Chapter 7
If you need anything, I’ll be in the chaperone lounge. It’s that direction….” Just like I’d been planning, Ms. Mulaney pointed, and her tote bag fell to the ground, its contents spilling out.
“I’ll help you,” I said, making sure to keep my voice quiet this time.
I bent down to the ground, pretending to help, but keeping my eyes on Amy, doing my best to avoid attracting her attention.
When I was sure she wasn’t looking at me, I grabbed a stray piece of paper, folded it quickly, and pocketed it along with a pen.
Then I straightened up and handed Ms. Mulaney the items I’d picked up.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling her bag over her shoulder. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “You all right?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. I stayed in place, knowing that any minute her phone would ring, and it would be the agent on the other line. Without meaning to, I flashed to the memory of her on the phone not too long from now, her voice cracked and desperate. “Just—maybe…”
Before I could say anything else, her phone rang. She fished it out of her bag, and I saw her eyes widen. “I have to take this.”
“Good luck,” I said, and walked away before I would have to see her expression change. But I couldn’t do anything about Ms. Mulaney’s crushed dreams—I had to try to save Freddie’s.
I found a bench, tucked under a tree, and sat down to try to gather my thoughts.
I had to figure this out. I needed to get him to believe me, to get us back to where we’d been three loops ago—and hopefully also stop the Eton Mess disaster from happening and ruining his chances of a future music career.
I pulled out my pilfered paper and pen and stared down at the blank page for just a moment, trying to recall everything that Freddie had said.
I knew that I wouldn’t be able to keep this piece of paper for more than one loop.
If this all started again, it would be back in Ms. Mulaney’s bag like I’d never written on it.
But I was hoping that maybe the act of writing it would help cement it in my brain.
Freddie, I wrote across the top of the paper, and underlined this twice.
Then I took a breath and started to write.
-Brother named Jack
-From Croydon
-Loves Excalibur/poster above bed/Geraldine Bewley school project
-Weird vegetable allergy
-Rocky road ice cream/Sweet Emporium
-Manager coming tonight
-Mates with Niall from school days
-Lyrics in notebook
I tapped the pen on the paper and then tried to remember the lyric that he’d written in his notebook, the inspiration he’d had while we’d been talking.
It was his line, after all. It didn’t seem right for him to lose it just because we weren’t going to be having that exact conversation any longer.
I closed my eyes, trying to recall it, then scribbled what I was pretty sure was right: Sometimes home is your favorite sweatshirt you’ve outgrown.
I looked down at the list for a moment longer, trying to memorize as much as possible so that I wouldn’t freeze up and lose my train of thought.
Then I folded the paper up again, dropped it in my bag, and hurried off to find Freddie.
It didn’t take long—he was, as before, standing in the middle of the crowd and staring into space, like he was trying to process the news he’d just gotten. I let myself look at him for just a moment before I hurried over to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hi,” I said, when he turned around.
“Hi,” he said, giving me a polite, if slightly confused smile.
I held out my hand. “I’m Cass Issac.”
“Freddie Sharma,” he said, shaking it, even though he still looked a little baffled.
“Can I talk to you a second, Freddie?”
“Uh,” Freddie said. He ran his hand through his hair, causing that one lock of curly hair to fall forward on his forehead like a Mr. Darcy dream. “I suppose so, sure. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Kind of.” I tipped my head to the side of the path, and we got out of the way of the seniors running around and yelling, off to the rides or the DJ or the games. “But there’s also something I need to help you with.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” I took a deep breath, knowing there was no way to do this but to begin, and just hope it would work this time. “Excalibur.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that now?”
“Excalibur. You and your brother, Jack, used to play the video game. But more than that, you used to talk about the possibility that there was a magical world just alongside ours. And you had that as a code in case one of you found it. The other one would come back and say it, and you would know.”
Freddie just stared at me. “You—What are you saying, that…”
“We’ve met before. We’ve had a whole night where we talked about everything.
I know about the Excalibur poster above your bed, and Geraldine Bewley and the school project.
About the Sweet Emporium and their rocky road ice cream.
About the lyrics you write in your Moleskine notebook. About your weird vegetable allergy—”
“It’s not weird—”
“And about how you told me to tell you Excalibur—that you would believe me when I told you. That you might even…remember.” I swallowed hard and looked up at him.
Freddie’s eyes were wide, but he didn’t seem worried that I was an unhinged stalker, like he had before. It was more like his thoughts were churning so fast he could barely keep up.
“So, it’s real?” Freddie finally asked as he looked down at me, his voice just above a whisper. “Magic—it exists?”
“It certainly seems to,” I said, feeling relief course through me. Freddie wasn’t walking away, or calling security, or looking at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Cass,” he said, smiling at me, and it was like he was practically vibrating with excitement. “Tell me everything.”