Free Angel of the Battlefield by Ann Hood

like a genius in science and stuff.” He didn’t know what he would do if his sister actually started to cry. Maisie never cried.
    â€œIt’s so unfair!” she said, squirming away from him. Her eyes flared with anger now. “Why did our stupid parents have to get divorced? Why did we have to move to stupid Rhode Island? Why did we get stuck living in servants’ quarters?”
    Her anger actually made Felix feel better. This was the Maisie he was used to.
    â€œAnd now we can’t even fly or whatever it was we almost did!”
    Felix burst out laughing. “Yeah,” he said. “We can’t even fly.”
    She glared at him. “Oh! Shut up!” she yelled, which made him laugh even harder.
    Maisie moved toward the door. “You wait,” she said, spinning around and pointing at him. “I’m going to figure this out, and I might not even take you with me next time.”
    Before he could protest, she was out the door and down the stairs.
    â€œAnd if you don’t come right now, I’m closing you in there for the night!” she yelled.
    Felix ran out of there as fast as he could. She was just mad enough to actually do it.

Landing
    â€œI didn’t give you the paper!” Maisie whispered, shaking Felix hard. “You tried to grab it from me.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” he muttered, rolling away from her.
    â€œWake up!” she said. “We have to go back and do it all over again. Except this time you have to grab the paper from me.”
    Felix managed to get one eye open. The clock on his nightstand glowed 2:08. He groaned.
    â€œRemember? I didn’t want you to have it. I was reading the names, and you grabbed it from me.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Felix said, remembering.
    â€œCome on,” Maisie ordered. “Get up.”
    He knew he didn’t have a choice. He climbed out of bed and followed his sister into the dark hallway.
    Maisie paused at their mother’s bedroom door. Ever since the divorce, she slept with the television on, and Maisie could hear Jerry Seinfeld’s voice and then canned laughter coming from in there. But nothing else. On tiptoes, she kept going. In the kitchen, their dinner plates still sat on the table, the orange sauce from their mac and cheese all hard and crusty now. Another thing that started after the divorce. Their parents used to always clean up after dinner, singing show tunes together as they washed and dried and swept.
They had seemed like two people in love,
she thought.
    With a sigh, she opened the door to the dumbwaiter and watched as Felix climbed inside for the second time that night.
    â€œBon voyage,” she said as she closed it.
    But Felix stopped her from closing the door the whole way.
    â€œNo matter what happens in there,” he said, “we’re not doing this again, right?”
    â€œRight,” Maisie said.
    â€œI want you to promise me,” Felix said.
    â€œOkay, okay. I promise.”
    â€œNo matter what happens,” he insisted. “Even if we somehow land in Dad’s living room or . . . or . . . I don’t know, back on Bethune Street.”
    â€œI said I promise.”
    He studied his sister’s determined face.
    â€œI mean,” he said carefully, “what if we woke up or whatever, and we were in our old bedroom and Mom and Dad were in the kitchen singing—”
    â€œIs that what you think?” Maisie said. “We’re going to go back in time?”
    â€œNo,” Felix said carefully. “I don’t know what to think.”
    Maisie closed the door, pressed the white button, and watched her brother disappear.
    In the quiet, dark kitchen that smelled faintly of mac and cheese, Maisie pressed her forehead against the door of the dumbwaiter. Somehow, getting back into The Treasure Chest and maybe flying again—flying off somewhere, even!—had become the most