For a moment I lean against the wall just outside the classroom, but Mrs. Vega might check on me, so I book it for the bathroom.
I won’t cry in a stall.
It’s such a cliché. Besides, I’m sick of crying.
I wish I had someone to talk to, someone who understands what it’s like to be lost in this century. Art’s number is safe in my desk at home, along with Mrs. Spring’s. Mom and Dad keep trying to protect me, but they don’t understand what I need to know to survive here. Plus, Captain McCoy may be satisfied letting the FBI handle things, but I’m not. Not when the conspiracy theorists have gone so far as to create a formal group to discredit us. I feel like Art will have some ideas about that.
“Jenny?”
I halt with my palm on the bathroom door, my eyes closed. Of course Dylan’s here. I turn with a sigh and open my eyes. “How are you everywhere?”
He holds up a paper. “I have to bring this to the office.”
“Oh.” Still. He keeps popping up whenever I’m upset, like he’s inherited Angie’s knack for that.
“Are you okay?” His eyebrows are all crinkled up as he stares at me.
I must look like I’m about to cry. I lean against the bathroom doorjamb. “Not really. Journalism is the one thing I thought I understood, but apparently our paper is online and there’s a channel involved and people”—what was that word Bradley used?—“toot?”
Dylan chokes on a laugh. I knew that wasn’t right as soon as it came out.
“Of course I don’t want to toot.” Oh, no. That’s worse. My cheeks warm.
“Keep going.” Dylan makes a circular motion with his hand. “I can’t wait to hear what comes out next.”
I roll my eyes. “Never mind.”
“You’re talking about social media.”
I stab my finger in the air. “Yes!” That’s what Kelly called it. I should’ve asked more questions then. I didn’t realize it would be so important. “Can you teach me about that so I don’t look like an idiot?”
Surprise mixed with concern flashes across Dylan’s face before he grins cockily. “I’m free tonight if you want to come by.” He winks. “I can show you my book collection.”
Is that supposed to be a line? “Intriguing, but”—I tap my finger on my lips and ignore the flutter in my stomach—“at the moment I’m more interested in the cyber world than paper and ink.”
He nods slowly. “Well played, Jenny Waters.”
I remember how weird he got before school, when he introduced me to Drew. “You’re not going to Drew’s big kegger?”
He rolls up the paper he’s holding and slaps it against his other hand. “I told you. Those always get busted.”
Exactly my point! “Well, thanks for giving me your night.”
He shrugs. “It’s no big deal. I’m finished with baseball practice by five thirty. I usually grab a bite with Jack after, but I’ll tell him I got a better offer.”
He grins in a way that makes it clear I’m the better offer, and my stomach flutters again.
“Who’s Jack?” I ask, turning the conversation in a safer direction. I haven’t seen him with anyone but Drew today, and that guy was sort of a jerk.
He waves a hand. “My best friend. He goes to another school. But we’ve played ball together since middle school. In the spring I play here and the rest of the year on a club team.”
So when he said he was a baseball guy, he really meant it. I push away from the door.
He frowns. “Don’t you need to …?”
“Nope.”
Now that I have a plan, I most definitely don’t need to cry in a bathroom stall.
“Oh, wait.” I grimace. “What does it mean to Google yourself?”
He tilts his head and lifts his left eyebrow. “You say that like you’re afraid it’s something dirty.”
“Ashling made it sound that way, but Mrs. Vega didn’t get after her, so …”
“Ah.” Dylan slaps his rolled-up paper once again. “Google’s an online search engine.”
Huh. “I guess that makes sense. Apparently it’s Ashling’s source for calling me a clone. If that’s the sort of information she relies on for news, I think I’ll pass.”
Dylan nods slowly, his grin gone. “Probably a good call.”
The ride home from school is silent, since JoJo’s there to prevent any real discussion. When I get home and open the front door, the aroma of chocolate chip cookies snaps me out of my funk. I bound upstairs and chuck my backpack.
“Is that you, Jenny?” Mom steps into the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. She smiles. “Come have some warm cookies.”
“I was planning on it.” I grab a plate and snag three off the cooling rack, popping one into my mouth. The chocolate melts on my tongue. “Mmm. Best surprise ever.”
Mom sighs. “I thought you might’ve had a tough day.”
Of course she knows. This is the sort of thing they’ve been hiding from me. “You saw the PATROL statement.”
She nods. “It’s everywhere, and they’re causing quite a stink. We’ve tried to keep you isolated from the media firestorm, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to much longer. Your dad had to chase several reporters off the lawn today.”
I lick chocolate off my fingers, swallowing what I want to say about how things would have been easier for me if they’d just told me about these people themselves. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep it in. “What’s happening?”
“Well, there is something you should know about the FBI.” Mom twists her apron ties around her fingers.
When it’s clear she isn’t going to say anything more, I tap my nails on my plate. “What, Mom?”
“Agent Klein’s been in touch. They’ve requested another round of tests. Much more extensive than before. Actually, she called before the announcement of this PATROL group today.”
I hold in an exasperated sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She drops the apron string to grip my shoulders. “Because we want you to have a normal life. School and friends.”
How is it possible she’s so clueless about high school? I mean, she was a teenager once. “Mom, even before everyone started watching that statement today, they were looking at me like a weirdo. I want to do the tests—for the FBI, PATROL, whoever.”
Mom purses her lips, her upper body tense, then relaxes. “Okay.”
I’d better get all my demands out there now. “And I want a phone.”
Mom frowns. “You were fine without one before.”
“You’re right. I was,” I say. “And if I weren’t living in a different century, I wouldn’t ask for one. But I sat through a class today where I expected to understand every word, and it was like they were speaking a different language. Dylan’s going to translate for me, but I need a phone. By seven tonight. And some sort of computer, too, because most of my teachers want assignments turned in via a ‘virtual classroom.’ ” I make air quotes. “It was on the semester outlines they passed out.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Dylan, huh?”
Maybe, a rebellious part of my brain answers, but I refuse to consider it. I point at her. “You’re the one who set him up as my chauffeur.”
Mom smiles. “He’s a nice boy.” She looks away to consider, then refocuses on me. “Fine. We’ll get you a phone and a laptop. I’m sorry we didn’t prepare you properly. There’s just a part of me that would like to keep everything the way it was before.”
I hug her, breathing in her rose-cinnamon-coffee scent. “I get it, Mom. But if I want to live in the now, I have to move forward.”
Even if a part of me wishes I didn’t.