Right Where We Belong, page 9
“Hey, Lionel,” I say.
In response he holds up his Switch and peels his headphones off his ears. “I’m just gaming.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say as he slides them back on. Lionel’s a bit of an outsider, a twiggy senior who’s had braces all four years of high school and must get mistaken for an eighth grader anytime he goes anywhere. I’d temporarily forgotten he likes to occupy this lounge, but it doesn’t matter.
I nod to the furthest corner from Lionel and turn to William. “Okay,” I say. “I’m going to need you to explain why the year 1859 is written all over your notebook.”
He stares at me for several seconds. “You went through my notebook?”
“I thought it was mine,” I say. “My dad has similar journals. I’ve been reading through them and—” I stop because this isn’t the point. “I’m just really confused.”
“Imagine how I felt,” he starts, “when that friend of yours began calling me Enzo.”
I freeze. “Your name isn’t Enzo?”
“No, and it’s rather vexing he—and everyone else—believes this to be true,” he says, frustration bubbling. “I must say, the absurdity of the last few days has been entirely troubling.”
My heartbeat slams against my rib cage. “Four days ago,” I say slowly. “What day was it?”
His amber eyes hold my gaze. Something in them softens, as if we share a mutual understanding of the events that haven’t quite added up.
“September second,” he whispers, then, sensing I’m seeking more from him, “in the year 1859.”
A sharp inhale fills my lungs. For a moment, we just stare at each other. Unmoving. I’m waiting for him to explain, or say he’s kidding, or provide any further context that could make this make sense.
My phone chimes.
He raises a finger in its direction. “That was my first bit of evidence.”
I try to process the fully illogical thoughts spiraling through my brain as I read Sumner’s text: where are you?
I start crafting an excuse when he sends me a screenshot of an Instagram message.
yo sumner, it’s ur assigned roommate enzo. idk what kind of magic trick u pulled but thank u. my parents enrolled me but I’m in Ibiza because my bud has a spot and we’ve been launching this dope vape brand and I was dragging my feet on school anyway but they insisted bc they want me out of trouble. can u keep covering for me that’d help me out a bunch, thx man
Oh my god.
My gaze lifts. “You’re not Enzo.”
“I’ve just told you that,” he insists. “And as I’ve said before, my name is Lord William Cromwell, born the first son of Lord and Lady Cromwell of Dunbry.”
I’m not familiar with British peerage, but even I can’t deny that sounds important. I cast a sideways glance to make sure Lionel is still immersed in his game. The back of his head of hair bobs over the couch as he sways to music only he can hear.
“Then why are you here?”
“If I knew, believe me, I’d tell you.”
I call for backup. forgotten lounge, I text Sumner, then shove my phone in my pocket. “What is happening,” I say, more to myself. “This is not real.”
“Right, returning to my dream theory—”
I’m shaking my head. “You don’t have any identification on you? A license, or, like, a passport?” If I can identify this guy, then maybe there’s a chance of figuring out where he came from. And if that place happens to be a psychiatrist’s office.
William only removes Enzo’s student badge from his pocket.
“I don’t understand,” I say, which might just rank as the number one statement of the evening. “How did Sumner get you that?”
“You tell me,” he says, exasperated. “I don’t have my papers. Yet everything was already in order.”
Right, Sumner had said that, hadn’t he? Enzo had pre-registered. Since he’s the wait-listed transfer they were expecting, no one must have questioned him when Sumner brought him to administration. A fault in Ivernia’s security, sure, but there’s a bigger problem on our hands. William is not supposed to be here, and he is certainly not supposed to be posing as another student.
The door swings open and in storms Sumner, brows furrowed. As the latch clicks behind him, Lionel pops back up with another enthusiastic greeting.
“Hey, Lionel.” Sumner’s already striding across the room, eyes locked on William. “Who the hell are you?”
Lionel’s headphones slip back over his ears.
I tense, my gaze shifting from William to Sumner.
“Because you aren’t my roommate.” Anger tinges his words. “Which means you aren’t supposed to be here.”
I’ve never seen Sumner try to get a rise out of someone. I didn’t know he had it in him. He’s several inches taller than me, but he’s built like a candlestick, which might be one intimidation factor against him.
I step between them. “Here’s the thing.” I keep my voice low. “Enzo’s real name is William. Actually? It’s Lord William Cromwell. And when I ran into him on Friday, he was dressed like a Victorian Ken doll. He doesn’t have a phone and can’t remember how he got here, so I grabbed him temporary clothes in the lost and found and assumed he was your roommate because you were waiting on a transfer student, and it seemed like the only logical explanation.”
I fall quiet, waiting for a response. But Sumner only studies me, something hardening behind his eyes. “Can you please be serious—”
“I am.” I fling a hand toward William. “Did you see the top hat? Who wears those?”
“Carmichael.”
My voice rises. Just a little. “I’m telling you everything I know.”
His hand rakes through his hair as his attention directs to William. “Those…coins. The ones you gave me on Friday?” He turns over his pocket, tinkling metal raining into his palm.
