Frankie's nerves bristled. It'd take days to return home—weeks, even. Sparky had no clue when Hexiciah would come back, but they didn't have a minute to waste.

If only she could get home and finish her project. See her friends and her parents; walk Watzit. Be home.

All this worry because she had jumped in after Holt. But what else was she supposed to do? It was like an instinct.

No doubt Ghoulia was hard at work fixing the time teleporter in the present. But it wouldn't matter unless they put in the work here, too. The time teleporter had two ends and, without Hexiciah, a quick fix was a long shot.

Frankie slumped onward behind Sparky, grass tickling her legs one second and pricking them the next. Her parents must be worried, and school… This year was crucial for college applications. If she didn't make it into college, then it'd be all her fault. She had the entire summer to complete her project, yet she let feelings hold her back. Overwhelming, stupid—

"Hey, you good?"

She started and looked over her shoulder.

Holt jogged up beside her. "You look like you're gonna be sick."

"I'm fine," she blurted. Her breath shook. "Okay, I'm a teeny bit nervous."

He had the nonchalance to shrug. "It'll be awhile getting home, yeah, but we'll be alright. 'Sides, we pretty much got a vacation from school. That's a win."

"That's easy for you to say," she mumbled. "It's your last year. You probably got into college by now."

He said nothing, thankfully. Holt was a master at brightening someone's day and making them feel special. Especially when it came to her. But that wouldn't help now; he seemed to know it.

The woods thickened, birdsong loud and clear amidst the buzzing bugs. Frankie heard Holt tap his pen against every bit of tree they passed.

Tap, tap, tap.

So weird… Only Holt, no Jackson.

Tap … Tap.

Two pieces separated by literal time. Broken.

Tap. Tap. Tap … Tap, tap.

What was Jackson thinking? Holt was clearly going crazy! How could he be so selfish? One good look at himself and Jackson would see it. He couldn't live without the other part of him. He couldn't live without Holt. Two sides of one person split into two people? It made no sense. Underneath, they were the same guy.

It was the whole reason Frankie had liked both of them back then. All they had to do was resolve their differences to consider dating them again. Which, even with the circumstances, would've been fine despite what the Ghostly Gossip said. She could've dated them both. Or one of them. Okay, they were one and the same, but it was worth the consideration. Anything could happen. Dating Neigthan happened, but back then it was all about Jackson and Holt. Jackson was kind and smart while Holt was an exuberant flirt and a brash date-crasher.

Until he wasn't. Until she had given him a chance. Until Jackson completely slipped her mind as she listened to the mix-tape Holt made her. Frankie smiled to herself. He was so passionate about music that he'd even gotten her into EDM. It was always fun, but meeting him made it electrifying.

She shook her head. No, it had all made sense when they transformed in front of the whole school. When shock was followed by relief, and the guilt she'd felt moments before when she'd been telling Jackson she couldn't date him had vanished… Her feelings had been simple. Falling for one guy so soon after crushing on another? No. They were one. That explained her feelings for them.

Them. Him. Telling the difference was a never-ending puzzle. That awful pit in her stomach appeared when she tried. Together, they made a rounded personality—that had to be it. Even when they had convinced the school to divide their class schedules, they must have been totally and completely one. Holt had only liked Frankie because he had been a part of Jackson, right?

Where had those feelings gone now? They had to be only Jackson's, since they met first. But with their friendship so solid, any feelings were probably long gone.

Then there was Holt. His reassuring hand last night; his tiny frown when he thought Frankie was dating Jackson; his faint smile when she told him otherwise. Would things be different now had they kept in touch? Become closer friends, like she was with Jackson?

What did Holt walking and talking beside her even really mean? If, somehow, Jackson and Holt were individuals, then maybe separating the two wasn't totally stupid. But Frankie doubted it.

A heaviness formed in her gut. She ignored it.

When they returned to Sparky's home, Elizabeth was seated on the living room chair, pretty as a picture.

"Oh, thank goodness." She rose to her feet and gathered cloth from atop the loveseat. Her blue eyes peeked over the bunch as she crossed the room. The fabric muffled her voice. "These are for you." She spread her arms, and the bundle unfurled onto the dining table.

Clothes.

Some for men and some for women. Clothes for Holt and Frankie. Enough to blend in for a week. So, what, they'd wash their clothes at the end of the week? Unless people in the 1800s didn't do that… It was already weird adapting to the basics, like toothbrushing. What would bathing be like? Frankie breathed out a long sigh. It was like discovering the way the world worked all over again, just without a teen magazine.

