And now for something completely different

Ok, this is an original story I've been working on... well, actually, I haven't worked on it since I started Crossing Timestreams. But I want some outside opinions about it. (And I'm working on the description, so bare with it.)

This is what I have so far. Keep in mind it's a rough draft and I'm not married to any of it. I just want some opinions and to see what makes sense and what doesn't. So, please, I want constructive criticism.




Mallory McDonald is a simple, normal girl, living in a small apartment above the coffee house she works in. She meets the strange Nathaniel Reynolds one day while taking out the trash. What follows... well, maybe Mal isn't as normal as she thought. And Nate is stranger than she ever though possible.


___________________

If a dream is a wish that your heart makes, then my heart must really hate me

In this dream, all I can see is light. Bright, blinding white light. I close my eyes against it, but that does nothing. It’s still intense and overpowering.

My head won’t move. I’m frozen.

I can’t even scream.

My heart bashed against my chest. Sweat drips down my forehead. Tears fall down my face, cold against the swirling wind.

Then the light goes out and everything is black.

Chapter One

It’s freaking freezing outside.

I’m taking out the garbage, which is never a fun task, and it’s less fun when it’s negative eight billion degrees. Ok, so, that’s an overstatement. It’s like, I dunno, eight below zero or something. Whatever. It’s January in New England, so it’s pretty damn cold.

And, because I’m a slob, I admit it, my trash is extra heavy. And, yeah, I’m pretty sure there’s a mystery liquid leaking from it. And, ew, getting all over my snow boots.

Reminder: take shoes off before walking on newly washed kitchen floor.

The snow and ice from days past crunch under foot as I trod down the four steps from my apartment building to the sidewalk. I turn left, almost sprinting to the alley where the trash cans live. It’s so cold that every breath in from my nose freezes the insides. I slam my keys into the gate’s lock, pull the gate open, and bump right into someone.

“Oh!” I exclaim as the trash bag slips from my gloved fingers. “Ohh…” I gag as the bag splits on the ground and covers the ground with old Chinese take-out, something blue and furry that might have once been bread, and that oh-so-wonderful smelling mystery liquid. Which is now splattered all over my favorite jeans. I kick the maybe-bread off of my boot.

“Beg pardon,” the person I bumped into mumbles. He tries to go around me, but the once contents from my refrigerator have created a gross barrier.

I groan at the mess and the evil cleaning up it portends. “My fault,” I apologize. “I didn’t think anyone would be out here. You know, since the gate was locked and everything.” I put my hands on my hips and glare at the perpetrator. Well, I intend to glare. I think it comes out more like a gape.

This guy is hot. His dark blonde hair sticks up and out, as if he went to bed right after washing it. He wears a black pea coat and dark washed jeans—innocent enough—but the orange Doc Martens, now those gave him personality.

I’ve never seen a homeless guy look so spiffy. In fact, I highly doubt he is homeless, considering the coat looks new. So why was he hanging in a locked trash alley?

The guy ignores me—a small miracle, since I’m trying to pick my jaw up from the ground—though his eyes widen at the mess. “Were you trying to grow your own penicillin?” He waves his hand vaguely at the moldy bread.

I step out at the way of a creeping river of mystery liquid. “Oh yeah, what can I say? I have a raging case of syphilis. It’s easier to just make my own penicillin at this point.”

Jesus Christ on a cracker. I just told like the hottest guy ever that I have a sexually transmitted disease. Granted, he could be a crazed killer or an identity thief. Why else would he be there? With the gate locked.

My cheeks burn, a pretty impressive feat in the coldness.

He chuckles, each breath of air puffing out in a white cloud.

“I’d help you clean up, but I’m chasing after a squid,” he jumps over the pile and starts walking away backwards. “Make it up to you tomorrow. How about coffee at twelve?”

He wants to have coffee with me?

I skip over the trash and follow him down the street a few steps. Don’t let him know you’re single and desperate. “Where?” My voice jumps an octave. Good job, McDonald.

He laughs. I refuse to believe he’s laughing at me. “The Coffee Shoppe.”

Duh. I work there. And I live above it. Talk about saving money on commuting.

“What’s your name?” I call.

He laughs a deep, amused, chuckle. “Yes or no?” He’s still walking backwards.

No! He could be a murderer! “Yes!”

I have no self respect. Even I have given up on me.

“Tomorrow then!” He winks and turns around, jogging away.

I watch him, totally acting like a stalker, until he runs across the street and down a perpendicular road.

Wait, did he just say that he was chasing after a squid?

I wake up screaming.

I slam my hand against my Hello Kitty alarm clock. It falls to the floor with a final ring. My hearts beating way to fast and I can’t seem to get enough oxygen out of every breath.

The dream.

For the third night in a row, I’ve had the horrible dream.

It doesn’t seem very bad when I try to describe it. Just a white light and the feeling of floating up. But something about it terrifies me every time. It’s at the very end. What was it? It’s already fading a little bit, like dreams do.

But I can’t really shake off the icky feeling.

My door cracks open and Chester, my gray and white Scottish Fold cat, jumps onto my bed a moment later. I smile at him, petting his soft fur as he plays with a corner of my pink comforter. My hand still trembles.

I clear my throat and get out of bed. After doing the whole morning routine thing—toilet, brush, shower—the trembles have subsided. I tug on a pair of light wash jeans and button a purple shirt over a bright yellow tank top.

I check the clock.

Then double check.

It’s already 11:49am. My alarm clock was set to go on at 10. I was only in the shower for like twenty minutes. I slept through my alarm clock for an hour.

“Shit!” I exclaim at Chester. He just glares at me before going back to cleaning his paw.

I run to the bathroom, putting on make-up at hyper-speed. I jab myself in the eye with the mascara once, which is pretty good considering. I spritz some curling spray into my damp fire-engine red hair.

Three minutes later, I shove my feet into my favorite yellow Converse sneakers, and run out the door.

It’s still Antarctica outside and I’m not wearing a jacket. Goosebumps cover my skin and I shiver. But a moment later, I’m inside The Coffee Shoppe

I check the big clock on the far wall in habit. It’s 12:01. I glance around the shop. The guy isn’t here yet.

Yay for me. Boo for him for being late already.

I wave to a few regulars and let myself behind the counter. Tina Whitaker, the weekend morning barista, is pouring steamed milk into a large mug.

Oh, wait, today’s Monday.

“Hey T,” I grab an extra large mug and start grinding espresso. “Where’s Courtney?”

