This chapter's official song: "Nobody Told Me" by John Lennon

"Shit." Daniel was staring at the dashboard.

"What?" I peered over his shoulder, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"We're out of gas." Daniel pointed at the fuel gauge. It was indeed on E.

"That sucks monkey balls. Where are we, then?"

"It says…1974. Aren't we in the middle of the fuel crisis?"

I checked the timeline book. "Yup. See, 1974—America is in the throes of a fuel crisis. Meanwhile, on the political front—"

"Watergate, I know." Daniel shook his head. "It's going to take us days to find enough gas to start up the car."

"But we're in England," I protested. "There wasn't any fuel crisis there."

"What are you talking about? If there's not enough gas in America, there's not going to be enough anywhere." Daniel got out of the car and looked around.

"I think it was an economic thing—" But Daniel was already striding off. I followed him. "Daniel, where are we?"

"Carnaby Street. If I remember what I read in that Abbie Hoffman book you gave me, there's a really famous crash pad around here." He walked up to a door and knocked a complicated pattern on it.

The door opened. "Who're you?"

"Just a couple of time travelers. Our ride ran out of gas, so we're stuck in '74."

"Yeah, whatever. Come on in."

We climbed up a set of creaking stairs to a huge loft. The walls were painted with rainbow designs, and there were cushions and overstuffed beanbag chairs scattered all over. It was sort of dark, and at first I couldn't tell who was there.

John Lennon waved at us. "Hey, it's the girl from Yoko's exhibition!"

I was amazed. "You remember me?"

"Sure I do! I wrote a song about you. It's called "Yoko's Invisible Hammer". Sit down, why don't you? These are my friends. Davie, Jimmy, Roger—but call him Pink. And Mick is probably in the bathroom, so don't go in there for a while."

I sat down on an empty chair. "Great to meet you guys. Um, this is my boyfriend Daniel."

Daniel was gaping at the assorted rock stars that sat around the room. "Wow. Hi."

"He's cute," said David Bowie. "Hey Dan, come sit over here, eh?"

"Weren't you listening? That's his girlfriend over there. How would you feel if some chick stole your…um…" Jimmy Page squinted at him. "Your guitar," he finished.

"Come off it, sweetheart," Bowie said.

Daniel looked petrified. "I, ah, should check with…"

I waved him off. "Go ahead, if you want."

"You heard the girl." Bowie pulled Daniel onto his lap and started nuzzling his neck. "Looks a little bit like you when you were younger, Lennon."

"I got enough of that from Eppie, all right?" John carefully lit up a joint. "Mick's been in there for a half hour already. Someone want to drag him out before he drowns in the toilet?"

I was just soaking it all in. Five of the most influential musicians of the 20th century in the same room, and I was right there with them. It was amazing.

Page got up and stuck his head in the bathroom door. "You all right, Mick?"

"Bleeeeeeeah." The sexy, virile, swivel-hipped lead singer of the most dangerous rock band in history stumbled out of the bathroom covered in his own vomit.

"Good, he's out." Bowie dragged my boyfriend into the bathroom. "Don't worry, I won't hurt him."

I listened to the stars talking. "I have the greatest respect, I mean that most sincerely," I told them all. "You guys are just fantastic—that is really what I think. And by the way, which one is Pink?"

Roger Waters blew up. "I told you not to call me that! I told you guys, you are not supposed to call me that! Who told her to call me that?"

I cringed. "Sorry," I said.

"Eh, it's okay. Come on in, dear girl, have a—have a joint, won't you? There's plenty to go around."

I shook my head. "I'd rather not."

"Why not?" asked Jimmy Page.

I shrugged. "Well, I never found a use for it. Some of my friends take it to enhance experiences, but what's the difference if you're high or not? The song remains the same."

"So it does." Jimmy nodded as if I had just said something very significant.

"You know what I wish?" John asked suddenly. "I wish George was here."

"What happened to him?"

