Lessgoooo

Charlie blinked, dragged back into the present. "What?"

"The water," Virgil repeated, tapping the card: chicken and waffles. Complete with a smiling cartoon hen. "We're doubling the ingredients so that means we need three cups aaand . . ." He frowned at the card to help with the mental calculation. "A half?"

The lumpy concoction in the mixing bowl seemed . . . about right. Charlie shrugged. "Worse comes to worst, we can thin it out after."

"If the mixture isn't right, it'll be a pain when we actually have to use the waffle maker, Charlie. Looks like it needs more water." Virgil rapped the counter twice. "I'll go get the eggs. Be right back."

Charlie frowned at the mixture in the bowl. Something as simple as whisking three lousy ingredients could be done more efficiently if they used those electronic whisk contraptions. Or a stand mixer, like the kind his mom had in their kitchen. Even a—

Blender. His head whipped up to find it.

"Uniformity's the ultimate goal here." What could provide that better than a blender did? Charlie plugged it in and scraped the mix into it. The batter barely reached the half-way mark. Charlie tilted his head. "Did he actually double the dry mix?" It sure didn't seem like it. Glancing at the card, Charlie dumped in another cup of the mix and a cup of water for good measure.

"Viscosity shouldn't be an issue anymore." The blades would distribute more of an even force than he could, that was for sure. He placed a hand on the top — he wasn't sure how that was supposed to help, just something he'd caught his mom doing when she used theirs — and turned it on.

It pitched higher than he expected; he wouldn't be able to hear himself think.

"30 degrees Fahrenheit. And Albert was alive, so as long as we're dressed properly, we'll be in stellar condition." Assuming they didn't just hover in the vortex. His modified formula rated the machine to work up to 48 hours in the past. Charlie looked to the ceiling. "We already hit a minute."

The next step was obvious—

"We need to test for an hour." The original formula NASA had buried was in a defunct file. Even if he managed to improve it, there was no telling whether it was safe to use up to the projected rating. Slowly building up to it would be the wisest choice.

"Charlie!" Virgil called, rushing over with a pair of eggs in one hand. He slid into the counter and shut the blender off. "Are you crazy?! We aren't supposed to use that!"

"Did she say we couldn't do that this time?" Charlie looked around. There must've been others using the blender— Nope. There weren't.

Were they really not allowed to use it? It didn't make sense, they could get the mixture done faster. It reminded him of Highbury Academy, how certain rules fell apart under scrutiny.

"No, but—"

"Then why shouldn't we use it?" For efficiency's sake. He turned the blender on again. It made the same, high-pitched whir— then stalled. He and Virgil froze.

Smoke started rising from behind it.

Everything seemed to freeze. Every whisk, every conversation. Charlie reached out slowly to turn the blender on and off. It stayed off.

"Are. You. Kidding me?" Virgil said.

Charlie felt his glare even if he hadn't taken his eyes off the blender. He shrugged. "I'm sure it's fine."

"Are you seri—Fine, Charlie? You think that's fine?" Virgil hissed, slapping his arm.

"Wh—It's not like it's on fire!"

Jeanette's voice cut across the room. "Um, is it supposed to smell like burning plastic?"

Wonderful. Perfect timing. Thankfully, Mrs. Tanner wasn't there to hear that. Groaning, Virgil dragged a hand down his face.

"Granted, a miscalculation on my part, but—"

"No." Virgil waved a hand and took his apron off. "No more explaining. Just—stop. You go get Mrs. Tanner. I'm going to get a drink of water."

For the first time all period, Charlie listened.

"The torque on the blades was wrong," Charlie said. "It wasn't a misuse problem, it's a design limitation. If anything, it's impressive it lasted as long as it did. You'd think a classroom blender would be built to handle—"

Virgil grunted.

"You're right. We should leave that unpleasantness behind and focus on what's actually important." Charlie did not care about a busted blender, and he certainly didn't need to vocalize what was more of a priority in his mind. "The first journey back should obviously be a monumental event, and our specific goal on that journey should be appropriately grandiose. Even if we have an hour."

"An hour?" Virgil seemed distracted. He glanced around, irritatingly so. Charlie pulled him to a stop in the hallway.

"Listen. I know I said that the calculations can go back 48 hours, but we need to test it wisely, so we definitely need to test it for an hour first. Then two—"

"Do you hear that?" Virgil frowned behind them.

Are you listening to me? The question nearly slipped out when the source of Virgil's distraction became apparent. Charlie hadn't realized there was a commotion behind them until a group of skater kids came into view. Standing in a messy half-circle, they hollered and cackled at someone in the center of their chaos.

Chester.

Hunched down to avoid exposing himself, he was in nothing but a white tank and a pair of navy briefs. His glasses were slightly askew, and his face was flushed with effort from trying to recover the clothes they dangled in front of him. One kid swung his jeans from the end of a broom, no doubt confiscated from the janitor’s closet without permission. Shoes, socks, and shorts flew around as the rest engaged in an improvised game of Keep Away.

“Come on, just—just please give them back, okay?" Chester tried to bargain. "I-I'll write your English paper, the one about the book with the, uh, the whales?” The group laughed harder.

“Oh! Ohhh, he’s gonna trade for ‘em!” one of the group called out. “Should we make him do the chicken dance too?”

“Nah, make him climb for it again!” Another chimed in.

“Yeah! Come on, Chester—let’s see some jumps!” The boy holding the jeans gave them a little shake, high above his head. Chester's hops didn't have a chance, but it was understandable; vulnerability made your body forget how to function.

“Why do they always go for the clothes?” Charlie asked. There had to be a better way to go through these humiliation rituals.

Someone shoved Chester. His hands came out in time as his knees hit the tiled floor. The hallway's enthusiastic howling was overwhelming. Charlie's gaze darted from face to face. There really weren't any teachers around to stop this? The main office was on the opposite side of the commotion. What were the chances that someone on the edge of the crowd on the other side would run and get help? As he watched Chester's sneaker skid farther down the hall, he knew the probability wasn't high.

A pesky twinge of guilt emerged — theoretically, he could step in and do something. But he was smaller than Virgil and last time Virgil stepped in for both of them in a similar situation, it ended with them in a cheerleading outfit.

Charlie couldn't do anything that wouldn't make it worse.

Was there a safe path to get around to the main office without intersecting with the crowd—?

“This doesn’t have to happen,” Virgil muttered.

“What?” Charlie raised an eyebrow. Virgil was already planning something, but if it involved hopping in again it would draw attention to them both, same as last time.

"This." Virgil waved an arm. "All of this. Chester getting his clothes tossed around like a party trick? We could stop it."

Charlie frowned in confusion. Surely he wasn't suggesting to use the time machine to jump back — they didn't even know how this started!

"He has PE for fourth," Virgil explained. "They probably took his clothes when he was changing.”

“You’re talking about using the machine. On Chester.”

“Yeah.”