“Have a nice day,” Tina tells a customer. She grabs a cloth and cleans the counter. “No clue,” she replies. “Didn’t’ show up for open. Doug called me in.”

I roll my eyes. Courtney has worked here even longer than I have—which is pretty much forever—and she’s always calling out. If she weren’t screwing Doug, the owner, she would have been fired ages ago.

God forbid I ever call out. I could cut a hand off, suffer from amnesia, and bleed from all orifices and I’d still have a show up.

“Surprise, surprise,” I mutter, tamping the espresso a little hard.

“You don’t work Mondays,” a voice calls from behind me. The rugged Scottish accent prickles my skin.

Conner Buchanan.

I grin, but smooth it out into a frown before I turn around.

“I’m not. I’m just making a latte.”

Conner’s large brown eyes twinkle at me. Oh, look, he’s growing a beard. It blends well with his fuzz of red hair.

“Can I have a tea, love?” he flirts with Tina. She blushes and runs to fill up a small teapot.

Nope, not jealous.

I swear.

He turns back to me, leaning against the counter. “Join a sad bastard then, Mallory?” He never calls me Mal, even though everyone else in the world does.

He’s been coming into the shop for a few months now. He claims he’s a writer, which seems right enough since he’s here all day pounding away at his laptop, but I tried Googling him, and he remains unpublished. Unless he uses a pen name or something.

I almost feel bad about my coffee date. Almost.

“Sorry, man, I’m meeting someone here.” If he shows up. “Some other time.”

“Ah, Mallory, love, you say that every time,” he clutches a hand to his heart. “I’m pining for you, my fire-haired goddess.”

I roll my eyes, but grin in spite of myself. I’m about to retort when the bell over the door dings. My stomach jumps as the guy from last night walks in. He’s wearing the pea-coat again, but instead of jeans, he’s wearing brown corduroys and bright green Doc Martens. He looks at me right away, pinning me with those impossibly dark blue eyes.

Is it extra hot in here or what?

“Aye, some other time,” Conner says. He sounds disappointed, and a bit wary, but I’m not paying attention to him anymore.

“Hello,” the guy from last night leans over the counter. He grins at me and runs a hand through his hair, causing the dark blonde strands to stand up even more.

FFFSSSTT! I move the milk too far away from the steam. I jump and fix it. “Hi.”

“Sorry I’m late. Do you work here?”

I pour the steamed milk into my espresso. “Yeah. Oh, uh, not today. I just like to make my own lattes.”

He nods. “Gotcha.”

“Hey there,” Tina sidles up the counter. “What can I get you?” Her tone makes it sound like she wants to get him more than something to drink. Floozy.

“Quad soy caramel macchiato, extra caramel.”

She’s sticking her non-existent chest out in his face, for crying out loud! Why not just blow him right then and there?

“Coming right up.” She turns to make his drink.

I slam my hand on the Irish cream syrup pump, causing the bottle to almost collapse. I right it, and squeeze caramel into my latte with a death grip.

“I’m Nate, by the way,” the guy says. I turn around and smile at him. Nope, I’m not acting jealous at all. “Nathaniel Reynolds, to be exact.”

I walk around the counter and lean next to him. “Mal,” I stick my hand out. “Mallory McDonald, to be exact.” He shakes my hand. Damn, his hand his chilly.

“Nice to meet you Mal. Who’s the ginger?”

I blink at the quick change in subject. “The ginger?” I look around. “Oh, you must mean Conner.” The man in question is pounding away on his laptop. “He’s a regular. In here every day. We should give him a job or something, because he’s in here more than the owner.” I laugh, though it’s cut short. Nate doesn’t look amused. He just keeps looking at Conner.

But then it’s over so quick, and he’s smiling at me, paying for his beverage, and leading me to a table, so I could have imagined it.

He shrugs out of his coat, revealing wide shoulders and a lean, runner’s torso. He sits so his back is against the dark blue wall. I perch across from him. We share a moment of silence. I watch him—though I try to make it look like I’m not—as he looks around the room, seemingly counting all the people in here. He looks at his watch, moves around that little dial thing that some watches have (You know, the ones in weird little groups up to 400? I think it’s called a tachymeter or something.), and then he frowns at his watch and taps the face with a finger.

Yeah, he is yummy in his plain white tee-shirt.

“So did you find the Squid?” I swirl the latte around its cup and take a sip.

Nate’s gaze thrusts back to me. “Beg pardon?” His eyes are wide.

Ok…

“Last night, you said you were searching for a squid,” I explain.

He blinks then grins. “Oh, right. Uh, a few of my friends and I were playing a really elaborate game of manhunt.” He seems to notice my blank stare, because he explains, “It’s like capture the flag, only you’re trying to capture a person. We call one of our friends Squid, because he, uh, well, let’s just say his hands tend to roam around like tentacles, and he was the one who was It last night.”

Sounds reasonable. I guess.

“Tell me about yourself, Mallory McDonald,” he takes a gulp from his dark mug.

My cheeks heat up and I smile. I focus on my cup. My latte creation still has a pretty foam design. “Dunno where to start.”

“Tell me about your dreams.”

My stomach jumps. How can he possibly know about that? I flick my eyes up to him. He’s leaning back in the chair, balancing on two legs. His mouth is hidden behind his mug. His eyes gaze at me and I swear he knows everything.

“My dreams?”

He leans forward. The chair bounces back to all four legs, and places his cup on the glass top of the black and white checkered tabletop. “Sure. Your aspirations for life.” A corner of his mouth quirks up. “What did you think I meant?”

The bright light…

I force out a laugh and run a hand through my bangs. “Nothing.” I shrug and smile. “You want the honest truth?” He nods. “I have absolutely no idea.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t believe it. There has to be something that you want, deep down inside your soul.”

I shrug again. “I try not to think about it.”

“So you’re a pessimist,” he teases. “It’s alright,” his hands spread out towards me, as if warding off my denial. “There’s nothing wrong with that, necessarily. I’m not exactly an optimist myself, but even I have a dream or two hidden inside.”

“So what’s your dream then?”

His eyes lose a little light and he looks around again. “Making a difference.”

He’s lying. I don’t know how I know that, but I can tell there’s more to it than that. Maybe it’s the way that he’s suddenly not looking at me. Maybe it’s the way he’s ripping off tiny pieces of napkin and rolling the pieces into little balls. That’s something I would do if I were trying to be nonchalant about lying.

“And?”

