Loop (24 page)

Once we were safe inside the soundproof room, Finn and I started in on a hissing match.

“Who’s Quigley?”

“The Institute’s dean of discipline, and she teaches one of my History classes. She has to be the person who attacked my mother.”

“Attacked? What are you talking about?

“The other day, when I came back to the room so fired up, I’d overhead a conversation in the faculty locker room. My mom’s accident was no accident.”

“What? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I…”
Didn’t want you to freak out.
“Forgot.”

“Forgot?” Finn’s cheeks blanched. “Look, are you positive of what you heard? I mean, don’t you think there could be another possible explanation?”

“I’m sure.” I had spent the past twenty-four hours thinking of nothing
but
other possible explanations. Logically, not a single one made sense. I’d heard it with my own two ears.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier? This is exactly what I’ve been talking about, Bree. We need to go to the police.”

“We can’t. They’d find out about Leto and you—I’m breaking the law, Finn. And even if they didn’t prosecute, ICE would refuse to pay my mom’s bills and she’d end up in Resthaven and…” Thick tears clung to my lashes. “Besides, what would I even say? ‘Hey, I don’t know who, how, or why … but my mom was attacked’?
I’d
be the one shipped off to Resthaven. Welcome to Crazytown, population: Bree.”

“You’re not losing your mind. And no one is going to hurt you, not if I can help it. I just don’t understand why Future Bree didn’t tell me all this.”

“How could she not tell
you
? I’m the one she should have warned about all this.” I gripped my hair, forgetting it was a wig, and it fell off. My real hair was a mess beneath. “What kind of loser can’t even earn the trust of her future self?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

Finn shook his head again. “Everything she did she did for a reason.”

“How can you defend her? She’s caused this whole mess. Even your dad said it.”

“That’s not what he meant.”

“How do you know what he meant? Are you still keeping information from me?”

“I’m not keeping anything from you, Bree. I want to help you.”

“I … I don’t need…” The tears splashed down my face in silent streaks.

He wiped my tears away without a word.

“Okay, you can help,” I said.

He handed the data button over with a laugh. “So very kind of you. Only one thing: Could you pretend for two seconds that you don’t hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.” My words still had a little bite that I hadn’t intended.

He raised one eyebrow.

“I don’t hate you,” I repeated. It was true. I’d pushed him away out of fear at first. But now I was more afraid at the thought of facing all this by myself. “I need you … your help.”

“You have me … it.” He let out a low chuckle. “Let’s be honest. Where else am I gonna go?”

We exchanged an unspoken truce with our eyes, and I laid the data button flat out on the palm of my hand. As I ran my finger around the edge of it, a neat stack of soligraphic files flew out of the center. They hovered in the air in front of us. Hoo boy. This wasn’t going to be easy. It was a massive number of files, hundreds of Shifts over hundreds and hundreds of years.

“Organize by destination date.” A trip to the early 1300s shuffled to the front. I tossed the first half of the files to the side without even looking at them, then pulled them out one by one, barking out dates.

“1948.”

“Not unless you’re looking for my grandparents.”

“1961.”

“I won’t tell my mother you said that.”

“A few from the 1970s.”

“Maybe they met as little kids?”

Nah. “1998.”

Finn reached out and grabbed the file. “I bet this is it.”

He opened it, and his face fell.

“What does it say?” I tried to snatch it out of his hands.

“‘Class Field Trip to Australia.’” He handed it to me. “Sydney Opera House when your mom was fourteen.”

“So? Maybe they met there.”

“My parents have never been to Australia.”

“How do you know that?”

“My mom’s always talking about how much she wants to visit Australia and New Zealand someday. It’s her dream vacation, but she hates traveling with Dad because she ends up flying home alone.”

“Okay, next trip was”—my hope plummeted—“2054.” There was no overlap.

“There has to be another trip in there.” He pulled the small stack of files that were still organized in his direction and rifled through each one. “Maybe some are stuck together.”

I pulled them back. “That’s not the way it works.”

“Or maybe my dad met your mom in the past at some point.” He grabbed a handful of the first files that I had pushed aside.

