By the time I reach the house, I’m completely soaked. Wool definitely wasn’t meant to stave off moisture. I peel off my blazer and hang it in the laundry room before heading upstairs to my room.
I lie on my bed and scroll through Laney’s SnipPic feed, staring at happy picture after happy picture, until I grow too disgusted and toss the phone aside. Then I pull out my laptop, carry it to my desk, and plop down in my chair, vowing to get some work done.
The computer opens to the same window that I closed it on: the log-in page for the test thief’s anonymous email address.
I lean in and stare at the password hint.
I know what you’re thinking …
Why does that sound so dang familiar? Why does it seem like the answer is on the tip of my tongue?
I know what you’re thinking …
“I wish I knew what you were thinking!” I yell at the screen, maneuvering the mouse to close the window. But just before I click the little red X in the corner, words flood into my memory. Like water filling holes.
It’s a deep, masculine voice that speaks them.
“I know what you’re thinking … and you’re right.”
It’s from Dad’s favorite TV series. Magnum, P.I. It aired in the early eighties. Dad used to make us watch countless old reruns when we were growing up. Frankie and I always thought the show was lame. The effects were outdated, the pacing was slow, the dialogue was cheesy. And Tom Selleck, the actor who plays Magnum, always did this corny voice-over throughout each episode, narrating his reaction to what was happening on the screen.
Whenever he would get into some kind of trouble, he would always say to the audience …
“I know what you’re thinking…” I repeat aloud, a chill running down my back.
Then, he’d usually follow it up with “And you’re right.” Or “But you’re wrong.”
That’s the question of the day, isn’t it?
The question of a lifetime.
Am I right? Or am I wrong?
I pull the laptop closer, click on the empty password field, and position my shaking hands on the keys. Then, slowly, I type:
M-A-G-N-U-M.
The name of Dad’s best camera. The name of Dad’s favorite character on his favorite show.
His full name was Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV.
I gaze at the email address in the log-in box and feel my stomach clench.
As my finger hovers over the Enter key, I close my eyes, not wanting to see it. Not wanting to admit what I’m fairly sure I’m going to have to admit in a matter of seconds.
I press down, holding my breath. When I open my eyes again, my heart starts to hammer and I feel sweat pooling on the back of my neck.
I’m staring at an inbox.
And not just any inbox.
The inbox of a thief.
There are a zillion questions banging on the doors of my mind, begging to be let in. I try to keep them all at bay as I skim the messages on the screen. Most of them are from gibberish email addresses, anonymous accounts like the one I set up. I spot my own sting email near the top of the list. It’s still unread.
As are the next twenty messages.
I follow the trail of unread emails all the way down until I find the last message that was responded to. I click on it and read the familiar exchange.
The name of a class, the date of a test, the title of a book, forty-eight hours.
Emma is the book.
This was the money Dylan and I found in the library last week. But how long was it just sitting there? When did this exchange take place?
I glance up to the email heading and read the date stamped into the reply.
November 15.
The date instantly sets off a series of alarms in my head. Why does that date sound so important? Why does it seem to be engraved into my mind like an inscription?
I quickly grab my phone and search my calendar, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary about that date. Just the usual. School, clubs, homework.
In this life, the voice quietly reminds me.
I’m starting to wonder if it’s really a voice of reason.
Or a sign that I’m going crazy.
But once again, it’s right.
My vision starts to shimmy. The walls of my bedroom start to shake, like they’re getting ready to collapse around me. They’re just waiting for someone to plunge down on the detonator.
November 15 was the date of my Columbia alumni interview.
In my other life.
When I bombed it. When I didn’t speak German. When I mistook the Kalahari Desert for New Mexico. When I flipped out and drove straight to the Windsor Academy to beg for my space back.
When I hit my head and woke up here.
November 15, the last time this inbox was checked, was the day I swapped lives with a girl named Kennedy “Crusher” Rhodes.