as before with Brooke’s, nothing happened. Maybe one shot was all I got. No replays or do-overs. I tried again and again, but nothing. Then I did as before with Cameron’s picture. I took a deep breath and relaxed. A coolness washed over me, starting from my fingertips and fanning out over my entire body. I felt the molecules of my existence fade, become translucent like watercolors. Then fog. Time slipped out from under my feet. The air rippled around me. And the curtain appeared. I reached forward. Pulled. And went through.
Dad sat on the side of the bed and leaned over me to wiggle my chin. My mom cooed and swayed, just barely, back and forth. Beautiful and strangely elegant, like a princess. This time I tried to see more. To extract more from every word, every movement.
“Just like my father’s.”
The moment Dad said it, a sadness washed over my mom’s face. She looked almost pleadingly at Dad. “We should tell her when she’s older.”
He looked down, shook his head in regret before refocusing on Mom. “It’s not our secret to tell. Besides, what good would it do her to know the truth? To know that he’s alive?”
Mom bowed her head.
“I think I have this thing figured out.” It sounded like Granddad, but I couldn’t be certain.
Their dispositions changed as they smiled for the camera. After a quick flash, I was back in my room.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course,” I said before diving in again.
I did this over and over, trying to discover something new, a clue, a hint of whom they were talking about. I found that I could manipulate my position. One time I was standing directly in front of them, and the next, I was standing by the window. It took some practice to get there. When I could control my thoughts more, when I could move without being thrown out of the picture, I walked to the window and turned around. Grandma stood pointing at something on the camera as Granddad, younger and leaner, shooed her away.
“We should tell her when she’s older,” Mom said, and my grandparents exchanged glances—so quickly, I almost missed it.
“It’s not our secret to tell. Besides, what good would it do her to know the truth? To know that he’s alive?”
Granddad bit down, clearly bothered by something before saying, “I think I have this thing figured out.” He raised the camera, and a bright light suffused the area. Then once again, I was back in my room.
They knew. Whatever it was, whatever secret my parents were talking about, my grandparents knew as well. And Mom referred to the secret, something they should tell me, right after Dad had mentioned his father. My dad’s parents died before I was born. Is that what they were talking about? Their deaths? Or maybe it was how they’d died. Maybe they didn’t want me to know. But they’d said he was alive. I bolted upright.
“Brooke,” I whispered, not really sure why.
“Lorelei,” she said in the same tone, strolling out of the bathroom in full pajama mode.
I grabbed my pajamas and ducked into the bathroom. “You will not believe what happened.”
“Let me guess: You went into a picture of your parents when you were born?”
Peeking around the doorjamb, I said, “How did you know that?”
She held up the picture.
“Oh, right.” I went back to changing. “And I can do it over and over.”
“The same picture?”
“The same picture.”
She hopped up and came into the bathroom to sit on the closed toilet. “Do you know what this means?” she asked, her voice filled with fascination.
“Of course.” Then I thought about it. “Well, okay, no. Not really.”
After blinking in thought a few times, she said, “Yeah, me neither.”
“They had a secret.” I pulled my top over my head, then continued. “My parents.”
“And you learned this by touching that picture?”
“Yes. They were talking about it. About how someone was alive but they couldn’t tell me who.” I stopped and gazed at her point-blank. “I think my paternal grandfather is alive.”
Brooke’s jaw dropped open. “I thought he was dead.”
“So did I,” I said. “That’s what they told me, but they were talking about my chin and how it looked like my dad’s father’s and then—”
“I love this place.” Glitch walked in, his mouth clearly full.
Brooklyn stepped out of the bathroom. “Glitch, you need to knock.”
“Hurry, close the door,” I said, rushing past him to do that very thing.
He had a slice of pizza in each hand. “Why? What’s