Page 46 of Parallel

“It’s over,” I tellhim.

His jaw shifts. “I feel like you’re givingup.”

“There’s nothing to give up. You can’t possibly believe that—” I come to such a quick halt that he walks right into me. “She’s here,” Iwhisper.

She’s ditched the sweatshirt in favor of a half-shirt and is wearing a plaid school skirt just like earlier…only now she’s got it rolled up well above mid-thigh. And she’s sitting at the bar surrounded by men I recognize from the posters and T-shirts being sold at a table near the entrance. The opening act, I assume. Each of them at least a decade older thanher.

“That’sour lead?” he asks with obviousskepticism.

“Does she look any less reliable than Dr. Grosbaum?” Icounter.

“You have a point,” he says, placing his hand at the small of my back. “Afteryou.”

I hustle through the crowd more easily than Nick because of my size. When I arrive, I lean against the corner so I can make eye contact with one time-traveling teenager and the four losers currently focused on her—one of whom is now holding a shot glass to her glossylips.

“You guys know she’s in high school, right?” I demand. Five faces turn to me, and the girl narrows her eyes. It’s perhaps not the greatest idea to make an enemy of the only person who can help me, but so be it. “And I don’t know where you’re from, but statutory rape is kind of frowned upon aroundhere.”

The one beside her sets the shot glass down. “She said she waseighteen.”

I roll my eyes.For fuck’s sake. The girl barely looks like she’s out of middle school. “Look at her. She’s fourteen, ifthat.”

The girl scowls at me. “I’m notfourteen. And you’re being a totalbuzzkill.”

“We’d be happy to drink with you instead,” the guy closest to me says, his tongue sweeping his upper lip as his eyes slide over me. His hand shoots out to pull me by the belt of my dress, and suddenly Nick is between us, gripping the guy’swrist.

“Remove your hand,” hegrowls.

I blink in surprise. Nick soundspissed. And possessive. It’s a new side of him. I can’t claim to dislikeit.

The guy takes one look at Nick and releases my belt. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t know she was withyou.”

“Well, now you know,” Nick snaps, “so keep your fucking hands toyourself.”

The girl jumps off her barstool, but before I can lunge forward to grab her, one of the band members does it for me. “Let’s at least get a picture,” he says, wrapping an arm around her waist and raising hisphone.

For a second, panic flashes across her face, and then she actually ducks her head to avoid being in the shot. “I don’t like having my picture taken,” she says, dartingaway.

I step around them and cut her off, grabbing her arm, not that it will do any good if she decides to disappear in midair. Her eyes raise to mine. “I can’t help you,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I reallycan’t.”

“Please,” I plead. “You don’t have to do anything. We just need someone to explainthis.”

Nick comes up behind me, pulling me to his chest and wrapping his hand around my hip. Proprietary, the way I remember from so many of those dreams. The gesture would have shocked me a few days ago, but now it just feelsright. All the more reason to figure this out as soon as humanly possible. “Please,” he says. “We’redesperate.”

Her face softens when she looks up at him, in a way it did not for me. She sighs heavily. “I’ll tell you what Ican.”

* * *

The bar isno place for a delinquent teenager, but neither is the back of Nick’s Jeep, so we walk to a diner across the street, where, under the bright lights, she suddenly looks painfully young, andfragile.

We slide into a red vinyl booth and Nick hands her a menu. “Order something,” he says. “If you’ve been drinking, you needfood.”

She asks the waitress for a cheeseburger and a Coke. Despite the outfit and the fact that we just caught her doing shots with a rock band in the back of a seedy bar, she is polite as she gives her order, and there’s an air of privilege about her somehow. I’m guessing she’s a trust-fund kid, the kind with wealthy parents who’ve handed over the child-rearing to theirstaff.

“What’s your name?” Iask.

There’s a split-second of hesitation. “Rose.”

She’s lying, but it hardly matters. “And how old are youreally?”

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