“For pants.”

“Yes. Come on, Charlie! That was us not too long ago and I woulda killed to have someone give us extra clothes.”

Charlie sighed heavily. That day was less than spectacular, the fallout from it even more so. But they weren't the only ones. Plenty of their peers have had their own horror stories — a majority of them involving being stuffed into vending machines.

Virgil leaned in, words coming out faster as his conviction strengthened. "We could go back. Just a few minutes. Get him a fresh set of clothes before this mess even starts."

Charlie shot him a look. The locker room. They could get in, get out, with no butterfly effects. A relatively contained incident. He exhaled. “. . . Okay.”

Virgil blinked. A slow smile spread. "You’re okay with it?"

Charlie shrugged. “Objectively speaking, you’re not wrong. Nobody remembers what they had for lunch last Thursday. But he’ll remember this.” In all its fantastic glory. Charlie still couldn’t look at the cheerleading squad without something nagging at the back of his mind. Would Chester feel the same if he saw skateboards and striped long-sleeves? “Might be nice if he didn’t.”

Virgil looked back at Chester, who had now resorted to trying to snag his sock from under a bench while dodging a paper ball. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get him some pants.”

Thought I could use a little of my own personal experience for this one since it is established that these boys are garbage in the kitchen. Too much pancake batter in the blender. That mf smoked up fast. But to be fair, I was a kid, so. 🙃 Aaand that's a wrap for our prologue! From here, we go onto the main story!

At first, Virgil’s gesture made Zeke uncomfortable. The only person who ever bought him anything was his old man. He actually froze mid-catch when Virgil tossed him the can. Despite knowing he needed to say thanks, uneasiness kept him locked in place. 

“Call it hazard pay,” Virgil said with an easy grin. “You’re keeping this thing from blowing up on us.”

After that, snatching the flying Monsters was easy. The repeated gesture made him appreciate Virgil’s presence more than he expected, especially as the build dragged on—not that Zeke would ever admit it. Talking to Charlie without him would’ve been a pain in the ass.

By the third week, they could all feel how close they were to finishing. Zeke caught Virgil standing with his hands on his hips, admiring the work they’d done so far. He was familiar with the feeling. A sense of accomplishment still overcame him when they finished a job back at the shop. The machine — more Frankenstein than DeLorean, Virgil said — looked interesting, but Zeke and Charlie gave it the stamp of approval. It was guaranteed to work.

“That thing will explode.” The cat with all his glorious, unlovable charm, took a dig at Virgil as he was gazing at the machine. Because of how late they’d stay, Charlie often brought the cat. It was a miracle that they all managed to survive.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Zeke hated unproductive critique on his handiwork, so the comment rubbed him particularly wrong. What made it worse was that the cocky little shit was perched smugly on one of his toolboxes, licking its paw.

Oh, hell no. Zeke went over to shoo it off. He didn’t need anything, but resorted to fishing out his handy magnetized flashlight. May as well use the time to make sure every joint had a strong weld on it. 

“Make yourself useful, cat.” Zeke added as much venom as he could to the word. “Maybe then it won’t explode.” Hopping to the ground, Al hissed at him. Zeke bared his teeth in return. “Keep it up and I’ll feed you to the neighborhood dogs.”

By the fourth week, it was over — no more wondering, no more what-ifs. It was time to test the machine. Charlie was sitting in the old motorcycle-hybrid seat, gripping the handlebars. Zeke was behind him, auditing the paperwork he taught Charlie to adhere to, courtesy of the shop. It was the surest way to double-check all the work they did.

Virgil stood to the side.

“This is it,” Charlie said, his voice full of wonder. “One small step for man, but one very large — No. That’s not it. It’s one small step for—”

Zeke paused his audit. What the hell was he trying to do? “Dude, just turn it on!”

“Okay, okay!” Charlie cautiously pushed the Enter key. The machine came to life, cooling fans humming around it. Then, the projector turned on and a purple vortex shot out of it. It cast a faint glow in the basement, twirling so fast it blew everyone’s hair to the side. With it, a chill started to spread. Zeke looked at the funnel in awe.

It worked.

“So . . . who wants to go first? Be the world’s first time traveler?” Virgil mumbled jokingly.

Jump through that thing without knowing how it works? Hell no.

“I just ate a meatball sandwich. I might get cramps,” Zeke muttered.

“Yeah, and um . . . this is my new favorite shirt,” Charlie said. At least Zeke wasn’t the only cautious one about jumping through carelessly. If Virgil wanted to test it now, he was the only option unless they came up with another way to—

A smack on Zeke’s arm called his attention from the vortex. Virgil pointed to the cat.

Zeke didn’t bother hiding the grin that formed on his face. That was an idea he could get behind. While Charlie muttered to himself and typed on the keyboard fixed to the motorcycle handlebar, he and Virgil snuck towards the cat.

“Get the goggles,” Virgil whispered.

Zeke snagged them and a stopwatch, double-checking that it displayed the regular time. Virgil took the translator off the cat and fixed the leash on its harness.

“You better not bite me,” Zeke told it. He slid the goggles and stopwatch on with exaggerated care. 

Virgil gave the cat a quick pat — “All right, buddy. Time to do your part,” — then he tossed it into the vortex. Straight up, no hesitation, clean arc. Zeke tightened his grip on the leash, a personal sense of satisfaction settling in when he heard the little demon’s distorted yowling. 

He’ll be fine. 

“At least now he’ll have a reason to hate me,” Virgil said. Zeke laughed, openly. He couldn’t agree more. 

It took nearly a minute for Charlie to look up and realize his pet was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Albert Felinestein?” Walking over, his eyes followed the leash into the vortex. “Did you . . . ? Hello!” He knocked on Virgil’s forehead. “Vortex! He could die!”

Virgil leaned away. “You were okay with me going in there. What—?”

“I was gonna—!”

“Hang on.” Zeke pulled on the leash. The cat flew out, fur covered in frost. A few snow clumps were hurled onto their shirts. Virgil picked at one from a fold. 

“Whoa, a catsicle.”

Zeke slipped the goggles and stopwatch off before putting the cat down. It let out a long, indignant yowl and shook off a majority of the frost. The vortex clearly did something. If it didn’t work as a time machine, maybe they could rework it to make fake snow for parties or some shit.

But it had to work. The math checked out.

Zeke fiddled with the stopwatch, frantic to see if the time was different. Charlie was curious about the development too and he squatted down, touching the remaining snow in his cat’s coat. “The unpredictability of time creates temperature fluctuations—?”

Virgil pointed at the funnel to dispute something, but Zeke didn’t hear what because—

His breath caught.

“Guys? Take a look at the time.” He stretched the watch out to show them.

Virgil leaned in. “3:13.”

Charlie checked his own watch. “3:14 . . . An exact one-minute differential.”

With every passing second, the ecstasy of the discovery became more apparent on his face. Virgil looked between him and the watch in Zeke’s hand, awe overtaking his voice. “That means . . .”

