Stuart couldn't imagine how he had ever gotten by without time travel.

As spring progressed and his sixth grade year dwindled, he found himself Jumping nearly every day. First and foremost, he made sure that he always got a full night's sleep. Although he had the coordinates in spacetime for The Hilbert Hotel, he never went back. The impossible architecture of that surreal realm had troubled him since his elevator explorations, some months ago on his subjective time scale. Nor was he comfortable with the possibility of encountering Moon Child, or one of the many uptime versions of Darren or Hillary or even himself. Many times, he would Jump to Neo Philadelphia (as the chrononauts had dubbed it) and sleep in his new home. Darren's father had already moved to the new dimension and established their beachhead. The group, which they had already begun to think of as The Consortium, owned a large plot in the suburbs, on which four lavish homes waited.

Once, Darren had invited all of them out to his pastoral world. Stuart could only marvel at how far the youth had come since the gangly, awkward child who wore a cape to school every day. Maybe he was making a last-ditch effort to usurp the diaspora to his chosen domain, but then again maybe he simply wanted to show his friends the world that had stolen his heart – and they had become very good friends indeed. At the start of sixth grade, the four of them had been friends: familiar faces with some common interests. Since then, their worlds had turned over a couple of times, and they had stuck together through it. They had bonded tightly when they discovered Cory's World, and each of them struggled to make sense of the new reality. In the crucible of Moon's classroom, they had solidified into a whole with four distinct parts. Stuart didn't know how many crazy turns life would throw at him, but he knew he had friends to see him through any obstacle.

As the month of May advanced, there was no denying that the friends were thriving. Stuart greeted each day well rested and eager. By the time his mother awoke, he always had a large breakfast waiting, usually with flowers. She must surely have wondered where the beautiful blooms came from or where he found all his energy, but she never asked. He looked forward to attending school, where he could antagonize Cory and flirt shamelessly with Topanga. It made him smile to think that Feeny, that mad old coot, had once scared him; he now enjoying riling up the teacher as much as the favorite, curly-haired student.

Even so, he watched the madman diligently for any sign of illness.

On a Friday, a couple of weeks removed from the end of the term, he arrived at school early. He often entered the classroom as much as an hour before the start of class, giving himself the chance to read in peace or write a love poem for Topanga in the stillness of the empty room. On that day, however, there was already someone waiting for him. Sitting on Stuart's desk, wearing blue jeans and a flannel hoodie over a red shirt, was the eponymous star of the show.

"Hey there, Stuart," the youth said casually. "I thought I might find you here."

Stuart reached back to scratch his head out of reflex, before realizing that the usual itch was gone. "Hi Cory," he muttered. He stepped into the room carefully, slipping his backpack off his shoulder and letting it fall to the floor. He remained standing warily at the end of the central aisle, separated from the other boy by the span of four desks. There was something very strange going on here, beyond the fact that Cory was calling him by his first name.

A pregnant pause ensued.

"So… today's the big day, huh?" Cory said too loudly. He was smiling brightly, as if the invisible cameras were rolling even then.

Stuart considered this. "The geography exam?"

Cory's face fell. "Yeah," he said, sounding dejected. "Yeah, the geography test. I just… came to school an hour early to say `Good luck '."

"Um, thanks."

Cory got to his feet, bobbing his head a little, and slipped into the next aisle over. With long strides, he crossed the room and approached the door.

Neither Stuart's wariness nor his personal dislike for this boy could hold his curiosity in check. "Wait." He turned around slowly to see Cory standing in the doorway, an intense expression etched on his boyish features. His childish demeanor, however, was absent. There was seriousness and weight in Cory's gaze, along with something that looked suspiciously like anger. "What did you mean about the big day?" Stuart asked.

"Oh, that? Mr. Feeny is out sick today."

Stuart took a deep breath. "And you know that because… you're his neighbor?"

Cory shook his head. "Nope. He's not sick, not really, he's just staying home today. Yesterday, I wished him to get sick so we wouldn't have to take the geography test today. So when he actually gets sick, I can have a minor emotional crisis and come to realize that I actually care about him, a little bit."

"Oh." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"We'll probably have a touching scene together in the hospital and maybe even a reunion in his garden, complete with a classic George Feeny garden metaphor."

Stuart tried to maintain eye contact with Cory, but his gaze kept dropping. "You can tell the future? You know what will happen before it happens?"

Cory barked out a mirthless laugh. "No, of course not, Stuart. But even I can observe patterns."

"How long have you known?"

Cory shrugged. "I don't think I can really answer that question. Maybe you figured it all out in a blinding flash of inspiration – I don't know. I think it came on me gradually, you know? I always felt… a little different than others, but I never… I don't know. Maybe it's just feels different, standing where you are, rather than where I am."

"I bet it does," Stuart conceded.

"Well, before too long, I was pretty sure, you know? And I went to talk to George about it… oh, around the time that Shawn blew up that mailbox. He's… been a lot of help to me. It's kinda funny. He's nothing like his character in real life, you know?"

"I do, actually," Stuart agreed.

"And I'm not really the same Cory Matthews that everyone sees on t.v.-"

"I'm beginning to see that."

"But ol' George and I have kind of the same relationship we have on the show. He's kind of my teacher all the time. Anyway… " Cory let out a long, slow breath, as if trying to get out something difficult . "George is out today, so it's the last episode of the season, right? And I guess you're on your way out. I know we have some on-air antagonism going on, but it's not personal for me. At all. I think you're a pretty alright guy, Stuart, and I'll miss you. I meant what I said earlier – I just came by to tell you good luck."

"So, you know about that? About the wormholes and the alternate dimensions? All of it?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, George told me about it."

"George? You mean Mr. Feeny?" Stuart gasped, looking around the room in terror, as if the madman might have crawled through the window and snuck up on him. "How does he know?"