It was possible, I guess. “Do you know specific dates he’s Shifted to?”

Finn thumbed through the first few before pushing them away in disgust. “No. And it’s doubtful your mom went to many battlefields.”

“This whole thing is doubtful.” I threw the soligraphic files I was holding. They scattered through the air. There were so many floating around, I had to brush a few aside to even see Finn.

“There has to be some way to know for sure if our mothers met at some point,” said Finn.

There was.
“I could go back and talk to my mom.”

“Is that a good idea?” The way he said it answered his own question.

“No. But I don’t have any others.” What I was considering was true insanity. “Any decent transporter should be able to get me back really close to … to the right time. It’s only been six months.”

“But aren’t you still on, like, time detention?”

“Anchored. Yes, but I could get around that with a teacher override.” I held up Quigley’s hair.

Shifting Rule number (wait … it didn’t have a number because no one would do something so scrape-your-heart-out-with-a-spoon stupid): Don’t go back in time to talk to your now-comatose mother right before she’s almost killed.

“Are you sure you can handle that?” he asked as if he could read my mind.

“Any other ideas?” It didn’t come out mean or sarcastic. I welcomed an alternative, but we both knew there weren’t any.

He didn’t respond.

“Cache files,” I said. The strewn soligraphs flew through the air and lined up in front of me like a glowing accordion. The data button sucked them up when I touched it to the corner of the files. I was about to close the button when I realized one file was smooshed under my foot.

Finn bent down to pick it up. “Is this one an extra?” he asked. “No label.”

“No. That’s not how data buttons work. Everything has to be categorized.” I took the folder to show him how to open it. But it stuck tight. “That’s weird.”

The letters on the label were a digital smear, like someone had erased them in a rush. I held it up to the light but still couldn’t read it. Changing a public record would take some high clearance. Or some serious know-how.

“Can you make this out?” I handed it back to Finn.

He squinted at the folder. “That might be a
J.
Or a ‘nine.’”

Or nothing.

“I wish I could get a better look at it,” I said. I took the file back from Finn and slid it into the data button. “But we need to go soon.”

Finn stared at the button in my palm and bent his neck in a resolute nod. “Right then.”

He unbuttoned his fly and pulled down his pants.

“What are you doing?” I squealed as he shook the first leg out.

“It’s okay. I have boxers on.” Superhero ones. But that didn’t explain his deranged behavior. He pointed to my hand. “You need that data disk, don’t you?’

“Why is stripping your answer to everything?”

He hopped around on one foot while he slid the other leg out. “You’ll need to hand that guy something the same size and shape so we have time to get away with the real disk. Hence, my button.”

“Oh.” This could actually work. “Let me help.”

With me tugging on his pant legs and Finn wrenching the button,
pop!,
it came off in his hand.

“Voilà.” He held it up in triumph.

“You seriously have to stop doing that.” I shielded my eyes from all the half nudity going on across from me.

Finn pulled up his jeans and tied the top together with a strip of fabric he tore from his shirt. Both buttons glinted in the brilliant light of the room, but Finn’s wouldn’t fool the attendant for long.

I plopped the wig back on and reached to open the door. Finn put his arm out to stop me. “Wait. What if this is what causes the danger you need protection from? Stealing this button. Sneaking back to see your mom.”

“What if doing nothing does?” I patted him on the cheek. “I can play that game, too.”

I moseyed up to the counter and plunked the pant button down without a word. I received none in return, which was exactly what I wanted. We walked calmly to the door, pushed it open, then started sprinting the moment our feet touched pavement. It had stopped raining. Steam rose from the sidewalk in the late morning sun. I figured it would be about thirty seconds before the attendant realized the switch.

It was five.

Finn and I hadn’t made it to the corner when Mr. Personality stepped out from the Infobank. “Hey, you left the wrong button!”

But we didn’t turn around. Didn’t pause.

“Get back here! You left the wrong—” It was at that point it must have hit him that this was no innocent mistake, that it wasn’t even a data disk he was holding. Heavy footfalls sloshed behind us, gaining ground. He was surprisingly fast for someone who hadn’t moved more than three inches the whole time Finn and I were in the building.