“Your cat is the first time-traveler in history!” Zeke finished the thought.

Virgil and Charlie broke into matching smiles. “We did it!”

Zeke ran both his hands through his hair and looked at the vortex. Holy fuck, we did it.

“Charlie, what do you want from me? Every time your cat gets an upgrade, he takes it out on me — he takes it out on everyone, actually. I honestly thought Zeke was gonna punt him outta the house yesterday.”

A low rumble echoed into the lot. Speak of the devil.

Yesterday in Charlie’s living room, the way Zeke’s eyes traced over the prints made him seem more like a person and less like the final boss of a video game. Heck, he’d even go as far as to suggest he reminded Virgil of Charlie. He still had zero plans to ever argue with the guy, but at least now he could sit next to him in health class without having to beg Mr. Fulmer to change his seat. Zeke pulled his motorcycle up to the sidewalk again.

Should I say hi? Would that be too weird? Too soon? Virgil wasn’t sure, but he did know he couldn’t ignore the guy every morning, then sit next to him in second period. The thought alone made Virgil’s skin crawl. When he was sure Zeke could see him and Charlie, he gave a small wave.

To his surprise, he got a small nod in return.

It sent a tiny, ridiculous spark of pride through his chest — he was on good terms with the scariest guy at school. Graduating college couldn’t feel as good.

“When do you think you’ll start the generator for Zeke?” Virgil asked Charlie.

“As soon as we finish making the machine.”

Virgil frowned. When they shook on it yesterday, they hadn’t really said whose thing would be built first, but if it were up to him, it would be Zeke’s. The guy was doing them a favor, and honestly? Virgil understood why he wanted one of those generators around. But explaining that to Charlie — the golden kid with nearly endless support at home and at school — would take more than just a casual hallway convo.

“I’ll head over to the lab right now to compile a list of the things we’ll need,” Charlie said.

“I’ll see if I can get a list from Zeke or something from Health.”

Charlie stopped. “You have Health with him?”

“. . . You didn’t see him when you barged in the other day?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s on you, dude. See you later.” Virgil started toward his designated hallway, then spun to point at Charlie. “Don’t—”

“Don’t intrude, even if for another emergency,” Charlie said with a roll of his eyes.

Virgil gave him a look — Really? — and gave a sarcastic, “Thanks.”

Health came sooner than expected. Zeke was already in his seat, same as the first day — leather jacket slung over the back, legs sprawled unapologetically under his desk. It was like the room just had to work around him. Which naturally meant that now was as good a time as any to ask about materials, yeah? Or to at least get the ball rolling. (Probably not, but who knew?) Virgil offered the same tight smile as he did the first day of class. Zeke returned that subtle nod: Hey.

“So . . . how are you feeling today?” Virgil asked, heaving off his school bag and sliding into his seat.

Zeke’s eyes narrowed, but his frown looked more confused than annoyed. Or maybe Virgil was seeing things. “Huh?”

“I mean, after everything you saw yesterday. And, y’know. The cat.”

He rolled his eyes. “That thing’s a demon.”

Not liking the cat was an angle Virgil could work with before talking business. “Tell me about it. He’s hated my guts since I stopped him from eating my sister’s hamster.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“That’s why I prefer dogs,” Zeke said.

“Can’t say I blame you. Seriously. Knowing my luck, if Charlie got a dog, it would probably eat all of my homework and blame me for it.” The words came easier than he expected. “I can’t catch a break with animals. They just hate me. Y’know that after I saved the hamster, I picked it up and it bit me?”

Zeke scoffed, but to Virgil’s surprise, he caught the smallest grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. The only thing that stopped him digging himself into a farther hole was the risk of annoying the guy before the machine even got started.

“I was actually gonna ask: when’s a good time for us to meet—?”

The bell rang, horrible timing, and since class was pretty boring stuff, Virgil couldn’t focus. He saw that Zeke couldn’t either. He dug that multi-tool of his into the surface of his binder. That’s when Virgil got the idea to do something he hadn’t done since fifth grade and, Jeez Louise, it made him feel absolutely childish. He smiled to himself as he folded a note, tossing it on Zeke’s table.

do u want to talk supplies at lunch?

He heard the note rustle open — keep it cool, no eye contact, that’s how these things were supposed to go — then it was tossed back soon after.

sure

After class, while they walked to the cafeteria, Zeke listed off overall materials they’d need and a couple of places they could check. Virgil wished he could have offered more to the conversation than the frequent “Yeahs” and “Uh-huhs.” Seriously, was he the one responsible for convincing Zeke to help them out in the first place? Quantum integration to the who and what now? He was just thankful they couldn’t go into explicit detail in the lunch line, less of a chance for him to show off his—

Wait . . . Chester. Eugene.

Virgil’s stomach dropped.

If Charlie was bad at social cues, Chester and Eugene were worse, and taking Zeke to the lunch table with all three was like leading a wolf to a henhouse. Smooth move, Virgil. It was too late to fake an injury. Would a spontaneous dentist appointment work?

By the time they made it to the table, Charlie was nearly finished with his sandwich and he gave a distracted wave— No, wait. He just noticed. And Virgil could practically hear the panic alarm in Eugene’s head as he hunched deeper into himself. But the worst of it: Chester’s eyes lit up like someone had dropped a rare Pokémon card in his lap.

“Oh my gosh.” Chester nearly choked on his food, standing halfway like he wasn’t sure whether to bow or fist bump. “You’re, uh, you’re Zeke Thompson, right? With the-the motorcycle? That thing is sick, man! Like oh-no-my-retinas-are-burning kinda sick. I mean, not that I burned my retinas or anything, haha, but—”

Zeke’s frown was growing deeper by the second. If he squinted? Game over.

“—I mean, the chrome work’s mwuah, and the exhaust mods? I don’t even like motorcycles and I wanted to marry that bike. Not actually, of course, that’d be weird—”

“Chester—” Virgil tried to intervene.

“—unless—I mean, there was that lady that married the Eiffel tower a couple years ago, so it doesn’t have to be a metaphor—”

Aaand there was the squint. “Shut up.”

“Okay. Cool,” Chester chuckled awkwardly as he took his seat.

Virgil barely controlled his grimace. Nope. He wasn’t touching that. Eugene didn’t even look up. He was staring at his tray like he was trying to meditate his way into another plane of existence. “Marrying the bike?” Jeez Louise—Virgil didn’t sound like that when he complimented the bike earlier that week, right?

Zeke glanced at Virgil. Are these guys for real?

Virgil gave him a tight-lipped nod. As if things weren’t already too much, Jeanette — dressed kind of like that Strawberry Shortcake girl — skipped up behind Charlie. But maybe it was a good thing. They desperately needed a change in energy.

“Hey, Magpie!” She tapped on Charlie’s shoulder.

