Chapter Two:

Time travel is one weird trip.

First of all, did you know that when you disappear, yes, disappear, as in vanish into thin air, your stomach feels as if it got left behind, your throat feels like paper, your heart pumps so hard it really hurts, and your lungs get all the air squeezed out of them in a single moment, as if you'd been punched?
So next time you feel like vanishing into thin air, put that into consideration.

I was terrified. Absolutely terrified.

a) I had no idea where I was going.

b) I wasn't even sure whether I was travelling back in time

c) Worried about my sanity.

d) Concerned if I was going to die, dying, etc.

In case you haven't noticed, it struck me that Jeanie was one big fat liar. I'd made no wish, said no stupid password, all I'd done was grab the stupid stick.

Chosen or not, that was very unfair.

And somehow, I'd been transported to somewhere else.

The instant I'd grabbed the stick and vanished, I was in limbo. My eyes were blinded by large pinwheels of colour, bright stars, dark tunnels—

It felt like I'd been sucked into a black, plastic bag with paint of every colour, and a giant baby was shaking the bag furiously.

That's exactly what it felt like.

Just in case you're, you know, thinking of visiting limbo, put that into consideration as well.

I don't really know if I was in Limbo. I just cant find another word for it. It seemed endless and quick, colourful and dark, dizzying and still.

As I said, it was terrifying.

If that's what a time tunnel is, next time they offer me one, I'm saying no, thank you.

I could bore you with every confusing detail of the journey, because it adhered to my brain, every bright shape and every confusing area of black tunnel, but I wont.

It went on for a very long time though. Dizzy, spinning shapes, bright, bright colours, so hyp…no…tic…so very, very hypnotic…

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Limbo came to a very sudden, abrupt end.

One second I was flying through a paintbox, the next I was suddenly thrown forward, on something hard, dirty and sticky. I landed flat on my stomach.

I opened my eyes blearily and found myself lying on a sidewalk. It was completely deserted. I tried to get up, feeling dizzy and confused, trying to absorb where I'd been. My clothes were much the same, only dirtier from lying on the sidewalk. I lifted myself up wearily, groaning, and then I looked around.

I had no idea where I was.

I glanced around curiously. The sidewalk was next to a large street with three lanes on one side, and a line of shops and closely-set buildings on the other. It was empty only because it was so early; judging by the grey sky and brisk, cold air, it was probably around six in the morning. I was stunned.

I'd really been transported someplace else!

Which opened a whole new world of possibilities. If Limbo and vanishing and maybe even time travel existed, what else did? Dragons and vampires and magic seemed very possible.

I really hoped centaurs, elves and pixies existed.

And then I started exploring my surroundings, feeling more amazed than I had ever been in my life. I just let it all happen, dream-like. Pausing to examine my situation would only confuse things. I tried to accept it and move on.

I glanced curiously into one of the shops, wondering whether I was on another planet and maybe they sold nuclear rays or something.

But instead, I was very slightly disappointed to see them selling just clothes. The shop I first met was called '' Fashion High'' which wasn't very catchy, but whatever. They advertised 'Jordache' jeans ( which I'd never seen before. Whatever happened to Levi's?) and a bunch of plaid shirts. Big, bulky jackets. Baggy black pants and oversize T-shirts. Tights and leggings and oversized purple blouses.

Maybe I was on another planet.

But then again, they had Chuck Jones All-Stars. My bad, we're still on planet Earth.

The clothes were very odd though. I hadn't seen people wearing that stuff, especially not together, in ages. It was very nineties.

Oh.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I did a little research. Basically, what I did was stare around in shock, and then I noticed a teeny little thing that screamed out at me like a giant neon sign.

A little, plain white sign that read '' Sale on leggings! Buy one get one free! Special offer: Buy one Egyptian cotton Jordache jeans, get one half-price! Hurry! Offer expires March 1st, 1996!''

1996.

Nineteen…ninety…six.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

One thousand nine hundred and ninety-six AD.

The twentieth century.

That was one magical stick.

( and don't ask me why they put the year on the date of a special offer sign. I don't know.)

So here I am, stuck in the last century ( the last millenium, actually). I wasn't even four in nineteen ninety six!

