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eyes shut and forced back tears. The only thing I could do to keep from panicking was try to get back.
    Back to October 30, 2009. Which had officially become the worst day of my life. With my back pressed against the door and rain hitting me in the face, I closed my eyes and forced myself to think of 2009.
    Right away, I felt the pulling-apart sensation and lost my focus. But it was too late. I was already headed into the unknown.

CHAPTER SIX
    My eyes were still closed when I inhaled the aroma of cherrywood and lemon-scented furniture polish. No rain. No sound of people. Or trucks ready to crush my legs. Finally, I looked around and immediately recognized the location.
    My dad’s office.
    Through the clear glass windows surrounding the large corner office, I could see the traffic on Fifth Avenue. It was either morning or evening. And a weekday, most likely. Adam had always warned me about my lack of direction during a time jump.
    “Who knows where the hell you’ll end up?” he had said.
    I shook the thought from my head, reminding myself of the next most important task: to find out the current day and time of this location. So I walked over to the computer and turned on the monitor. It was locked up, requiring a fingerprint scan to gain access.
    The phone next to the keyboard had numbers on the tiny screen. Just as I leaned closer to look at them, beeping sounds rang from outside the door. Like a code box for a garage or something. I couldn’t remember my dad’s office ever having a code to get in. The whole building was secure.
    Unless this was the future? What if I went beyond October 30, 2009?
    I didn’t have time to contemplate that last question because it suddenly occurred to me that if this door opened and Dad or someone came in, there was a chance they’d freak after seeing a version of me that shouldn’t be here. On this day. Or this year. Whatever year that was.
    I stepped into the coat closet to the left of the desk just as the door opened. Footsteps echoed across the floor and suddenly an arm was thrust right past my face. I pressed my back against the side of the closet, holding my breath, and watched Dad hang his long winter coat.
    Clue number one: It’s cold outside.
    I could eliminate a few months. The door swung shut, but not completely. A tiny filter of sunlight streamed through, enough so I could see Dad shuffling around his desk.
    A loud buzz sounded through the silent office and I nearly had a heart attack, thinking someone must know I was here.
    “Yes?” Dad answered.
    The phone. Duh.
    “Everything went as planned,” a man’s voice boomed from the slightly muffled speaker.
    “Full report, please, Agent Freeman.”
    Agent?
    It sounded like whoever was on the other end of the line snorted. Then Dad said, “Now!”
    “All right, all right, sorry. The two subjects, one male, one female, arrived at the scheduled destination unharmed.”
    “I don’t think you understand the definition of a full report, Agent Freeman. Should I dock points from your training exam?” Dad said in a threatening tone.
    “Fine. Thunder walked with the usual friends and arrived in time for jazz band rehearsal at seven-oh-two A.M. And Lightning arrived at the scheduled location at exactly seven-fifty-eight A.M. Two minutes before the bell for homeroom. It would have been earlier, but she felt the need to stop for hot chocolate.”
    He has to be talking about Courtney and me.
    Courtney. Who died April 15, 2005.
    But Thunder and Lightning? Code names?
    I couldn’t write it down. Not here. So I closed my eyes, pressed my back more firmly against the closet wall, and forced myself to repeat the facts over and over. I’m in a year before 2005. Apparently some kind of agent followed us to school and reported back to Dad.
    Yeah, I’ll admit he’s a pretty high-profile guy, being the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company. But having us followed by PIs or whatever the dude on the phone was seemed a bit extreme.
    “She