Tempest by Julie Cross Read Free Book Online Page B

Miguel. Puts hair on your chest.”
    She cracked up and her thick glasses slid down her nose. “I hope you sampled all the great Spanish wine.”
    “Of course, I drank a bottle a day.”
    She laughed again. “That can’t be true. So … will I see you roaming the halls soon?”
    I forced back the disgusted look I knew was about to take form on my face. No way was I going back to high school.
    “Probably not. I’m thinking of taking my GED, just tired of the whole high school scene.” The waitress dropped off my dinner and I picked up the fork and stabbed a spear of asparagus. “Actually, I gave my dad an ultimatum, public school or GED. He’s leaning toward the GED.”
    “Public school isn’t that bad. I went to one, and look how I turned out,” she said.
    “That’s what I told him.” My eyes dropped to the plate in front of me.
    “You look a little glum. Is everything okay?”
    I nodded. “Just jet lag. I got back a few hours ago and it’s still two in the morning for me.”
    This wasn’t far from the truth. In terms of actual time, I hadn’t slept much in two days. Of course, only hours had passed in this year.
    This stupid freakin’ year.
    “Sorry to hear that. Well … I better get back to my date.” She nodded her head in the direction of a man sitting alone at a table using a spoon to examine his teeth. She leaned closer to whisper, “This is the last time I use an Internet dating website.”
    “You can always fake a stomachache … or food poisoning.”
    She smiled before turning around. “Take care, Jackson.”
    I grinned until she had her back to me, then dropped my eyes to the journal lying on the table. I plugged away at writing the details of my latest excursion and was so engrossed in other years, I didn’t even notice the waitress standing in front of me, tapping her toe against the floor.
    “Sorry, did you say something?”
    “Is everything okay with your meal?”
    I looked down at the now-cold salmon. The fishy smell was revolting. “Yeah, it’s fine. Could I have my check now?”
    She placed it in front of me. “Do you want me to box that up for you?”
    “Um … no, thanks.”
    The plate disappeared, along with the waitress. The idea of bringing leftovers with me had taken on a new meaning with all the time-travel theories spinning through my head. This was the stupid shit Adam and I would have tossed around while playing Guitar Hero and drinking shots of Crown Royal. I’d start it and Adam would take it twenty steps further than my brain could ever comprehend.
    Questions like, if I did get back to 2009, carting my doggie bag, would the salmon be two years old? Or if I went into the past again, would the fish still be in the box? Technically, it wouldn’t have been born yet. Can a living thing travel to a time before it’s born?
    Then, if we could, we’d test it out.
    Trying to make plans without Holly or my father catching on was difficult. Holly always knew when I wasn’t telling her the whole truth or when I was feeding her a complete load of crap. Right now I’d give anything to go back. Even if it meant listening to her shout at me again or being locked out of her room for hours.
    The waitress was on her way back, so I pulled out my wallet and stuck a credit card on the edge of the table. I flipped through the pages of my journal, looking for something to help me form a plan. Any plan. My fingers froze on the page with January 13, 2003, across the top.
    The credit card was removed from the table and the waitress stomped away while I continued to stare at the words I had written.
    I THINK MY DAD WORKS FOR THE CIA!
    Just thinking about my dad’s hands around my throat, the anger hardening his eyes, put life back into my muscles in the form of a major adrenaline rush. He never said he was CIA. But he sure acted like it, in that moment. Not that I knew any more about the Central Intelligence Agency than what Hollywood had presented me with. Still, I knew something.