And then I realized my dilemma. I was in 1996, and there was nothing I could do about it.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I decided to try and survive the month. Maybe Jeanie had been right about that. One month, and if I wasn't back by then—

Start looking for little blue ants.

Until then though…what on earth was I going to do?

This was nineteen ninety six. They were already evolved. I couldn't impress them with science, TV, music. They had different tastes. They knew pizza.

Heck, they even knew Madonna and Oprah!

I had a sudden, brilliant idea.

I could work as a fortune teller for celebrities. That'd be great!

But…

Was that really good enough? I'd travelled back in time. I was going to be stuck, not knowing what would happen to me, surviving on my own with no food and water, in a different time. I should make really, really good use of it. I mean, a fortune teller is pretty mediocre compared to what a really innovative person might do. I really wished I was innovative!

Or mildly intelligent, for that matter.

I thought of my iPod, in my pocket. I could introduce them to the iPod, but how would that help? I had no idea how it was made and who to go to, nor how to make use of it. If anything, they'd think I stole it.

I was getting hungry. I remembered last time I'd eaten, when I'd stomped out of the room without food, back home at dinner.

My stomach panged as I thought of my mother. My mother's cooking.

I didn't even waste a thought on Chump, forgive my lack of scruples.

I had a few pounds in my pocket, fortunately not spent yet. I had to walk a few 1996 early-morning blocks before finding a supermarket that was actually open. The scruffy cashier was sleepy-eyed. He barely glanced at the money before stuffing it into the drawer and waving me and my shopping ( a sandwich, a water bottle, a few candy bars and some old-fashioned Pringles) away. I noticed as I left how funny the old Coca-Cola looked. And the old Pepsi.

So far the best idea I'd had was the celebrity-fortune teller.

I walked some more absently, until I reached a fancy, five-star hotel. I glanced at it wistfully, then at the quarter I had left.

Yeah, I wish.

And then I saw the homeless shelter opposite the hotel. It was brand-new, clearly just built with the money of fancy fundraisers. A simple but clean, neat building.

I debated going in, feeling awkward. A homeless shelter. Ma would kill me.

But it was a pretty homeless shelter! And I was homeless!

Ma would kill me for saying that too, but we all know I don't actually care.

So I walked forward, stepping into the shelter's front garden and up the front steps. The wooden door was plain and inexpensive, but the welcome mat actually read '' Welcome!''

instead of '' Go away!'' or '' Buzz off!'' which I took as a good omen.

I rang the bell.

A few minutes later a sleepy-eyed woman with frizzled hair opened the door and stared at me.

'' Uh. I need a place to stay,'' I said nervously, initiating conversation. She frowned at me, trying to work her sleepy brain. At least, that's what I assumed she was doing.

'' Why?''

Aren't homeless shelters supposed to take you as you are? What was with the third degree? Okay, maybe not that much, but you get what I mean.

'' Because I've got no home for a bit,'' I answered hesitantly.

'' Oh, a runaway?'' she asked, understanding spreading on her face. She had one strong British accent.

'' Er—''

'' Come right in!''

'' Um, okay,'' I muttered and followed her into the shelter. Being myself, I did not stop to think about it, as usual. It was a shelter, for heaven's sake. I had a good excuse to feel reassured!

A big mistake, as it happened.

But Frizzy led me down a plain, clean corridor, and to a wooden door labelled Number Eight. I liked eight. Another good omen. Another mistake on my part.

She opened the door without much ado, except for the door squeaking a bit, and as it swung open I saw the inside. It was a big, airy, rectangular room, with the same theme as the rest of the place, which was Plain Yet Clean ( quite the interior design fashion statement ) and well-lit, thanks to a large window at the far end. There were dozens of beds, bunk beds and single beds alternating, with tables between each two. There were blankets and pillows as extras at the foot of each unoccupied bed, and a cupboard next to window, possibly with more supplies. In the far right corner, there were no beds, but a little fridge and stove, with a large table and several chairs. It was a pretty cool room for something free. Back home, the homeless shelter had been so run-down even homeless mice had turned their nose up at it.

Although, now that I think about it, that could be this shelter in a decade or so.

