Free Time Snatchers by Richard Ungar Page A

Bumbershoot
    I slowly open my eyes and see brick walls, cobblestones and a bit of sky. I’ve landed in an alley.
    It feels good to be on a mission again. I take a deep breath and step out onto a sidewalk. Mid-morning, and it’s already sweltering. Dozens of shoppers are out and about. The street is crammed with small shops and pubs. The one closest to me, the Lazy Lizard Pub, has a sign showing a lizard lounging in a hammock. Right next door to it is Ye Stinky Cheese Shoppe, and it’s sure living up to its name.
    Then I remember. The cheese shop. That’s where I’m supposed to meet up with Abbie. I’m almost there when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
    “Good morning, Cale,” says Abbie, smiling. “What do you think?”
    Why is everyone asking me for my opinion on what they are wearing? First Phoebe and now Abbie. It’s not like I’m any kind of fashion guru. Far from it.
    Abbie does a slow spin. Her costume for the snatch is a navy blue pinstriped power pantsuit with horn-rimmed sunglasses. To complete the picture, her auburn hair is tied back neatly in a bun. If you didn’t know she was a thirteen-year-old time-traveling orphan, you would think she was eighteen and probably someone’s executive assistant. Still, it wouldn’t be my first choice of disguise for a snatch at an umbrella factory.
    One thing I’ll admit, though. Abbie’s outfit makes her look … well, female. If her idea was to distract me, it’s definitely working.
    “Uhh. It’s chic,” I say, hoping I got the pronunciation right.
    She waves me over to a bench, and we watch the steady stream of shoppers. I’m very aware of her sitting next to me. In fact, I’m more aware of her body next to me than I am of anything else in the world right now. She shifts position, and I can feel her leg touching mine. What’s going on? There’s room for about four people on this bench, so why is she crowding me? Except it doesn’t feel like crowding at all. It feels like something else. A new and strange feeling that, ever since France, my brain has been working overtime to figure out. I’m not sure I like this. But then again, I don’t want her to move her leg away, either.
    “Don’t you just love the hustle and bustle of this place?” she asks and moves even closer to me.
    “Yes, excellent hustle and bustle,” I agree, squirming.
    An elderly woman in a paisley dress toddles by and gives me a disapproving look.
    “Don’t mind her,” Abbie says. “I think you look cute in pajamas.”
    “These aren’t pajamas,” I say. “Nassim picked out—”
    “No need to say anything, Cale. I’m touched that you were in such a hurry to meet up with me that you forgot to get dressed. By the way, how are you feeling? You cut out early last night. Do you think it was something you ate?”
    “I’m fine,” I lie. There goes my good mood. Now all I’m feeling is annoyed and confused. Annoyed that someone who supposedly knows me so well can’t figure out that the real reason I left the table early was because she was totally ignoring me and making goo-goo eyes at Frank. And confused because I don’t know what todo with these new feelings I have about Abbie. Should I tell her? Not tell her? I’m dying to know how she feels about me, but there’s no way I’m asking. What if she doesn’t get it? Or what if she says she thinks of me like a brother? I’ll be totally crushed. Maybe I should write to Ask Natasha. I could sign the letter “Baffled in New Beijing.” Or better yet, I can mail it from here and sign it “Loveless in London.”
    “Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she says, standing up. I feel a small wave of disappointment as the contact between our legs is broken. “Time to get going. The Brolly Shoppe awaits.”
    “Did you say ‘shop’? I thought we were going to an umbrella
factory.
”
    “Didn’t you read your briefing notes for Operation Bumbershoot, Mr. Pajama Top?” she says, pointing across the street. “The