He folds his fist under his chin and looks at me. No, that’s not right. He’s looking right past me, looking for something… different. “I wanna go home,” he whispers, so low that I lean forward as he speaks, concentrating hard to make the words out. He startles out of his daze and grins at me again. This one is more forced, planned, with only a small ounce of authenticity and a lot of sadness. “So, come on, Mal, what do you dream about?”

This is an interesting first date conversation. Well, if this is a date. I don’t even know.

My shoulders lift and fall in a dramatic fashion. “World peace?” I joke. “I dunno. I guess my dream is to have a dream.”

Nate beams again. “I’ll drink to that.” He toasts me with his mug. We clink cups and take a sip.

Silence again.

He casts another glance around the room. I try to figure out what he keeps looking at. Conner is staring at me, his mouth a thin line. He shakes his head and goes back to his laptop.

Forcing my attention back to Nate, I say, “Are you from around here?”

“No,” he leans back again. “I just got into town a few weeks ago.”

“Are you travelling with friends? I mean, you just said you were hanging out with them last night.” I settle back in my chair.

“Not travelling with them, no,” he pauses. “I have friends everywhere. I travel a lot.”

I moan, jealous. “I would love to travel. I guess if I have a dream, that’s part of it.”

He picks up the menu stand and reads it. “You sound like you’ve never gone anywhere.”

HA! “Pretty much. I grew up in New Swindon. I went to college here. I still have dinner with my parents every Tuesday night.”

“What did you study?”

“The oh-so-profitable major of English. Might as well have gotten my BA in ‘Do you want fries with that?’”

“There’s nothing wrong with English. Language is underrated. Do you have any clue how amazing it is that we can speak? We make these sounds that are globally acknowledged as speech. Our mouths create words, which have meanings, subtleties. It’s amazing when you really think about it.”

“Sounds like someone was an anthropology major.”

He laughs. “At one point, yes.”

“So you were one of those people who changed their minds a lot?”

His eyes stare into mine. The intensity makes my breathing speed up. “My mind is constantly changing.”

“How old are you?” I ask. Whoops, that slipped out without me thinking.

“Twenty seven. You?”

“Twenty five. You seem older.”

“I have an old soul. Or so a psychic once told me. Do you believe in psychics?”

My, he changes subjects very quickly. “I believe the real psychics are not the ones asking for payment.”

“Agreed. I’ve never paid for a reading in my life. I also think they’re full of crap. No one can know the future. The possibilities are constantly changing.”

I grin. “It’s all just a bunch of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff.”

“I don’t get it.”

Damn, he’s not a fan of Doctor Who. “Just a quote from a TV show I like.” No need to let him know that I’m a hopeless sci-fi geek. When all the other girls were crushing on the latest teen sensation, I was pretending that I was solving government conspiracies with Mulder and Scully or asking Scotty to beam me up. Although, I have to say, my favorite childhood memory was sending my giant stuffed bear into the future with my home-made time machine. The key to time travel is, of course, an Etch-A-Sketch.

His nose wrinkles. “I don’t like TV. It’s too distracting. There are plenty of adventures to have without one.”

“Adventures take money.”

“Television takes more.”

“Books take less.”

“Let’s put it this way: I’d rather be living than watching or reading about someone else living. No offense.”

I shrug and run my finger over some spilled sugar. “None taken. I would too, but it’s not really an option. You don’t make enough money peddling coffee drinks to have adventures.”

“To live would be an awfully big adventure.”

I laugh. “If I took all my wisdom from Peter Pan, I’d be living on an island with a bunch of little boys, running from pirates, and chasing Indians.”

Nate points a finger at me. “But you would be able to fly.”

I point a finger back. “But, I’m scared of heights.”

He points to himself. “I’m scared of dying, but that doesn’t mean I sit in a protective bubble every day.”

“You’re very preachy.”

“You’re very safe.”

Silence.

Stung, I take a sip of my latte, draining it as I stare across the room. I try to will the tears to stay in my eyes. Why do I care what he says? I only just met him.

His cool hand covers mine. “I’m sorry, that was out of line,” he says. His voice is softer and his eyes are apologetic.

“It’s cool. It’s true, really.” His touch makes my insides all squirmy and wonky.

He shakes his head. “A girl brave enough to dye her hair the color of a tomato isn’t safe. She’s just… trying to tame her wild side.”

I wink at him. “Been thinking about my wild side, have you?”

He turns my hand over and gazes into my palm. He traces one of the lines with his thumb. I try not to shiver. “You have no idea.”

Chapter Two

After that, our conversation becomes easier, lighter. It’s like that mini-argument let some of the pressure off and now we can joke and tease and talk about anything. Well, almost anything. I’m pretty sure he’s still hiding something from me. The conversation doesn’t get much more personal than asking how many siblings we have. I tell him about my twin sister Melanie—yes, my parents are very creative, Mal and Mel—and he tells me about being the youngest of ten. Ten! I can’t even begin to imagine that.

“Loud,” is how he describes it, with a heavy shrug.

Two hours later, he’s pulling me out of the café. I’m laughing, trying to explain that I don’t have a coat and it’s wicked freezing outside. He opens the door for me with a grand bow. I curtsy back once I’m outside. My eyes fall on Connor. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s glaring at us. I sober for a moment, but then Nate grabs my hand and sprints down the block.

Now, running in stylish ballet flats might not seem all that hard, but add in the fact that it’s icy and snowy and I’m already shivering and it’s snowing a fine dusting…well, let’s just say that I’m slipping and sliding everywhere.

“I can’t just sit there for two whole hours,” he spreads his arms out and turns in a circle. He stops to grin at me. “Don’t get me wrong, Mal. The company is fantastic.” He frowns when he notices that my jaw is quaking and body shivering. “Where’s your coat? It’s freezing out here.” He puts his hands on his hips and tsks at me.

I throw my hands up and groan. “I told you like twenty times that I don’t have a coat.”

“Why?” The idea baffles him apparently.

He must have bad memory retention or something. “Because I live right above the café so in the time it takes to put on a coat, I could be in the café already.”

“Oh,” his eyebrows go up. He peels off his pea coat. “Here, wear mine. I’m used to the cold.” He holds it out to me.

“No, it’s ok,” I jump up and down a little. “We’re not far from my apartment.”

He walks behind me and places the jacket around my shoulders. He smells like coffee, musky deodorant, and very faint soap. “Just take the damn jacket, Mal,” he whispers in my ear.

I gulp. I think his lips touched my ear, feather light, and stomach jumping.

I stuff my arms into the sleeves and turn around. Well, more like I jump away from him as if he’s on fire.

