"Seriously. Mom wants you to hurry, Dad's worried about hitting traffic, even Buttercup wants you to get it together so he can stick his head out the window and let his ears flap in the breeze. Oh, and I'd kind of like to get home before all the good shows are over.
So, what do you say we move it, okay?"
But when I don't move it, when I don't do much of anything, she sighs and says, "You forget something?
Is that it?" Eyeballing me carefully before glancing over her shoulder toward our parents.
"Maybe." I shake my head. "I'm not sure."
"You got your backpack?"
I nod.
"You got your cell phone?"
I tap my backpack.
"You got your brain?"
I laugh, knowing I'm acting strange and ridiculous and freaky as hell, but then after the last few days you'd think I'd be used to it by now.
"You got your sky-blue Pinecone Lake Cheerleading Camp sweatshirt?" She smiles.
"That's it!" I say, my heart beating frantically. "I l eft it by the lake! Tell Mom and Dad I'll be right back!"
But just as I turn, Riley grabs hold of my sleeve and pulls me right back. "Chillax." She smiles. "Dad found it and tossed it in the backseat. Seriously. So can we go now?"
I glance around the campsite one last time, then follow Riley to the car. Settling into the back as my dad pulls onto the road and a muffled chime comes from my phone. And I've barely dug it out of my bag, barely even had a chance to read it, before Riley's peering over my shoulder, trying to peek. Forcing me to turn so abruptly, Buttercup shifts, shooting me a look that lets me know she's not happy. But even after all that, Riley still tries to see. So I roll my eyes and do what I always do, I whine, "Mom!"
Watching as she flips a page in her magazine without missing a beat, automatically saying, "Stop it you two."
"You didn't even look!" I say. "I wasn't doing anything! Riley won't leave me alone."
"That's because she loves you," my dad says, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. "She loves you so much she wants to be around you all of the time —she just can't get enough of you!"
Words that send Riley clear to the other side of the car, pressing her body against the door as she shouts, "Gag!" Then swinging her legs to her side as far as she can, upsetting poor Buttercup all over again. Shivering dramatically, as though the thought is just way too disgusting to bear, as my dad catches my eye and both of us laugh.
I flip my phone open, reading the message from Brandon that says: Sorry. My bad. Call me 2nite. And I immediately respond with a smiley face, hoping that'll tide us over until I can work up enough emotion to send something more. And I've just leaned my head against the window and am about to close my eyes when Riley turns to me and says, "You can't go back, Ever. You can't change the past. It just is." I squint, having no idea what she's talking about. But just as I start to ask, she shakes her head and says, "This is our destiny. Not yours. Did you ever stop and think that maybe you were supposed to survive? That maybe, it wasn't just Damen who saved you?"
I stare at her, my mouth hanging open, trying to make sense of her words. And when I glance around the car, wondering if my parents heard too, I see that everything is frozen. My dad's hands are stuck on the steering wheel, his unblinking eyes staring straight ahead, while the page of my mom's magazine is stuck in midflip, and Buttercup's tail is caught at half-mast. Even when I gaze out the window, I notice how all the birds are caught in midflight, while the other motorists are paused all around us. And when I look at Riley again, her intense gaze on mine as she leans toward me, it's clear we're the only ones moving. "You have to go back," she says, her voice confident, firm. "You have to find Damen —before it's too late." "Too late for what I cry, leaning toward her, desperate to understand. "And who the heck is Damen? Why are you saying that name? What does it even mean—"
But before I can finish, she's already rolling her eyes and pushing me away as though none of it happened. "Jeez, stalk much?" She shakes her head. "I mean, seriously, Ever. Boundaries! Because regardless of what he thinks," she points toward our dad, "I have absolutely no interest in you. " She rolls her eyes and turns away, singing along to her iPod, her voice raspy, warbled, croaking out a Kelly Clarkson song in a way it was never intended. Oblivious to my mom who smiles and chucks her lightly on the knee, oblivious to my dad, gazing at me through the rearview mirror, our smiles meeting at the exact same moment, sharing a joke meant only for us. Still holding that smile as a huge logging truck pulls out in front of us, slamming into the side of our car, and making the whole world go black.
CHAPTER 48
The next thing I know I'm sitting on my bed, mouth wide open in a silent scream that never had a chance to be heard. Having lost my family for the second time in a year, left with only the echo of Riley's words:
You have to find Damen —before it's too late!
I spring from my bed and bolt for my den, going straight for the minifridge and finding the elixir and antidote gone. Unsure if it means I'm the only one who went back in time while everyone else stayed the same, or if I'm picking up right where I left off —with Damen in danger and me running away.
I sprint down the stairs, moving so fast they're like a blur under my feet, having no idea what day it is, or even what time, but knowing I've got to make it to Ava's before it's too late.
But just when I hit the landing, Sabine calls out, "Ever? Is that you?"
And I freeze, watching as she comes around the corner, wearing a stained apron with a full plate of brownies in hand.
"Oh, good." She smiles. "I just tried your mom's recipe —you know the ones she always used to bake? And I want you to try one and tell me what you think."
I freeze, unable to do anything but blink. Forcing a patience I don't really have when I say, "I'm sure they're fine. Listen, Sabine, I —" But she doesn't let me finish. She just cocks her head to the side and says, "Well, aren't you at least going to try one?"
And I know this is not just about seeing me eat, it's also about wanting approval —my approval. She's been questioning whether or not she's fit to look after me, wondering if she's in some way responsible for my behavioral problems, thinking that if she'd only handled things better, none of this would've happened. I mean, my brilliant, successful, high-performing aunt, who's never lost a single court case—wants approval from me . "Just one," she insists. "It's not like I'm trying to poison you!" And when her eyes meet mine, I can't help but notice her seemingly random choice of words, wondering if it's some sort of message, pushing me to hurry, but knowing I have to get through this first. "I know they're probably not nearly as good as your mom's, because hers were the undisputed best, but it is her recipe —and for some reason I woke up early this morning with this overwhelming urge to make them. And so I thought —"
Knowing she's capable of going into a full-on opening argument in her pursuit to convince me, I reach toward the stack of brownies. Going for the smallest square, figuring I'll just eat it and run. But when I see the unmistakable letter E carved right in its center —I know.