Chapter 22 The Journal
The ink doesn’t disappear into the page.
Words don’t appear underneath it.
Jordyn raises her head. “Huh, I really thought that would trigger something.”
Micah frowns. “Maybe it just wants you to vent about your day.”
“Or.” Jordyn hops her butt sideways on the bed in excitement. “You could draft out what you’re going to say back to Reed.”
“I think it’ll stop haunting you if you just start journaling,” Micah says.
Jordyn taps the page impatiently. “Try journaling.”
I flop the notebook shut. “Not with you two hovering. I’ll try it later.”
“Fine.” Jordyn grabs Micah’s arm and drags him from my room. “We’ll leave right now so you can try journaling.” I follow her and Micah back to the living room. “And then email something back to Reed!” she says.
“Okay,” I concede.
“And also forward me that chapter because I’m only on the first page.”
I nod, my lips curving into a small smile. “All right.”
“And report back.”
“I’ll report back!”
“And stop giving your cousin free couples therapy!”
“Jordyn.”
Showered and ready for bed, I slide under the blankets and pluck the journal from its spot on the nightstand.
The wedding garter’s back around it. I never put it back on—so that’s great.
Reed’s words from the Uber post Babe’s wedding swing back around in my head: It’s a sign. The universe reminding you to write for fun.
I glance up at the ceiling. Universe? This you?
I slip off the garter again and tug open the snap closer again.
My stomach drops as I blink at the first page.
It’s . . . covered in text. The three words I put down on a blank canvas earlier are nowhere to be found.
Finally. Congratulations! You have met the following qualifications to gain access to this rare teleportation device.
I slam it shut and throw it across the room. It hits the corner of the TV on the wall and drops to the floor.
Shit.
I hustle out of the covers and pick it up again, pulse hammering behind my forehead. It’s okay. It wasn’t aggressive. This is fine. It said congratulations. You’re an adult, be normal.
I get back into bed with the thing. Heave in a deep breath and open it again.
Finally. Congratulations! You have met the following qualifications to gain access to this rare teleportation device.
1) 30+ years of age
2) Lives alone
3) Single
4) Searching for love
5) Does not commit murder
6) Has a profile on a dating app
7) Knows people who don’t live within a 50 mile radius
8) Has at least one rocky parental relationship
What in the fuck.
Congratulations again on qualifying. If you wish to proceed, turn the page.
I turn the page.
Chapter 1: Teleportation Might Be the Answer to Your Problems
Teleportation is an extremely useful tool that can become dangerous if placed in the wrong hands. Please proceed with caution.
As you may or may not know, teleportation requires two mechanisms. A hyperconductor and a base. In tandem you may utilize these to complete a successful vault.
Your hyperconductor can be found hooked into the loop sewn into the cover of this journal in the form of a pen. This journal itself is your base.
When you wish to vault, remove your hyperconductor from the loop. It is a twist pen, not a click. Twist to release the ballpoint. A click, once the base is charged, will initiate your vault.
Step one: Release your ballpoint
Step two: Flip to a destination request page
Step three: Print the address of your destination upon the provided line
Step four: Turn the page for your vault task
Step five: Complete vault task
Step six: Apply thumb to the head of your hyperconductor
Step seven: Click
* This base will provide you with 13 vaults, be cognizant.
* Tasks must be completed without assistance or will not result in a charge.
* When the vault task is complete, the head of your hyperconductor will appear green.
* A valid address complete with a five-digit zip code is required to vault.
* In event of emergency, if you cannot complete the allotted task, destroying the base (this journal) will allow you a final vault.
* Only those who qualify are capable of operating this gift.
So far, so good?
I flip the page.
I’m going to take your silence as a yes.
I flip to the next page.
Rules:
One: By utilizing this gift, you enter into a mandatory nondisclosure agreement. Teleportation is a dangerous ability that, when shared with others, can lead to perilous consequences and an immense disruption of our world.
A gag order will be implemented upon commencement of use.
—Off-limit descriptors/verbs/nouns will include but are not limited to:
teleport, teleportation, teleporting, telly, port, space-time, space-jump, jumper, continuum, superpower, wand, journal, notebook, pen, hyperconductor, base, vault.
—You may not describe your base book as magic.
—You may not describe your hyperconductor as magic.
Two: To protect the nondisclosure of rule one, vaults must initiate in a private space.
That is all.
Have fun.
I flip to the next page.
1) Where would you like to go
X _____________________________
I flip to the next page.
It’s empty. Every page from this one forward is empty. My heart’s racing. The directions said there would be a vault task?
I flip to the end of the journal and find a thin writing utensil hooked on a brown cloth loop sewn into the leather binding: a black-and-red click pen.
I pick it up and twist the body, as instructed. A ballpoint pops out.
I stare at the blank line. This journal says it’s a teleportation device.
That’s obviously ridiculous.
But obviously I’m going to write down an address.
If someone tells you blowing out a candle on your birthday gives you a free wish, you’re gonna shoot your shot.
If someone casually mentions you’ve been given the ability to fly and to initiate said flight, you have to go fart in a closet, you’re gonna fart in the closet.
This journal is telling me it’s going to let me teleport if I write down an address? I’m going to give it an address.
The first that comes to mind is Reed’s: 1889 Greenly. It’s been burned into my psyche since the end of that second date.
I feel like a ten-year-old with a crush as I scribble it down on the empty line in black ink. I do a quick google for the zip, finish it off, and turn the page.