Future Shock

37

“Hey, breakfast is always good,” Adam says.

“True that.” Trent points his spatula at him. “Just remember to go grocery shopping in thirty years.”

“Uh…I’ll try.”

We ease ourselves onto bar stools perched in front of the center island and watch Trent do his thing. The skillet sizzles as he throws some bread and eggs onto it.

“Where’d you learn how to cook?” I ask as the delicious smell of frying food fills the air.

“My parents were junkies. They’d shoot up and sit around all day watching talk shows and forget they had a little kid to feed. Sometimes I’d sneak over to my neighbors’ place and they’d cook for me. They were from El Salvador and made the best damn pupusas you’ve ever tasted. I learned a lot from them before the state took me away.” His voice sounds casual, but his eyes are glued to the skillet as he talks. “After my last foster home went to hell, I took off. Been living on the streets ever since, shelter-hopping and grabbing food where I can. Cooking skills come in handy when you’re on your own.”

There’s a long moment of uncomfortable silence, the kind that comes whenever someone ventures into TMI levels of sharing. I’ve heard of other kids who bailed on the foster system and went homeless. It’s a tough life, but sometimes it’s better than whatever they were dealing with in their foster homes. I’ve considered going out on my own plenty of times when things got really bad. I was just too chicken to actually do it.

“That’s cool,” I say, breaking the ice. Trent looks up at me with a grateful smile.

“Yeah, man,” Chris says. “I wish I knew how to cook. And Adam definitely needs to learn.”

We all laugh and the nervous energy in the room vanishes. Trent serves us French toast with maple syrup, along with some bacon he somehow managed to find. I don’t know if any of it is fresh or not, but it all melts in my mouth and fills me with warmth. Turns out Trent’s a pretty damn good chef.

We all sit around the island counter and eat while teasing Trent about his cooking skills and Adam about his future self’s empty fridge. We don’t bring up what Future-Adam told us or how we’re all going to be killed tomorrow. We just stuff our faces and pretend we’re five ordinary people hanging out together with our whole lives ahead of us.

But even though we laugh and smile, our fate hangs over us like a reaper’s scythe. I can’t forget it, no matter how hard I try. The clock never stops ticking—and I only have a few more hours to stop all of our murders.

09:40

We explore the house, going through bedroom after bedroom after bedroom. Seriously, how many guests does Future-Adam expect to have at once? There’s also a library full of old books—which Trent and I both ooh and aah over—plus an exercise room, a giant office, and even a freaking movie room. We practically have to drag Chris out of this last one.

We find some extra clothes laid out in what I assume must be Future-Adam’s bedroom. It’s not the biggest one or the fanciest one, but it is the messiest one. It’s the only room we’ve seen that actually looks lived in. The bed is unmade, clothes are piled on a chair in the corner, and there’s a glass of water on the bedside table. Future-Adam is kind of a slob.

Adam walks around the room, studying everything like he’s searching for clues to his own life. I can’t even imagine what it must be like, standing in your future self’s house, trying to piece together what happened to yourself in that thirty-year gap.

Zoe sifts through the clothes. “They look the same as what we’re wearing. Bleh.”

“Aw man, no smartclothes?” Chris asks. “I wanted to check them out.”

“It makes sense,” Adam says, pausing to examine a large mirror with a silver frame hanging on one wall. “If we went back to the present with different clothes, Aether might suspect something.”

“I guess,” Chris mutters as he grabs the largest shirt from the pile. He leaves the room to change, followed by Adam and Trent.

Zoe studies herself in the mirror, smoothing her damp blue hair, and sighs. “I could really use a shower.”

I gesture to Future-Adam’s bathroom. “There’s a bathtub the size of a small pool in there—feel free.”

She lets out a small laugh. “Maybe I will. What do you think of this place?”

“It’s…impressive,” I say as I pick out my clothes. “Except for this room anyway.”

“This room’s a bit messy, but Adam’s still a catch.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You think so?”

“Oh yeah. If I wasn’t already with someone, I would totally be into him.” She picks up her new clothes, hugging them to her chest. “I’m bisexual, in case that wasn’t obvious. And Adam’s hot, smart, funny…and in the future he’s a hero and superrich.” She gives me a faint smile. “But Adam only has eyes for you anyway.”

I don’t know what to say. Maybe it isn’t such a secret that he likes me. But that doesn’t mean either of us has to act on it. We barely know each other. And we have far more important things to focus on—like staying alive.Changing in Future-Adam’s bedroom feels too personal, so we split up to find other rooms. It’s my first chance to be alone and I head into a bathroom off the front entry of the house, far from the others. The bathroom has a counter you can sit at with special lights and a mirror (for putting on makeup?), plus two ivory-colored chairs in the corner and a separate room for the toilet. I can’t imagine why anyone would need all this in their house. I half expect someone with a towel to pop out and ask for a tip.