The Pilgrims of Rayne by D.J. MacHale

and girls. Courtney didn’t want anything to do with them.
    â€œWhat exactly are you looking for?” Dodger finally asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Courtney admitted. “Something less…Barbie.”
    Dodger frowned. “I got no idea what that means, but maybe you should go someplace that’s got a little bit of everything.”
    â€œIs there a place like that?” Courtney asked.
    Fifteen minutes and a short subway ride later, Courtney stepped up to the entrance of “the World’s Largest Department Store” on Thirty-fourth Street. Macy’s. The same Macy’s she knew from home, that had all sorts of everything, including a parade onThanksgiving. Dodger didn’t make the trip because his break was over. That was fine by Courtney. He asked too many questions. She felt that he meant well, in an old-fashioned, “I’m a smart guy who knows best how to take care of a helpless little gal” sort of way, but she didn’t need that. Her plan was to avoid Dodger like the plague.
    Walking through Macy’s was an alien experience. It looked nothing like the Macy’s of Second Earth. The clothes were heavy and dark. There was no music. The lighting was dim. The floors were made of wood. Even the escalators had wooden steps. But it was still Macy’s, and Courtney knew she’d find what she needed.
    She walked past the ladies’ and girls’ departments and headed straight to menswear. There, as a perplexed salesman wearing a neat suit with a white carnation in the lapel watched in wonder, Courtney bought two pairs of men’s woolen pants and a few white, cotton shirts. She also bought socks, a pair of brown leather shoes that were much more comfortable than the ones from the flume, and a pair of green striped suspenders to hold the pants up. She found a gray woolen cap with a short, soft brim that was big enough to tuck all of her long brown hair under. Courtney put her hands in her pockets and admired herself in the mirror.
    The salesman scowled. “Halloween was two days ago, young lady.”
    Courtney smiled. “I think I look pretty good.”
    She did. Courtney may have been wearing men’s clothes, but there was no hiding the fact that she was a girl. The final piece was an oversize, dark green turtleneck sweater that she knew she’d need once the weather got cold. Satisfied, she paid the salesman and headed out.
    â€œWhat do I do with this?” the salesman called to her. He was holding up the flowered dress that Courtney had worn into the store.
    â€œI don’t need it anymore,” she said brightly. “Halloween was two days ago.”
    The salesman gave her a disapproving frown and Courtney went on her way. She had one more chore before beginning her search for Mark in earnest. She traveled a route she had taken many times before, in another era. From Thirty-fourth Street in Manhattan she took a subway train to Grand Central Terminal. The ride cost a nickel. From there, she got on a New Haven Line train, headed for her hometown of Stony Brook, Connecticut. The hour-long trip was familiar yet alien. The train wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable as the sleek, shock-absorbed cars of Second Earth. She felt herself bouncing around as if she were on a freight train. There was an incessant squeak and rattle that didn’t seem to bother anybody else but her. The constant bouncing was especially annoying because she was trying to read the newspaper.
    If she had been tracking Mark on Second Earth, her first stop would have been the Internet. On First Earth all she had were newspapers and the occasional radio news broadcast. At Grand Central Station she bought five different daily papers: the New York Advocate , the Manhattan Gazette , the New York Daily Mirror , the New York Post and the New York Times. She quickly searched through every paper, desperate to find a mention of Mark Dimond, Andy Mitchell, the Dimond