Revealed by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page A

to rescue Katherine or fix his parents.
    Oh yeah—and dying. He was worried about dying, too.
    JB stepped back from the wall. The monitor that had sent them into the past to cling to Lindbergh’s plane was coming back to life again.
    Oh no , Jonah suddenly thought. Did JB or Angela think about what would happen if the monitor sends us back in a way that has us on the plane again? What if us being there makes Lindbergh crash into a crowd of thousands of people?
    There wasn’t time to ask. As soon as the scene on the monitor came into focus—showing hordes of people packed together near an array of bright lights—Jonah’s head began spinning and he felt himself falling.
    â€œTried to aim for . . . back of crowd,” JB mumbled beside him. Or maybe it was above or below him. Jonah’s sense of direction had vanished.
    It seemed like only a moment later that Jonah felt solid earth beneath him.
    Timesickness . . . shouldn’t be as bad this time , he told himself. Since I was already in the 1920s before . . .
    His senses of sight and hearing were coming in and out, but he could feel someone pulling on his sweater.
    â€œGet up! Not enough room . . . to lie on ground!” kid JB was commanding him.
    Jonah wasn’t sure his legs would work—especially now that being out of the time cave had reawakened the pain from hitting his knee on Lindbergh’s plane over the Atlantic, and his older wounds from being shot back in 1918. But it wasn’t just JB tugging on him. Dozens of hands were yanking him upright.
    â€œSuch a shame! People fainting with the excitement!” someone yelled near his ear.
    â€œAnd the waiting!” someone else screamed back.
    The crowd surged around him, filling in the spaceJonah had taken up when he’d been flat on the ground. Jonah felt dizzy enough that he thought he might faint for real. But even if he did, he didn’t think he could actually fall to the ground—he was packed in too tightly along with the rest of the crowd.
    Someone said “waiting”—does that mean Lindbergh’s not here yet? Jonah wondered.
    Had the monitor sent them back a little too early? Or was Lindbergh never going to arrive because Jonah, JB, and Angela had made him crash into the ocean?
    Jonah blinked a few times to get his eyes to work right, and he pounded his hand against the side of his head in hopes that that would make his ears work better. He made himself think about what language the people around him were speaking—was it French? Were they definitely in France? Having the ability to understand all languages in all time periods sometimes made it hard for Jonah to remember that he wasn’t just constantly hearing English.
    On his third blink Jonah’s eyes cleared up completely, and he instantly wished they hadn’t.
    Now he could see that beside him, kid JB and kid Angela were gazing around with looks of absolute dismay on their faces.
    And streaming past all of them were hordes of tracers.
    It was like a stampede of ghosts, the wispy versionsof thousands of Parisians flowing through and past Jonah, and through and past every single one of the real people standing around him. The ghostly tracers all looked triumphant and overjoyed—maybe like fans storming a football field after their team had just won a national championship.
    The real Parisians standing around Jonah looked hopeful and expectant but maybe also a little worried.
    And the real people and the tracers are different because . . .  , Jonah thought.
    He rose up on his tiptoes and looked in the direction all the tracers were running: Yes, there was a small tracer plane descending toward the ground, appearing out of the night sky.
    But it was only a tracer. No actual plane was anywhere in sight.
    Because Charles Lindbergh was supposed to be in sight now , Jonah thought. He’s supposed to be landing, and all the