When we were out of sight of the field, I called her name again and added, “It’s about Joey. I think she’s in trouble.”
Darcy slowed and gave me a quick up and down. “Are you one of Alina’s stooges?”
I gestured to my overripe body. “Do I look like one of Alina’s stooges?”
“No. You look normal. So what’s your interest in Joey?”
My nerves were getting the best of me. “Look, I don’t have time to explain.”
Darcy folded her arms over her chest. “Then I guess I don’t have time to help you.”
I made a frustrated noise. “God, why are you always such a prickly pain in the ass?”
Her hands fell to her side. “Joey?”
I blinked. “You recognize me?”
She shook her head. “No. It can’t be.”
I remembered Robin’s rules about how the human mind would work overtime to dismiss anything unusual. But Darcy was my BFF. My partner in crimes both foreign and domestic. I needed her to have my back. “Well, it is. I know you’ve been giving hand jobs to Mike Abrams behind his dad’s barn.”
Her jaw dropped and fire blazed in her eyes. “He told you? I’m so going to kick his ass—”
“You told me. Like two months from now.”
“How is this possible?” She moved closer, scrutinizing me from head to toe.
“Look, it’s a long story and by the time I explain it all, it might be too late. The Joey you know is in trouble. And I need to find Ursula because I think she knows where she—I—might be.”
“This is so messed up,” Darcy grumbled.
That was putting it mildly. “So, do you know where Ursula is?”
Darcy nodded. “She’s got French this period.”
I blew out a breath. “Let’s roll.”
I strode down the hill, ugly overall dress billowing in the breeze behind me. Darcy ran to catch up.
“So, like, you’re from the future?”
When I nodded she asked, “Can you tell me something about my life then? In the future. I mean.”
I hesitated. “Not sure if that’s a good idea.”
“Come on, I’m helping you, aren’t I?” Darcy said. “I just want to know one teensy tiny little thing.”
I blew out a breath. “Who you’re going to marry? Where you live? How many kids you have?”
“Hell no. Did my dad ever get me the Lamborghini I wanted for my sixteenth birthday?”
I laughed. “No, he didn’t.”
“Damn. I guess my hints have been too subtle.” Darcy flashed me her crooked grin. “You’re still pretty cool, old Joey.”
“Drop the old Joey part and I’ll say the same thing about you.” We entered the school building, ducking low so no one inside the glass-paneled front office could spot us.
Ursula’s French class was on the third floor at the end of the hall.
“What are you going to say?” Darcy asked when I paused outside the door.
“That there’s a call for her.” One good thing about the nineties, only the uber-wealthy and people on television had cell phones. If a parent wanted to speak with a kid in the middle of the school day, they had to call into the front office.
Eventually, the web of lies I was weaving would catch up with me. But I intended to be back safely in my own time after I averted the disaster.
Raising my hand, I rapped smartly on the wood composite door. Mademoiselle Reiner appeared, her silver-streaked light brown hair cut and styled in what appeared to be a botched version of “the Rachel”. She said something in French which, having taken Spanish for my language requirement, I didn’t understand.
“There’s a call in the office for Ursula Green,” I spoke in my best professional secretary voice. “It’s an urgent matter.”
“Ursula,” Mademoiselle Reiner called, not dropping the French accent at all as she made a rapid circular motion with her hand. “Dépêchez-vous.”
Ursula collected her books and a mini backpack—it was more of a purse than something to hold schoolwork—and hastened out the door.
She looked exactly how I remembered her. Where Darcy had always been petite, seeing Ursula looking so young floored me for a minute. She’d developed faster than we had and looked a few years older.
Her long red hair was loose down her back. She wore a black leather jacket over a black micro-mini and a ruffly white shirt that looked like she’d stolen it from a pirate. Her shoes were mock Mary Janes with two inch rectangular heels, putting her an inch over my five-foot-four self. No shlumpy sweaters and loose-fitting jeans ever covered up that incredible figure.