"What, you don't know? He hooked up with Yoko from the art show. She got him started on heroin a few years ago, and he died the first time he tried it. Poor ol' George never did have much of a tolerance for drugs." John wiped a tear from his eye.

I tried very hard to ignore the cold feeling that had settled in my stomach. It was just occurring to me that messing around with time might have some effects that I hadn't anticipated.

Roger Waters sat up in his overstuffed chair. "So, you said you're a time traveler. What time are you from, exactly?"

"Um…2003."

Nobody seemed to be very surprised. I guess when you're stoned to the gills, little things are amazing and big things are humdrum.

"So what's it like then?" Mick asked.

"Well," I began, "there's this thing called the Internet…"

"That's not what he wants to hear about," interrupted Jimmy. "What happened to us?"

Mick glared at him. "You egotistical turd!"

John leaned forward. "Come on, I want to hear about this."

I gulped. "John, you're…um…Why don't we start with Mick, alright? Mick, you and the Stones are still touring. Roger, your music spawns an entire generation of electronica, which leads to ravers and stupid nightclubs that flash lights all over the place. And, um, John. You're dead. As far as I know."

John seemed to take this information very much in stride. "Aren't we all, all of us."

"No, I mean, dead. In 1980. Some nut with a gun killed you. There was…it was on TV! People were lighting candles and putting flowers on the spot where you died, and Yoko…" Another thing occurred to me: I didn't know what the future was like anymore. The one thing we did to change the past may have affected the future so badly that I wouldn't even recognize it. The very thought of it freaked me out—wait, maybe that was just the marijuana fumes.

Jimmy Page looked worried. "Am I dead? I hope I'm not dead. I don't really want to be dead."

"I'm pretty sure you're not dead," I assured him.

The door to the bathroom burst open. David Bowie poked his head out. "Uh…we need some help in here…"

I bolted up. "Shit. What happened?"

The rockstars rushed into the bathroom as Bowie babbled. "Honestly, we weren't even doing that much! He just fainted, his eyes rolled up in his head and he went fwump all over the floor. Is he dead? If he's dead we'd have to call someone…"

I shook Daniel's shoulder. He was lying on the floor, his hair spread out around him. His breathing was regular.

It struck me that he hadn't had anything to eat since half a cup of weak tea that afternoon. That must have been why he was being so unreasonable about the fuel crisis.

"It's okay, I know what's wrong. He's a diabetic. We just have to find his insulin…" Which we hadn't brought. Shit.

I rummaged in my purse until I found a PEZ candy. I crumbled it up and dropped it into his mouth. "God, please let this work…"

After a few minutes, Daniel blinked his eyes. "What the…"

The rockstars around me cheered. "All right! He's alive. We were worried about you, mate."

Daniel sat up. "We have to go home. Now."

"What? Why? What's wrong?"

"I had another out-of-body experience." Daniel has those sometimes, when he's sleeping or otherwise unconscious. "We have to go back to 2003. Now. It is very important. Something dreadful has occurred."

"What—" But Daniel was pulling my arm. As we headed down the stairs, I waved to the rock stars. "Bye, guys. See ya later."

They waved to me. "G'bye…See you…Ta, luv."

Daniel hustled me into the car and popped the clutch.

"It's a good thing that gas station was open," I said, trying to make conversation.

"We've got to get back. Something really bad has happened because we've been messing around with time."

"If something bad has happened, maybe we shouldn't go back," I said.

"But we have a responsibility to fix it."

"But if the bad thing that's happened is something big, we might not be able to fix it."

"We can always go back in time after we see what it is."

"What I mean is, what if the big thing that happened…What if it's World War III or something, and we all die from radiation poisoning the second we get out of the car, or the engine is disabled or something? Then we wouldn't be able to go back in time and fix it," I reasoned.

"Don't you want to see what happened?" Daniel asked. "I mean, we've just completely messed up the timeline. We should at least go see what happened."

Appealing to my curiosity never fails. I sat quietly as Daniel drove toward the present, dreading the future.