Rachel

The Campbell girls were all asleep. I paced back and forth across their bedroom for at least an hour. I had its eight steps memorized.

Step.

I'm stuck in the 1700's, right in the beginning of the Revolutionary War.

Step.

I'm stuck with Marco.

STEP, step.

I want to go home.

Step. Step. . .Wait.

Revolutionary War. Marco said it. We're here for a reason. The reason is not to play colonial girl and bake bread. The reason we're here has something to do with that war. There's no way we're going to get home if we stick to the Campbell's house.

I grabbed one of Rebecca's dresses out of her armoire and changed into it. Then I tiptoed down the stairs.

Marco was still awake, unfortunately, and was reading a book by candlelight.

He looked at my dress. "Where are you going?" he whispered.

"I want to get out of here," I hissed back at him. "You said it yourself. We're here cause of this war. Now let's go to it."

He stood up and set his book down. I noticed what it was-- The Bible. Marco had been reading the Bible?

"Rachel, it's the middle of the night. We don't even know what's going on with this war. It's not a good idea—"

"I don't care!" I said as forcefully as I could while still keeping my voice down so as not to wake the Campbells. "I want to go home! This century has done enough to me. I want to go home and go shopping and eat pizza and turn on lights and take warm baths. I don't want to wait here so long any chance we had of getting back is gone and I'm forced to live out the rest of my days without electricity."

"I know, I know," Marco said soothingly. "But Rachel, this is just not the-- wait, where are you going?"

I was already heading out the door. He followed after me.

"I'm going to the war. Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"Yes, but, Rachel, this is stupid, it's dark and. . .who's that?"

The last part was said cautiously. At the street there stood a group of young guys, maybe a few years older than Marco and I, it was hard to tell in the dark.

"Hey!" One of them called out to us. "Hey, girl, are you the one?"

"The one what?" I asked. Were they our way out of here? What was going on?

The group of guys stepped closer. There was a strong smell coming off them. Definitely some kind of alcohol. Marco was eyeing them warily.

"The one that was seen going off into the woods with our friend John." A different one said.

My heart started beating faster. In anger.

"Yes, it's a funny thing," the first one continued. "A pretty blonde girl no one's ever seen before goes into the woods with my brother John and later, he's found dead with a scrap of pink dress over his eyes."

"Your brother deserved what he got," Marco said firmly.

"So we go asking around," John's brother continued, his eyes narrowed in fury. "And we find out, there's a pretty blonde girl no one's ever seen before staying with our good neighbor, Mrs. Campbell."

"The old hag." One of the others muttered.

"But have you seen her oldest daughter?"

"So. . ." John's brother said, locking his eyes on me. "The loss of my brother is a great injustice, I think all will agree. Something must be done to even the score. What do you think we should do?"

"I think," I said, not breaking eye contact. "That you don't know who you're messing with. I think you should go home before you get me angry."

"Rachel. . ." Marco began. I shook my head and he stopped.

I felt like if I could stay calm, if I could make this guy go away, then everything that had happened early that day would be a mistake, and maybe not even have happened. If I could be THIS brave, then I couldn't have had something as horrible as THAT happen to me. I remembered my day wrong. Something.

Anything.

I could be brave. I was ALWAYS brave. That's what I was known for, being brave, fearless, reckless. I could do it now.

But oh, God, I was so afraid.

I hated it. The fear was like when you spill something sticky on your arm and it dries there and makes a hard shell. The fear disgusted me, and restricted me, like I couldn't move as much as normal.

I knew I didn't have to do this. I could morph. Fly away into the night and never have to face this.

I wanted to be brave.

I wanted Marco to see me be brave.

I stepped closer to John's brother.

He laughed at me. "What are you going to do, girl?"

"I killed your brother," I said. "I can do the same to you."

He laughed harder. It was a creepy laugh, like a crazy person in a movie. "John was weak. No doubt his weakness for women led to his downfall."

"You can't hurt me."

"Would you care to place a bet on that?"

And he had a gun in his hands suddenly. I didn't know where it came from. I hadn't seen it before. But I knew that now the odds were different. I couldn't out-morph a gun. Now he COULD hurt me. Kill me. Or Marco. Or both.

"Are you going to shoot me?" I asked. Still trying to be brave.

He nodded. "Yes, I think that would be fair, don't you?"

I pointed with my thumb at Marco, who was behind me. "Don't hurt him." I didn't look to see Marco's reaction.

John's brother nodded. He raised his gun to shoot me. I closed my eyes.

And I hit the ground.

BAM!

I opened my eyes.

I was lying sprawled in the dirt. Had I been shot? No, there was no pain, no blood. Then what. . .

Marco lay in front of me in a slowly growing pool of blood. He had. . .shoved me down? Jumped in front of me?

"No," I whispered.

He was dead.

"Stupid boy." John's brother said, kicking Marco's body. "I would have let him live."

Then he reloaded his gun, raised it, and aimed at me.

I waited.