Chapter 25
Alina
When Lee and I sauntered through the doors of the Office of Enrollment at McMont College, we were immediately hit by a nauseating wave of smells—overbrewed, burnt coffee mixed with the musty tang of old paper and ink and the acrid bite of printer toner. It clung to the air like a stubborn ghost.
I leaned my forearms on the gleaming white counter, trying to ignore the olfactory assault.
Behind the desk sat a woman who looked like she’d been chiseled from a lifetime of sighs.
Her nameplate read “Sonia Collinsworth.” She peered at me over the rim of her glasses like a hawk sizing up prey.
Her knuckles tapped irritably against a bulky “personal computer,” as if it were personally responsible for her lot in life.
Her frame was thin, almost fragile, beneath oversized clothing that draped from her like curtains.
Her face was lined, not just with age, but with quiet sadness—as if she had spent a lifetime in the background, watching others live.
There was a stillness about her, a resignation, like someone waiting for the final chapter to be over and done with.
“What do you need?” she asked, clipped and weary.
I offered a polite smile and tried to mirror her professional tone. “I’m new to the area and hoping to enroll. Is that possible?”
Her eyes flickered with something—annoyance, perhaps, or the exhaustion of routine. She stood and approached the counter stiffly, reaching beneath it to pull out a thick catalog.
“What are you interested in taking?” she asked, flipping through pages worn thin from with age and overuse.
“We offer courses in Arts and Humanities—literature, history, philosophy, languages, and visual arts. Then there are the Sciences—biology, chemistry, physics, mathematics, and computer science. Or the Social Sciences—psychology, sociology, economics, political science, anthropology...”
“Archaeology,” I said with a small smile. “I like to dabble in the past.”
Lee snorted behind me, clearly amused.
Mrs. Collinsworth cast a disapproving frown at Lee before returning to me. She flipped through the catalog, her bony finger tapping a section mid-page.
“An archaeology degree, like the one we offer, progresses in stages. You’ll start with a bachelor’s, then move on to a master’s or even a Ph.D. if you’re serious. You’ll need to enroll in the Anthropology undergraduate program to begin.”
I leaned in, scanning the course list. Mrs. Collinsworth continued, her voice carrying the faintest trace of genuine enthusiasm.
“You’ll study archaeological methods, cultural anthropology, archaeological theory, ancient civilizations, and more. It’s quite the exciting program.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmured, eyes scanning across the page. “I’m... uniquely familiar with past civilizations. Is there a way to, I don’t know—speed it up a bit?”
She gave a small, clipped laugh. “You’d need to discuss that with your professor, dear. I wouldn’t know. But you might consider gaining field experience through internships, volunteer digs, or summer excavations. That would give you a head start.”
“Oh, yes. I’d love that,” I said, a little too eagerly.
She nodded, then seemed to catch herself softening and composed her face again.
“There’s a lecture now—Jacobson Hall, Room 14.
Just out this door, across the green, and it’s the building on your right.
Someone’s speaking about early civilizations.
Why don’t you go listen in? Come back if it sparks your interest, and we’ll start the paperwork. ”
A tight, fleeting smile appeared and vanished from her lips.
Lee and I exchanged a glance.
I shrugged. “Why not?”
I thanked Mrs. Collinsworth, and we stepped out into the spring sun. The walk across campus was quiet, the air crisp and full of blossoming life. As we entered Jacobson Hall, our footsteps echoed down the corridor, the white-speckled tile cold beneath our soles.
Voices drifted from around the corner—sharp, emotional. It was not the kind of academic lecture I had expected.
I reached out and clutched Lee’s sleeve. “Do you hear that?”
He rolled his eyes. “I hear many things,” he said, shaking me off.
But I pointed toward the open doorway. Laughter. Jeers. Then a voice—strained, defensive. My breath caught.
“That voice… it sounds like John James. What if it’s him? What if that’s his brother?”
Lee cocked his head, listening.
Then, without a word, Lee bolted toward the room.
“Lee!” I hissed, chasing after him, my pulse thundering in my ears.
We halted outside the open doorway, huddling close to the wall, straining to listen.
“Mr. James,” a man’s voice mocked, thick with sarcasm, “what have you been smoking?”
Laughter erupted.
