“Then let me be clear, Andre. I like you. I like you a lot, and I would rather stay here and spend two hours with you, wandering around a city, than a whole lifetime doing normal things that people expect of me. Normal is overrated, anyway.”

This is it, I think. This is what people talk about in movies, in TV shows, in songs and books. That pit in your stomach that feels like a never-ending drop. That weightlessness that makes you dizzy but also makes you feel complete.

Hearing Michael say those words makes me feel all of those things at once.

Hearing Michael say those words confirms for me what I’ve been feeling this whole time.

That I feel the same.

“I…”

The air leaves my lungs. The earth swirls and rushes around me. Cold becomes warm. City streets become cherry wood floors. Outside becomes inside.

I hear music. Not the symphony of the city, but an Arctic Monkeys song playing in the room.

My head spins. Did I jump back on my own, or did something pull me back?

I steady myself by grabbing the couch, and Blake barely looks up. He’s sitting on the couch, casually, both legs propped up on the table in front of him, holding a copy of Sports Illustrated—that damn smug smile on his face.

I feel a rush of emotions. Most of all, I’m upset that I left Michael at that moment, right when we were getting somewhere—although it scares me that I could have so much influence on his life.

But I also feel anger. Anger at how Blake forced me to jump. Anger because he doesn’t seem to care what he just did.

“Okay,” he says. “I can see you’re mad.”

“Oh, you picked up on that?” I growl, taking a step forward.

He stands up and takes a step back. “I should remind you, though, that I did what I did to prove a point.”

“And what point is that?”

“Where did you go?” he asks.

“Does that matter? You forced me to jump, Blake!”

“I knew where you’d end up!”

“You knew or you hoped you knew?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Quickly, he shuts his lips and his angled jaw makes them form a thin line.

“I was testing the tether theory,” he argues, like that makes it better.

“What if I hadn’t ended up next to Michael? There are plenty of places I could have gone that would have been very not cool for me. The nineteenth century! The early twentieth century! ANYTIME in the past for Black people!”

“You would have found your way back.”

Anger turns white hot inside of me. I’ve never really understood what seeing red means. I’m not fully sure I do now. Because right now? I’m seeing white spots in front of my eyes.