“You know what you need, Lydia?” Hannah asks. I pull myself out of my Wes-induced fog and look at her.
“What?”
“A hobby. And not that Camp Hero stuff you’re always talking about. You should go out for the cheerleading squad next year or something.”
“The cheerleading squad? But then you’d never speak to me again.”
She purses her lips. “You’re right. Plus you’re not peppy enough. Hmm . . .” She taps her finger on the table, one-two, one-two. A steady beat. “How about the literary mag? No wait, I would have to make so much fun of you if you started writing poetry about all your teenage angst.”
The waitress comes back with our drinks and takes our order. I sip on the milk shake, holding the cold glass in my fingers, grateful that I have something to do with my hands. I don’t often feel uncomfortable around Hannah, but I don’t often have to lie to her either.
Because I can’t tell her the truth—that I do have a hobby. Journalism. Or, I used to have it. But Lydia 2 is not interested in things like the school newspaper and therefore has time to work in her father’s store all summer.
No, Lydia 2 has other things to focus on.
“Don’t look now,” Hannah says, “but your boyfriend is coming.”
I hear someone walk into the diner, and I turn my head. A tall black-haired boy is walking toward us with a wide grin on his face.
“Hey Grant!” Hannah calls out.
I feel my heart start to race.
“Hey Hannah,” he says as soon as he’s close enough to us. “Lydia.”
And then he’s there, right in front of me. He leans forward, closer and closer, and I brace myself against the metal tabletop. My eyes are open and staring, and I notice that Grant’s cheek is pale and freckled this close up. I feel his lips touch mine softly.
He pulls away. “Hey, you.”
I press my lips together hard as he bends again, this time to sit next to me in our small booth. Our arms, our sides are touching. He’s talking, though I don’t hear what he’s saying.
This is one part of my new life I’m having a hard time adjusting to.
Grant Henderson, the boy I grew up next door to, a boy I never thought I could fall in love with, is my boyfriend.
CHAPTER 2
I have been thinking a lot about fate lately. My own. My grandfather’s. Wes’s. How much do I really understand fate? Grandpa disappeared in 1989 in this time line. But that wasn’t always his fate. Just like it wasn’t always Dean’s fate to get lost in time, probably to 1920, where he’ll be trapped forever. I changed those things by traveling back to 1944.
And now I’m sitting in a booth with Grant’s arm around me.
I feel something nudge my side and I look up. Both Hannah and Grant are staring at me, clearly waiting for a response.
“What?” I ask. “Sorry, I spaced out.”
Grant laughs softly and rubs his hand against my shoulder. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
I lean forward until I can’t feel his touch anymore. “I have stuff on my mind.”
“Is it the Montauk Project again? I think we should go out there today. I was reading through that book you gave me a while ago, the one on alternating currents. I think—”
He’s cut off by Hannah, who holds up both hands and starts waving them back and forth. “No! No way. Absolutely no crazy government conspiracy crap today. I get that it’s your weird couple thing, or whatever, but I’m trying to enjoy a nice, calm breakfast without any talk of repta . . . repto . . .”
“Reptoids,” I finish quietly. “They’re called reptoids.”
“Right. Reptoids.” Hannah’s voice is getting louder. The other diners start to look over. “I don’t care that the government supposedly tapped into wormholes and contacted secret alien species that look like snake-human hybrids. I don’t care about Nikola Tesla faking his own death. I. Do. Not. Care.” She sits back in her seat and takes a deep breath.
Grant and I both stare at her.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy—you’re the ones who believe in aliens.”
“I don’t believe in aliens,” I say.
Grant turns to me, one dark eyebrow raised. “You’ve never said that before. I thought you were a ‘true believer.’”
“I am . . . I just . . . don’t necessarily think aliens are part of it.” And I don’t, not since Wes assured me they’re fiction, along with the theory that Tesla faked his own death. It was Dr. Faust who invented the time machine, using Tesla’s research on rotating magnetic fields.
“Lydia.” Grant sounds shocked. “You’ve always believed in reptoids. When you were six you claimed you saw one on the beach out by Hero.”
I shrug, not sure what to say. It’s a familiar feeling these days.
My grandfather was always convinced the Montauk Project had something to do with his father’s disappearance. In this time line, Lydia 2 has taken his place. She’s the one who has always been obsessed with the Project, certain that they were behind my grandfather’s disappearance in 1989.
Lydia 2 never knew her grandfather the way I did. To her, he was just a family legend, shrouded in mystery. Since I’ve been back, I have only picked through a few of the papers and notebooks on her desk. It was enough to know that Lydia 2 had found my grandfather’s journals, and through them had learned about the Montauk Project. I can only assume that my father wouldn’t talk about it, and so she set out to find what information she could on her own, obsessed with the thought of what her family would be like if my grandfather had never disappeared.
It’s strange how history repeats itself, even across a new version of time.
“Well, if you’re starting to get sick of all this stuff, I completely and totally approve,” Hannah tells me.
I nod. I can feel Grant watching me, and I glance
