Chapter 18: Yearbook Photo

Justin realized an instant too late that his mouth had fallen open. He hastily clamped it shut.

"Give or take a few years," Zechariah added.

"Are you...?" Justin said.

A slow smile crept across Zechariah's face. The twinkle in his eye reminded Justin of the look his grandfather used to get when he was telling a tall tale.

"Oh. I get it," said Justin. "Very funny. Mess with the new guy. I see."

"What! You don't believe me?" Zechariah said, a look of feigned insult on his face. "Why, of all the-"

"Right, sure," Justin said flatly.

Zechariah chuckled.

The rain was falling harder, and Justin, more than ready for bed now, got up and rummaged through the supplies.

"Bad news," he said. "Looks like there's only one more sleeping mat."

"You take it," Zechariah said. "I prefer to sleep sitting, anyway."

The only items of clothing Justin bothered to remove were his jacket and his boots. He sat the boots upside-down to keep the rain from getting in and laid out the straw-stuffed sleeping mat on the grass. It was hardly comfortable, but it was better than the ground. He lay down and draped a blanket over himself. The sky was shrouded in clouds, mercifully hiding the double moons, so he found himself staring at the dying fire instead, thinking about the flames Ahlund had unleashed to kill that man to save Justin's life. It seemed impossible. But in a world where two moons hung in the sky, impossible was a relative term.

He glanced at the princess and her bodyguard, making sure they were both asleep.

Finally! he thought.

He scrambled from the mat and tiptoed barefoot over the wet grass, away from camp. He stopped some distance from the steeds, pulled down the bulky trousers to conduct biology's demands, and sighed in relief.

"I better not be dreaming," he whispered, "cause if I am, I just pissed the bed. At seventeen years old."

He returned to camp feeling like a new man and was about to lie back down when he tripped over his jacket and heard made a familiar metallic jingle. His keys. He reached into the jacket pocket and took out his keys and wallet. Opening his wallet, he discovered that the otherwise ordinary contents suddenly carried disproportionately sentimental value. The precious artifacts included a bank card, twenty-three dollars in tens and crumpled ones, some faded gas station receipts-he didn't know why he kept them-a coupon for one free coffee that had expired, not that it mattered, and, set behind a piece of transparent plastic, his driver's license.

Justin lay down and looked at his license through the plastic.

Pennsylvania Driver's License. Justin C Holmes. Organ Donor. Sex: M. Class: C. Eyes: BLU. Height: 6'04". Main Street Extension. Oil City PA.

He ran his thumb over the sixteen-year-old version of himself in the photo. His hair had been longer back then, and it had flopped against his forehead when he ran. Part of the logo on his Pittsburgh Panthers T-shirt was visible at the bottom, and there was a dumb, crooked smile on his face; he had just gotten his license, after all.

As Justin wiggled the license free, something fell out from behind it. He picked it up. It was Kate's yearbook photo. He thought he had thrown it away. Her brown hair was pulled back, her smile was casual, and her cheeks were dimpled. She was tall and athletic, but while Justin's starting spot on the varsity team was owed mostly to his stature, her place on the girls' team was justified by her raw talent and hard work. Over the course of the ten months they'd dated, they had played one-on-one after school several times a week. She rarely missed from the top of the key.

He wondered what time it was back on Earth. The girls' team sometimes had tournament games on the days after Christmas, but he wasn't sure if there were any scheduled for this year. Maybe she was getting ready to take the court for the second half. Meanwhile, he was out here, just trying to survive.

If it's not a dream, then what happened to me? he thought. How did I get here?

Turning the photo over, he smiled at her signature on the back. Katie, with a heart over the first i. Despite an effort to remain friends, they hadn't really spoken since before Thanksgiving, well over a month ago. It had been even longer since he'd played one-on-one with her-or with anyone, for that matter. On the very same day he had broken up with her, he'd also quit the basketball team. It had made for one heck of a Friday.

He would never forget the guilt he felt that day, knowing that he was the source of Kate's tears. Nor would he ever forget his coach's parting words as Justin collected his things from the locker room: "A quitter. What would your mother say?"

Justin put his license back in the plastic sleeve, slid Kate's picture behind it, and put the wallet and keys in his jacket pocket.

I got here somehow, so there must be a way back, thought Justin. I've got to get Ahlund talking. If I can figure out where he found me, I can go back there, with or without help, and maybe find some answers.

He rolled over to see Zechariah sitting cross-legged with arms drawn into his cloak and head tucked to his chest. He looked like a big bird nestled up for warmth. The bag of books lay beside him.

Look at that. He didn't even open a single stupid book.

It was Justin's last thought before he fell asleep.