• Chapter One
    “Certifiable. Completely nutty.” The curly haired girl in the booth behind me assured her wide-eyed friends as they sipped their skim café lattes- hold the cream.
    I sighed, hoping their diets would cause them to shrivel to the size of peas. I turned up the volume on my ipod, not caring if they heard. Shredded eardrums or not, I didn’t feel like dealing with this. Unfortunately their voices had the super-human quality that bore through my earphones.
    “I heard he’s bi, if you know what I mean. Tim caught him holding hands with another guy.”
    The other girls gasped and squealed excitedly, all assuring the curly haired girl that they had suspected it all along.
    “I mean, look at him…”
    They all paused suddenly to stare at me.
    The back of my neck prickled uncomfortably. If I hadn’t been waiting for someone…
    “Who?” I heard another girl ask. This one was different, not breathy or high-pitched. I fought the urge, for the fifth time this afternoon, to turn around.
    The other girls seemed confused. “What do you mean?” The curly haired girl asked with a sneer. “We’re talking about him of course.”
    “Oh, he’s not bi.”
    I couldn’t help it. I swung around in my seat. I saw the three girls in their booth, barely touching their lattes and eying a skinny sandy haired girl with distaste.
    “I mean,” she started again with the air of a professional defense attorney, “has anyone ever, besides this Tim, had any proof? Has anyone seen this boyfriend? And does he catch you as a player? Do you think he would cheat on his girlfriend for a boy? Anyway, if he was bi he would listen to Katy Perry.” She glanced at me wearily. “Which I assume you don’t?”
    I raised my eyebrows. “That deranged chick? Heck no.”
    She nodded superiorly and turned to see the five girls staring at her with open mouths. “Who the heck are you?” The curly haired girl asked, her voice dripping arrogance and hatred.
    “She’s my girlfriend.” I gave them a cocky smile and dropped some change on the diner table. Grabbing the girl’s hand, I walked out of the café, remarking carelessly at the door, “Katy Perry is awesome though.”
    I dropped her hand, grinning, as we rounded the corner two blocks from the café. “So, who are you?”
    “India.” She eyed me curiously. “You’re a good actor, though. I had almost thought you had remembered.”
    “What do you mean?”
    India sighed and studied me with sad eyes. “I had almost thought you had remembered me- us. But I guess you never loved me enough.” She was crying now, even as she smiled at me.
    I was incapable of comprehensive speech. “Wha-huh? I…you…what?”
    She shook her head sadly and started to walk away.
    “Woah. Woah. Wait. You cannot just drop a bomb shell and walk away.”
    India paused but didn’t turn around. She was listening.
    “I mean, I can’t have gone out with you. I’m- well- I’m gay.”
    This time she turned around, glaring at me. “No, you’re not.”
    “Uh yes, I am.”
    “No, you’re not.”
    “Really. Are you serious going to stand here and tell me what gender I’m drawn to?”
    “Yes. And I’ll slap it into you if I have to.” She paused to take a deep breath, wiping away tears. “You- are not you right now. Your history, personality, family, and yes- even what gender you’re drawn to, they’re not yours.”
    “Really.”
    She hiccuped and wiped away another tear, attempting a brave smile. “Yup.”
    “So what am I really- according to you?”
    “A time traveler.”
    I stood there for ten minutes, as the sun sunk leisurely below a line of apartments, not saying anything, waiting for her to laugh. She didn’t. Finally I had to ask.
    “Okay. Let’s say I am a time traveler. What do I travel in? How do I travel? Where’s the proof?”
    She stuck her hand in her pocket and rummaged for something. Paused. Rummaged some more, now hysterically. Finally in desperation she pulled out the entire inside of her pocket, spilling her phone, ipod, and a huge stash candy onto the dark asphalt. Her hands frantically searched through to pile, and upon not finding what she wanted, looked at me with large, anxious eyes.
    “It’s not here!” She gasped. “I lost it, I-”
    “Okay, you lost it. Take a deep breath.” I put a hand on her small shoulder, and looked deep into her eyes. Up close she looked almost skeletal. The curly haired girl’s words running through my head. Certifiable. Completely nutty. I shook them away. “Look, where do you live? I take you home and in the morning we’ll find it, okay?”
    “I don’t-” India started and then paused, thinking deeply. “I don’t live.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Would you like me to check your heartbeat? Your pulse? I can tell you’re breathing.”
    “No no no, I- we, maybe- must have done something in time that stopped us from ever traveling time. I can’t have lost it. It must not exist.”
    “And what does that have to do with you living? Come on, you can crash at my house. My sister doesn’t care. Maybe after you sleep we’ll-” I paused, “-work something out.”
    India looked as though she was going to argue and then thought better of it. “Fine,” she said as she stood up shakily, “but you have to help me put this straight.”
    “Sure, honey.” I turned my head so she wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. “Bed now.”
    **********************************************
    The walk to my house a couple blocks away was cold but silent. India seemed in shock that she’s not a time traveler. I sighed as I opened the door to my sister’s house.
    “Home sweet home.”
    It was completely dark except for the flashing TV. Charlotte was asleep on the couch, in a tank top and sweats. I looked back at India, still frozen on the doorstep. She no longer looked sleepy, but wide awake with shock.
    “Something wrong?” I asked mildly.
    She forced a smile. “Uh no, of course not.”
    I walked back over to the door, gently moved India over the doorstep, and then closed and locked the door behind her.
    “Are you hungry?”
    “Uhm no. Just tired.”
    I smiled at her, swaying on the spot now with a new attack of sleepiness. “You can sleep in my bed, in that room to your right. I’ll be on the couch. It’s comfy enough.”
    Collapsing on the couch, I had one last conscious thought: she’s skinnier than she used to be.