It feels awkward to sit on the edge of the bed with my back straight, while Michael is so calm. I don’t know anyone who would be so chill about someone appearing in their home. Mom and Dad would send Clyde after an intruder. Isobel would throw things, like she did during Halloween last year when we watched The Strangers and her dad suddenly came home.

Michael isn’t like any of those people. He isn’t like anyone, actually. He’s slower moving, calmer. Quieter too. Like stress is something he’s aware of, but he doesn’t let it consume him.

I wish I were more like him.

Reluctantly, I give it a try, slowly leaning back, sinking into the bed.

“Tell you what,” Michael says, turning toward me and opening his blue eyes. “Let’s make a game out of it. You answer one question of mine, and I’ll answer one of yours. Complete honesty. That way, if you have some silly story about how you got here, which I’m betting you do, it’s an even trade. I get to hear about the future from you, and you get to hear some wild shit about the past from me. Stuff I bet isn’t in your history books.”

“No judgment?”

Michael shakes his head. “Besides, who am I to judge you? Like you said…” He gestures to the bowl of half-smoked weed—ganja—and liquor bottles. “I’m not exactly a saint.”

I turn to face Michael, searching his eyes for any sort of lie. Mom says you can always tell someone’s truth if you look in their eyes long enough. It’s how she vets candidates before taking them on.

If someone’s lying to you, stare at them, she told me on the way to mock debate finals last year. Liars always break.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it sounded suspiciously like something you would do to show dominance over a dog.

But Michael doesn’t waver. He holds my stare—doesn’t even blink. Instead, he playfully snaps his teeth at me, laughing one of those full body laughs.

“Let’s get the most awkward question out of the way first, hmm? How did you get here? By here I mean my house.”

There’s no easy way to answer that question. No way that wants to just pour out of me. I start, but it feels like my mouth is filled with hardening molasses.

What if he’s asking me these questions because he doesn’t really believe me? What if he wants to lock me up or something? Can he even do that? I could just time travel away, right? But what if I can’t?