I’M UP AT six on the morning of Mum’s birthday, my head too full of plans to sleep in. The extras from last night’s delivery are stashed in a cupboard so I lift them onto the bench and quietly get mixing: flour, real egg and milk, plus a dash of vanilla. The batter waits on the bench while I dress and set up the breakfast tray.

The second pancake is ready to flip when Mum’s alarm sounds. There’s not much movement from the bed, so I wait for her to wake to the sizzles and aromas of her birthday breakfast. She’s barely moved, but her eyes crinkle in a smile as I carry it all over.

‘Oh … sweetheart.’ Mum sits up, rubbing her cheek as I pat the doona flat and position the tray in place.

‘Happy birthday, Mum!’ She’s warm with sleep as I lean in for a hug.

‘This is lovely, Scout. Thank you.’

Mum’s quiet as she takes it all in: two pancakes and a jug of real maple syrup on the side. I tried to get strawberries too, but that line was flagged ‘unavailable’. Sliced lab banana had to do. Her present is carefully placed on the side of the tray, wrapped in pale blue tissue paper from the recycle shop.

As I watch, her head lifts to check out the bench and the bottle of maple syrup left there – the expensive stuff, of course – but she doesn’t need to worry because I bought it with my credits, not hers.

She looks back at the present, and then up at me: ‘So, um … what first?’

‘Whatever you like, Mum. It’s your day.’

Her answer turns into a yawn, but at least she seems pleased with the spread.

‘Or have a shower first, if you like? I could keep the pancakes warm.’

A short pause, then: ‘Actually, that would be lovely.’

‘Okay, here.’ I hold out the envelope with my chip in it. ‘Swipe with this, and use all the hot water you like.’

‘Oh, Scout. No, I can swipe for my own shower.’ She collects her pants and shirt from the back of a chair but I step between her and the door, waving the envelope seductively in the air.

‘Come on, it’s my shout. You don’t have to swipe for anything today.’

‘Sweetheart, no.’ I can tell from the creases on her forehead that I’m not going to win this one. Other than following her to the shower and beating her to the sensor, there’s not much I can do, so I let her go and retrieve the pancakes, stashing them in the mini-oven to keep warm.

Two more rest at the top of the stack when she comes back, hair wet and pulled back in a bun. She seems crisper now, her lines in better focus than when she was fuzzy with sleep.

We sit with the tray between us on the bed, eating from the same plate like we used to when I was little. It gives me the tiniest twang about how it felt to share her food when we were so hungry. Maybe this is only one compared to thousands of meals, but at least it’s one closer to paying her back.

I eat my second pancake rolled in one hand while brewing her a cup of tea, sweetened with a teaspoon of honey as a treat. I carry the steaming mug over to her, licking the last traces of maple syrup from my fingers.

She blows on the tea, places it on her bedside table and checks the clock. Still twenty minutes before she has to leave and anyway, how could they be angry with her for turning up a little bit late on her birthday?

‘Come on.’ I hold out the present.

She unwraps carefully, gently pulling off the tape to be saved for another day. Inside is a big box with two layers of homemade chocolates, a mix of soft centres and hard.

Her eyes go wide and she bites a lip, pulled tight from her smile. ‘Yum. Thank you.’ She doesn’t look quite as happy as I thought she would, but I’ll chalk it up to surprise.

‘That’s just the start.’ I pick up the itinerary and unfold it for her, a whole weekend of fun and indulgence already booked: a Spanish movie at the cinema this evening, then tomorrow afternoon a full hair treatment before dinner with her two best friends.

Her mouth shapes some of the words as she reads down, her eyes growing larger with each item and her eyebrows drawing closer. She reaches the end and looks up, confused.

I act as if I haven’t noticed. ‘What do you think? A whole birthday weekend of indulgence …’

Her focus drops as she reads aloud from the list. ‘2.15pm, hair treatment at the Riphair Salon?’

‘Yeah, you deserve to be spoiled.’

Her confusion barely shifts. ‘But a hair treatment? Scout … you realise how much those things cost?’ She shakes her head.

‘It’s a present. You don’t need to pay, I’ve already booked you in.’

‘But we can’t afford anything like that,’ Mum keeps going. ‘When have you ever seen me go to a hair salon?’ Still, she doesn’t get it.

‘But that’s the point. You would have been able to save up for this sort of stuff if not …’ I wave my hands around to complete the sentence. If not for me. ‘So now I have my own credits, I’m paying you back. A little bit, at least.’

It’s only the slightest shift, a kind of fading in her face until she’s staring across at me through a fog. She’s meant to be happy.

‘It’s a present, okay? So you have to accept it.’ My hands rest on my hips as I add, ‘And enjoy it.’ There. She’s been told.

Still she just stares at me so I pick up the tray, carrying it back to the kitchenette while she stays on the bed.

‘Better get ready for work,’ I call over my shoulder.

I’m sponging stickiness from the plate when I feel her hands on my shoulders.