“There!” I yelled. A Publi-pod hovered on the opposite side of the street. I ran toward it, dodging two street-vacs. Finn nailed a third with his thigh. I waved my hand in front of the Pod’s access sensor. “Open, dang it.”

The Pod split open.

It was a single.

Mr. Personality bumped against one of the vacs in his hurry across the street. I shoved Finn in the Pod and jumped in behind him. The moment the Pod closed, I shouted, “Destination: Pentagon. Go!”

Mr. Personality stood in the middle of the road, kicking the ground with his hands up in the air. That was one horked-off Owl. I let out a sigh of relief and sank back into the seat.

“That was actually kind of fun. Where to next?” Finn leaned back and I fell into the crook of his arm.

“You thought that was
what
?” I tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. My head bumped against the side of the Pod. I scooted forward and my knee jabbed into the console. Begrudgingly I moved back to his lap. My Buzz had finally subsided the last few days. I didn’t want to tempt its return. I searched for a place to put my hands, but between his ripped shirt and unbuttoned pants I couldn’t get situated without touching his bare skin. I felt a fresh wave of heat rush to my face. He must have read it as anger. Which, there was some of that, too.

“I shouldn’t have used the word ‘fun,’” he said. “That’s not what I meant. I meant—”

“You do realize how much trouble I’ll be in if—who am I kidding?—
when
they figure out I stole this?” I held up the data button. “I’ll be expelled. Which I’m sure I’ll be distracted from that fact as I’ll be
in prison.
No one will pay for my mom’s bills. No one. She’ll end up in a mental institution.”

Which was where I was beginning to feel I belonged.

“I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath and rearranged his body to look out the window, which sent me tumbling to the other side of his lap. “See? This is exactly what I was worried about. It’s putting you in too much danger. I think we should cancel the trip to talk to your mom. There has to be some other way to find out what an enigmatic grin is and how our mothers knew each other.”

“Y’know what?” I found myself yelling, and I wasn’t even sure why. “I don’t care what you think. Whatever oath or promise you made Future Me, you are officially released from it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m letting you off the hook. I can take care of myself. Future Me must not have realized or, I guess,
remembered
how annoying this whole Protector act is.”

“I’m afraid it’s not up for debate.” His jaw set into a hard line.

“So now you and Future Me get to decide everything?”

For a moment he looked stumped, but then he said, “It’s also not up for a vote.”

“I don’t think you get it. I don’t want your pity, and I don’t need your help.”

“Well, maybe you should have thought of that earlier … I mean, later.” Finn reached out to the smooth panel in front of him. He clenched his hands around an imaginary steering wheel, then sprang them open with a scowl. “Here’s an idea, Bree: Take a memo. Dear Future Self, if you don’t want Finn’s help, then don’t go back in time two hundred years to a scared sixteen-year-old and beg him for it. Don’t tell him he’s the only one who can save you. Also, don’t wear your hair like that and laugh at all his cheesy jokes and smell like cherry blossoms in the spring. And don’t—” Finn stopped and turned his face back to the window.

“Don’t what?”

He shook his head and continued to stare away.

“Don’t
what
?” I grabbed his face to force him to look at me. Softened my voice and smoothed away the prickles.

Finn pulled my hands away from his face and clasped them to his chest.

“Don’t make me promise to break your heart.”

chapter 21

“WHAT?” I JERKED MY HANDS AWAY
from Finn’s chest, squished them under my legs, until I remembered I was still perched on his knee. I pressed my palm back against Finn’s chest. I needed him at least an arm’s length away. “What are you talking about? Break my heart?”

“I lied to you before.” Finn’s thumbnail dug into the seat cushion. The rush of his pulse ebbed under my fingers. “When I told you earlier what Future You had asked of me, I wasn’t telling the whole truth.”

“I told you to protect me
and
to break my heart?” I leaned my head against the side of the Pod. To heck with Buzz prevention. It felt fine right now anyway. “That’s what I said, verbatim?”