Holt was inspecting a gray pair of pants. He peered at its matching coat and white undershirt. "Couldn't find any colorful outfits, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth huffed. "Such as what you're wearing? No, and thank heavens I did not."

"Right." He smirked. "This coming from the girl dressed head to toe in pink."

She crossed her arms. "If you would like them dyed, I will not take part in it. Lord knows I need the coin for as long as I'm here."

Sparky scoffed and muttered, "Father's generosity only extends so much."

Frankie frowned. Venom fell from Sparky's mouth whenever he spoke of his father. She reached toward his hand, and he started. She pulled back.

He stared, his green and blue eye each round and startled.

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Can I talk to you?"

Sparky cleared his throat and straightened. "Of course. Excuse us." He made his way to his room, and she followed.

He closed the door, setting his notebooks and Hexiciah's things onto the dresser beside a cluster of used candles. Frankie wrinkled her nose at their smell. The room matched hers aside from the candles, bed frame, and a pile of books.

She took a deep breath. If her dad wanted to keep quiet, she may as well ask the source. "Sparky, why don't you like Great-Grandpa?"

"Never refer to him as that ever again. As far as you should be concerned, our family begins with me, not him."

"Oh. Okay!" She picked at her arm stitches. "Um, why?"

Sparky smoothed his hair. The strands of white were a shock against the jet-black, even in the window's faint light. "Alphonse Frankenstein is a man of prestige and wealth. Everyone in Geneva knows his name. His good standing is all he cares about, never mind what pressures it puts upon his children." He exhaled. "I am certain he wants to send me off to that university in Ingolstadt, but I don't see myself leaving America just yet…" He glanced up at Frankie. "Do you know if I leave? Do I return?"

She paused, pressing her lips together. "I don't think I should tell you much about the future, Grandpa." Frankie perked up. "What about your mother? How's she like?"

His face softened, familiar and welcoming. "Far better than the rest of them. Aside from Elizabeth, of course. Truthfully, I can't imagine life without either of them in it."

She smiled. The Frankensteins weren't so bad. "And what about your brothers?"

He waved her off. "They're fine. Too young to give a fair opinion of."

"And your friend, Henry?" She sat on the edge of his bed, solid and worn with soft, dark sheets.

He frowned. "He's fine. Better before he started chasing after Elizabeth."

"Are you kidding?" She scoffed. "She's here all the way from Europe for you, and you're worried about someone across the ocean?"

"That doesn't mean she would resist the chance to be with him instead," he said. A muscle in his jaw jumped. He looked as he had last night, quoting his father.

If you want to act like a monster, live with them.

He looked like a stranger.

Frankie glanced away. Great-Grandpa may be a jerk, but he knew something she didn't. She shuddered.

Sparky sighed, and his shoulders relaxed. "I'm sorry. You see, aside from America, Elizabeth and I have been inseparable, even in the orphanage. I can't stand to lose her."

She inhaled and rose to her feet. "It's okay, Grandpa. Let's join the others."

The living space was quiet. Elizabeth stood by the dining table, her golden curls dangling free without her bonnet. She was in the middle of laying a dress flat when she noticed Frankie. She held up a pair of dainty, unlaced brown boots. "Your shoes for the time being."

"Where's Holt?" she asked, kicking off her black and white heels and taking the boots.

Elizabeth spread a simple beige dress over a gray one. "He walked out a moment ago."

"Just now?" She slipped on the shoes. A perfect fit.

"Yes," she said, slinging another dress over her arm. "I told him to change into an outfit I purchased, but he simply threw one over his shoulder and marched out. And without proper shoes, too."

Frankie peered out the window. The deep cerulean blue of Holt's skin peeked past the trees. She flung open the door and ran into the woods.

Following took a lot of nearly tripping over every exposed and hidden root or rock. Frankie stumbled and caught herself on a tree trunk, blowing hair from her face.

In the distance, Holt moved as casually as he would through the school halls. It wasn't fair. He had trouble heading to the lab, yet now he avoided each minor snag.

Where was he even going?

The trees parted, and she scrambled behind each one she passed. The sound of rushing water hummed in her ears. Frankie gasped. A pool of water shimmered a dazzling blue, and a grand waterfall cascaded into it.

