The Girl & the Machine
“ O h , my gosh, it’s you!” A pretty girl dropped to her knees in front of Franklin. She had honey-colored eyes that seemed to glow next to her dark skin and bright smile. He stared at her, his mouth opening slightly in shock.
“I’m sorry—” he started.
“No, no, don’t be, I’m just so excited!” The girl slid off her knees, sitting down fully in the grass beside him. “I’m Heather.” She stuck her hand out. He looked at it. “Heather Gardner-Wells,” she added, as if that made a difference.
Franklin hesitantly shook her hand, barely touching her fingers, then dropped it. Heather scooted closer.
Below them, a car blared its horn on Elm Street. Dealey Plaza wasn’t an ideal place for a study session, but Franklin loved it. He loved the history of the place. It felt momentous, just being there.
“I thought I might see you here,” the girl said eagerly. “I mean, you told me not to track you down, and of course I tried, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I figured that, of all the places in Texas you’d be, it’d be here.”
“I’m sorry,” Franklin repeated. “But I really don’t know you. I’m afraid you’ve got me mixed up with someone—”
Heather straightened her back and met Franklin’s gaze with twinkling eyes. “You’re Franklin Poteat,” she said triumphantly, “and you were born in North Carolina, but you moved in with your gram here in Fort Worth soon after you hit puberty because she had Alzheimer’s and you had, well…” She paused. “You know.”
Franklin grew very, very still.
“Your…condition…means that you need to have someone not too concerned when you disappear for a bit, and besides, you thought you could help your gram out. And it worked for a bit, but then she died.” Heather gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to say it so bluntly. But anyway, you were old enough to, er, travel as you please after that, you had better control, and…” She looked down. “I…uh. I’m going to stop talking now. Sorry.”
Franklin stared at her, his mouth slightly open in shock.
“We should go somewhere more private,” he said.
Heather looked up, her eyes bright and eager.
“Where someone else can’t hear us,” Franklin continued.
Heather leapt to her feet. Franklin was slower as he gathered his books and carefully put them away in his leather knapsack. His hands were shaking. How did she know? His brain tried to figure out how she could possibly know his secret…and how he could possibly have known her. She stood there, bubbly and excited, as if all of this was perfectly normal.
She led him to the library—not to the books, but to the little greenhouse off to the left of it. It was just a decorative thing, really more like a glass-enclosed gazebo with far too many ferns. It had been intended as a quiet place to study, but a greenhouse in Texas was never a good place to study. It was always empty.
The air was stiflingly hot and stuffy, but Franklin shut the door anyway.
For a moment, he stared out the dirty glass, trying to find the right words to say, hoping that when he turned around Heather wouldn’t be there.
“You’re probably wondering how I know you,” Heather stated.
Franklin turned to face her. Gone was the effervescent excitement. Heather looked as somber as he felt, and there was worry—or fear?—in her eyes now.
“It’s not every day that someone comes up to me and says, ‘hey, I know your deepest, darkest secret.’”
Heather laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “I suppose it’s not every day someone meets a time traveler.”
To have it stated like that, so simply and in such a matter-of-fact voice, threw Franklin off. The only people he’d ever tried to tell about his condition were his parents (who didn’t believe him) and his gram (who had, but couldn’t do anything about it).
“How do you know that?”
“ O h , my gosh, it’s you!” A pretty girl dropped to her knees in front of Franklin. She had honey-colored eyes that seemed to glow next to her dark skin and bright smile. He stared at her, his mouth opening slightly in shock.
“I’m sorry—” he started.
“No, no, don’t be, I’m just so excited!” The girl slid off her knees, sitting down fully in the grass beside him. “I’m Heather.” She stuck her hand out. He looked at it. “Heather Gardner-Wells,” she added, as if that made a difference.
Franklin hesitantly shook her hand, barely touching her fingers, then dropped it. Heather scooted closer.
Below them, a car blared its horn on Elm Street. Dealey Plaza wasn’t an ideal place for a study session, but Franklin loved it. He loved the history of the place. It felt momentous, just being there.
“I thought I might see you here,” the girl said eagerly. “I mean, you told me not to track you down, and of course I tried, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I figured that, of all the places in Texas you’d be, it’d be here.”
“I’m sorry,” Franklin repeated. “But I really don’t know you. I’m afraid you’ve got me mixed up with someone—”
Heather straightened her back and met Franklin’s gaze with twinkling eyes. “You’re Franklin Poteat,” she said triumphantly, “and you were born in North Carolina, but you moved in with your gram here in Fort Worth soon after you hit puberty because she had Alzheimer’s and you had, well…” She paused. “You know.”
Franklin grew very, very still.
“Your…condition…means that you need to have someone not too concerned when you disappear for a bit, and besides, you thought you could help your gram out. And it worked for a bit, but then she died.” Heather gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to say it so bluntly. But anyway, you were old enough to, er, travel as you please after that, you had better control, and…” She looked down. “I…uh. I’m going to stop talking now. Sorry.”
Franklin stared at her, his mouth slightly open in shock.
“We should go somewhere more private,” he said.
Heather looked up, her eyes bright and eager.
“Where someone else can’t hear us,” Franklin continued.
Heather leapt to her feet. Franklin was slower as he gathered his books and carefully put them away in his leather knapsack. His hands were shaking. How did she know? His brain tried to figure out how she could possibly know his secret…and how he could possibly have known her. She stood there, bubbly and excited, as if all of this was perfectly normal.
She led him to the library—not to the books, but to the little greenhouse off to the left of it. It was just a decorative thing, really more like a glass-enclosed gazebo with far too many ferns. It had been intended as a quiet place to study, but a greenhouse in Texas was never a good place to study. It was always empty.
The air was stiflingly hot and stuffy, but Franklin shut the door anyway.
For a moment, he stared out the dirty glass, trying to find the right words to say, hoping that when he turned around Heather wouldn’t be there.
“You’re probably wondering how I know you,” Heather stated.
Franklin turned to face her. Gone was the effervescent excitement. Heather looked as somber as he felt, and there was worry—or fear?—in her eyes now.
“It’s not every day that someone comes up to me and says, ‘hey, I know your deepest, darkest secret.’”
Heather laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “I suppose it’s not every day someone meets a time traveler.”
To have it stated like that, so simply and in such a matter-of-fact voice, threw Franklin off. The only people he’d ever tried to tell about his condition were his parents (who didn’t believe him) and his gram (who had, but couldn’t do anything about it).
“How do you know that?”
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