Desperate Escape

Chapter Seven: Who Are We

Keenan and I are sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, flipping through a book he brought with us from the year two thousand twenty-three.

The cover has this dark blue color with white and grey diamond-shaped stars here and there, but in huge font, the title reads: Astronomy and Time, and it's as thick and lengthy as the Guinness Book of World Records.

He's still mad at me, and I'm mad at him, but I know I made a good point earlier when I asked him how everything works and why we're here of all places.

"Almost everything is random, it seems," he says while skimming through the pages. I find it hard to believe how someone who time-travels often is so clueless, but here we are. "Maybe it's based on familiarity or fulfilling desires that we didn't know we wanted." I make a face at him. He's talking like the adults in Charlie Brown, and as if he knows what I'm thinking, he says, "Imagine you have parents that are never there. During the Leonid shower, when we wish to be somewhere else, it's like the universe creates this alternate dimension or timeline just for us."

"I still don't get it," I say while shaking my head, and my face only relaxes when I hear him mumble, 'Of course you don't.' He flips to the next page, and I ball my fists up. "What's your problem with me, Keenan?"

"Oh, where do I start?" He lifts his chin and stares at the ceiling with his head tilted. I know that he's trying to be funny—or at least I hope this is just his sense of humor—but a part of me feels hurt, and he hasn't even said anything yet. "Because of you, we have to go back to the messed-up life I'd hoped we'd forget about, all because you can't seem to grasp the concept of not compromising a mission." I shut my eyes and lower my head. "You bullied some girl, then had to play the victim and try to get me in trouble."

When I reopen my eyes, I can barely see him over the fog my tears are creating. I couldn't care less about him being upset; it's the fact that he's right that's making me sad.

I swore that I knew what I was doing, but all that this experience taught me was that I was stupid. I blurt things out, either not thinking or trying to be funny, and because of me, Regina knows we killed that cow.

I'm surprised she hadn't told on me, but maybe she was planning to blackmail me instead. For all I know, this situation could make her angry enough to tell.

"I could've done this myself, Leila," he says, and a tear rolls down my face. "But I just wanted to help you escape and feel better. I've been doing this for over fifty years, and I haven't been caught more than twice."

What?

The other tear races down my other cheek as my face relaxes for a split second, and then my brows come together.

Fifty years? He has to be exaggerating because that would mean he's, like, sixty-three?

"How old are you," I ask in a low voice, and his eyes widen at the open door. It's like he didn't realize he lied to me when we met and told on himself just now.

When we met, he told me he was thirteen too, but even if technically he's physically a teenager, he was alive for more than thirty years, and that's weird.

"It doesn't matter." I jolt to my feet. If I were many shades lighter, I'd be pale. My trembling lips have a pins-and-needles feeling, and I want to throw up thinking about the fact that I've grown close to an old person who lied about being a kid. Our friendship stayed platonic, thankfully, but regardless, it's so weird. "Leila, come on," he says, rolling his eyes, and I shake my head in disbelief. "It's no different than if you were a vampire for like two hundred years and became friends with me."