Panic overtook Charlie’s eyes, and he blinked up at her. “Uh—”

Eugene straightened so fast it looked like someone yanked a string on his spine. “J-Jeanette.” His hands fumbled, knocking a carrot off his tray, and he quickly tried to sweep it like she was there to judge his cafeteria etiquette. Yyyup. That made sense.

“Snipe,” she said warmly before her eyes flicked to Chester. “Kookaburra.”

Chester puffed up, his laugh catching awkwardly in his throat. “Still? I mean, I was kinda hoping I’d graduate to like a falcon or something.”

“Nope.” She popped the p and turned.

“Hold up,” Zeke frowned at Jeanette. “Magpie? Kook-a-what now?”

Jeanette looked like she just noticed he was there and slowly started making her way around the table, head tilting in a way that reminded Virgil of a bird. His brain frantically blew into a whistle and sprinted in circles. This was insane! He couldn’t look away as she walked straight into Zeke’s bubble, inches from touching his nose. 

You had the scariest dude in school up against the girl who fed friggin’ vultures like they were puppies. (Yeah. She told him about doing that last year. Those things ate bones. Whole ones.) What else did he honestly expect to happen? 

“She likes birds,” Virgil tried to explain. “She thought that I was a good fit for a goldfinch, for some reason . . .” 

Why hasn’t he told her to back off?! Seriously! Jeanette being fearless was one thing, but Jeanette having some sort of over-powered shield was another. 

“. . . Definitely kestrel,” she finally said, perking right up. 

Zeke blinked. “Kestrel?”

Jeanette nodded, matter-of-fact. “Sharp, silent, laser-focused. They’re like tiny murder falcons.”

Chester threw his hands up. “Aaww! He gets to be a falcon?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the kookaburras.” Jeanette went back over to Charlie, who was staring at her like a Windows 95 error screen had taken over his brain. “They’re quite lovely since they have the shiniest blue streak in their feathers.” Fixing a few strands in Charlie’s hair, which he wasted no time in ruffling out. Jeanette waved enthusiastically at everyone. “I just wanted to say hi! Nice to meet ya, Kestrel!”

And just like that, she skipped off with no further explanation. Just a ripple in the fabric of lunchroom reality.

Zeke looked at Virgil. He wasn’t even ticked that she’d invaded his personal bubble. “She always like that?”

Virgil nodded. “Pretty much.”

Somehow, “that” wasn’t even that weird.

There was a pause.

“. . . Can we switch birds?” Chester asked Zeke.

Light projection, temporal displacement, the Bessel beam — it was the kind of stuff you’d see in all the bad sci-fi movies. But the formula’s math made sense. It fit into the rough design of the machine, and it all came down to the light’s projected angle.

Holy shit. This could actually work.

Zeke was about to say as much when he saw a cat sitting by Virgil’s seat. The cat, the one everyone was going on and on about the year before. Its creepy green eyes were locked on him like it was two seconds away from lunging for his soul.

“Your cat,” Zeke said. “It’s freaking me out.”

Virgil jolted, unaware that the cat had crept next to him.

“His name is Albert Felinestein,” Charlie offered, like that made it better. 

Such a nerdy-ass name. Zeke narrowed his eyes. “That’s the dumbest name for a cat I’ve ever heard.”

Charlie’s face fell slightly, enough to register that the jab hurt. The cat meowed.

“Don’t like you,” a voice said.

What the actual fuck? Zeke froze and while his mouth opened to say that, his voice never came. That whole thing about the translator was real and not just bullshit? No, it couldn’t be. Cats didn’t talk. They scratched up your face and puked up hairballs. He pointed the tool at it. “Did-did that thing just talk?”

“Yeah, he did,” Virgil said with a heavy sigh.

The cat strutted toward Zeke and it hopped on the arm rest, staring him down like it was sizing up competition.  

“Cat. Not a thing.”

“What the . . . ?” Zeke muttered. Usually, he wasn’t at a loss for words.

“You are . . . pathetic.”

Ohhh, you little shit. Zeke’s brows creased and his jaw clenched. Of course, the one solid sentence it said would be an insult. Charlie sprang up.

“All right, Albert! That’s enough!” He swept the cat into his arms and as Zeke glared at the little hell spawn, he felt like an idiot for beefing it up with a cat. A damn cat. Charlie disappeared in the hall, and Zeke shifted the glare to Virgil, who looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Uh . . .”

“Did you make it say that?” Zeke jabbed his multi-tool at him.

“No, it’s a translator. He said that.”

“It takes a while for him to get used to people!” Charlie tried to explain down the hall.

Oh, they were serious. This is real. In that case, Charlie deserved a good smack to the head for deciding that giving a voice to the most entitled animal on the planet was a good idea.

“I’ll say!” Virgil shouted before focusing back on Zeke. “I didn’t realize he was such a little jerk until we finished making the communicator—”

“Back up.” Zeke rubbed his forehead. “You guys made a cat translator just for the hell of it?”

Virgil shrugged. “Well, yeah. I mean, Charlie programmed the translating part of it. I helped with the sound box — y’know, designed the speaker, wired it and all that. It’s kinda my thing. You’d think he’d be a little more grateful.”

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Zeke; the chatterbox actually made a chatterbox. Even though he’d started to pick up on Virgil’s tendency to stick his neck out for others, he never struck him as a guy who could put his hands to good use. His clothes were too snug, he always had those impractical leather bracelets, and there wasn’t a time when a pair of wired headphones poked out of his jeans or messenger bag. So to learn that Virgil had the ability to make something like a cat translator?

Not bad. A sharp breath came out of Zeke’s nose and it was the closest thing to a laugh these guys were going to get out of him. “You guys are insane.”

“Sorry about that.” Charlie returned and took his seat, smoothing down the ridiculous sweater vest he chose for the meeting. He gestured to the prints. “So . . . what do you think?”

Zeke leaned over the table and brushed off a few stray cookie crumbs with the back of his hand. “Well, this thing — this quantum integration to the physical properties of the light projection? It looks like it could work. I’m not sure what it’s going to look like when it’s turned on, so we might have to expand the platform and raise it. That way we won’t struggle with the angle of the light projector inside the structure.”

He traced his finger around the overhead layout, smoothing out the wrinkles from where Charlie had crushed the prints that morning. Virgil and Charlie both blinked, stunned. It seemed like they couldn’t believe he had the capability to understand the math behind the design, that he was just going to look at the structure of it and agree to help.

“. . . Yeah, I can read,” Zeke said sarcastically.

“No, it’s not that—” Virgil said quickly.

“Will you help us construct it?” Charlie jumped in, earning him a smack on the arm from Virgil.

Considering the circumstances, Zeke could understand why Charlie was eager to jump into building it; there was certainly enough on the prints to get started, even if it could be improved in some places. He looked the prints over slowly. 

. . . Why not? 