'' Here you go, precious,'' said Frizzy sleepily.'' You can stay here until we see about your situation. Feel free to bag a bed, and there's some food at the fridge over there, you can sit with the rest if you don't feel like sleeping. You can take supplies—we've got blankets and pillows and tins and warmers if you desperately need them, or if you'd rather help as much as you can, you can pay for them, depending on the amount of money you've got. You'll have to register anything you're going to take, though. And we'll need a name and some information later, as you're a minor. I wont bother you about it now, though, you can rest a bit until we see. Don't think of trying anything illegal though, you wont believe the security measures we've got…''

Yeah. Like the latest inventions. VCR and CCTV. Maybe even…a laptop! Whoa. Gosh, if I were a criminal I'd be quivering in my shoes, I mean, how would I ever get past that?

'' …and that's about all, precious. If you need anything else we've got round-the-clock people and volunteers, or you can just come to me at the desk. Same if you need to use the telephone. All set?''

I nodded mutely. I was trying to think of a polite way to get her off calling me precious. I know she meant well, but the word always seemed to imply sarcasm when used to refer to me. She smiled back at me, her eyes still droopy, and I went inside and she closed the door after me.

There weren't too many people there. I assumed there were other rooms, because this one seemed mainly for women, and their young, young children, or girls. Some of the women appeared to be pretty poor, wrapped up in a zillion layers and filching all the extra blankets. The rest were moderate, run-down, tired, broke or lost. Most of them were sleeping, still, but one of the few with children was awake, gorging herself at the fridge and stove. I smelled eggs.

Almost instantly – I am fairly impulsive, being led by my stomach – I changed direction and made a beeline for the little corner with the table and edibles, instead of a bed. I still had the food I'd got at the supermarket, so I decided to eat first and rest later. Both actions would were necessary and would require no thinking, which was great for me. Thinking about being in the nineties with only my wits ( I was so dead ), a strange person's word and a quarter, depending on a stick, would not be good for my mental health. I really wanted to move past that. It was proving to be very hard though. The longer I stayed without absorbing it, the weirder I felt. And God knows I can afford to feel any weirder than I already am. Not that my clumsiness would increase, we all know that's impossible, but I could end up in a nineties asylum.

I sat at the table, trying to politely ignore the woman and the several little kids littering the area – who knew, being polite and ignoring someone at the same time is really hard – and pulled my sandwich, water, and a candy bar. I'd save the rest of them, half the water, and the Pringles for later.

Food tastes pretty much the same in the past.

I was happily chewing through my sandwich when a small child, the sort I do my best to avoid, since they are either loud, hyperactive, or obnoxious, and usually all three, came and sat down next to me. He was pretty little, probably seven at most, with light brown hair and big blue eyes, wearing no-label jeans and a huge red jacket with an even huger smile. I put the remaining half of my sandwich down and eyed him warily.

'' Hello,'' he said enthusiastically. I worked on trying to look unfriendly and polite at the same time, which was, again, quite hard. But I had no intention of making any nineteen-sixty-nine friends, like it or not. This little guy was probably old by my time. What a headache.

'' Hi,'' I said curtly. He didn't take the hint, unfortunately.

'' I'm Mickey,'' he said cheerfully.'' What's your name?''

I was sorely tempted to say Minnie, but I held my tongue. I was busy trying to work out whether personal information counted for anything in 1996 and whether or not I should tell a teeny little boy anything and what the consequences might be. The amount of thinking I'd done in the past few hours was starting to hurt my brain.

'' Um…Lara,'' I said at last. He beamed at me. I looked back sullenly.

'' I'm nine years old,'' he said proudly. I registered two things with this statement. One was either he was lying about his age, suffered from stunted growth, or he was one really small guy for his age. And the other was that he had a British accent too. Odd.

'' So how old are you?'' he asked after a pause when I didn't offer my age, as it seemed I was supposed to do.

'' What's with all the questions?'' I muttered at last, having succeeded in intensifying my headache by wondering whether or not I should answer that. I had no idea how old I was anymore. How old was I really, in this time, or how old I was back at home? And had Limbo affected my age any? Honestly. Not thinking this through was just so much simpler!