“Shillings,” William corrects.
I take the shiny silver from Sumner’s outstretched hand. One Shilling, it reads, seemingly new. Under the engraved open oak wreath lies a year.
1859.
My heartbeat quickens. When I glance up, Sumner is already staring back at me. As though he can’t believe it either.
“I-I can’t explain it,” I say. “All I know is that I was running toward Segner because I saw someone go inside. Inessa was in there trying to find the trophy, as you now know, and the next thing I knew—” I flick a limp wrist toward William, as this somehow clarifies everything that happened after.
William scratches the back of his neck. Sumner’s studying him as though this is the first time he’s really seeing him.
“Here.” I nip the journal from William’s grasp and toss it toward Sumner. “See for yourself.”
As Sumner flips through the pages, I find myself wanting to be proved wrong. We’ve had our fair share of verbal sparring matches. I’d relinquish this victory if it meant he could provide sound reasoning for everything that’s happening so we could forget this entire mess and move on.
His hand pauses on a page somewhere in the midsection of the notebook, eyes gravitating toward William. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I was at the college later than expected.” William adjusts his shoulders so that he’s standing, somehow, straighter. “I suppose the last thing I recall is feeling…warm. Extraordinarily warm. Almost tingling. And then—well, it seemed as though daylight streamed through all the windows despite it being well into the evening.” His forehead furrows. “That’s the last I remember. When I ran into Delaney, I thought something was wrong with my memory, as though I’d taken a wrong turn leaving the college so late at night and had no recollection of doing so.”
Sumner hands the journal over to me, pacing as he thinks. Neatly written equations are penned in William’s tidy, looping scrawl alongside a familiar sketch of an experiment.
When I glance up, Sumner’s eyes are trained on me.
“They’re Faraday’s equations,” I say.
He tosses me a haughty look that says, Please do not insult me. “I know.”
I study William curiously. “You’re working through formulas that were newer at the time. Your time, I mean,” I explain. “These theories and equations have been studied and built upon by other physicists.”
“I’ve seen them in the library texts,” William says, head craning toward his work held in my hands. “It’s utterly fascinating. You’re ages ahead of me.”
Nobody says anything. It’s silent, aside from thumbs mashing plastic buttons and thin, tinny music whispering from Lionel’s headphones.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this”—Sumner tugs at the back of his hair—“but this aligns in the most bizarre, unfathomable way. You don’t just jump ahead one hundred and sixty years. There’s so much data that disproves it. It’s not just illogical, it’s impossible. I just—” His eyes settle on mine. “What are you going to do?”
“Me?” I almost laugh. This entire conversation is twelve different types of deranged. “I’m sorry, Ivernia didn’t adequately prepare me for dealing with time-traveling nobility.”
Now that the words are spoken, hanging in the air as heavy and dense as an incoming storm, I want someone to correct me. To say, Is that what you think’s happening? You couldn’t be more wrong. Instead, nobody moves. It’s as though we’re all waiting for someone else to take charge.
“Okay,” Sumner says, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. “What are we going to do?”
There’s a distant look behind William’s eyes. “This is madness,” he utters. “Might I return home? To my time? Though I do appreciate the help you’ve bestowed me and the, er, novelty of this era, I think it’s best if I take my leave.”
“We’re not that far advanced,” Sumner says. “There’s no way to send you back.”
William looks to me for confirmation. Even though I barely know him, the urge to stabilize this issue dominates all other emotions. Because not once has he been deceptive. He offered his real name. He told me exactly where he was from. William isn’t a con artist, or a scammer, or a liar. He’s a genuinely confused human currently living through an unexplainable phenomenon.
I turn the shilling over in my hand. If we get anyone else involved, I’m not sure what will happen. Will they take him away? Institutionalize him, at the very worst? And while he wouldn’t be our problem anymore, he’d face a world of new ones. I can’t bring myself to do that. He’s a student. Maybe not here, exactly, but he’s also not a danger to anyone.
Nothing about this situation feels remotely real. But if what William’s saying is true, then why is he here?
“Well,” I begin, “it can’t hurt to try. In the meantime, this should stay between us, right?”
“Right.” Sumner nudges his frames up his nose, then releases a relenting sigh as he turns to William. “I guess keep going to class? Or Enzo’s classes. Just to lie low until…” He’s looking at me now, like I can somehow conjure the end of that sentence.
“Until we figure this out,” I add.
“You’re willing to assist me?” There’s so much hope in the question, a reminder he also doesn’t have answers we’re seeking. I’m in way over my head, but I do want to help—even if it feels impossible.
My mom runs a program for unhoused people in need of assistance at her library in Pennsylvania. They partner with a local resource center to get their needs met. It took a ton of effort to get it off the ground, but she fought for it for years. And when I asked her why, she told me, “Because you don’t give up on people who really need it.”
I have my mother’s spirit in me, my father’s sense of curiosity. At the very least, I can try. It’s something.
So I say, “Yes.”
Sumner, who’s been studying me with a look of careful scrutiny, slouches into an unsteady chair, which tips over as soon as he makes contact. He topples to his side and immediately rights himself onto his shins, blinking at the offending piece of furniture before looking up at us.
