Note: When reading this story, completely ignore Small Steps. I haven't read it, so if something in my story disagrees with something in Small Steps, don't rush to complain.

Back when my life was normal… actually, it would probably be correct to say my life has never been normal. I've always been a little different. I'm a geek. You can see it in my face. It's a stereotypical geek image – you know, the glasses, nicely combed hair, white shirt, tie, et cetera. Well, I'm only dressed up nice because my parents demand it of me. And the only reason I wear glasses is because I got hit by a foul ball at a Rangers game a while back and it pretty much shattered my left eye. Edward Fitzgibbons, the plastic surgeon from LA, offered me a free facelift to help the cause against stereotypes. I thought long and hard about that one, but when I finally decided to go ahead with it, Fitzgibbons was in court. Before I knew it he was on death row. But he's since escaped, so there's still some hope.

Anyway, the really big reason why I was abnormal was my time travel aspirations. Well, okay, everyone wants to travel through time, if only to hide from the teacher who makes life hard. But I had the scientific knowhow, the mechanical knowhow, and an A in history. And I always knew I could do it. My sole problem was that building a time machine is exactly as hard as it sounds.

The science terms sound Martian, so I'll try and keep it simple. Basically, you need assorted everything twisted together in a weird style that causes something called "khiloash". The name (which I made up) comes from a Native American language with no remaining speakers and translates roughly to "confusion". Did I mention I'm a geek?

The glacier carved up my life on the sixth of February. Everyone in Hershey Farms Rapids – maybe even everyone in Texas– was intently focused on Valentine's Day, so things were a little crazy. Alyssa Chamberlain was throwing all that was in her at Justin Bozeman. Nicolas Lindberg had a dozen girls clinging onto him because they all bet on the horse he owned to win the big race – I never figured that one out. As for me, I had to decide between Darlene Vanderyajt and Annabel Kristiansen. Some choice.

I was more focused on the time machine anyway, so at lunch I invited the two girls down to Old Man Stratford's old barn, where I'd been testing my khiloash. The girls agreed, although in retrospect I realize they both wrapped up the day with Mr. Lafontaine, and needed an excuse to avoid being held after school, which was what usually happened to anyone who breathed in the presence of the science teacher who should have been a drill sergeant.

So that afternoon inside Old Man Stratford's abandoned barn to work on my khiloash with the girls. Annabel showed first, wearing a plain white T-shirt and some jeans. She looked ready to work, so I tried to explain how the thing worked. She took it in stride, but something told me she had better things to do, like move up on the Hershey Farms Rapids Memorial High School food chain. I couldn't blame her.

As we tested new possibilities of things to tweak in order to break the time barrier, I couldn't help but notice an absence. Where was Darlene? She was supposed to be at the barn. My mind darted about, dreaming up horrific possibilities about what might have happened to her…

Annabel interrupted: "What if we only put one wire in the tube instead of two?"

I sensibly explained to her that it was doomed to fail, but she wouldn't listen. She yanked one of the wired out, cast it aside, made the proper movements to activate the khiloash, and stood back.

Something sparked. That was a good sign. Then the device in front of us began to emit something purple, with a scent like rotten eggs. I knew exactly what to do in this situation: get out of the barn as quickly as possible.

"Annabel, run!" I called, already halfway toward a hole someone blew in the wall – I think it was me. As I leaped out of the doomed structure, I looked back and saw a horrible sight: Annabel lying on the ground, holding her right leg in pain. I thought of trying to help her, but I knew there was no time.

An explosion came from the time machine, felling the old rickety barn. There were pieces of wood everywhere. My parents found out about it pretty much instantaneously, because the next thing I knew, I was being dragged home.

Four days later, on February tenth, I heard that Annabel Kristiansen had been killed in the explosion. On February eleventh, I heard that Darlene Vanderyajt had also been killed in the explosion. I had hoped she was just late, and I figure that was true. But then it wasn't possible.

I knew I was probably going to jail, so you can imagine my relief when the judge said there was another option. He said something about Camp Green Lake, though I forget the exact details. It took about two seconds to make up my mind: anything was better than jail. Let that other kid, Yell-gnats, go to jail. Glen Schindler has other plans.

After packing the essentials, Mom told me that the judge told her I was allowed to bring along one other thing. I immediately ran down to the remnants of Old Man Stratford's barn. My – well, okay, Annabel's – failed attempt at a time machine was still lying there, so I picked it up and lugged it home to pack.

I'm not even sure why I brought it along. It was in horrible condition. I knew it was useless, and it had caused me nothing but problems. But I took it to Camp Green Lake anyway, probably on the hunch that it would come in handy.

In retrospect, I guess it did.