Free The Hourglass Door by Lisa Mangum

love of bad puns. We talked about my friends—Valerie, Natalie, and Jason.
    It wasn’t until I had dropped Dante off at the Dungeon and watched him slip into the side door that led to what must be an upstairs apartment that I realized we had talked about everything—except him.
    ~
     
    Tossing my backpack and jacket on the table next to the front door, I called, “I’m home.”
    “Abby, is that you?” Mom’s voice came from the kitchen. “I thought you were going to breakfast with your friend.”
    “I did. I just got back.” I walked into the kitchen and stood next to Hannah at the table.
    Mom cocked her head. “But you just left . . .”
    I felt a strange jolt, and my surroundings stuttered and jumped around me like a missed frame in a movie.
    Time seemed to stop, and I had a chance to look around the table. Dad was still reading the sports page—the first section he liked to read in the morning. Mom was still in her bathrobe and slippers. Hannah was still in her pajamas. Breakfast was still hot—the bacon still crisp, the pancakes still steaming under puddles of sticky syrup, the juice glasses still full.
    I glanced at my watch: 8:45. A wave of heat washed through me, followed by a splash of cold. It had been just over half an hour since Hannah had woken me up. Enough time to drive to Helen’s Café and back—provided I hadn’t stayed to eat. But I had. Hadn’t I? I didn’t feel hungry. If anything, I felt uneasy and disoriented. I sat down at the table.
    My hand shook as I reached in my back pocket for the receipt from the café to check the time printed on the slip. My pocket was empty. How could that be? I clearly remembered paying for breakfast. But at the same time, I clearly remembered Dante picking up the check, paying for the meal, and pocketing the receipt. They couldn’t have both happened. How could I remember two different things? I shook my head. Without the receipt, there was no proof of the hours I had spent with Dante at breakfast. Just my memories. How did I already have a morning’s worth of memories if the morning had just started? What was going on?
    “Abby, are you all right? You look a little pale.” Mom pressed the back of her wrist to my forehead. “Why don’t you have something to eat?”
    I shook off her hand and pushed away the plate of pancakes like it was poisoned. “I’m fine.” Though I wasn’t. “I guess I’m still a little tired from the party last night.” Though I wasn’t. “I’m sure I’ll feel better by lunch.” Though I wasn’t sure of that, either.

 
     
    Chapter
    6
     
     
    I slammed my hand against my locker. Stupid lock. Sighing, I shifted my backpack and tried the combination again. What was it again? 36–24–34? No, 34–24–36. That didn’t sound right either. Why couldn’t I remember three little numbers?
    Crowds of people flowed up and down the hallway in a steady stream, eddying around chattering knots, parting, drifting, and re-forming in seamless currents. The constant motion around me was soothing and a little hypnotic. I felt like I could watch the patterns for hours.
    C’mon, Abby. Think! I shook my head, studying my locker door and fiddling with the combination lock. But it was hard to focus. Hard to think. Grumbling, I dropped my backpack and hit the locker with the flat of my hand again.
    Ever since Saturday’s breakfast with Dante—days ago—my life had felt like it was one step behind and, as Hannah had so eloquently put it last night at dinner, I’d turned into a grouchy, grumpy mess.
    And to top it all off, I’d been late to rehearsal every night this week and Dave hadn’t been happy at all. I had a constant headache that no amount of aspirin could touch. I felt all twisted up inside like a Celtic knot; I couldn’t even begin to figure out where to start unraveling the mess. I could feel the pressure weighing me down, slowing me down, keeping me down.
    Leaning my forehead against the cool metal, I closed my