He’s not even shivering. Well, except with laughter.

“So, why are we outside?” I ask.

Nate takes my hand and walks back toward the café. “My legs were getting stiff. I get cabin fever a lot.”

“After two hours?” Better to focus on making fun of him than how his hand feels in mine.

“I’m a busy guy.” He swings our arms back and forth. “I like to stay active.”

I poke him in the side. “That sounds like ADHD.”

“If you like,” he says.

Since we weren’t even half a block away, it didn’t take more than a minute or so to get back to the café. That and I was half running.

“So,” Nate claps his hands once. “We get you a jacket and some sensible shoes,” here he glares at my ballet flats, “And then, we, Miss McDonald, are going on an adventure.”

I pull my keys out of my pocket and unlock the door to the stairwell. “I could have plans for the rest of the day, you know,” I tease, opening the door and walking up the stairs.

He follows. “Do you?”

His tone is almost sad. I turn my head to smile at him. “Not really,” I admit.

He beams. “Great! Time for an adventure!”

Apparently going to the aquarium is an adventure.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the aquarium. I’ve been there like a hundred times. But, see, that’s the problem. I’ve been there a hundred times. I was hoping for something more…well, different.

Nate, on the other hand, had never been to this aquarium and he seemed to be having a grand old time. He kept running up and down the aisles, looking at this fish and that. One would think that he had never been to an aquarium before at all.

“Ooo,” he says, pressing his hands against the glass of a shark tank. “Sphyrna mokarran. The Great Hammerhead.” He snorts and shakes his head. “I know the Great Hammerhead personally. He’s not so great when you talk to him. Makes you wanna take a hammer to his head.” He laughs and looks at me. I know I must look both confused and wary. He clears his throat and backs away from the tank.

“Another friend of yours?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No, not exactly a friend…”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Is everyone you know named after a fish?”

“No, some are named after lizards,” he quips, flashing me a stunning smile. He glances at his watch and takes my hand. “Come on, the walrus show starts in a few minutes!”

He drags me out of the shark room. The back of my head is prickling and my shoulders tense. I feel like someone is staring at me.

I can’t help it. I glance back.

Something dark flicks out of my view.

I stop walking.

“Something the matter?” Nate asks. He voice is low and tense.

I keep staring at the shark room. Were my eyes playing tricks on me?

“I thought…” I drift off.

Nate’s thumb rubs mine. “What?”

I shake my head and turn back to him, smiling. “Nothing. Never mind.”

He looks at his watch again and raises his eyebrows. “We’re gonna be late.” He pulls my hand and I start walking with him.

It takes all my self control to not look behind me again.

Nate lets my hand go. Instead, he puts his arm around my shoulder. “See, isn’t this fun? Much better than sitting at home watching TV or wasting time on whatever the newest social media fad is.” He pulls me close to his side. “It’s educational, too. And very pretty.” He looks behind us and speeds up. “Don’t wanna miss the start of the walrus show. All the best seats will be taken.”

There aren’t a lot of people in the aquarium. It is a Monday, after all. School just let out, so all the field trips are done, and all the parents are still picking up their kids. But I swear someone is following us. I’m sure I hear footsteps.

“I’ve never seen a walrus show,” Nate continues. “In fact, I have no clue what to expect. That’s pretty exciting. Normally I know just what to expect from everything.” He looks behind us again.

I start to turn. “What’s—”

“Don’t look,” he whispers. Louder, he says, “I’m really smart actually. You have to be, considering where I’m from. Actually, everyone back home is smarter than me in most respects, but no one outside of home is smarter than me.” We turn left at the next corner. The sign for the walrus show clearly states we should have gone right. We’re entering the big tank, the one where everything around you is glass and fish are swimming overhead. “Well, no one I’ve actually met outside of home, anyway. But since I’m from the place universally acknowledged as containing the highest amount of geniuses per capita, I assume that no one is smarter than me. Outside of home. I said that already, didn’t I?”

“Um,” I start. My hearts beating pretty hard right now. I’m also very sure I don’t know what is going on, what he is talking about, and I’m especially not sure who is following us or what they could possibly want with us. Most of all, number one on the list of thing I don’t know, is this: I don’t know Nathaniel Reynolds at all. And that makes my heart patter in a very bad, very horror movie kinda way.

He looks down at me and sighs. The look in his eyes breaks my heart. He looks so raw, so sad, so… alone. He presses his lips to my hairline. “God, I hope this doesn’t make you think less of me.”

Nate turns around, pushing me behind him. He reaches inside his coat and pulls out a squirt gun.

A squirt gun?

Yes, I decide, a squirt gun. A plastic, red squirt gun. Looks like one of those small ones you can buy at the dollar store that leaks more often than it squirts. It also looks like it’s trying too hard to be futuristic.

“Show yourself,” he demands, his voice getting really deep and commanding. If I weren’t so freaked out, I’d probably be all fan-girly.

Nothing happens, though.

What. The. Hell?

His left hand, the one not holding the squirt gun, is stretched out behind him. He’s got a grip on my lower arm. Maybe I should try to get away from him. Clearly, he’s insane.

But then the lights flicker. I hear footsteps, but see nothing. Since this room is entirely glass, for the most part, the footsteps are augmented by echoes. They seem to overlap, getting louder and louder.

“Nate,” I whisper. But is that even his name?

I’m pretty sure I’ve seen how this scene ends in a movie before.

“Show yourself,” Nate repeats.

The footsteps stop.

Nate shuffles in a circle, keeping me behind him the entire time. His tight grip on my arm hurts. I stumble over my own feet.

Then I feel it. A cool wind at my back, ruffling my hair.

“Behind me!” I scream.

Nate lets me go.

I drop to the ground.

Something behind me screeches and bubbles.

Nate fires the squirt gun. But it’s not a squirt gun. It shoots a laser.

I look behind me.

Something in black is lying on the ground. It’s wearing boots and a long leather duster. A green, watery liquid surrounds him.

“Shoot first, ask questions later?” I ask. My breath is ragged and there are spots in my vision.

Nate shuffles closer to the figure, pointing the laser squirt gun at it. “It’s stunned. For the most part.” He crouches down and pokes it. “Ah crap. I need a bucket.”

Chapter Three

Nate somehow materializes a bucket. I don’t ask how. I’m too busy trying to breath like a normal person and not pass out. I crab walk to opposite side of the room from the thing. I press my back against the glass wall and pull me knees to my chest.

