Tempest. Part 8

She glared so hard it was like laser beams shooting at me. "You should consider showering before your father gets back. You stink worse than the b.u.ms outside this building."

I had no doubt she was right. I'd been rained on several times and was wearing the same clothes for the equivalent of three days. With no shower.

I got up and walked to my room without looking at her again. As soon as I shut the door, I leaned against it, letting my heart and my brain catch up to the rest of me. I had a feeling I'd be doing this a lot if I stuck around 2007, and I didn't seem to have a choice.

And based on the facts from the conversation I'd just had, it seemed like my younger self completely vanished around the time that I landed in 2007. None of it made sense. None of it went along with the data Adam and I had gathered. Knowing the other me was gone made me feel like I was sinking deeper into this year, this home base, like quicksand.

My room looked nearly the same as it did in 2009, but all my jeans were two inches short. The only clothes that fit were a pair of gym shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt.

After showering, I went back to the living room. Miss Stewart was on the phone, but she stopped talking as soon as she saw me.

"Your father would like to speak to you." She stuck the phone in my hand.

I tried to look the part of rebellious teenager who didn't care what his parents thought, but my legs were already shaking. "Yeah, Dad."

"What the h.e.l.l were you thinking, Jackson!"

I pulled the phone away from my ear a little and turned my back on Miss Stewart. "Um ... well-"

"Do you have any idea how many laws you've broken?! Or the hoops I had to jump through to get your a.s.s out of this mess?"

He didn't wait for me to answer, but instead rambled on for at least five minutes and then fell silent, waiting for my great excuse.

"I'm sorry, I just..."

I just want to know if you're in the freakin' CIA. And if you're going to lock me up in a cage.

"You know what, Jackson? I can't discuss this now," Dad said, and I could hear him letting out an angry breath. "I'm replacing your lost doc.u.ments as we speak. Miss Stewart should be able to get you on a flight back to Madrid by tomorrow afternoon. a.s.suming you can behave yourself."

Not really the response I was looking for. "Um ... actually, I don't want to go back to Spain."

"And why not?"

I glanced over at Miss Stewart, who now was sitting down again and filing her nails. "Personal reasons that I'd rather not discuss in front of the company you forced on me."

"Oh ... kay," he said slowly. "I'll call Loyola in the morning."

I was resigned to sticking around 2007 until I could figure out a way back to 2009, but I wasn't about to go to high school again.

"I just want to take the semester off, if that's all right."

"We'll talk about this later. I'll be home tomorrow."

"Where are you?" Somewhere supersecret?

"Houston," he said. "Business trip."

"Fine. See you tomorrow." I hung up the phone and handed it back to the chick invading my privacy. "Thank you. You can go now."

She stood up and s.n.a.t.c.hed her purse from the arm of the chair. "Nice chatting with you, junior."

I made a quick decision to try and wiggle some information out of the only source I had. "You know, my dad told me what you really do, that you're not his secretary. You don't have to pretend anymore. Actually, I think it's pretty cool that you're so ... involved."

She laughed really hard. "Well, you got that right. If you want to know about corruption and secrets in a major corporation, ask the person who answers the phones. They know everything."

"Even detailed information about foreign policy. I was impressed with that." I took a couple steps closer and lifted one eyebrow.

"We're very international, but I think you already know that." She pulled a card out of her purse and handed it to me. "Call me anytime if you change your mind about going back to Europe. Or ... if you want to discuss those foreign policies a little more."

I just stared at her in disbelief. Is she flirting with me? I didn't know anyone who could switch gears that fast. Not an honest person, anyway.

I flopped onto the couch again the second she left. Sleep should have come right away. G.o.d knows I needed it, but the whole my-dad's-a-secret-agent thing was really creeping me out, and b.u.mping into Courtney and getting arrested had distracted me from looking for clues.

I half expected those men with guns to jump out from behind a door. I tossed and turned for hours, feeling the guilt, the heaviness of everything I had left behind in 2009 pressing down on me. Could I really just start over? Maybe that was the answer. Seeing or talking to Holly, in this year. Just to know she was okay. It was possible the 2009 nightmare would stop haunting me if I knew she was safe. Here. Now. Maybe I could change things that way.

I reached behind me and picked up the phone from the end table. She might have the same cell phone number in this year that she had in 2009. It was five minutes to six on a Monday morning. Holly would probably be up. My heart pounded as I dialed her number from memory.

After three rings, I heard the crackling sound of papers being crumpled and then music blaring, followed by the one voice I needed to hear most at this moment.

"h.e.l.lo?"

I couldn't speak or move.

"h.e.l.lo?" she said again.

"Oh ... um, sorry ... wrong number," I managed to spit out.

I heard her laugh a little. "Okay, no problem."

I let out the biggest breath of relief, but I knew the second I hung up the phone that it wouldn't be enough. I had to see her. As I stumbled toward my room, feeling more tired than I ever had in my life, I started to devise a plan to worm my way not only into Holly's life, but also into Adam's.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

I slept a few hours and then pulled out my journal to write some of the developments down. If I was able to get into younger Adam's circle, he'd need all these pages of notes. I knew him well enough to know that.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2007.

Today is my first official day of a.s.suming the role of my seventeen-year-old self. d.a.m.n, this sucks! I have a few goals formed already, even in this early hour. (1) Avoid a repeat of any form of high school. (2) Find out what Adam and Holly are doing in this year. I really need to see them. Both of them. Even if they don't know me.

