May 19th, 2007

3:45 P.M.

Meg Fuller walked into her history professor, Mr. Hart's office. All the fancy-schmancy books on those expensive bookshelves—ha! What a rich, stupid snob. She didn't even want to go to this stupid university; she only did because her father wanted her to, and even then it was hard for her to accept.

"Mr. Hart?" she asked as she saw him sitting at his desk. "Ya wanted to see me, didn't you?"

"Yes, Miss Fuller, I do." Mr. Hart put down the book he was holding—what was it? A Great Journey Onto the Great Ship. HAH! Yet again another stupid Titanic history book. Who cared about that dumb old ship?

"Look, Miss Fuller," Hart sighed, "You're a bright girl, I think we all know it. But you are on the brink of failing my class—in fact; you have a D right now! You have to do something to bring up your grade otherwise I'm afraid I will have to fail you before exams start next week."

She rolled her eyes, hiding it behind a long scratching of the forehead. What an idiot! He thinks he can scare me into one of his dumb old thousand word essays just 'cause my grades ain't what he wants them to be? Sorry Mr. Hart, but I honestly don't give a damn if I fail.

"Well, I can try, but how would you want me to do that?" She felt a horrible pit-feeling in her stomach as he opened her mouth; it was obvious what he was about to say to her.

"I need you to write me a five thousand word report for me. If you cannot do absolutely perfectly on that report I will have to fail you, and you will not attend this class again."

Meg's jaw dropped slightly. He could not do that! She wanted more than anything to squeeze that old coot's neck so hard his eyeballs rolled across the floor like pool balls, but she held herself back. After all, this was important to her dad, who was still letting her live in his house even though she was twenty-five and had a part-time job.

"On what?" She did her best to hide the frustration in her voice, though she didn't think she did a very good job.

"I would like you to give me those five thousand words on the Titanic, particularly the characteristics of the different officers on board—I have always had a keen interest in the men behind the saving of almost half the ship's passengers."

Whoopty-do.

"Do you have any preferences on which particular officer?"

"No, I would just like those five thousand words to be pitch-perfect, or it's out the door for you, young lady."

"I'll get right on it, Mr. Hart," she grimaced, walking out the door. What was she going to do? She had no interest in Titanic whatsoever—what was so interesting about learning what a bunch of old dead guys who walked around in stuffy blue suits all day? She didn't know, but she had to do this because she would fail otherwise. And that would be horribly embarrassing for her father, which would probably get her kicked out of the house. She couldn't let that happen.

When she got back into her dorm, which she shared with Jean Sheldon, she thought about the different ways to excuse herself from doing this project, if there were any. She couldn't fake death; it wasn't that serious. She couldn't fake sick; she was a rotten actress and would have to do the report anyway. So what could she resort to?

Meg squealed in delight as an idea popped into her head: Jean! Why, she could just ask Jean to ask somebody who knew somebody whose cousin knew someone a long time ago (it went something like that) to do the work for her! That was it.

Meg found Jean and told her about what Hart was making her do. Jean acted like she was throwing up at the mention of the old guy's name, and then pondered for a moment what they could do.

"I got it!" she said after a minute. "We can go to Skinny Jimmy. He's real good at finding out info on stuff like this, and he'll do it free for us 'cause my brother helped him get out of jail."

How charming. "Sounds like a plan. Can we meet this guy, Skinny Jimmy?"

"Sure. Let's go over to his house—he's always home. You oughta see his house, Meg! Whatever the newest technology is, he has it. His basement is freaking amazing. You just wait till we get there."

Jean drove Meg to Skinny Jimmy's house, which was just off-campus, and Meg was disgusted (though not really surprised) to see that it was a complete and total dump. The bricks were painted yellow, an odd color, and the paint was peeling like it hadn't been done over in five centuries. The shingles on the roof were about as smooth as a wood chopper, and as the front door opened after they knocked on it Meg realized that Skinny Jimmy wasn't much of a sight either. He must've weighed a solid hundred pounds and was about her height, five foot six. It was pretty easy to tell where he'd gotten his name.

"Ah, Jean!" Skinny Jimmy cried, hugging Jean with paper-thin arms. "I was hoping you would come by. And who is this?" he added, looking at Meg. "She looks like a customer."

"She is, Skinny. She has a report to do on the Titanic, and she wants to be able to do it without breaking her leg with work." Jean flashed a half-smirk at Meg. "Right, Meggie?"

"Sure."

They went inside, and Meg was welcomed with the smell of rotten food. There were empty pizza boxes laying all over the floor, and greenish cheese sat molding on the coffee table in the living room. They went right past this, though, and straight to a door that led down some stairs. When they got down there Meg looked around, and was shocked to see what was practically a library of computers—every shape and size, color and name. There was something that looked almost like a time machine from a cheesy eighties time-travel flick, and what surprised her most of all was that it was so clean.

"If you wanna go back to the Titanic," Skinny Jimmy said, "You wanna take these with you." He grabbed a brown backpack off a couch and handed it to Meg, tossing a few books in there as well.

"Whaddya mean go back there?" Meg asked. "I never said I wanted to go back to the Titanic—I just want to get some info on the officers there."

"I'm working on this time-travel machine," Skinny Jimmy whispered, leaning in closer as if he was afraid somebody was trying to eavesdrop, "And I can take you back to the Titanic. You can write the best frigging report that mean old Hart has ever read. All you gotta do is put on this backpack and step into that right there." He pointed to the very thing that Meg had suspected a time machine. "It'll be simple, easy as pie. You don't have a thing to worry about."

Okay, so I have a choice: go back in time to a ship that'll sink within a few days of its first voyage, or quite possibly—probably fail my class. Duh, what an easy choice!

"I'll do it."

She put on the backpack and stepped inside the machine, which was very much like a little circular room. Before Skinny Jimmy shut the door that would entrap her in the little area, he gave her a little leather pouch that had a red flashing button in the middle.

"When you want me to pull you back into this time—which is still simple as pie, by the way—push that red button and you'll come back. But if you lose that thing, you're screwed." He smiled. "Good luck."

He shut the door, and Meg heard the machine whirling and humming some. She bit her lip hard, hoping this wasn't a mistake. It couldn't be, though! She was Meg Fuller, and she was not afraid of anything at all. The humming grew louder, louder, until it was almost screaming in her ears, and then there was a slight tugging sound in her stomach, and Meg Fuller was no longer standing in that time machine.