Cory snickered. "Come on, you know better than that. You're the precocious preteen genius, right? Well, George is the all-knowing teacher," Cory explained. "Actually, that may be literally true. He might be omniscient. Maybe that's why he's a little nutty."

"Well, that's… disturbing," Stuart mumbled, stewing the implications in his head.

"So, right. Good bye and good luck and all that," Cory said, running his hand through his hair nervously. He stepped forward and extended his hand. "It's been nice knowing you. Maybe you can come back and visit sometime."
Stuart shook his hand. "Actually, Cory, we're not leaving just yet. We're all waiting for the end of the season. We might still have some scenes to do together."

"I'd like that."

That was nearly the end of their conversation, until Stuart was seized by a sudden impulse. Before he could stop himself he asked "Cory... how can you live like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like… this," Stuart managed, gesturing around him jerkily. "How can you stand to be the puppet? How can you be a slave to ratings and the whims of capricious writers? I know it has to be even worse for you, as the star of the show."

He shrugged. "I don't know, buddy. That's just life, you know? It's the one I got, so I do the best I can with it."

"But what about free will? Doesn't that matter to you?"

"I don't know. I feel like I have free will, you know? If I really was just a puppet, and someone was pulling my strings, how would I even know?"

"Like a brain in a vat…" Stuart muttered.

"Exactly. It feels like I'm calling the shots, you know? I mean, sometimes, when the back of my head is itching, I get these strange urges, but… I'm still me. I still decide what I do. Are you telling me that you don't control yourself on screen?" Cory asked.

Stuart thought about the last few months, about his little rebellions against the program. He remembered performing Hamlet with a deep southern accent. Was that his decision, or theirs? "I guess not," he said very quietly. They stood in silence for a moment. "But, don't you ever want to get away, go someplace where you don't have to do this anymore?"

Cory gave him a small smile. "You mean, do I dream of flight? Everyone does. When things are hard we all want to run off to some dreamed of world. But at the end of the day, you have to know where you belong. If it isn't here for you, I understand – go find it. But I know where my home is."

Stuart paid little attention to Ms. Chase and her longwinded explication of Beowulf. From the telltale buzz at the back of his scalp, he knew that a scene was taking place in the show, but he hardly cared. Even when Shawn Hunter threw a forceful arm around his shoulders and clapped a sweaty hand over his mouth, Stuart just played along, delivering his lines with a lackluster effort. When the time came to trade barbs with Shawn and Cory in the school cafeteria, he feigned sickness to cover his distraction.

They were finally leaving.

After school that day, Stuart went directly home, and grabbed the telephone from its cradle. He punched in the number from memory and waited a few rings before she answered. "Stacey? It's Stuart Minkus."

"Oh, god, is it time?" came the voice of Shawn's older sister.

"Not yet. We still have one more scene to do, and then we're all leaving immediately. There's no telling when it will come… I guess it could be a couple of days, but it could be as early as Monday. I want you to call everyone and let them know to get ready. Then, when the time comes, I will page you, after which—"

"I start the phone chain, and we all have one hour to get to the meeting site," Stacey cut him off. "I know. We've been over the drill many times, Stuart. We'll be ready."

"Okay."

"And Stuart?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

After Stuart got off the phone, he started preparing dinner. While the Consortium had concentrated their money in Neo Philadelphia, there was still a veritable fortune in their original timeline. He could have made a phone call or two and had a world-class chef send over the dish of his choice, but he preferred to cook for her, and she seemed to like that, too. He swore to himself that that night, they would have the conversation he had put off for so long.

She got home a little later than normal. They reheated the simple meal (baked fish, white rice, steamed asparagus) and settled in for a quiet dinner. She told him about work; he filled her in on school.

"How long do you think Mr. Feeny will be out?" she asked.

"I don't know," Stuart answered. It was a more important question than she could realize. "He's not young anymore, and appendicitis can be hard for anyone to get over."

"I'm sure he'll be okay, honey," she answered.

He nodded. Presumably, Cory's neighbor would be at least a frequent visitor to the set, long after he stopped being Cory's teacher. He decided to jump right in. "Mom, if you had all the money in the world, what would you do?"

"Like if I won the lottery or something?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I know everyone always says they would invest it prudently and not doing anything too crazy, but… I think that's what I'd actually do," she told him. "I'd quit my job at the department store, at least."

"Why not quit both jobs? You could have all the leisure time you wanted!"

She shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm a little too young to retire, you know? I'd go stir crazy if I didn't have something to do. I mean, sure, I wish I had more time in the evenings to spend with you, but that just isn't realistic right now, honey. Besides… you're going to be thirteen soon, and that means that things are going to change between us."

Stuart's eyes burned a little. "Why?"

His mother laughed. "Because it's right and it's natural, that's why. You'll be a teenager soon, and you're going to go through some changes-"

"Please don't give me that talk again," he cut in, hoping to steer the conversation away from puberty and onto something more like interdimensional wormholes.

"Okay, okay," She laughed. "But you've got all your rebellious years ahead of you still-"

"I could never rebel against you, Mother!" he protested.

"Yes, you can, and you will. You have to – it's a part of growing up, and I wouldn't want it any other way. Just promise me that, no matter what happens, we'll always keep talking."

Unbidden, a tear leaked from the inside corner of his eye. If she only knew how much he was keeping from her, would she still love him as much? He had to tell her the truth, and soon. "I promise, Mom, but… I haven't always told you everything."

"No, I'm sure you haven't, and that's right, too. A growing boy needs to keep some secrets from his Mother. Unless there's something you want to tell me…" She left the opportunity dangling, and all he had to do was grab it.

"No. Not right now," he said. "But soon."

"I look forward to it."

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