Chapter 15
I read and reread this sentence until my vision blurs and a spike of adrenaline makes me feel restless.
Half-formed truths slip through the feathered cracks of my reality.
Is this William’s legacy? The founder of Ivernia School?
I’m aware it’s one of the oldest boarding schools on the East Coast, but I was never sure of its complete history until now.
Ivernia is usually discussed within the span of its laurels: the percentage of students accepted into Ivies, its STEM focus, the prestigious faculty and even more prestigious alumni.
The school, this place—it couldn’t possibly be his idea. Only, maybe it can.
His words from this morning come back to me. If I could, I would become a professor.
I continue reading.
William Alexander Cromwell (1841–1893) was a London-based scholar who shared his love of science and mathematics with his son, Frederick, and his sister, Caroline. After his death, his son took over as chancellor for the next three decades.
If my math is correct, William was forty-eight when he founded the school.
No wonder he has no memory of this place.
When I scroll even further, there’s a black-and-white photograph of him with his son, nearly a spitting image of his father, standing near the stone exterior of what’s now the administration building.
Aside from the subtle signs of aging, he looks exactly like William. Because he is William.
I screenshot the page and pull up my messages, shooting the image over to Sumner accompanied by the words: Read this.
A few seconds later, his read receipt switches from Delivered to Read.
What kind of chaos demon leaves their read receipts on?
I wait for three dots to emerge, the ones that say he’s typing a reply, but he doesn’t respond.
Irritation zips up my spine. It irks me more than it should.
My skin begins to feel tight and itchy, and my restlessness only grows. After repacking my bag, I wave goodbye to Lionel and march out into the quiet evening.
There’s a high probability Sumner’s in his room with William since I just sent William off to find him, but I decide I’ll check Segner’s common room anyway.
Hyde and Segner students can mingle in one another’s commons until eight, after which they’re required to retire to their own houses.
I’ve got thirty minutes, and this is a matter of urgency.
I slide my phone back in my pocket and scan inside, rounding the corner and plodding down the corridor until I reach the commons.
Warm light emanates from sconces placed in rows along the cream-colored walls.
All around me, students claim deep-seated armchairs and spread out on leather couches sprinkled through the space.
Some choose to sit on the floor in circles, laptops in their laps, as they work through homework together.
A rough laugh draws my attention. Across the room, Sumner sits on an armchair with Hailey Collins angled over the backrest. Her silky auburn hair swishes as her laughter mixes with his.
They’re amused by something on his phone.
She reaches down to gesture toward his screen and brushes his forearm in the process.
He adjusts his glasses even though they’re not slipping, a habit I’m realizing he saves for when he’s nervous and looking for a way to occupy his hands.
He can sit in the common room with Hailey, but he can’t respond to my text? Annoyance scrapes through me, callous and prickly. Does he not understand the gravity of everything that’s happened over the last few days? Or does he not care? Also, where the hell is William?
My stomach twists as I come toward them. Sumner’s eyes narrow. Hailey pushes herself upright, then crosses her forearms on top of the armchair, a soft smile playing on her lips. I am clearly interrupting something, but I try not to care.
“Hi.” I lock eyes with Sumner. “Can we talk?”
Hailey steps aside and glances down at Sumner. “Do you need to go tutor her?”
A hot wave of embarrassment settles over my skin. “No—” I start at the same time Sumner gets this iniquitous grin on his face and goes, “Yes. You see, no matter how many times I explain the Pythagorean theorem to Carmichael, she thinks it’s a little obtuse.”
“Hilarious,” I say dryly.
Sumner’s eyes brighten. If Hailey gets the joke, she doesn’t show it. “I’ll find you later,” she says. Then to me she offers a less-than-friendly “See you in bio” before crossing the room.
Sumner watches her go, which does nothing to temper my initial embarrassment. He starts to open his mouth, but I get there first. “Outside.”
He follows me without comment, and once we’re greeted by the balmy night air, I start walking along the paved inner loop within the quad. “Where’s William?”
“I told him to watch a YouTube video called ‘How to Be Popular,’ ” he says, keeping pace beside me. “He was taking notes when I left.”
I toss him a sidelong glance. “And my texts?”
“I’m not ignoring you.” Sumner sighs. “I needed a beat to process.”
“I have to tell you”—I catch his gaze under the glow of the lamppost—“I’m kind of freaking out.”
“And I’m the poster child of unbothered indifference.” Off my panic, he adds, “Carmichael, you can’t possibly think you’re the only one. This is beyond my realm of comprehension.”
“As if this situation is within my personal realm of reality?”
He pulls his phone from his pocket and stares at the screenshot, brows knitting together in concentration. A hand tugs through his hair and a few loose waves maintain gravity-defying volume.
I can’t take the silence any longer. “What are you thinking?”
“None of this makes sense,” he says. “And if we’re going to make it make sense, we’ll need to walk it back. Try to figure out the cause in order to get to a solution.”
It’s the most Sumner answer I’ve ever heard. Logic-driven. Not like I have anything better to add. There’s no manual for this exact scenario.
“This is no ordinary problem.”
“No, it’s not.” He slides his phone in his pocket. “He found his way forward in time without knowing what this place means to him. I’m thinking it’s like…a cosmic anchoring point. I don’t fully understand it.”
I bite at my thumbnail. “Do we tell him?”
Sumner’s eyes soften. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“I can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling. Like telling him messes with his ability to make his own choices and decisions, somehow screwing things up more. I mean, if someone told me in the next twenty years I’d win a Fields medal—”
“A what?”
He tilts his head. “Really? You’ve never seen Good Will Hunting?
” I shrug, but he continues. “What I’m trying to say is, I’d feel a bit mindfucked trying to figure out how I went about earning that accomplishment.
I’d wonder if the choices I were making would lead to this desired outcome now that I knew it would happen. ”
It makes sense, what he’s saying. I don’t have a reasonable counterpoint. “You’re right—”
“I usually am, but continue.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re right that we need to walk it back and figure out what caused this,” I say. “We should meet tomorrow.”
“You know, you’re sure asking a lot from someone who, by your definition, is ‘conventionally adequate.’ ”
“Please be serious.”
An inscrutable expression falls over his face.
“Look, as much as I appreciate your voracious appetite for resolution, this is an important year. We’re two weeks into the semester and a bit in over our heads, so let’s get through the rest of this week, make sure William cools it with the, uh, chauvinistic incidents, then circle back to the whole time-travel conundrum. ”
My face heats for the second time tonight and, darkness be my friend, I hope it’s not obvious. Ranking and grades and college matter to me, too, but right now, this seems bigger than all of that. As much as I wish it weren’t true, I could really use Sumner’s help right now.
I cross my arms across my chest. “Why are you dragging your feet on this?”
“Because,” he says deliberately, as though I am being completely unreasonable, “it’s not something we’re going to solve tonight.” He raises a brow. “Unless you have a time machine I don’t know about.”
This is the sensible answer, one hard to argue with, so I withhold my urge to lob a smart retort his way.
Sensing this conversation is over, he starts walking backward, pointing at me as he takes careful steps toward Segner House. “I’ll find you this weekend.”
A deep sigh unearths itself from my lungs. It’s not a promise, but at least it’s a start.