Free Tempest by Julie Cross Page B

Now. Maybe I could change things that way.
    I reached behind me and picked up the phone from the end table. She might have the same cell phone number in this year that she had in 2009. It was five minutes to six on a Monday morning. Holly would probably be up. My heart pounded as I dialed her number from memory.
    After three rings, I heard the crackling sound of papers being crumpled and then music blaring, followed by the one voice I needed to hear most at this moment.
    “Hello?”
    I couldn’t speak or move.
    “Hello?” she said again.
    “Oh … um, sorry … wrong number,” I managed to spit out.
    I heard her laugh a little. “Okay, no problem.”
    I let out the biggest breath of relief, but I knew the second I hung up the phone that it wouldn’t be enough. I had to see her. As I stumbled toward my room, feeling more tired than I ever had in my life, I started to devise a plan to worm my way not only into Holly’s life, but also into Adam’s.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    I slept a few hours and then pulled out my journal to write some of the developments down. If I was able to get into younger Adam’s circle, he’d need all these pages of notes. I knew him well enough to know that.
    MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2007
    Today is my first official day of assuming the role of my seventeen-year-old self. Damn, this sucks! I have a few goals formed already, even in this early hour. (1) Avoid a repeat of any form of high school. (2) Find out what Adam and Holly are doing in this year. I really need to see them. Both of them. Even if they don’t know me.
    Someone banged on my bedroom door, hard. It must have been my dad and he was probably still pissed off about last night.
    “You have no consideration for the fact that I’ve been living in a different time zone since last May,” I said as I stuffed the journal under my pillow.
    “It’s almost noon, you’ve slept enough. I made you something to eat,” he shouted through the door.
    I took my time showering and got dressed slowly, developing a story as to why a nearly straight-A student would suddenly want to drop out senior year.
    Dad was waiting for me at the kitchen table with coffee and eggs, wearing his usual suit and tie, his dark hair neatly combed.
    Part of me wanted to tell him everything, but I mostly just wanted to tell him that I’d seen Courtney, talked to her. He missed her as much as I did. Maybe more. Not that we ever talked about it. But I gave myself official orders. Don’t trust anything he says .
    “Jackson,” he said with a stiff nod.
    “Dad.”
    “I want to talk about you dropping out. I understand you have your reasons for coming back from Spain, but at least consider returning to Loyola.”
    “No, thanks.” Not biting that bullet again. “So, are you heading to work?”
    He opened the newspaper all the way, concealing his face. “Yes.”
    I poured a glass of orange juice and took a long drink. “What was going on in Houston?”
    Killing people with your bare hands?
    “Nothing interesting, just some meetings with politicians. Cutting off the FDA before they start dumping new regulations on us. All things a high school dropout could never do.”
    I groaned and stuffed a forkful of eggs in my mouth. “I’m not interested in going back to a school with a bunch of stuck-up kids.”
    He folded the paper and looked at me. “Huh … Europe has diversified you. Can’t say I object to that … but your education shouldn’t suffer. It’s just one more year and then you can go to college wherever you want.”
    One more year. What the hell did that really mean for someone like me?
    “I’ll get back to you,” I grumbled.
    He left me alone in the kitchen and took off for work. Several questions ran through my head, like … did he yank off his suit and turn into a spy the second he walked out the door? But if he really did work for the CIA, there was no way I could follow him without getting caught.
    My dad never seemed like the government-worker