Free When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead Page A

have been freezing. Some mornings, I’d seen kids banging on the mailbox and yelling, “Wake up, Kicker!” I hoped no one would do that today.
    I watched my breath billowing in front of me and racewalked toward school. The sun was out but had no warmth yet. I shoved my hands in my pockets and felt a bunch of old tissues. Yuck. And the three dollars. And something else, a little piece of paper, folded in half.
    I pulled it out.
    I recognized your tiny handwriting right away, all wobbly and with those weird loops you put on top of your “t’s” and “l’s.”
You will want proof.
3 p.m. today: Colin’s knapsack.
Christmas Day: Tesser well.
April 27th: Studio TV-15.
P.S. Yawns do serve a purpose. They cool the brain by bringing air high into the nasal passage, which has the effect of increasing alertness.
    The note was on the same dried-up paper as the first two.
    3 p.m. today: Colin’s knapsack . I had absolutely no idea what that could mean, or how you knew Colin.
    Christmas Day: Tesser well . This one had something to do with my book. To tesser meant to travel, through space or time or both. It was how Meg got to Camazotz, the planet where her father was held prisoner. But it had nothing to do with Christmas, as far as I knew.
    April 27th: Studio TV-15 . April 27 was Richard’s birthday. But of course back in December I had never heard of Studio TV-15, since Mom didn’t get her postcard from The $20,000 Pyramid until a couple of weeks ago.
    I think it was the “P.S.” that freaked me out most. I thought of the day Sal got punched, when I had carried my Mysteries of Science poster home.
    I read the note over and over, until my hands were frozen and I was forced to put them back in my pockets. It made no sense. The only thing it really helped me understand was that you were watching me. And I had no idea who you were. Or what you wanted.
    I was almost to the garage when Marcus came out of his door right in front of me. He had on his regular green army jacket, but he was wearing gloves and had a hat pulled down over his ears. I expected him to ignore me like he always did, but instead he waved and started walking along next to me.

Things That Make No Sense
    Marcus and I got to Broadway without saying anything. I was thinking.
    “I thought of a question for you,” I said finally.
    “Okay.”
    “Let’s say I build a time machine.” I waited to see if he would laugh at this, but he just nodded and looked thoughtful. “And let’s say I decide I want to go back to last Wednesday. Let’s say I want to go to the movies while the other me is still in school.”
    “Okay.”
    I exhaled a big white cloud. “I won’t get to last Wednesday until after I leave, right? I mean, I won’t know if I’m really going to get there until I actually get there.”
    “Right. In your experience, you won’t know if you’re going to get there until after you leave. I mean, unless you remember seeing yourself, on the street or something. Or we could ask the ticket guy at the theater.” He was serious.
    “What?”
    “At the movie theater. Which one are you planning to go to? Because we could ask the ticket guy if you were there. Then we’ll know whether or not you’re going to get there.”
    “But I haven’t left yet! I haven’t even built the time machine.”
    “So? It doesn’t matter when you leave . It’s just whether or not you get there that matters. Wait, I take that back. It does matter when you leave. Because if you don’t leave for fifty years, even if you were there, the ticket guy probably won’t recognize you.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Well, let’s say you finish your time machine in fifty years. You’d be—”
    “Sixty-two,” I said. We were across the street from school, waiting for the green light. I could see kids coming from every direction, all bundled up in hats and scarves.
    “Okay, so let’s say you’re sixty-two, and you climb into your machine and go back to last