'' What's with—? Oh, nothing!'' he said in an injured tone after a few second's contemplation of my sentence, as if I had hurt his pride.'' I was just trying to be friendly. You know. Nice me.''

'' Very well then,'' I said slowly, and returned to my sandwich, slightly relieved. He was silent for some time, then, apparently unable to hold himself in, burst out:

'' Could I have a bit of that sandwich? Or a candy bar?''

I knew it!

'' Look, Mickey,'' I said, looking up regretfully from my food. I had wanted to say something along the lines of No, This Is Food, I Do Not Part With Food, but his expression stopped me short. Wobbly lip and the big eyes. Dang. I'm a sucker for the wobbly lip and big eyes.

I heaved a huge sigh. Then I unwrapped the rest of my sandwich and tore off a fairly sizeable portion from the end, and handed it to him. His eyes lit up gleefully. I heaved another huge sigh and pushed a candy bar towards him. His smile grew even wider, and he positively glowed. I, on the other hand, was not glowing but glowering. I knew I couldn't help my own generosity, but I really had to do something about my weakness for puppy faces.

'' Fanks!'' he declared delightedly through a mouthful of food. I nodded miserably.

'' It's no…'' I mumbled, letting my voice trail off before I could lie. I know, I know, I'm selfish. We should have gotten past that by now. I chewed the rest of my food thoughtfully, observing his face. He seemed happy enough, naturally, but I detected a trace of…what was it? Pleasure…no, triumph.

Triumph. He'd been planning this!

'' You didn't plan on this, did you?'' I asked carefully, studying his expression. He froze in mid-bite, staring at me with big eyes.

'' Plan wha' ?'' he inquired innocently, chewing, but I saw the little sparkle of mischief. I had long since been accustomed to recognizing it on Chump. I saw it on Mickey.

'' You know,'' I said casually.'' Coming to sit next to me so you could grab a bit of my food?''

If I had expected more denial, I was disappointed.

He snorted through a mouthful of food—my food.'' What did you expect? I'd come over for the pleasure of your company?''

Why the little—!

'' Why you little—'' I cried, hushing my outraged tones quickly before I woke up everyone asleep on the beds.

'' Little genius?'' he suggested, grinning.'' Little brilliant schemer, you? Little—''

'' How about very little nine-year-old?'' I offered vindictively. His grin slid off like water. He glared at me.

'' I'm not little,'' he said determinedly in a very long-suffering tone.'' I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet, that's all.''

'' Sure you haven't,'' I said in my most irritating fashion. At last, something I excelled at.

'' Okay, get over it,'' he snapped, rolling his eyes.'' It's no use holding a grudge over a bit of stale sandwich and expired Snickers—''

'' Easy for you to say, Mickey Mouse!'' I said, flaring up instantly.'' You just took it by tricking me, playing my sympathy and generosity, I bought it, with the last of my money, huh, and all I've got left is a quarter—''

Amazingly, I finally managed to appeal to my self-pity, and I felt tears pricking my eyelids. They do say self-pity brings tears fastest to the eyes. I'd been fairly surprised myself that I hadn't started bawling sooner, seeing my current situation and all. So I started, to my embarrassment, crying, right in front of a most astonished Mickey.

'' Hey,'' he said uncomfortably.'' Hey, look, mate, it's okay, I can scrounge up some money—''

'' It's not just that,'' I sniffled pathetically. He winced.'' It's everything. I'm stuck here and…''

'' Oh, no!'' he interrupted hastily, jumping back with his chair a good three inches. I gave a startled choke.'' Don't you start one of those I'm-so-sorry-for-me speeches, oho, I know those. You wouldn't believe how many I hear a day in this place. They go on forever, and everyone's more depressed than the next – why don't you have yourself a good cry without the rant?''

Whoa, he stopped me ranting and he doesn't even know me. Smart kid.

'' But it's so hopeless!'' I wailed. He reached over to the Kleenex in the middle of the table we were seated at and handed me a tissue gingerly. I blew my nose loudly. Several people on the beds grunted, and I scowled at them. Whoever they were.'' I mean, the little blue ant in the dream didn't say this would happen, and I only touched the stick, I never—''

'' Hey!'' yelped Mickey.'' Time out, time out! What did I say about the ranting?''