While he was up for the challenge, his mind started going into overdrive with the schedule at the shop. The dinosaur they made for the summer show was all fun and games, but now they had to go back to reinforcing roll cages, suspension arms and rigs. Granted, his old man didn’t hold Zeke to the same standard as the other workers because he wanted him to focus on school. If he really wanted to he could just not worry about it, but the faster they got the job done, the sooner they’d get paid. As much as his dad played it off, Zeke knew they could really use that money. Maybe if it was close to the shop, he could help them Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. 

“Where are you guys thinking of making it?” 

They shared a look. Looks like they hadn’t thought about it.

“Where could we make it?” Virgil asked Charlie. “We’d need privacy and a ton of space.”

Zeke wasn’t interested in helping them figure it out. He was about to tell them to get back to him when Charlie snapped his fingers. “Room 77!”

“The basement at school?” Virgil looked incredulous at first but seemed to warm up to the idea as he took a second to think it over. Zeke wasn’t sure why. They couldn’t just plug the machine into the outlet there and expect it to work.

“A basement isn’t gonna give this thing the amperage it needs,” he said.

“I’m not worried about that,” Charlie mumbled, hand under his chin as he seemed to be deep in thought. “I’m planning to rig it to a smaller version of the bio-generator.”

Wonderful. Another invention.

“The what?” Zeke asked.

“It generates renewable energy using cocktail sauce—” Virgil said.

“It can run on a myriad of things, not just cocktail sauce,” Charlie muttered. 

Virgil gave Zeke a look. AKA: ignore him. “He hooked it up to his parents’ house so, y’know. They’re very supportive of all his inventions.”

Say less. Making weird shit like a cat translator, Zeke didn’t get. But making something like a generator? That was a language Zeke understood. He shifted in his seat, leveling the tool at Charlie decisively. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll help you, but I want a generator for my place.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed. He stuck his hand out to shake. “Deal.”

Charlie bumped him, squeezing his blueprints in the other hand. “Ready.” 

On the way to the main entrance Charlie checked his watch, but the motorcycle engine tore through the morning. Poof! Sixteen hours of courage-building (plus a pep talk) went up in flames. With every step they took, nerves and regret mixed into nausea. Hopefully, they wouldn’t end up needing to convince the scariest guy in school not to shove his helmet in their mouths. Darn it, Charlie— 

Wait, this was my idea. Darn it, Virgil.

“Zeke might be our guy.” Please.

“This is a bad idea,” he muttered, hand clutching the strap of his backpack like a lifeline.

“He’s mechanically gifted,” Charlie said. “That’s all we need. We don’t have to be best friends — we just need him to build the machine.”

If Virgil didn’t know any better, he would’ve said it sounded like Charlie was trying to convince himself. A sideways glance didn’t help things. Charlie’s eyes were wide and restless, scanning the scene ahead of them. But the way his brows — heck, even his jaw — were set firmly made Virgil swallow hard. He had to remind Charlie of the danger. If he didn’t, Virgil would get caught in the cross wires. 

“That’s assuming he doesn’t get ticked off for thinking we’re wasting his time.”

Charlie ignored him, stopping near the guy’s bike as the engine was cut. “Zeke! Zeke Thompson!”

The tilt of his helmet showed he’d heard before taking it off.

Oh boy, here we go.

Zeke’s glare was somehow sharper than the sunlight that glared off his bike: What?

Virgil’s confidence hadn’t just gone down to the soles of his shoes. It wished him luck, went to his car and sped out of the parking lot altogether.

“We . . .” Charlie sounded like someone knocked the breath out of him. “We need your help building something—”

“Not interested.” Zeke turned his attention to his bike, pulling the key out of the ignition.

Charlie started to lift the rolled blueprints. “Please, just take a look—”

“I’m not interested,” he repeated forcefully, shooting daggers at Charlie.

“If you would just—”

Oh no. It was playing out exactly how Virgil predicted. He needed to intervene fast or, best case scenario, Zeke would never hear them out. He stepped closer so the other students wouldn’t hear him, mouth moving before his brain could catch up.

“We need someone with your skills to help us enhance the properties of a light projector and bust open quantum physics.”

That sounded too smart. Did he actually say that? 

“What?” Zeke’s scowl deepened and he glanced between Charlie and Virgil like he was waiting for one of them to announce it was a joke. “A light projector and quantum physics?”

“Uh, well—It’s kinda—”

Charlie stepped forward, raising the rolled-up blueprints stiffly. “It’s all right here. Just look it over with us and tell us if it’s possible for you to make it.”

“We won’t ever bug you again.” Virgil felt like that was more of an enticing add-on than the possibility of making a time machine.

Zeke’s scowl didn’t disappear, but the hard edge of his glare eased up. He leaned closer to Charlie, his eyes narrowing on the blueprints as if he were trying to determine right then and there whether he could even make the thing. Finally, he said, “I’ll think about it.”

Yes! A maybe wasn’t so bad, but that also meant that he wasn’t looking to examine the blueprints during school. Virgil reached in his pocket and pulled out Plan B. Jeez Louise, the guy’s hands were huge. He definitely could’ve folded Charlie in half yesterday morning if he wanted to. 

“Can you meet us at Charlie’s house at 4? We can explain everything there cuz it’s . . . really complicated.”

“Sure sounds like it.” Zeke glanced at the address then stuffed the paper in his jeans, signaling the end of the conversation.

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed as he and Charlie let out a collective sigh. They gave each other a relieved smile. That actually wasn’t so bad. He grinned at Charlie like an idiot. “We didn’t die.”

“Is that all?” Zeke glowered at them.

“Oh—y-yeah. My bad!”

“Thanks!” Charlie added as they scrambled away. Once they were out of ear shot, Virgil hit his arm.

“Dude! You gotta learn when to not push people.”

“What do you mean? He said yes!”

“He said maybe, which wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t said anything. You gotta work on your sales pitch if you don’t want to scare him off later at your house.”

Annoy him was more like it. Virgil doubted Zeke would have the same patience if he tried to read the blueprints while Charlie got carried away explaining the science behind it. They reached a hallway where they’d have to split up, and Virgil pointed at Charlie.

“Don’t pull me out of class for another Science Club emergency before lunch today, or you’re meeting with him alone.”

Because it was a B-day, Virgil had more icebreaking activities. He wasn’t as dazed about (possible) the time travel stuff, so he had a regular old morning. Halfway through his second period class, right before lunch, he was hit with another realization: he hadn’t seen Stephanie or Derek yet.

At that point, it would’ve been a good four months with no visual contact. If  Virgil was being honest, he wasn’t ready to confront those feelings and memories, so as soon as the bell rang, he decided to go out for lunch again. He could use a celebratory slushie for successfully convincing Zeke to hear them out anyways.