Someone banged on my bedroom door, hard. It must have been my dad and he was probably still p.i.s.sed off about last night.

"You have no consideration for the fact that I've been living in a different time zone since last May," I said as I stuffed the journal under my pillow.

"It's almost noon, you've slept enough. I made you something to eat," he shouted through the door.

I took my time showering and got dressed slowly, developing a story as to why a nearly straight-A student would suddenly want to drop out senior year.

Dad was waiting for me at the kitchen table with coffee and eggs, wearing his usual suit and tie, his dark hair neatly combed.

Part of me wanted to tell him everything, but I mostly just wanted to tell him that I'd seen Courtney, talked to her. He missed her as much as I did. Maybe more. Not that we ever talked about it. But I gave myself official orders. Don't trust anything he says.

"Jackson," he said with a stiff nod.

"Dad."

"I want to talk about you dropping out. I understand you have your reasons for coming back from Spain, but at least consider returning to Loyola."

"No, thanks." Not biting that bullet again. "So, are you heading to work?"

He opened the newspaper all the way, concealing his face. "Yes."

I poured a gla.s.s of orange juice and took a long drink. "What was going on in Houston?"

Killing people with your bare hands?

"Nothing interesting, just some meetings with politicians. Cutting off the FDA before they start dumping new regulations on us. All things a high school dropout could never do."

I groaned and stuffed a forkful of eggs in my mouth. "I'm not interested in going back to a school with a bunch of stuck-up kids."

He folded the paper and looked at me. "Huh ... Europe has diversified you. Can't say I object to that ... but your education shouldn't suffer. It's just one more year and then you can go to college wherever you want."

One more year. What the h.e.l.l did that really mean for someone like me?

"I'll get back to you," I grumbled.

He left me alone in the kitchen and took off for work. Several questions ran through my head, like ... did he yank off his suit and turn into a spy the second he walked out the door? But if he really did work for the CIA, there was no way I could follow him without getting caught.

My dad never seemed like the government-worker type, but he had been closed off the past few years. I thought that was because of Courtney. Mostly I thought he wished it was me who had died instead.

Can't say I blame him, especially now that I was acting the part of pain-in-the-a.s.s-delinquent-seventeen-year-old, too spoiled to finish high school.

The doorbell rang and I forced myself off the chair and trudged over to open it. Henry was standing on the other side holding out a large brown envelope. "Delivery for you."

I took the envelope from his hands. "Thanks. Did you check it for explosives?"

His eyes widened. "Oh ... I didn't know..."

"I'm kidding, Henry." I patted him on the shoulder before closing the door and plopping back into my chair. I dumped out the contents of the envelope and found a new cell phone, pa.s.sport, license, credit cards, a couple hundred dollars in cash, and a note.

Junior, Hope this helps you get around a little better today. I know how helpless you privileged kids can be. In fact, I even programmed my number into your phone. I'll be keeping an eye on you. Your father's orders.

-Miss Stewart P.S. I already have the entire international security staff at JFK on the lookout for Pierre the French exchange student, so don't even think about pulling that s.h.i.+t again.

I forced a full meal down my throat, hoping my energy level would return to normal. I needed to get dirt on Holly and Adam in this year. Preferably without time-jumping, because it was only moving me backward. I did know one guy who might be able to help, but it wouldn't be a pleasant experience.

I walked through the empty hall of an NYU dorm and knocked on the very last door. Music filled the hallway as a plump guy with greasy hair and food stuck in his teeth opened the door, grabbed the front of my s.h.i.+rt, and yanked me inside. "Don't say a word!"

"Um ... okay." I glanced around the small single room. It was covered in take-out containers, dirty laundry, and somewhere in there was a bed. I think.

He tightened the frayed tie of his blue bathrobe. "How did you hear about me?"

"A friend from your sociology cla.s.s."

Dirty Leon (the only name I knew he had) was a senior at NYU when I was a freshman. The guy who could get answers. Apparently, he was able to get them while sitting on his a.s.s, eating deli sandwiches and entire jars of pickles.

He lifted an eyebrow but nodded. "Good. You're one of us now."

G.o.d, I hope not.

"So ... tell me how this works...?"

Dirty Leon had to toss a few pairs of underwear onto the floor before sitting down in front of his computer. "Well, basically, this is a business deal. Confidentiality is a must, but I've never had a problem with a customer ratting me out."

"Because you're so charming?"

"I get some pretty risky requests for information. Some of it could send a lot of people to jail. Now tell me what you need."

"Just to find someone. I have basic information, address and school-"

He nodded. "A girl, and you need a little more insight into her life. That's elementary work, unless she's a government employee or underwent a recent s.e.x change operation."

"No to both of those."

I gave him the information and waited a few minutes, leaning against the door because I wasn't about to sit anywhere in the room and take the chance of physical contact with Leon's tighty-whities.

"She has a job, according to the IRS," he said, still staring at the computer screen.

Okay, now, that was impressive. "Where does she work?"

"Someplace called Aero Twisters in Newark."

"Is that like a smoothie shop?"

He typed away for a few seconds and a picture of Holly popped up on the screen. "Recreational and preschool gymnastics instructor. Looks like you might be too old to join one of her cla.s.ses."

The future Holly had mentioned to me she had taught gymnastics, but I never knew where.

I scanned the screen and then my face broke into a grin. "They're hiring."

"For a cleaning and maintenance position. Think you can handle that?"