Chapter 2

I think I'm screaming. I can't hear anything except for the rushing of wind around me. My hair is flying. The bathroom is filled with smoke and clouds.

I feel Miranda grip my arm. I turn my head to the side, but I can't see her through the wind and grit swirling in the air.

The noise escalates until it's a shrill whine echoing through my head.

Tears trickle down my face.

I'mdreamingI'msleepingI'mdyingtheworldisendingstopmakeitstopwhereamiwhat-

And then it's over. I'm standing upright. My eyes are closed; I'm too afraid to open them.

The air is soft and warm. There's no noise except for the sound of chirping birds. My legs feel like jelly, and I'm swaying slightly in the light breeze.

"Kay?" a voice rasps.

Miranda's voice.

I lick my chapped lips. My mouth is bone-dry. "Mandy," I choke out.

"Are your eyes closed?" she coughs softly.

"Yep," I reply.

"Mine, too," Miranda says. We stop speaking. "Should we open our eyes?"

"I don't want to," I say honestly, fear coursing through me.

There is another beat of silence.

"Kay," Miranda says again. "Do you think we're dead?"

"Yes," I manage to whisper.

"Do you think we're in Heaven or something?"

"Yes."

"What happened back there? In the bathroom?"

"I don't know."

"It had something to do with the sink, didn't it? And maybe with the song lyrics, too…" She pauses. "Kay?"

"Still here, Miranda."

"Before… um… before it happened, were you thinking about the bathroom sink?"

"Yes."

"Were you wondering why it was so clean and weirdly out of place in there?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

I want to laugh.

"Mandy," I say.

"Yes?"

"Let's open our eyes now."

I force my eyelids to flutter open. I'm standing in the middle of a cobblestone street. The sky is sunny and blue, with not a cloud in sight. To the side of the road I can spot tall trees, green leaves exploding into wide canopies where bluejays flutter and chirp on their branches.

"Miranda…" I say slowly. "Where are we?"

I look over at my best friend. She glances up at me.

"Do you think we're dead?" she asks me again in confusion.

"I don't think so," I reply uncertainly. What was this place?

"Wait!" Miranda exclaims. She cocks her head. "Listen."

I strain my ears. "I can't hear anyth-"

"Shh!" Miranda shushes me.

I concentrate. Then I hear it.

Two voices. Angrily shouting.

"What's going on, Kay?" Miranda whispers anxiously.

"I'm not sure," I whisper back. The voices are coming from farther up the street.

"Come on," I say. I start to jog, my sneakers clicking softly on the stone road. Miranda follows. Together, we emerge onto a new portion of the street. Then I see them.

In the center of the road, two men stand, face to face. The man on the right is extremely tall. He looks to be about thirty years old, with a scruffy brown beard that sticks out in tufts at the sides. His black eyes are narrowed, and, despite the heat, he's wearing a long trench coat, long slacks, and loafers.

Across from him is a boy, no more than nineteen years old. His thick brown hair is slightly messy and cropped short. He's wearing a thin cotton shirt with a tan jacket slung over it. His black pants are tucked into sturdy boots.

Then I gasp.

Each of them is holding a gun.

"You're finished, Hamilton," the older man spits. "Finished."

The boy smirks. "We'll see about that, Georgie."

"My name is George," the first man growls.

The boy just grins. "Ready?"

And suddenly, I know exactly who they are.

"Miranda," I whisper frantically. I grab her wrist and pull her to the sidewalk, where we duck behind a tree. "That's George Eacker and Philip Hamilton!"

Miranda licks her lips nervously. "Is this… the duel?"

"I think so," I say. My voice trembles. I think hard, back to my history lessons. I think about the Hamilton musical.

"They challenged each other to a duel," Miranda remembers. "And Philip just wants to defend his dad's, Alexander Hamilton's, honor. So he aims at the sky when he shoots, just like his father told him to."

"But Eacker doesn't," I continue. "He aims right at Philip. And his aim is good. And…" I falter, clearing my throat. "Eacker kills Philip in this duel."

"One!" we hear Philip and Eacker shout in unison. Miranda and I look up. They've turned around, their backs pressed against each other. They take a step apart, still turned around.

"Two!" they say again, advancing forward another step.

"They need to be ten paces away from each other before the duel can start," I tell myself. I'm rambling. I'm nervous.

"Three!"

Another step away, still turned away from the other.

"Four!"

"Five!"

"Miranda," I say urgently in a low voice. "We need to stop this duel."

"Six!"

"But- But we can't do that," Miranda stammers. "I- I think- Kay, that sink in the diner pulled us into the past."

"Seven!"

"I know, Miranda, I know," I say. "We're in the past. That means that if we interfere, we're changing history."

"Eight!"

"You've read tons of books, Kay," Miranda tells me. "What if we cause some awful ripple-effect? We can't change history."

She's right. I know she's right. "So… we just need to sit here and watch him die?"

"Nine!"

Miranda's eyes suddenly shine with determination. "No," she says. "We need to stop the duel."

"We're probably going to regret this later, you know," I warn her.

"I know," she sighs. "What should we do?"

"Ten!"

Slowly, slowly, slowly, Philip Hamilton and George Eacker pivot to face one another.

Eacker lifts his gun first.

Philip points his gun to the sky.

"No!" I scream.

Eacker pulls the trigger.