The convenience store’s door dinged as Virgil stepped inside. That sound — along with the sound of the register checking out another customer — brought back the afternoons from his childhood, how he used to make frequent trips for video-game-marathon junk food. Virgil wandered to the back where the freezers and slushie machines were, eyeing his usual blue raspberry and cherry swirl. Ahhh, yes. The kind of thing that turned your tongue radioactive for the next three hours.

He grabbed a cup, reached for the lever—

“Still going for the mix, huh?”

His heart stopped. 

Stephanie stood a few feet away.

She had that million dollar smile, which sucked — honestly, the exact reason why he avoided going to the cafeteria in the first place. She was dressed casually, hair in an impossibly high ponytail. When they were kids, her mom used to put bows in those. And her pigtails.

“Steph.” He sounded more winded than he would have liked and cleared his throat lightly. “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh just—” She lifted the basket she held slightly, indicating the variety of gummies: peach rings, watermelon slices, sour worms, Starbursts, and good ol’ fashioned gummy bears. Virgil’s eyes popped out of his head. 

“Jeez Louise! Are you stocking up for a sugar coma?!”

That polite barrier that had built up between them for the past three years was breached in a minute because of his tendency to overtalk. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind, and she giggled as she lifted a single bottle of Sprite that was stashed underneath all the sweets.

“No, this is for me. The rest of it is for a cheer meeting after school. Me and Stacy—” she gestured to another girl who was looking at the drinks “—came to get some treats for the candy salad.”

Stacy gave a distracted wave when she heard her name, her eyes never leaving the shelves.

“You?”

Virgil shook his empty cup. “I was due for some liquid—”

“Liquid awesome,” she finished with a soft laugh.

She remembers. The thought hit him hard, and he would’ve been lying if he said it didn’t make his heart feel as squishy as the gummies in her basket. He missed her — the teasing, the shared jokes. It was all so easy with her. He never took it personally when Stephanie used to tease the way he called slushies “The Liquid Awesome.” (Yes, the.) Hearing her say it now made him grimace playfully.

“Oh, wow. It does sound a little cringey.”

“Hey!” She reached out to shove his shoulder lightly. He raised his arm up in mock defense. The exchange was effortless, taking him back to when they were ten years old, enjoying their last recess out in the playground before switching over to middle school. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings?”

Virgil laughed. “It’s not because you said it! It’s just—You were right, okay?! I can’t believe I ever thought it sounded cool.” He filled the cup with slushie. “To be fair, I also would’ve absolutely killed anything that was called “a candy salad.” So—I know, you’re probably not gonna believe me—I have no idea what that is.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s a salad made of candy.”

“Uh, no. It’s not what it sounds like, cuz that would imply that you’re making lettuce leaves out of gummy bears.” 

Being the idiot he was, his attention was drawn to finding the slushie cap when he heard Stephanie belt out a genuine laugh. How could a sound be the same and be so different at the same time? He wished he’d been looking at her to see the change in her face; he’d always liked having that ability to bring her joy through his dumb jokes. That hadn’t changed. He was about to say something else, but her cellphone pinged and cut the laughter short. 

She glanced at it, and she gave Virgil an apologetic smile. “I should get back.”

“Right. Well, I have a date with the hot dog machine anyway, so I’ll let you go.”

Steph waved to Stacy and started walking to the cashier. “See ya later, Virg.”

“Yeah.” His heart sank. They were gonna go back to only seeing each other at the cafeteria. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly turned away. 

“Hey, Virgil?”

He looked back. Those brown eyes of hers were full of what Virgil could only describe as a happy kind of sadness. 

“It was really nice running into you . . . talk later?”

The words flooded him with hope. He straightened and smiled. “Yeah. Talk later.”

Sinking into the driver’s seat, he gripped the wheel like it might bring him back to reality.

I have to be in a movie.

This kind of thing only happened in movies.

Charlie’s smug expression didn’t indicate an ounce of humor. Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed some fast food, something fried and unreasonably salty, then he’d be able to process the absolute bomb Charlie dropped on him. 

Lucky for him, the closest drive-thru was a burger place, and savoring each fry helped him come back to reality little by little. So did silencing his phone; Charlie would not stop calling.

Lunch came and went. 

As Virgil stepped into the gym, he was struck with the smell of rubber. Better than smelly socks and BO, honestly. The PE teacher, Coach Barnes, was holding a basketball under one arm. Virgil couldn’t decide which was worse — thinking about quantum accelerators or doing whatever activity the coach had in mind. He blew his whistle to gather everyone in a circle at the center of the gym.

“Alright, listen up!” he barked. “We’re doing an icebreaker today. I toss you the ball, you say your name and one interesting fact about yourself, and then you toss it to someone else. When everyone’s had a turn, we’ll take a seat and I’ll go over locker and gym uniform policies. Hooyah?”

“Hooyah!”

Coach Barnes started the game. The ball sailed through the air, student to student, while Virgil stood at the edge of the circle and  tried to think of an appropriate fact for the activity. 

Video games, AV Club, music. 

Computer screen. Time-stamp. 5%.

That’s when he remembered how Charlie had the same, knowing smile on their way to school. Right after Virgil tried to joke using the most insane invention in all of science fiction media.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

He didn’t even notice the ball hurtling towards him until it smacked off his chest and ricocheted to the floor.

“Oh—My bad!” Virgil shuffled after the ball. He returned to his place, and the words for the activity came tumbling out before he could filter them. “I’m Virgil Fox and I think my friend built a DeLorean in his backyard over the summer.”

Thankfully, it came across like a joke and the circle erupted into laughter.

“That’s ambitious,” the coach said, unable to hide the amused smile. “Next!”

“Um.” He took an awkward step forward, then paused. Jeez, why was it so hard to act like a normal person?! “Here.”

He tossed the ball in a random direction, but for the rest of the icebreaker, it always seemed to find its way back to him. Not a single pass was caught or thrown properly. Some people gave him a look when he randomly laughed.

I am in a movie!

He was basically Marty McFly. That literally made Charlie Doc Brown, and Al — Charlie gave him the name of the dog too! (Again, no offense, Mr. Einstein.) How crazy was that? 

And yet, as insane as it sounded, as impossible as it felt, Virgil couldn’t shake the nagging thought that Charlie’s never lied. 

Sure, his inventions weren’t perfect and needed constant tweaking. But they were real. The least Virgil could do was hear him out, see how it all came together. Or try to, at least. He doubted he’d fully understand how Charlie would jump from “5%!” to “Great Scott!”

Better that than the “null hypothesis” craziness.

The hybrid classroom Home Ec was in smelled sugary. There were dozens of plain cupcakes in the lab space and containers of multi-colored frosting, sprinkles and decorative assortments. He wasn’t sure how Mrs. Tanner was going to make an ice-breaking activity out of the cupcakes, but it looked like they were going to eat them so Virgil didn’t mind. 

It would be like a reward after Charlie’s pitch because it could honestly go either way.