I glared at him.'' You're a terrible listener, Tiny. After filching my food, you should be more sympathetic than this.''

'' Listen, Lara,'' he began, then giggled at his alliteration.'' I am a terrible listener, I concede. Oh, I say! You know what? I'll make it up with my talking. I'm a dang good talker. You should give listening a try. Know what else I'm really good at? Irony and sarcasm. Combined with my talking skills, that makes me pretty cool.''

I was furious. Appalled. He'd just robbed my favourite skill.

'' I don't think so, Stuart Little!'' I retorted.'' There can be only one talker in this conversation, and that'd be me. I have no intention of listening to you, nor enjoying your ' irony and sarcasm' – '' I made little finger quotes around the words, the effect slightly ruined by the tissue I was clutching '' – so we better get that clear. And for the record, you don't talk like a nine year old one bit.''

I hadn't intended to include that part in my insults, because it was more flattering than belittling, which was not the intended goal – flattering, that is – but it slipped out.

'' I know,'' he said seriously and smugly at the same time.'' I'm pretty mature for my age, I hear. Y'see, I'm an orphan, and I've been living alone for a really long time, even before the shelter, so learning to depend on myself made me older than my years, and then when the shelter opened I became a regular, visiting and staying every now and then while eluding authorities, so I wouldn't get thrown into some orphanage and stuff – I've become pretty good at getting food and money off people, as you very well know – big eyes and wobbly lip, works every time – sometimes I even find people my own age and make friends, that's usually fun, oh, I say, there was this one time when—''

I groaned and plunked my head onto the table, having finished what Mickey had spared of my sandwich. Then I started banging my forehead on the table repeatedly, over and over. Now, most people would take that as a sign that their chattering is unwelcome and unacknowledged. Not Mickey though, oh, no. Even though he claimed to hate rants, he was a master of the discipline of ranting himself, even if he was not proclaiming his self-pity. He went on and on while I managed to gain a lump the size of Mt. Everest ( the usual ) on my forehead. Great. We were both talkers and we were both ranters. It seemed obvious to me that we should not be communicating, or making any contact whatsoever.

Apparently, Mickey did not share that belief.

Finally, I couldn't take it any more.

'' Look, Little, Tiny, Small, Itty, Mouse, whatever they call you,'' I blurted after ten minutes' intense talking on his part.'' My ears are melting. I have to go sleep now. You'll be okay, right?''

He looked miffed, whether at my words or my interruption I do not know.'' Huh. I survived three years all by myself, what makes you think I'd stop now? Go, go.''

'' Great!'' I announced in relief, then quickly amended myself at his injured expression.'' I mean. Gosh, we'll have to continue that later, wont we, Mick? Bye, then!''

'' Yeah,'' he said unenthusiastically, muttering under his breath,'' I have better things to do anyway. Catch you later, Lara.''

I stumbled off the chair and headed for the farthest bed possible. I finally found one where I hoped he wouldn't be able to spot me, and after hurriedly pulling the extra blanket onto it, and fluffing up the pillows, crawled underneath the covers, fully dressed, and feeling stranger than I'd ever been in my life. It seemed unreal.

Three seconds later it was unreal, because I was asleep and dreaming.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I had the oddest dream. Give a guess what I dreamed about.

Come on. Your wildest guess.

If you said ' Jeanie' you win!

Yes. I dreamed about the little blue genie girl that had gotten me into this whole mess in the first place. Missus Jeanie the Genie, She in Charge Of the Timeline, as she claimed. Or One Of Ye in Charge Of the Timeline.

Well, whoever they are, they dost be in biggeth troubleth.

I dreamed I was back in my garden. Right where I'd first met her. Jeanie looked really, really uncomfortable.

Good. I hoped she was incredibly uncomfortable. She deserved it!

( What can I say? I tend to harbour grudges. )

'' Well?'' I demanded. I was pretty sure it was all a dream, but still, it felt pretty real, like that first time.

'' I'm sorry, Lara,'' said Jeanie somberly. I scowled. Fat lot of good 'sorry' was about to do.

