33

Leila had taken first place in the Frederick Ruggles Middle School Improv Contest two years in a row, and she had captained the school debate team. She was known for thinking fast on her feet. But all she could manage over the phone was “Uh . . . you’re at work?”

“Yes,” said the voice of Corey’s dead grandmother. She didn’t sound at all like Leila expected. Not ghostly or saintly, not musical or magical. Just preoccupied and a little annoyed. “This is the Karelian Group, import-export. Who are you calling?”

“You!” Leila blurted. Her brain scrambled for some convincing excuse that would keep Maria F. on the phone. If Leila could do that, she might be able to set up a meeting. “We are . . . Nighttime Munchies! A . . . new food-delivery service for the World Trade Center area! Yeah. We specialize in fast, reliable delivery to hardworking New Yorkers at friendly prices.”

Lame. Lame-o. World Series of Lameness.

She waited for an angry click at the other end. But instead she heard a muffled mumbling of voices, as if Corey’s grandmother had placed her hand over the phone.

“Do you have pizza with pepperoni?” Maria finally asked.

“Sure!” Leila piped up. “I mean, we’re a service, so we order from a number of restaurants and shops and bring the food to you! Just let us know if you have a favorite, and leave the rest to us!”

“Oh, okay. So . . . let’s get this from Sal’s on Church Street,” Maria continued. “One large pepperoni; a pastrami sandwich on rye toast, extra mustard, no mayo; one turkey club, hold the bacon; one cheeseburger medium rare with fries; two Diet Cokes; three coffees; two bottles of seltzer; a brownie; two chocolate-chip cookies. Let me know if you need me to repeat it.”

Leila was scribbling wildly all over the back of her arm: pizz pepp l—past rye xtr must no may—1 tclub no bac—1 cb med r + ff—2 DCs 3 cof 2 seltz—browny—2 chc chp cook. “I got it all.”

“Do you need my credit card info?” Maria asked.

“Yes!” Leila squeaked. She hadn’t even thought of that. Her own cash would be too new, and her mom’s credit card wouldn’t work in the past. After taking down the info, she looked at her watch. She could call in the order from here, then twenty minutes for the cab ride downtown, another ten for the pickup and delivery . . . “That’ll be half an hour to forty-five?”

“Half an hour would be better.”

“On my way!”

Leila hung up the phone and shouted, “Yyyyyes!”

She darted to the curb, holding out her hand for a cab. She could google Sal’s on the ride down and . . .

As a taxi screeched to a halt beside her, she realized the flaw in her logic. No cell reception. She didn’t even know if Google existed. “Uh . . . never mind,” she said to the driver. “Sorry.”

She would need to get Sal’s phone number first. The old-fashioned way. Running back to the pay phone, she lifted the receiver and tapped out 411 again. “The number for Sal’s on Church Street?”

“Hello. You asked for Selsun Church. Is this correct?”

Leila hated 2001.

Getting through security at One World Trade Center was easy. The guy at the lobby desk took one look at her with the pizza box and all the bags from Sal’s and waved her through. “Where you headed, miss? I’ll let them know.”

“Karelian?” Leila said.

“That’ll be the ninety-fifth floor, last bank of elevators. You have a good night.”

“Thanks! Hope you get to leave work and go home! Like, before tomorrow morning!”

The man smiled and bowed slightly. “Yes, I do. At midnight.”

Leila felt a wash of relief. At least this guy would be alive and sleeping the next morning. His family would not be torn apart forever. He was lucky. But what about these other people?

All around, everyone else seemed placid, bored, content. A group of three bros exiting the elevator burst out laughing at some joke. Near the glass doors a couple stared dreamily into each other’s eyes. A custodian pushed a broom, dancing to some music only she was hearing. How many of them would be here tomorrow morning? How was it fair that these people didn’t know what was about to happen? How was it fair that she could know and they couldn’t? Leila felt like everyone here was in some horrible recurring nightmare, a tragic Groundhog Day where you wake up over and over again on the day you die. Only she was the one who got to escape the dream.