A unique, chauffeur-looking cap caught Virgil’s attention and he grinned; Jeanette was in their class too. After Charlie hounded her for bird info way back in junior year, she returned the energy ten times over. She had the biggest crush on him. Virgil wasn’t sure why, though. He could get so exhausting to talk to after a while, but she never seemed to notice. 

Jeanette was talking to a group of friends and she waved enthusiastically when she spotted Virgil, then her face brightened in the middle of her wave. That meant one thing: she’d spotted Charlie.

“Jeanette’s taking this class too?”

Virgil turned around to catch him gulp nervously.

“Oh, relaaax. She’s harmless!”

“You weren’t there for lunch today, Virgil.” Charlie shuddered at the memory and met his gaze. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. I’m ready to hear you out.”

Mrs. Tanner walked in and told all the students to choose a station in the lab for cupcake frosting. Everyone was supposed to decorate two cupcakes in a way that represented them — their favorite colors, hobbies, or passions — and then showcase them to the class with a quick fact. Virgil hated presenting artsy projects like these more than a regular old power point. It basically screamed, “Hey! This kid doesn’t have an artistic bone in his body!” The rest of the class didn’t seem to mind; there was an excited buzz as Mrs. Tanner clapped her hands so everyone would break.

“I’ll be walking around to see your creations, and yes, you will get to eat them afterward,” she said over the chatter.

At Virgil and Charlie’s station, the cupcakes weren’t so much waiting patiently as they were bracing for impact. At least, Charlie’s were. They looked like a mess. The frosting was slathered in colors that weren’t even in the tubs.

“Charlie, those look like cafeteria rejects.”

He ignored him, waving his plastic utensil like a conductor’s baton. “It’s all about light, Virgil.” 

“Light? You want these cupcakes to glow?” Virgil deadpanned.

“No! I mean for the formula!” Charlie spread his arms dramatically, nearly knocking over the music note sprinkles Virgil chose for his cupcakes. “Nothing moves faster than light. My hypothesis suggests you can time travel on a beam of light from any light source. Even something as simple as a slide projector.”

“A slide projector? Like, a regular slide projector?”

Charlie made a face. “Did I say regular? No, I didn’t.”

Okay, ouch. A lot of condescension. He walked to the island in the center of the lab to pick random sprinkles and came back. “What we’re talking about is a complex amalgamation of electronic components and internal combustion mechanics.”

Virgil was spreading a thin layer of frosting on his second cupcake as he took a moment to simplify what he meant: engines. “You literally don’t know anything about that.”

“We’ll need to find a mechanics guy.” Charlie shrugged. “I don’t see this as an issue.”

“Yeah, because mechanics who build slide projector time machines are super common.” Virgil wasn’t sure what was more absurd — the frosting, Charlie’s light beam hypothesis, or the fact he thought he could just find a person like that willy-nilly.

Jeanette was passing by their station and took the opportunity to come say hello by tapping on Charlie’s shoulder. “Hey, Magpie! Goldfinch! What’s shakin’?”

Charlie’s controlled facade was replaced by a panicked expression. He stared at Jeanette as if he’d encountered a ghost.

“You’ll have to excuse Charlie,” Virgil said, grinning in amusement. “He’s nervous around girls.”

That broke Charlie out of the spell, and he frowned at him. “No, I’m not.”

Jeanette tapped on his shoulder. “Oh! It’s cool. I like shy boys.” 

Virgil looked at her pretty, nature inspired cupcakes. “No birds?”

Jeanette wrinkled her nose at her vibrant work. “If I had a pipe, I could’ve tried. What’s the theme here?”

“Music.” Virgil shook his chosen sprinkles.

“Variables . . . I think.” Charlie looked as if he were really processing his cupcakes for the first time.

Jeanette picked up one of her perfect cupcakes, and swapped it for one of Charlie’s. “Here you go! You can have one of mine. I can clean this one up!”

She gave Charlie one more bright smile and walked back to her station.

Virgil leaned into Charlie. “Dude, did you see that?!”

“What?”

“She gave you a cupcake. That’s huge!”

A horrified expression formed on Charlie’s face as his gaze whipped down to the cupcake. (Priceless!) “What do you mean?”

“I’m not gonna spoil the surprise.” Virgil clapped his shoulder. “I will wish luck on finding your mechanic, though.”

Charlie all but groaned. “Come on, Virgil! You’re good with people! All I need is your help in finding the perfect guy. You don’t need to assist in making the machine if you don’t want.”

Oh, so he had to pull the time-travel mechanic out of thin air? No thanks.

“You know, I heard you explain the formula and it seems like you’ve got it handled. There’s no rule that says you need me for every one of your projects.” Virgil topped off his second cupcake with the sprinkles. “Some of us are happy frosting baked goods and living to tell the tale.”

“You really don’t want to assist me with this? You’d rather sit on the sidelines and be a passive observer than contribute to the greatest discovery made in history?”

Virgil was about to make a joke, but — gosh darn it — Charlie’s face made him pause. Despite being 15, he still had his baby face. Eyes that were too bright and that reminded him of Amy whenever she was determined to hire Virgil’s fake band for her play-restaurant business. Logistics be darned.

“Fine. I’ll help you find someone, but—if this machine works—I want a freebie to use it whenever I want, for whatever I want, comprende?” Virgil waved a hand to move along faster and not process what he just got himself tied into. “Call it payment for messing up my first day of school.”

Charlie frowned. “How did I ruin your first day of school?”

“Oh jeez, let’s think about it shall we?” Virgil held up his fingers. “Your cat insulted me, you almost got me killed on the way into school this morning, you pulled me out of health class and I’m pretty sure everyone in my PE class thinks I don’t know how to handle a ball. I’ll be picked last if we have to split off into teams now, thank you very much for that by the way.”

“. . . Fine. Deal.”

There was no way it was going to work. It couldn’t. At least he’d have fun getting another front row seat to this year’s explosion. (Fire, shmire, all the same.)

“Okay. Let me think,” Virgil muttered.

“Whoever he is, he not only needs to be gifted mechanically, but also, let’s say, have a certain level of moral flexibility. You know, lives on the fringes of society.”

Fringes of society. That descriptor reminded Virgil of the very person that contemplated on using them like road bumps that morning, and he paused. Wait one good second . . .

“What is it?” Charlie said.

“I think Zeke might be the guy.”

“Zeke?”

“Yup. My dad got into monster truck shows over the summer — don’t ask — and there was a giant, fire-breathing metal dinosaur that opened the rally this year. By what I think is a mom-and-pop mod shop.” (Oof. What a tongue twister.) “If they work on monster trucks, he might know enough to help out.” 

Realization dawned on Charlie. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

Mrs. Tanner called everyone’s attention to start cleaning up.

“Alright, let’s talk about this later,” Virgil said as he reached out to cap his music sprinkles.

