Once Was a Time by Leila Sales

to before my mum went away, and I would find a way to make her stay.
    But nothing at the library seemed helpful. Articles that promised “easy ways to time travel!” were rubbish, filled with theoretical musings that only my dad would have been able to parse, or advice to “let go of fear and set your mindfree.”
    I tried that, by the way. I would try anything, no matter how silly it sounded. I let go of fear, but I didn’t time travel anywhere. I just nodded off for a few minutes.
    I read one book where the kids held a séance to conjure up the dead, and that seemed like a good idea—maybe I could call up the ghost of my dad and ask him how I could get home again. Or I could call up Kitty, and even if I couldn’t go anywhere, at least I could tell her that I wassorry.
    But I couldn’t have a séance alone. I needed friends for that. And I didn’t reckon that Miss Timms and Mr. Babcock would be terribly helpful. So I just kept reading, and thinking, and imagining.
    By the end of summer, I was in the library from the minute it opened until the minute it closed. Unfortunately, that was only noon to six p.m., Tuesday through Saturday. All the rest of my time, I was just home. At Melanie and Keith’s house. Watching them watching me.
    So I could not wait for school to start.
    Melanie drove me to Sutton Brook Elementary on my first day. I wore my lollipop top, just as Dakota had ordered. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I spent the car ride picking at the glitter on the shirt, peeling off small bits into myhand.
    â€œAre you nervous?” Melanie asked as we pulled up in front of the school.
    I gave her a dark look. What do you think?
    Melanie laughed. “I’m sure you’ll make many new friends,” she said.
    I wasn’t sure of that at all. I was sure Penelope , as a child, had made many new friends. Penelope, who had boxes filled with her personal style, who played a sport, who was “never really a reader.” But for all that I slept in Penelope’s bed and sat in Penelope’s seat at the dinner table, I was not her. I was Charlotte , whoever that might turn out to be.
    Melanie gave me a hug good-bye. I got out of the car and walked slowly into the playground, which was already filled with children running around, playing on the swings, shrieking. I was supposed to stay out here until the fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Vasquez, called us to line up.
    I looked around for a place where I could sit down and read my book. I was just about to settle on an unclaimed sliver of grass when I heard a voice call, “Charlotte! Hey!”
    I turned around.
    â€œJake!” I exclaimed, thrilled to see a familiar face. “Hullo! All right, are you?”
    He looked down at himself, his face perplexed, as if expecting to see a stain on the front of his shirt. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” he asked.
    â€œOh—I just meant—how are you doing? How was the rest of your summer?”
    â€œOh, I get it.” Jake’s face turned red. “Yeah, I’m good. We were at Lake Michigan for the past week for a big family reunion thing.”
    â€œSmashing!” I exclaimed.
    â€œYeah!” Jake’s blush faded now. “It was awesome. On the last night we built this big bonfire, and I ate six s’mores. And I beat my older cousin at Chubby Bunnies, even though he’s fifteen and his cheeks are huge.” Jake stuck his fingers in the corners of his mouth and pulled them apart, to demonstrate. “I almost threw up,” he added.
    I giggled. “I don’t know what s’mores are, though,” I said. “Or Chubby Bunnies.”
    â€œReally?” Jake’s eyebrows widened. “You don’t make s’mores in England?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œCharlotte,” Jake said, very seriously. “S’mores are the best food in the world. You should come over sometime and we can