I clasp a hand over my mouth to hide a laugh.
“It appears to be broken,” William offers helpfully.
But Sumner remains unfazed. He points a finger in my direction.
“Hope you’ve packed a spare flux capacitor,” he says. “You’re gonna need it.”
13
My perpetual state of denial dissipates the moment I spot William walking toward the dining hall for breakfast the following morning. Everyone’s huddled in groups or pairs, but William is by himself, outwardly looking like any other Ivernia student. For a split second, it’s as if I imagined everything else. Then I recall the weight of those coins, the tidy dates inked in his journal. The unexplainable and the impossible colliding into chaotic nonsense.
This does not happen in real life.
How do you go about correcting an implausible reality? Wrapping my head around William’s presence is already bewildering enough, not to mention it goes against most laws of physics and carefully constructed scholarly theories.
The grass is speckled with misty dew from the night before. I weave through chattering students on the paved walkway and slip beside William.
His grin reaches his eyes. “Good morning.”
“Hi.” I lower my voice. “Where did you get the uniform?”
“Sumner,” he says like, What else would you expect?
I make a quick mental checklist of items he may need. His own uniform, for starters. Clothes to wear in his downtime. A toothbrush—though he must have acquired one by now. Did they even have toothbrushes in 1859? He can get by using the computers in the library, though not having one does make him stand out. He’ll need a crash course on how to use it, let alone type. We only have so much time before the lost luggage excuse wears thin.
All of this is costly. I don’t have that kind of money, but that’s an issue for later. If I revive my old iPhone and connect it to Ivernia’s Wi-Fi, at least he’ll fit in better.
“It is beautiful here, is it not?” He flourishes a hand toward the dining hall. “Will you join me for breakfast?”
“Oh.” This is unexpected. “You don’t want to sit with Sumner and his friends?”
He shrugs. “I’d like to sit with you.”
The words are so direct, so earnest, that a hot flush climbs up my neck. I don’t have what I’d call a magnetic personality. Madelene demands attention because she makes performing seem effortless, therefore creating a mesmerizing draw. Jared gathered praise because he was good at captivating audiences during speech and debate competitions. I’m not like them. I am not charismatic or interesting, and I don’t have any spellbinding qualities. At least, not one that attracts someone like William.
“My achiever, my thinker, and my performer,” my dad used to call us.
I was never certain what he meant by it. Thinking didn’t feel special. It felt mundane, something everyone does. And when you know what others think of you, it feels like a curse. The curse of living up to the expectations they put on you.
So I say, “Okay, sure,” and pretend like I am not melting under his fervent gaze.
“Delaney.” He comes to a sudden halt. Two students veer into the grass to avoid crashing into him, scuttling around us. “Have you ever experienced the utter delight,” William asks seriously, eyes wide, “of whipped cream from a can?”
Several minutes later, as we sit down for breakfast, William scoops Fruity Pebbles topped with an excessive amount of strawberry jelly and whipped cream into his mouth, eyes gleaming with sheer joy as he chews. He’s even brought the entire can with him.
Analiese and I occupy our usual window seat in the dining hall, now joined by Lionel and William. It’s not lost on me that we are an odd group. A cacophony of voices bounces around us. A few people glance over at the new student, but otherwise nobody seems to pay us any mind. Relief fills me, because this can only mean he’s mostly fitting in.
“I need scandal,” Analiese is saying. “I need intrigue.”
We’ve once again circled to her newspaper problem. I’m tempted to tell Analiese the real story is Ivernia’s impending closing, but I refuse to speak it into existence.
“Teacher profile?” I suggest instead.
“Too uninspired.” She sighs. “God, it’s so uneventful here.”
I try not to choke on a swig of water.
“—but it’s not until level two when you meet the zombies,” Lionel’s explaining through a mouthful of toast. William listens with raptured amusement. “And they are hard to kill.”
Analiese is staring at his cereal, which looks like a science experiment gone wrong. “I’ve never tried it like that.”
William dips his spoon back into his bowl. “It’s very good.”
“They don’t allow certain cereals in the UK,” Lionel says. “Because some food dyes are illegal over there.”
“And that,” I say a little too loudly, “is why Enzo loves it.” If I’m overeager to explain his unordinary behavior, I don’t think anyone notices.
“God bless America,” Analiese jokes. “So. You’re from London?”
“Dunbry Park,” he corrects.
“A really, really small town,” I encourage. “Tiny. Microscopic.”
“I love it here,” William says as he dabs at his mouth with a silk handkerchief he produces from his pocket. Analiese notices. “But my father doesn’t quite understand why I prefer my studies. He’d rather have me marry and take over our estates.”
“Marry?” Analiese blurts. “That’s wild. We’re so young.”
“Because—” I grasp for a way to make this make sense. “His father got married young. Enzo comes from, uh, a traditional family.”
“What are your aspirations?” William asks her. “I’d think an attractive woman such as yourself would take interest in a strong matrimonial proposition.”