Focus, she told herself. She had to focus.

As Leila headed across the polished floor, she could barely feel her feet touching the ground. She gulped panic-shortened breaths as she stepped into the elevator. Pressing 95, she closed her eyes and could not stop imagining herself rising through floors of black smoke, offices of dust.

At the ninety-fifth floor, the door slid open into a hallway facing a glass door. Beyond it was a vast office with sweeping views of the city and the two rivers. The carpet smelled new. Expensive-looking art had been carefully placed on the walls. As she approached a wall with a button marked After-Hour Deliveries, Press Here, Leila shook. Before she could touch it, a smiling young woman pushed open the door and said, “Yay! Food! Hey, I’m Sarah. Come in, I’ll show you to the conference room.”

“Thanks.” As Leila followed Sarah through the door and down another hallway, she felt herself starting to cry. Sarah wasn’t much older than she was.

“Just leave it here and I’ll get Maria. . . .” As Sarah opened the door to a big, empty room with a shiny oak desk, she turned to face Leila and her voice trailed off. “Hey, is everything all right?”

“Just . . . stay here when she comes in,” Leila said. “Okay?”

Sarah looked at her uncertainly. “Um . . . okay.”

She went away and returned in a moment with a woman who was tall and lanky like Corey, her hair a glorious mass of dark brown curls gathered in a haphazard ponytail. Her clothes were elegant and professional looking, and when she smiled Leila could see Corey behind her eyes. “Thanks very much,” Maria said, reaching into a purse. “Let me give you a little something.”

“I don’t want a tip,” Leila said, sitting. “I’m Leila. All I ask is a few minutes of your time. Sit?”

The two women exchanged a glance. Maria sat but Sarah remained standing by the door. “What is this all about?” Maria asked politely.

Leila took a deep breath and said, “I admit this is going to sound absolutely wack, but I know your grandson.”

Maria laughed. “I don’t have a grandson.”

“I know. I know. You don’t now,” Leila said. “But your son and his wife will have a boy, and that boy will be named Corey. Corey Fletcher. They will live on West Ninety-Fifth Street.”

“Oh?” Maria’s eyes were darting toward the door.

“And I really, really want you to meet him someday.”

“Well, I imagine I will,” Maria said.

Leila shook her head. “He doesn’t know you. He has never met you. If you listen to what I’m about to say, then he will. But I need your trust. You, too, Sarah. Because what I’m about to say will save your lives.”

“I do trust you, Leila,” Maria said, leaning forward on the table.

“You do?”

Maria nodded. “You seem like a sweet girl. Just tell me, how much did my husband pay you?”

Leila cocked her head. “Pay? Wait, you think Papou—I mean, you think your husband paid me to—”

“Get me to come back to him, yes. He’s tried singing telegrams, flowers, and chocolates. He’s been pestering our own children, and now they don’t want to talk to either of us. He paid a mutual friend to fly all the way here from Oregon and talk me into returning to him. And now . . . soothsaying! Grandchildren!” She shook her head and gave a sad laugh. “I’m so sorry he’s putting you through this.”

“He’s not putting me through anything!” Leila protested. “Look, there’s this group of very special people. Here in New York they’re called the Knickerbockers. Your husband will discover them after you—”

“After I what?”

“Die,” Leila said.

Maria’s tight smile vanished. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. I know it sounds horrible. It is horrible. But let me explain. There are people who can travel in time. Your husband is one of them, and so am I. I can show you my school ID and my money, all dated from the future.”

“I must ask you to go now.” Maria stood. She pushed the food back to Leila. “And you can take this. I changed my mind about the order.”

Leila sprang up from her seat. “You don’t understand! You’re going to die!”

Sarah was opening the glass door now. The security guard from downstairs lumbered through with another, bigger guard. They both looked baffled. “Did this girl threaten you, ma’am?”

“No,” Maria said. “She just fooled me.”

“Wait, what?” Leila said. “No! Please—”

“That’s my fatal flaw, too,” the guard said to Corey’s grandmother with a sheepish smile. “I always trust a girl with pizza.”