‘Scout, you don’t have to pay me back.’ Gently Mum tugs, trying to turn me around. I stay where I am. ‘You owe me nothing, understand?’

‘But I want to –’

‘Listen.’

‘Just this once.’

‘Scout, listen.’

This time when she tugs on my shoulders, I turn slowly.

‘I went to see Dr Ryan the other day.’ A slow sigh. ‘The one who signed the termination papers when I was pregnant?’ Mum’s voice goes softer as she speaks, as if the words are difficult for her, even now.

‘He’s agreed to insert the chip, and use the new fading procedure for the scar. We can trust him, more or less. But … his price.’ Mum inhales slowly. ‘He’s asking for a hundred thousand credits.’

‘What?’

‘I know. He’s risking more this time around, and I suppose … he’s not stupid. And what are we going to do? Go shopping for a lower bribe?’

I lean backwards against the bench, all my plans slipping away. Her birthday dinner, the hair treatment …

‘We need to save every credit we can from now on. I’m sorry, I should have told you already.’ Her face brightens, maybe a little too much. ‘But hey, why waste credits on a haircut, hey? It’s just going to grow back.’

She chuckles at her own joke, but I’m not ready to join in yet. So many credits, just to fade a stupid scar.

‘But maybe …’ I choose my words carefully. ‘Maybe there’s no reason to pay the bribe. I’ve been fine without it in my wrist so far.’

She’s trying to understand, I can tell, but she has no idea. ‘Scout, you’re going to Karoly High School! So from now on, you’ll need to think, act … look like a citizen.’

‘Yes, but I’m doing that already. I even managed my first ever friend link.’ I could keep going, but I don’t. I never would have made it back to my cave that time if I were stuck with the chip in my wrist. The more I think about this, the more I think it would be useful to be able to drop off the grid every now and then.

‘Listen,’ Mum slides an arm around my waist, stepping beside me, ‘we don’t have to book in with Dr Ryan straight away. All I’m saying is that we should save our credits. And even if we don’t need them for the bribe, then we might …’ As she inhales, there’s a slight catch in the flow, ‘… we might need them for other reasons.’

She has plans that she’s not giving away, I can tell. A new place to live, maybe. A hundred thousand credits could go a long way. But I decide not to push it for now. ‘Okay.’

We still go out for the movie that night, but it’s not quite the mood I was aiming for. Throughout the whole evening Mum keeps fading into a sort of fog, forcing her expression to lift whenever she sees me watching.

It’s only when Mum’s about to wave off the lamp later that night that she finally says, ‘Thanks, by the way. The hair treatment? It was a thoughtful gift.’

I finger the corner of the doona, not looking at her. It’s not going to be a gift anymore.

The bed rocks gently as Mum rolls my way. ‘Stop thinking about paying me back. I’m your mum, Coutlyn. And you’re my daughter. Some things only work in one direction.’

Like time travel, perhaps, I want to say, but don’t.

She reaches out and her hand brushes my shoulder before pulling back. ‘I had a choice, okay? And I’d do it again in a flash. But it was my choice, not yours. You had no choice. The sacrifices I’ve made are not your fault, okay?’

She doesn’t wait for me to say anything, just waves the lamp off and snuggles in.

I turn mine off too, but I don’t sleep for a while. That phrase keeps going over and over in my mind. You had no choice.

---

It’s after four on a Friday when I rest my bike in the shade against the garage wall. It’s so stinking hot that I feel like the rubber of the tyres might go soft and sticky. The back of my shirt is wet when I pull off my backpack so I stay in the shade and suck down half my water bottle before gulping for breath. I end up with a noseful of thick, sweet air from a honeysuckle bush growing near the door.

It’s been hot every day of the two weeks since my first jump with Mason. We can return within seconds of each other now. I haven’t told Mason that I can’t jump any further than a minute, but it doesn’t seem to matter. And anyway, I’m in no hurry for longer jumps. The further ahead he goes when I don’t, the closer we become in age.

I’m able to drop into the tunnel faster now, too. It takes only a few seconds for me to sink, but I’m nowhere near as fast as Mason. He can do it in the space of a breath; just closes his eyes, and he’s gone.

He’s getting more accurate with his time away, and already I can feel him moving on. That’s how it works with Mason, I’ve realised. He obsesses about a goal as if nothing else in the world exists but the instant he achieves it, he moves on to the next.

We haven’t spoken it about it openly, but I think I can pick the next obsession. If I’m right, it’s the ultimate goal, the reason behind all the others.

The side door to his garage is slightly open when I knock. No answer comes, so I knock again. Wait some more. He’s letting all the heat in.

‘Mason?’ I slide the door further open and stick my head in, enjoying a breeze from the air-con. The room’s empty.

I’m three cautious steps inside, dumbly peering around, when Mason’s shape appears from thin air in front of me.

‘Boo!’ he shouts, before stumbling sideways.