Nate picks something up near the body and plops it into the large white bucket, like the one trainers fill with fish for dolphins. In fact, I bet that’s what it’s used for. Water sloshes around the bucket as Nate moves it away from the body. He frowns into the bucket then fiddles with his watch.

“What is it?” I ask.

He looks at me and hesitates. His face is unreadable as he turns back to the body and does something with his watch again. “Not from around here,” he answers finally.

“No shit,” I say.

He sighs and walks towards me. I unconsciously fold my legs closer to myself. He stops a few feet in front of me. “I can’t really explain. There isn’t time.” I’ll give him credit for sounding sorry.

“How long has this thing been following you?” I ask.

He squats down and looks me right in the eye. “What makes you think it was following me?”

I don’t have an answer for that.

Running a hand through his hair, he walks back to the body. “It’s not dead. That’s why there isn’t much time. I have about five minutes until it wakes up. And it’s going to be really pissed off, so we need to get it out of here.”

“We?”

He kneels down next to the body and starts going through pockets. “If you don’t want to come, I won’t blame you. But, I would like you to. I…will worry, otherwise.”

I swallow and stand. “Tell me what’s in the bucket.”

“Look for yourself,” he says. He doesn’t exactly snap at me, but he sounds like he wants to. As he pulls his hands out of the body’s pockets, I start walking towards the bucket.

I sink my hand into my jacket pocket and grip my cell phone. I feel for the unlock button, press it twice, and type 9-1-1. If it’s a head, I’ll scream like a banshee and run out of the room and hit send. If it’s nothing, I’ll clear the number.

One more step and I’ll see what’s in the bucket. I close my eyes, take a step, and open them.

There’s a yellowish squid floating in some greenish water.

Like a real, mostly live, squid. With a long cylinder body and short little tentacles.

“It’s a squid,” I say.

I look at the ground near the body. There’s water and glass everywhere. It looks like a fish tank exploded. I gulp, close my eyes, and then look at the body.

But it’s not a body. Not really. It’s shaped like one, but it’s not real. Where the head should be, that’s where most of the glass and water is. I lean closer. The part where the neck should meet the shoulders has a raised rim, kinda like the top of a screw bottle.

Nate’s eyes flick between me, the body, and the bucket. “It’s a squid,” he confirms.

“The squid? The one you were chasing last night?” Because now I know, there’s no way he has a friend named Squid. Not when there’s a squid in a bucket and a fake body without a head.

“No,” he says. His voice is low and soft. “That Squid was different. It was orange. This one,” he gestures to the bucket, “is yellow. It’s from a different school.”

I snort. “A school of Squid?”

“That’s what I call them anyway.”

I look at him. “What does that mean?”

“Another long story that we don’t have time for. Look,” he looks me in the eye again. “What’s going to happen next will probably freak you out. You don’t have to come with me.”

I look at the body, the bucket, then his sad eyes. Yeah, right. I clear the number from my phone and take my hand out of my pocket.

“I’m coming with you.” I fold my arms across my chest. I hope it makes me look intimidating. “You insinuate that I’m being followed by Squid, whatever they are, and you expect me to turn around and go home? Where more Squid could be waiting to, I dunno, ink me or something?”

Nate smirks. “You have no idea how close you are.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Oh. Cool. I think. Anyway,” I step forward. “Case closed. I’m coming with you.”

He sighs, but not in a sad way or an annoyed way. More like he’s letting out a breath he’s been holding. “OK, but you’re gonna have to hold the bucket. I can’t jump three things out of here without some help.”

“Jump?”

His eyes twinkle. He pulls the body up and holds it by the waist. “Do you trust me, Mal?”

I pick up the bucket and swallow. “So it would seem.”

“Great!” he smiles. He adjusts the watch on his hand before he holds the same hand out to me. I take it. “Press the button on the side of the watch.” Off my crazy look, he laughs. “I don’t have enough arms right now to do it. Oh, and Mal?”

“Yeah?” I whisper.

“You may want to close your eyes.”

I blink and look down at his watch. I press the little button on the side of the silver watch.

I feel air whooshing around me.

Then we’re in a dark room.

I swear that I didn’t blink.

“Wha…” my knees buckle.

“Whoa,” Nate says. The body thumps to the ground and he grabs me around the waist. I nearly drop the bucket, but he pulls it from my hand and sets it down. “Oopsy daisy,” he says as my knees actually do give out and he scoops me up into his arms.

The world is totally spinning right now. I close my eyes.

“Ok, I guess I should have warned you,” Nate’s voice is coming from someplace very, very far away. It’s like he’s speaking through a bunch of cotton. “I haven’t jumped with anyone inexperienced in a long time, so I didn’t think. Sorry.”

I think he’s walking. Or maybe the world is shaking and spinning. How should I know? I’m probably gonna pass out in a second.

“You’re not used to your cells defusing like that. I haven’t jumped a human before.” He gasps. “You’re not gonna throw up, are you?” He sounds very, very worried.

Now that he mentions it…

I’m shivering in a cold sweat and spitting into a bucket. Nate’s holding my hair away from my face and rubbing my back. Ugh, I know that smell, but I don’t even remember vomiting. I don’t remember sitting down either.

“Here,” Nate whispers, handing me a cold glass. I take a gulp and swirl it around my mouth. I spit into the bucket and take another sip, swallowing this time. He wipes a cold cloth against my forehead. “Put your head between your legs.” He gets up and takes the bucket away. I listen to him, sniffing.

“Can I have a tissue?” I ask.

A moment later, I feel the couch I’m apparently sitting on give next to me. Nate pulls my hair back again and hands me a box of tissues. I blow my nose into one.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. He rubs my back again. “I really didn’t think.”

I shrug. “What happened? One second we were in the aquarium the next we’re… wherever we are.”

“We’re in Russia, sort of.” He put his arm around me and scoots closer. “We’re high above the arctic circle. No one’s probably lived here in a thousand years or so. It’s too cold.”

Figures. I’m finally outside of the US and I’m stuck underground with craziness.

I look around. It’s dark. Only one naked light bulb dangles above the small room. There’s lots of computer equipment and wires and metal things everywhere. It’s pretty cool temperature wise in here, but nothing to determine where we are. There are no windows, only dark walls.

My hands are shaking.

“Can you explain everything now?” I ask. I think my tone is pretty reasonable for someone about to have a major panic attack.

He lets me go and stands up. “I need to put the squid in the tank before it wakes up.”