Are you kidding me?! Sitting next to Zeke was not part of the plan! Not for his day, not for his year, and definitely not for his life. He just wanted to sit in a safe corner and blend in, keep his head down, survive through the day without drawing attention — or in this case, actually survive after the dumbest smart kid tried to mouth off to Zeke freaking Thompson. The best thing Virgil could do was hope the guy had forgotten that Virgil called his bike a death trap.

Maybe if I just stay here by the door, pretend I dropped something, and wait until the bell rings—

There was a light tap against his shoulder.

“Can you like, not block the door or what?” Jocelyn Lee, possibly one of the biggest divas in their grade, said with a sneer. She was making that face either because she had touched the “freak from freshman year” or because she was actually annoyed she couldn’t immediately settle in to be the star student. (What’s in case number one, Howie?) Virgil muttered something incoherent and trudged toward his spot like a prisoner marching to the gallows.

Okay. Don’t anger the tall, scary biker. Don’t look directly at him. Definitely don’t try complimenting his motorcycle again.

When he reached his desk, Zeke glanced lazily at him, eyes barely narrowing at Virgil’s awkward “Hey, how are ya?” smile. Buuut he didn’t say anything, so that was a plus. Goodness forbid they do an icebreaking activity where they had to talk to their partners. Maybe he could get Mr. Fulmer into changing his seat so he wouldn’t sit next to the guy who was literally scraping at his binder with one of those multi-tools. Virgil knew Zeke was a welder — he glimpsed him coming out of the shop class one year aaand caught an ad during the monster truck shows for Thompson’s Rally Mods — but did all welders just casually carry one of those? Jeez Louise.

Virgil was rehearsing his spiel when the door to the classroom banged open with the urgency of a fire drill.

“Fox! Virgil Fox!” came a breathless yell.

Virgil didn’t even have to look. It was Charlie. Of course, it’s Charlie. Every pair of eyes turned to the door, which made Virgil’s stomach sink further than he thought possible. Why did he think it was a good idea to let the guy know what classes he was taking? On the first day of school too? Charlie was clutching the signature rolled-up notebook like it was the Declaration of Independence, frantically trying to grip the laminated badge hanging around his neck.

“Mr. Fulmer! I need to borrow Virgil. Science Club emergency!” he said, addressing the teacher with way too much confidence for someone who just said one of the dumbest things in high school history.

Virgil’s head met the desk with a thud. “Come on.”

Mr. Fulmer adjusted his glasses, clearly baffled. “Science Club has emergencies?”

“You bet it does!” Charlie replied. “And this one could potentially — hypothetically — affect all of us! Uh, according to Principal Tolkan, that is.”

Even though everyone was in high school, the word principal brought about one unanimous: “Ooooh.”

Virgil shoved his things in his bag, practically jumping up to make Charlie stop talking. He threw Mr. Fulmer a silent I’m sorry glance and followed Charlie out into the hall. The muffled chuckles from his classmates didn’t go unnoticed.

“Did you have to be that dramatic, Charlie?!” Virgil hissed.

“It’s the formula,” Charlie said, grinning like a madman. He unfurled his notebook and flipped open to the relevant page. “The one I was informing you about this morning?”

Virgil blinked. “The formula? The one you said you needed a whole day to test, or whatever? Couldn’t you have waited until lunch? We literally have less than 30 minutes before the bell rings.”

“Forget that.” Charlie shoved the notebook into Virgil’s hands, but he might as well not have because he started dragging him down the hall. Virgil wasn’t sure why he kept doing that if he only ever managed to get a glance in with no time to process before Charlie’s rambling demanded his attention. 

“Can you just—?”

“Remember that rocket-propulsion, all-terrain scooter from the day of—?”

Virgil pulled his arm free; he was about to trip over his feet! “Don’t remind me.”

“Okay well, it ties together. That invention may not have been a success, but one element of the design was proven viable: the quantum accelerator. Remember that physics, new reality, many worlds theory kick I was on during sophomore year?”

“Oh, yeah,” Virgil remarked dryly, rounding the corner at a much slower pace than Charlie. “That was fun.”

“Well, I started — come on, hurry up! — building my own theory based on all that work, incorporating my proven invention with the quantum accelerator. I’m putting one of the school’s computers on permanent reserve. The DSL has been doing all the work and moments ago, the last piece of the puzzle was processed.”

“. . . Okay, and?”

“Well, we have to get to the Science Club before I can show you! Let’s go!”

The Science Club was in a hybrid space, a combination of a classroom and a lab, decked out with all the science-y gadgets someone like Charlie could want. The second they stepped inside, Virgil noticed how cold it was and was grateful he wore the long-sleeve underneath the button-up. Charlie didn’t seem to notice. He led him to a large computer, where Virgil hauled his bag next to. “What I’m about to show you is very, very, top secret. We have to keep this between us.”

Don’t have to tell me twice. If Virgil tried to explain Charlie’s science gizmos, it would sound like he was making stuff up. “Done.”

Charlie unlocked the computer screen and pushed Enter. “Check it out.”

The simulation on-screen was confusing. It spiraled, winded even, but Virgil had no idea what it meant. Charlie looked at him with a smug grin, and he didn’t offer an explanation.

“. . . Yeah?” Virgil urged.

Charlie rolled his eyes, but the grin remained. “What you’re looking at is a successful simulation of practical time travel.”

Practical time travel.

Yeah, right. Talking cats and renewable energy was one thing, but time travel? Charlie was full of it. So what did Virgil do? Covered Charlie’s ears.

He frowned incredulously. “Uhhh, what are you doing?”

“I’m tryna stop any more of your brain from leaking out of your ears.” 

“. . . What?”

Virgil let go of his ears and gave Charlie’s shoulders a squeeze. “Nice try, buddy. I’m going back to class.”

Charlie grabbed a fistful of his shirt as Virgil reached for his bag.

“Come on, are you tryna wrinkle this shirt too—?”

“Virgil, look at the time-stamps! I ran the simulation more than twice with the same 5% parameters—I haven’t failed to reject the null hypothesis once. Why would I be deceptive about this?!”

Oh no. Science-y words and numbers. Virgil didn’t understand how the heck all that was supposed to fit into this, but their appearance meant that Charlie sure as crumbs wasn’t guessing.

He brought his hands together. “Charlie. You're 15 years old. You're one year away from your driver's license, you still call your underwear underpants, and you refer to yourself as ‘Naughty Ned’—” Virgil air quoted, “—when you don't floss. You want me to believe you just happened to build a time machine?”

“Uhhh, yeah. And based on my specifications a person could travel up to 48 hours into the past.”

Virgil gave his best snort and walked around him. “That’s weak.”

“Pardon me, how's your time travel formula coming along?!” Charlie said to his back.

“The Ocarina of Time is going great, thank you very much,” Virgil tossed back lightly. “See you in Home Ec.”

“The what?!”

Virgil shut the door behind him, and only then did his smile fall. His brain was screaming two things at once — that time travel couldn’t be possible.

And that Charlie never once lied to him.