Holt sat at its edge and set aside the outfit. He dug something out from his pocket. A journal? He tapped his pen along his chin. The next second, his face lit up. Pen met paper, and he was zeroed in, his tongue peeking out; focused. At ease. Comfortable. It was bizarre.

And kind of mesmerizing.

She frowned, the tree's rough bark pressing against her shoulder. When was the last time she'd seen him like this? Had she ever?

Holt shut his notebook and leaped to his feet. He strode toward a cluster of bushes covered in deep red flowers. His head bobbed as if a song played that only he could hear.

Frankie breathed in. Staying ducked behind a tree and watching him was totally creepy. It couldn't hurt to talk to him. Her new boots crunched against the grass. All it took was one step. Easy.

Only a few feet away, and she brought her hand to her mouth to clear her throat.

She tripped.

Holt whipped his head over his shoulder.

Frankie spit grass from her mouth and pushed herself onto her feet, meeting his eyes with a cringe. "Hi."

"Hey." He tensed. He held a picked flower in his right hand. A red chrysanthemum. "Why'd you follow me?"

"I wanted to see where you went." She inched closer, bridging the space as much as he'd allow. The spewing waterfall misted droplets onto his fiery hair, and a couple slid down the frame of his nose. "Is this where you were last night?"

Holt rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Yeah."

Silence lingered. He didn't seem restless like earlier, but silence plus Holt felt all kinds of off. Last night felt like progress between them. So what had him so… shy?

Frankie started at the faint glow of Holt's hair. It was almost like when he confronted the ghoul at the school yesterday, but gentler somehow. She took a small breath. "So, how did you find this place? I mean, there's no way this is the first or even second time you've been here."

Holt cleared his throat, his shoulders still stiff. "Did some exploring back when I moved to New Salem. Been coming to Epic Falls ever since."

"Oh, right! There was a piece about this in the school newspaper. You come here to create set lists, right?"

"Write them, yeah. Set lists, songs, mix-tapes. I come here for the quiet. But when music became my thing, I had to turn my headphones' volume low enough to hear, well…" he looked around and breathed in, "everything else."

No way. Holt Hyde? A peaceful moment? They'd been on their fair share of low-key dates, but a quiet moment to himself? Even Jackson made it sound like Holt never rested; a constant, wild party animal.

But he'd been right there, thoughtful and still. His writings were likely the early stages of his work. Set lists, songs, and… Frankie swallowed. Had he written up her mix-tape here?

Holt pointed at his ear, waggling his finger. "'Cept now there's this ringing—"

"Oh! Tinnitus?"

"Yeah." He shrugged and unglued his eyes from the falls, slowly meeting hers. "Music was cool, but no use complaining now…"

His shyness now, his jumpiness earlier… His jumpiness! Was the answer as simple as his lack of music, and not his separation from Jackson? Frankie's thoughts broke when a shock of red spread across Holt's shirt.

"Holt! Are you alright?"

His brows scrunched together, and he tugged forward his shirt's hem. "What the—?" He looked at the flower in his other hand, its petals wilted.

No, melted.

Holt groaned as the stain settled on the white half of his shirt. But then his expression shifted, and he glanced at his clothes on the grass. He met Frankie's eyes with a wide grin. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

She was already shaking her head. "No, Holt. We can't dye our outfits. We're supposed to blend in while we're here, remember?"

"Not my style." He picked off a cluster of flowers, ran to his clothes, and dumped them on top.

Frankie sighed, yet a smile found its way onto her face. There was no stopping him. At least risk-taking Holt Hyde was familiar. Maybe when they hung around the locals on Monday, he'd take it down a notch. Watching him was like a tennis match, back and forth. "You know, you don't always have to come here by yourself. It might be nice to have some company."

He grimaced as he packed his arms with chrysanthemums. "Thanks, but I'm used to it. 'Sides, you got your gramps here. Your could-be grandma, too. Someone you care about and can spend all the time in the world with, ya know? It ain't like that for me here. Just got me and my pal, the waterfall." He looked over his shoulders; finally relaxed. "You don't gotta keep me company."

"I want to," Frankie said, almost like an instinct. "Is that okay?"

Holt froze, sparing her a glance. A small smile crossed his lips, his voice soft, "Yeah… Appreciate it."

He walked away with another bundle of flowers, but not before handing one to Frankie first.