I take a sip of water. He picks up the bucket and lugs it to a big tank filled with the same shade of greenish water that was on the floor of the aquarium. He presses a few buttons on a keypad and something beeps. The cover of the tank opens and he pours the contents of the bucket into the tank. The squid just kinda floats in the middle of the tank.

“What are you?”

The words just sorta tumble from my mouth.

“What’s going on? Why was a squid walking around, stalking us, in a body?”

He closes the stop of the tank and leans his head against it. “I don’t know exactly why it was following us,” he voice is soft and full of regret. “Or, to be more specific, you. When we ran into each other last night, I had tracked one to your apartment building. Then this one followed us from the café to the aquarium.” He turns around and leans against the tank, his arms crossed, his head hanging down. “I also don’t know exactly what’s going on. I just know you have something to do with it.”

“Me?” I scoff. “What do I have to do with anything? I’m nothing special.”

He shakes his head. “You are. There’s something about you that’s making two separate schools of squid follow you.” Not exactly a sentence I ever thought I’d hear in my life. “But I don’t know why and I don’t know what they are looking for. Yet,” he adds. “When this one wakes up, I intend to find out.”

Silence again. I take a sip of water.

I bite my lip. “You didn’t answer one of my questions.”

“A squid has robot body so that it can travel outside of its water habitat and basically cause annoyance for the rest of the universe. It’s not very smart. Just more advanced than humans. Their ink is an especially potent poison.”

This is all too much for me. “Who are you?”

He looks around. “Nathaniel Reynolds.”

I throw the glass at him. He steps out of the way. It smashes against the tank. “Tell me the truth,” I demand.

“My name is Nathaniel Reynolds,” he holds his hands up and interrupts what I’m about to say. “I picked it myself when I first came to Earth in 1921.” He walks around the wire shelf unit in the middle of the room. “We don’t have vocal chords where I’m from. We communicate with a series of signs, I guess like sign language to you, and facial expressions. So it’s impossible for me to tell you my real name.” He looks at me and he has that sad look in his eyes again. “I don’t have enough arms in this body.”

This is just too much for me.

Everything goes black and I’m blissfully unconscious.

My cheek’s pressed against a cool leather couch. The room is mostly silent, except for whirring computer equipment and the sound of someone typing on a keyboard.

I sit up slowly. Cool, the world is not spinning anymore. I lean against the back of the couch and drop my head against the wall.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Nate’s back is to me. He’s in front of the tank where the yellow squid is now swimming around with jerky movements.

I don’t think it’s very happy.

“Wait,” I croak. “Is it morning?” I clear my throat as I pick up the cup of water from the side table and take a sip.

Nate glances over his shoulder. “No. You’re only been out a few minutes. Six, to be exact.” He turns back to his typing.

“What are you doing?” My voice is less frog-like now.

“In simple terms,” he says. “I’m uploading translation software.”

“Translation software?”

His tone makes it clear that he thinks I’m an idiot. “So we can talk to the squid about why it’s following you.” He stops typing and goes to the other side of the tank. He plugs in some wires. “Well, I’ll talk. You sit there and look gorgeous.”

I sit forward and stretch my arms above my head. “Yeah, I feel really gorgeous right now.” He chuckles and jogs to the right side of the room and digs around some shelves. “Are you The Doctor or something?” I blurt out.

He pokes his head out from behind the shelves. “Doctor who?”

I laugh in spite of these weird circumstances. “Exactly.” His confused look sobers me. “Are you,” I ask, plopping my chin into my palms. “A 907 year old Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey?” I giggle.

Yes, I am officially going insane.

He leaves the shelving area and kneel in front of me.

“I’m a 1,944 Earth year old Chameleon from the planet Chameleo,” he whispers. My jaw drops. “Or at least that’s what I call it. Like I said before, we can’t speak in our natural form, so I have to come up with my own name for certain things.”

I don’t even know where to begin. I feel a familiar and terrifying flutter in my chest.

“How old are you in Chameleon years?”

“27,” he answers. “My planet is larger and farther from our suns.”

“Plural?”

He nods.

“I see.”

He sits next to me. “You’re taking this really well.”

Yeah, I’m really good at hiding the tightness in my chest. I’ve had a lot of practice. “Obviously we’re not alone in the universe. It makes sense.” I gulp. “Sort of.”

He places his hand on my back. “You’re shaking…”

“Don’t touch me!” I scream and jump off the couch. I run to the wall perpendicular to the couch and put my back to it.

No, no, no, no, no…

Nate stands slowly and holds his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mallory. I want to protect you.” He looks so hurt.

“I know,” I whisper. I hug myself. “I know. Like, deep down I know but…” I sigh and crouch down. “Just give me a minute. This is a lot to take in.”

Lies, lies, lies, lies… It’s all just a bunch of lies. You’re not safe here. They’re going to find you and make you one of them.

I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. I try to meditate, to find that happy place that my doctor told me to search for at times like this. Times when I feel like I’m going to lose control.

I haven’t had an episode in years. I’ve been really good. Not even those weird dreams I’ve been having lately have affected me.

But I just learned that everything I thought was real actually is real.

Maybe I’m not crazy.

No, no, this is the wrong train of thought. I shouldn’t try to figure it all out right now. Right now I need to calm down, because my hands are shaking too hard and my heart is beating too fast and I’m in the middle of nowhere and I don’t have my medication and I’m willing to bet my cell phone doesn’t work and if I were to die here no one would know where I am.

No.

Breathe.

Find the light.

“Mallory,” Nate whispers. I open my eyes and his face is right in front of me. “You can trust me.” His hands move slowly towards my face, but he seems to rethink that move. He places them on his knees instead. “How can I help?”

I know I should tell him, but I don’t want to tell him. Does the fact that I think I’m going crazy mean that I’m not actually crazy?

“I don’t know what’s real,” I whisper.

“Mal…”

I lift my hand. “No, wait. Let me explain.” I just need to tell him. “This is just like my delusions.” I gasp for breath. “I don’t want to go back…”

“Go back where?”

But I’m crying. “I’m fine, I’m normal.” I repeat the phrase over and over, rocking back and forth. Suddenly I’m in Nate’s arms and he’s rocking with me.

“Oh, sweetheart,” his lips caress my ear. “Close your eyes.”

A shocking pulse hits my brain.

I gasp and sit up on the couch. Nate’s beside me, biting his nails. I wipe tears from my cheeks. Why am I crying?

“What happened?” I ask.

He takes my chin in his hand and moves my head around, searching my eyes. “You had an episode,” he wipes my face with a tissue. “It’s to be expected. No reason to worry about it.”

