Free Magic in the Mix by Annie Barrows

kitchen ceiling. “I think maybe you got some rot up there. See how it’s peeling?”
    Dad looked at the ceiling. “One thing at a time.”
    â€œIf you say so,” Ollie said. He gave the ceiling a longing look and disappeared from view.
    â€œThat guy’s crazy about rot,” Miri whispered.
    â€œYeah,” Molly said vaguely.
    â€œI got scared you’d gone back,” Miri confided, hoping for an indignant denial.
    Molly nodded.
    Miri pressed, “Even though I know you wouldn’t.”
    Molly shook her head, but she didn’t look Miri in the eye.
    â€œYou wouldn’t, would you?” demanded Miri.
    â€œNo. Course not,” Molly said. “And anyway, Dad’s about to board up the door. In a few minutes, I wouldn’t be able to get back even if I wanted to.”
    Miri gave her a sharp glance. Who was she kidding? Molly wasn’t a person who could be stopped by anything so paltry as a few boards. She was faking.

Chapter 6
    Was she faking? For roughly the millionth time that week, Miri wondered.
    â€œWaaay back!” called Ray. “To the driveway!”
    â€œYou’re dreaming!” hollered Molly. She took one step back. “You’ll
maybe
get it to the tree.”
    They were playing lettuce-ball, the only fun part of grocery shopping. Basically, it was football with heads of lettuce, but they weren’t allowed to ruin the lettuce, so it was mostly passing and yelling.
    Even though lettuce-ball was the only sport she truly enjoyed, Miri wasn’t having a good time. She couldn’t keep her mind on the game. She was too busy watching Molly from the corner of her eye, trying to read her mind. Was she planning togo back in time to save Maudie? Was she planning to erase herself from Miri’s life? What was she thinking? Oops—lettuce sailed past Miri’s shoulder, and Nora caught it, shrieking with excitement. “I got it! I got it!”
    Nora’s triumph didn’t last long. Molly raced forward to scoop her and her lettuce up and head for the goal (lettuce-ball was also like soccer). “She scores!” she screamed over her shoulder as she ran.
    â€œNo, she doesn’t!” shouted Robbie, chasing her down.
    Miri stood in the shade of the elm tree, watching Molly. No. She’d never do it. Look how much fun she was having. She’d never play around like that if she was leaving. She’d be tense and worried, or maybe that’s just how Miri herself would be—“Ow!” This time, the lettuce hit her on the forehead.
    Miri had been repeating versions of this argument all week long. Each day, she and Molly went to school, came home on the bus, played with Cookie, did their homework, read, went to bed, and did everything they normally did. Except that it wasn’t normal.
    The most un-normal part was not talking about it. Miri had tried. In the middle of finding the volume of a cylinder—a pointless project, in Miri’s opinion—she laid down her pencil. “Are you thinking about Maudie?” she whispered.
    Molly’s eyes darted guiltily away. “No. Nope,” she said. Then, “Can we round up the decimals?”
    Meanwhile, Ollie worked on the porch, with Miri silently cheering him on. Once it was finished, the hole in time would be plugged—she felt certain of it. Five little boards over the back door were no protection from the past, Miri knew. 1918 was waiting, just over that feeble hurdle, and if Miri realized it, she knew that Molly did, too. She could almost see the past, crouched outside the door like a wild animal, ready to eat Molly up.
    You’re not sure how it works, she reminded herself. But she was almost sure. Just as she had explained to Molly before, she felt certain that their house was a place where the barriers separating past and present were very, very thin. All the events, the lives, the pasts that had ever taken place inside the house