A gasp escapes with a squeak of surprise. One hand slaps over my mouth. It’s just Mason messing around. He managed to jump and land from standing – way impressive – but I’m not about to cheer him for it.

Mason’s shoulders jiggle with laughter. ‘Gotcha, didn’t I?’

I breathe out, head shaking. ‘Just you wait, I’ll get you back.’ Pretty sure I must be bright red, and not just because of the heat. I grab the blanket from the floor and throw it at him as hard as I can. He catches it easily and wraps it around his waist, grinning madly at me the whole time.

Something causes the door to move and a gust of hot air makes us turn.

‘Heeee-ey.’ It’s Boc, his one word starting out high but then dropping in tone when he sees me.

‘Hey,’ Mason and I say at the same time, but our words come rushed and it suddenly feels as if we’ve been caught out.

‘Hey, mate,’ Mason says again, grabbing his shorts from the couch. I get the sense that he’s adjusting, shifting in a way that he doesn’t need to when I’m around.

Boc crosses his arms. ‘Been skipping again?’ Beads of sweat stand out on his hairline.

‘Yeah, heaps.’ Mason gestures my way as he steps out from behind the couch, shorts thankfully on now. ‘And Scout too.’

At that, Boc’s eyes move to me and stay there as if taking me in for the first time. It makes me want to look away but I force myself to meet his gaze.

‘You’ve been time skipping too?’ His eyes narrow thoughtfully.

‘Yeah, sometimes.’ My eyes drop without my permission, so I bring them up again.

He seems confused. ‘Really?’

I’m not sure what else to say. I hug my arms against my chest.

‘Anyway,’ Boc turns back to Mason,‘I was going to ask if you want to come climbing with me and Amon again?’

Mason glances at me. ‘Bit hot.’

‘There’s a cool change due tonight. We’re meeting tomorrow at two.’ Boc lets his arms drop. ‘Training at the climbing centre, and then drinks at the end.’

A shrug from Mason. He doesn’t seem overly keen. ‘Sure. I guess.’

‘Come on, Mase. Forget about last time. You just need some practice.’

‘Is that all? Co-ordination might come in handy too.’ Mason laughs.

Boc’s face changes completely as he grins, and finally the room loses some tension. I swipe the back of my neck with a hand. I’m still sort of sweaty even though it’s cooler inside.

‘Okay. Good.’ Mason says finally. ‘Want to join us now?’

For some reason it feels strange with Boc here. I’m wondering if I should go, but Boc shakes his head. ‘Nah. Catch you.’ A glance my way, and then he’s through the door with another gust of hot air.

A waft of honeysuckle lingers after the door closes behind him.

‘Did he go because of me?’ I ask after a moment of silence.

‘Nah,’ Mason says, but he doesn’t sound convincing. I can’t help thinking that Boc could have called or sent a message to ask Mason about climbing. It’s as if he dropped round to hang, then changed his mind.

‘Want a drink?’

‘Nah, thanks.’ One hand pushes into my backpack and finds the smooth shape of the water bottle. I pull it out.

‘Come on. That must be five hundred degrees.’

Head shaking. ‘I’m okay.’

Already Mason’s swiping the fridgepad, pulling out two cans. I get this rich blast of coolness before he shuts the door.

‘Here, try this.’ He holds out a can. ‘Bet you’ve never tried sherbet blast? It was all the rage last year.’

Again my head shakes but it’s slower this time, more cautious, because I’m getting the feeling that he really wants me to take it; he’s not just being polite. And he’s right, I’ve never tried sherbet blast. But not because I was time skipping when it was released. We’ve just never had credits for fads like that.

Mason lifts my hand and makes a point of wrapping my fingers and palm around it. It’s so cold that droplets of moisture are already forming on the outside. I look from the can in my hand up to Mason’s face.

My shoulder lifts in apology because I’m still not sure what to do. When you see couples sharing rations, that’s when you know it’s serious, intimate. Like sharing blood, or something.

‘Do this.’ He holds up his can as if it’s a demo model and cracks it open. ‘And then do this.’ He takes a sip, swallows and lets out an ahhh. ‘It’s not that difficult, Scout.’

‘I didn’t swipe.’

‘You don’t have to.’ It’s with a tinge of impatience.

What a strange sensation this is, as if it’s happening to someone else. I fumble with the catch as I crack it open, turning it into a joke. ‘Like this?’

Mason’s mouth forms a pout, assessing my technique. ‘Very good. And now …’

As he takes another sip, I do the same. Immediately I get this explosion of fizz. My eyes go wide with shock as Mason cracks up.

‘Good, huh?’

‘Mmm.’ My eyes are watering but I’m grinning too. We drop our arms at the same time and beam at each other.

He’s still watching as I take my final sip, when – tsst –everything goes black and suddenly it’s eerily quiet.

Mason swears under his breath as my eyes adjust to the only light filtering through the high window. The electricity has cut out.