An episode?

Why can’t I remember?

I move away from the tissue. Ew, it’s streaked in black. So much for my waterproof mascara. I take it from him and wipe under my eyes with a clean corner.

“I must look like a raccoon,” I mutter.

“Nah, you’re beautiful,” he says gently.

I catch his eye and smile. “Thanks, but I’m not a very good example of the human race.”

He stands and grins at me. “I’ve been around here long enough that I can seriously say that that statement is not true. You, my dear, are a perfect specimen.”

I blow my nose. “Gee, way to make a girl feel like a scientific experiment.”

His dark blue eyes get a stormy look to them, but it passes quicker than a spring shower. “You’re not,” he mutters as he once again returns to the fish tank. Squid tank?

I toss the tissue in a little waste basket he must have placed next to me while I was out of it. I don’t like the fact that I don’t remember what he’s talking about. Let’s see: I remember him telling me about his planet. The whole two suns thing. After that, it’s just a big blur.

“Hello there!” Nate says. He’s speaking into a small microphone while typing something on the keyboard. “Do I have your language right? South Central School, just off of the Bergen Peninsula?”

“Fool!” The deep, bass voice shouts out of the speakers, followed by the spine shivering sounds of high-pitch feedback. I cover my ears with my hands. The volume is louder than a rock concert from the first row.

Nate types like a maniac on the keyboard. “Sorry!” he shouts. “I always forget about the volume. Been all these years and I still forget about the whole hearing thing.”

The fuzzy bass goes away and I uncover my ears. The squid is laughing, a deep, Satanic sound. Or maybe like Snidely Whiplash. I dunno, it just reminds me of your archetypical villain.

“You may stun me with your Chameleon technology,” the squid’s tentacles billow and fold. “But I have technology of my own!”

Muah-ha-HA!

Ok, he didn’t actually laugh like that. But I could hear it nonetheless.

Then, just like that, the speakers burst with feedback and the fish tank explodes, soaking Nate and me with brackish green water. I jump onto the couch.

The room is covered in glass, water, sparks, and bits of what used to be the squid. Ew.

“What just happened?” I’m frozen, my hands spread out in front of me, as if I could have pushed the water away from me. Nate grabs something from a shelf.

“Self-destruct mechanism,” he pokes through the glass and, well, flesh with, of all things, a stick. I don’t know where he got a stick from, but it’s a stick from a tree branch.

I take a few deep breaths and step down from the couch. Thank god I’m wearing waterproof snow boots. “Do any of your plans ever work?” The sentence spills out before I can stop it.

“No. Yes. Well,” he gives the remains one last poke then looks up at me. “To be fair, I never really have a plan. I basically make things up as I go along.”

I nod. “Of course. Great. I’m stuck with Mr. Free Spirit and we’re nowhere near closer to knowing what’s going on.”

“Now, I wouldn’t say that. Look.”

Nate points at the mess. There’s a weird looking thing poking out of what may have been the squid’s brain or something. I failed human anatomy, never mind squid anatomy.

“Like I know what that is.” It looks like a worm or something. Maybe a caterpillar.

Nate jumps up and runs to a shelf. He rummages around, talking nonsense. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of this before? This makes much more sense.”

I fold my arms. “Care to enlighten the clueless?”

He pulls a small clear cylindrical tube off the shelf. With a pair of tweezers he must have found along the way, he picks up the wormy thing and places it in the tube, then caps it.

“This,” he says. “Is a drone.”

I picture a hoard of bees and shutter. “Drone?”

He drops the tweezers into the puddle of glass and water and guts. “A parasite. An organism that lives off of another organism. Happens all the time on earth,” he places the tube back on a shelf. “But in this case, we’re talking about a drone from the far reaches of outer space.”

There are too many questions to even begin to ask. I just let one fall out.

“How did the drone or whatever not explode when the squid did?”

Ok, not really the one I would have intended if I were in my right mind, but I’ll take it.

He’s running around the room now, cramming things into a black backpack. “Drones are built a lot like cockroaches.”

Ew.

“So why are drones from the far reaches of space here on earth?” That should have been my first question.

Nate stops running and grabs the tube off of the shelf. He places it into the backpack, zips it up, and puts on the pack. He holds my coat out so that he can assist me in putting it on.

“Because they want to take over the world. Now, we have to leave, because, if I’m right, the fake body most likely has a bomb inside of it and the break in psychic connection between the squid and the body will result in a much, much bigger explosion.”

I don’t even know what to say. I just let him put my jacket on me.

He takes hold of my hand again. “Right, ok, so, close your eyes, Mal.” Don’t have to ask me twice. I squeeze them shut as Nate wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close. “In case you get dizzy again,” he mumbles. I bury my face into his shoulder and hold my breath.

Chapter Four

“Open your eyes.”

The air is chilly again and a breeze tickles my cheek as I lift my head from Nate’s shoulder. I open my eyes.

The sky is dark. We’re standing underneath a street lamp, next to a small bridge that curves up. The breeze pushes a few pages of a newspaper across the road. The buildings near us are stone and look much older than anything in New Swindon.

“Where are we?” I walk a few paces away from him.

My back is to him, but I can hear the amusement. “Guess.”

I laugh. “How can I guess if I don’t even know what planet we’re on?”

Nate follows me as I start walking up the bridge. “We’re on earth. I can’t jump to a different planet. It’s too dangerous.”

I turn around, walking backwards as I regard him. “How so?”

His hands are in his pockets. “The technology is only good for short spurts of jumping. If you try to go too far, you never know where you will land.”

I stop walking. “Is that how you got to earth?”

“No.”

He could be lying. But there’s no reason to lie.

I spin around and walk up the bridge again. “Ok, we’re not in America, I’m pretty certain.” Though the buildings around us are not tall by any means, there’s nothing in the skyline that I can recognize. And I don’t know a thing about architecture, so studying the buildings is out.

“Look behind you,” Nate’s leaning against the wall of the bridge, facing the complete opposite way that I am.

I turn

And gasp.

I swear, I can almost hear a little accordion tune.

The Eiffel Tower is lit up in all its glory.

“We’re in Paris?”

I’ve repeated the sentence at least ten times since I first saw the international symbol of the romantic city. Nate’s stopped responding after the fifth time.

After pulling me off the bridge, he’s dragged me to some dark alley. He knocks on a large wooden door with no markings or door handle or anything. We stand there for a moment before the door magically open.

I half expect them to squeak, but they open silently.

