusting of dirty blond hair. He’s relaxed, in his element.

I, on the other hand, haven’t been this tense since Dr. Moore told me I was sick.

“So here’s the way I look at it, Andre,” Michael finally says. “You have nowhere to go. And where you want to go, I can’t help you. You can go out there, into Boston at night, and try to find it on your own. But you seem like a smart cat, and for someone like you”—he gestures—“it wouldn’t be wise to be wandering around Boston in the dark alone.”

“Someone like me?”

“You know what I mean.”

Of course I do. It’s the same thing my mom would say. Boston hasn’t always been great for Black people—for anyone who isn’t white, really. Sure, it’s better now, a lot better, but there’s a chance that this is real. And if it’s real, I’m not in my timeline anymore. There’s a chance…a chance I’ve actually traveled back in time.

And no matter how slim that chance is, I’m safer here. In Michael’s house…my house.