'' Sorry?'' I repeated with extreme scorn. She scowled back. Apparently being humble had cost her a lot of swallowed pride.

Well, good, I though savagely.

'' There was a…mistake,'' she said reluctantly. My heart dropped like a stone. Mistake? Apart from the obvious one, which was me being stuck in '96, what else was there? Please, please, please don't tell me I'm going to be stuck back in time with only Mickey's Irony and Sarcasm as company, and have to ration my quarter to live and…

'' Mistake?'' I squeaked, my voice several octaves higher than a mouse's.'' What sort of mistake?''

'' We in charge of the timeline accidentally gave you a faulty trigger,'' said Jeanie. She was sulking. Obviously, admitting she had made a mistake to a moron like me must be horribly dangerous to her self-esteem and pride. Well, sorry.

'' Trigger, eh?'' I echoed, my voice still squeakier than ever. Uh-oh. Why, why, why is it my luck to get the botched stuff? Why couldn't I get a perfectly functioning 'trigger'?

'' Yes, trigger,'' snapped Jeanie impatiently, looking relieved that she could yell at me for something.'' You don't have to repeat everything I say. Honestly—''

I would take a moment to note that had I not been quaking in apprehension, I would have said, quite indignantly, '' Honestly yourself! You're the one who made a mistake and put my life on the line!''

'' –a trigger,'' she went on, oblivious to my inward skepticism,'' is the device that takes you back in time. In your case, the stick. Other times, it may be a time machine or precious stone of some sort, etcetera. Nobody can go back in time unless we in charge of the—''

'' Yeah, yeah, you in charge of the timeline, I get it,'' I interrupted nastily. She glared at me. But that's how she usually looked at me anyway.

'' –we in charge of the timeline issue them a trigger,'' she continued.'' There was something wrong with yours. Normally a chosen one cannot go back ill-informed. I needed at least a few more meetings with you before you went back. If you remember, I did not get time to finish my instructions the last time we met. As it was, the trigger/stick sent you back the instant you touched it, even without the voice-activated password. And until we find the extent of the damage your journey made, you're going to stay here. You're lucky you ended up in a civilized time at all. Now you have an excellent chance to make use of your stay in the past, seeing the opportunities offered in February one-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-six AD. Particularly with—'' she coughed. I'd been trying to keep my eyes open when she hesitated.

I leaned forward with interest.

'' With what, yes?'' I said curiously. The date was February then. Better remember that. She flushed slightly.

'' I was going to say,'' she said awkwardly,'' particularly with six months to accomplish them in. That's the maximum limit of any time travel we authorize. Even if we don't work out the problem, you will be removed from this place within six months. It's only supposed to last one month though, so we'll be trying to fix it, and we're hoping we can, although it seems unlikely since the damage has already been done—''

'' Six months?'' I repeated after her in shock, despite her earlier warning.'' The damage—? What?''

'' Well, you've already been sent back, to a different time and place, so there's the damage,'' explained Jeanie with great unease.'' You were supposed to choose that yourself, not to mention the one-month timing. Now we'll be working hard to try and fix the stick so you can go back before six months, the regulation limit, but usually journeys are irreversible and unchangable once they begin, until the six months end, but we shall see. I'm sorry about this, Lara. You were chosen to gain—''

I instantly pricked my ears up. Why was I chosen now?

But Jeanie fell silent suddenly, as though she'd heard something.

'' Oh, not again!'' she groaned, and glared at me as usual, as though whatever it was was somehow my fault.'' We've run out of time. I'll tell you the rest later. Until then, try to make use of your stay and doooooo—''

Her voice faded away as someone started shaking me roughly, just as last time, and the garden disappeared, as I opened my eyes fuzzily to the shelter's interior. Frizzy was leaning over me, waking me up with a big smile on her face.

'' Hello, precious!'' she said sweetly.'' Had a good sleep? Goody, goody. Time to wake up now. We're going to need your personal information. Social Services and ChildCare Inc. – our sponser – are here to check on you! We've also got Runaway Services and Healthcare center around, in case you need them. Shall we begin?''

Oh, great.