“Bien venue!” a cool, detached female voice comes out of nowhere. She continues talking in French. Although I studied the language in high school and college, the words are way too fast for me to follow. And it’s been a long time since I could practice.

We walk down a short corridor to another door. This one is sleek and white. Nate pauses in front of it, whistling a jaunty tune.

A blue light flashes and then the door opens.

“Bien venue, le caméléon et l’humain.”

Blinking the spots from my eyes, I step into a large room, a few steps behind Nate. The room is loud, cavernous, and stone. It’s rounded at the ceiling, reminding me of catacombs. There’s a bar at one end. The rest of the room is filled with tables and chairs.

And the strangest creatures I have ever seen.

I can’t even begin to describe them. It’s like the cantina scene from Star Wars. I just hope Nate doesn’t have to shoot anyone.

But if he did, I’m sure he would shoot first.

Actually, George Lucas wasn’t far off with some of these guys.

Nate’s leaning against the bar, talking to what I can best describe as a giant slug with arms and legs. I think it’s the bartender. They’re speaking French. I understand every few hundred words or so.

You know, for an alien, Nate’s really human looking. I never really thought about it until slug-man there.

I sidle up next to Nate and listen to their conversation, pretending that I understand what they are saying. A moment later, I hear the word “grand” and “café” and I know what that means. My stomach growls in agreement.

Nate puts his hand on my shoulder. “What would you like to eat?”

“Je voudrais un croque-monsieur, s’il vous plait,” I say. It’s slow and probably not pronounced correctly, but this is something I remember. “Et une latte. Merci.”

The slug-man nods (I think. He at least inclines his stalky eyes.). Nate folds his arms and looks down at me, grinning.

“What?” I don’t like the gleam in his eye.

“That was the cutest attempt at French that I have ever seen,” he pinches my cheek. I pull away and swat at him. He laughs. “Come on, let’s get a table.”

He takes my hand, pulling me along to one of the many empty tables. I look around again as he drags me along. For a big place, there aren’t a lot of people/creatures here. Most are near the bar. And besides one other couple, we’re the only humanoids here. We sit far away from everyone else and he takes the side where he can see the rest of the room.

“What is this place?” I ask as I sit in the wooden chair.

“Safe house, for people like me,” he leans back in his chair.

I lean forward. “Like other aliens?”

“Shh,” he says, looking around. “Don’t say that here. It’s… rude.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “We prefer to be called by our actual species, not a lump term. The bartender is a Clrs’ml. The bouncer,” he points behind me and I look. “Is a Strellosourislagomor.” The bouncer kinda looks like a bat head attached to an eight foot tall body builder.

I look around. This is fun. I notice a guy with orange and black strips and tusks drinking a pint of beer. “What about the guy at the bar that looks like a cross between a tiger and a boar?”

“Matla,” he answers. He sounds bored of this already and I haven’t even started. “The point is, Mal, the best way to deal with things you don’t understand is to keep your mouth shut.”

Never my strong suit.

Nate glares at me when I start to ask another question about the creature that looks like a giant stick insect. Fine. I fold my arms and sulk.

The Clrs’ml brings us our food. A trail of goo dries on the floor where it moved (slugged? Crept?). I close my eyes as I breathe in the scent of the glorified ham and cheese sandwich with an egg on top. I take a bite of the croque-monsieur. I’m so hungry, I can feel it as the bite falls down my throat to my stomach.

Nate barely nibbles on his croissant, though he does add lots of sugar to his coffee and slurps it down fast.

I’m enjoying the first sip of my latte when the doors on the other side of the room whoosh open. Nate sits up, back stiff. I turn and look.

“Act natural,” Nate murmurs.

I turn back to my food, heart pounding. Not because of who just walked in. They looked human to me. But because of Nate’s tone. He sounds a little scared.

I don’t know why. It’s just two guys in business suits.

Wait.

White shirt, black tie, black suit jacket, sunglasses.

Holy fuck on a stick, it’s the Men in Black!

Of course, now the song pops into my head and it’s so catchy, it’ll probably be there a while.

I have to ask Nate.

“Is that--?” He shushes me before I can get another word out. So I just eat my sandwich in silence, though Will Smith is rapping in my head.

My back tightens and I can’t stop the stiffness.

“Class 5.”

I jump. The voice, emotionless, comes from right behind me. I look. Here come the Men in Black.

Nate jumps out of his chair. He pulls out the little red gun and points it behind me. I drop the rest of my sandwich.

The next thing is one of those times where everything happens really fast, but it seems like it goes really slow. Like, if this were a movie, this would be the part that’s all Matrix-like.

I curl down and somersault under the table. Nate throws his coffee cup at the two MIB. They pull out black guns similar to Nate’s red one. Nate tips over the table to use as cover. The MIB shoot. I scream. The wood blows up, scattering slivers everywhere.

Nate grabs my hand and suddenly we’re somewhere else and Nate’s turning on a light.

Gasping, I take in the smooth stone walls, the metal shelves, the multiple computers. It looks like the place in Russia, but it also kinda doesn’t. Like one of those puzzles where you have to figure out the differences in the two pictures.

“Where are we?” I crawl onto a stained brown recliner.

“In a section of a cave on an island way off the coast of South Africa.” Nate collapses onto a burnt orange couch. Stuffing pours from the armrests.

I shake my head and lean back. I don’t even know where to start.

And I don’t have to. Before I can start questioning what just happened, my cell phone rings. To be precise, the dulcet tones of a funeral dirge emit from the plastic device.

My parents.

I pull the phone out and press the green button before I can really think about what I am doing.

“Hello!” My voice is extra happy, almost manic.

My dad clears his throat. “Hi, sweetie, what are you up to?”

Ah crap. When my dad calls me sweetie, I know it’s a bad sign.

I stop an uber-crazy laugh from bursting out. “Um, not much.” Total understatement.

“Can you swing by? There’s something we need to talk about.”

Uh oh. So not good. My heart races again and my brain goes into overdrive. What could they possibly know about Paris? Or Russia? Or… anything that just happened in these weirdest few hours of my life.

“Yeah sure, no problem, I’ll be there soon.”

Sometimes I wonder if I think before words come out of my mouth.

Nate, who’s been watching me the whole time, sits up on the couch. “Who was that and where are we going?”

I tell him and he is so not happy. Especially when I say that he can’t come with. He starts yelling and ranting about my safety and about how there are more important things and all this other stuff.

But I hold my ground

And, finally, he relents. And comes up with a plan that freaks me out.