“My research is sound,” came the calm but strained reply—a voice I’d know anywhere. John James. “During a solar eclipse, there’s a moment of complete darkness. If a child is born in that precise instant, the child is born with a dagger—an ancient artifact. That dagger allows time travel.”
“Oh, really, dude?” another man jeered. “Darkness? Daggers? You’ve been watching too much sci-fi, bro!”
The audience roared.
“It’s him,” I whispered, gripping Lee’s sleeve. “That’s Jack James. It has to be.”
Lee slipped from my grasp and muttered, “Great. So, what now? Storm in and introduce yourself as a time traveler? Ask him to hand over the legendary blades while you’re at it?”
I shot him a glare. “Oh sure, that won’t raise any red flags.”
“I was being sarcastic,” he deadpanned.
Jack James pressed on inside, mentioning physics and ancient theory, but the crowd wasn’t listening. Neither was I. I was too busy trying to form a plan.
Boos and mocking laughter swelled again.
I glanced at Lee. “I almost feel sorry for him.”
Lee arched an eyebrow. “You? Feeling sorry? Highly unlikely.”
“He’s a nerd,” I insisted, snapping my fingers. “That’s the word. Nerds are brilliant, misunderstood. He’s being mocked for his mind. I know what that’s like.”
Lee snorted. “You’ve never been mocked for your intellect. Maybe your enthusiasm for evil, though.”
I grinned despite myself.
Then the classroom door burst open.
A young man stormed out, shoulders tense, face flushed. My instincts kicked in.
“That’s him!” I gasped. “Let’s go!”
My boots pounded against the tile as I sprinted after him, weaving through students in the hallway. With a final lunge, I caught his arm.
He whirled, startled, eyes wide with fear.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I said gently, trying to steady my breath and energy. “There’s no need to be scared.”
His chest rose and fell with fast, shallow breaths.
“What’s your name?” I asked, voice soft, searching his face.
His lips curled in visible revulsion. “Everyone here knows my name. Jack James—the weirdo obsessed with time travel.”
I straightened, schooling my features into a look that was both fearless and just a little seductive. With a secretive smile, I lowered my eyelids slightly, letting mystery drip from my tone. “I don’t think you’re weird. I think you’re… fascinating.”
He squinted at me, suspicion flaring in his eyes. “You’re messing with me.”
“I’m not. Truly,” I said, brushing my fingers lightly against his arm. “I’m new here. Just got to campus. I’m interested in archaeology. Maybe you could help me figure out what courses to take? Since it sounds like we share the same fascinations.”
Jack tilted his head, studying me as if trying to peel back my layers with a single look. “How do you know what I’m fascinated with?”
“I heard your lecture,” I said softly, sweeping my hand lightly across my collarbone—a subtle, calculated move. “You weren’t just talking. You believe in what you’re saying. I could feel it.”
His gaze dropped, just for a second, to where my tank top dipped, then quickly shot back to my eyes like he’d just committed a crime. “Yeah… I’m a grad student.”
“What classes are you taking?”
He rattled off course titles—Anthropological Advances, The History of Ancient Civilizations, and others with names that made my heart leap with possibility.
But before I could say more, the hallway filled with noise. His classmates began spilling out of Room 14 in a chaotic wave of chatter and movement.
Startled, Jack glanced over his shoulder—then bolted.
Gone in a heartbeat.
I turned to find Lee leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“Let’s get me enrolled,” I said.
Two of Jack’s courses were held in massive auditoriums, which made slipping in easy. I moved through those halls like I belonged there, scanning rows until I spotted him, always positioning myself near enough to talk without drawing attention.
Over the next few weeks, I did everything I could to build a connection—catching him after class, striking up conversations in the hall, always careful not to push too hard.
Jack remained guarded, a fortress surrounded by suspicion.
He’d be warm one moment—curious, even flirty—and then cold the next, scanning the room like he expected betrayal to come from any direction.
Whenever someone so much as looked his way, he clammed up. Sometimes, he fled.
After weeks of chasing breadcrumbs, I could feel my resolve fraying.
I didn’t come all this way through time, across realities, to be pushed aside like a curiosity. I came for answers. I searched for the truth.
And I was not going to be ignored.
My classes were finally over, and I clomped up the stairs to the apartment Lee and I shared. The building had seen better decades—its peeling paint, dusty corridors, and groaning staircases told stories of long-forgotten tenants.