Page 24 of Time Stops With You

My phone chirps with a text.

It’s a bank account number.

And a name.

Aleksy Zuniga.

The second call happens at eight pm to the principal of the Galilei Newton School for The Scientifically Gifted.

At first, the principal, Dr. Phonecia Green, is… less than friendly. Understandable. It’s after hours on a Saturday and I’m a stranger cold-calling her at night. But she quickly warms up when I explain who I am and what I want to do.

After that, my virtual assistant is handed another assignment which faces a tiny hiccup when the bank blocks the transaction.

After posing a call to the bank manager who steps out during his wife’s birthday dinner to answer me and make a few calls of his own, the transaction goes through.

Exhausted, I hang up with the bank manager and limp to the thick brown couch. My entire body groans as I sink into the sofa.

While I can code at my computer, crouched over my keyboard for hours on end, talking to people zaps my energy like a parasite.

I’d thought my ability to socialize had improved as I hadn’t felt any adverse effects while talking to Josiah or Nardi.

But I was wrong.

My head hurts and my eyes burn.

I decide to take a break for the evening, crack open a bottle of mineral water and lose myself in the pages of a C++ programming language research paper.

My phone rings as I turn to the second chapter of the book.

Nope. I’m not doing it.

No more peopling for me.

After Hastings’ therapy session, hiring the notaries, the lawyers, communicating with the bank, my assistant and the principal, I could fly to a remote island and not talk to anyone for one month. At this rate, it might take me a couple weeks to recover.

I contemplate ignoring the call until I see Richard Sullivan’s name on the screen.Guess I have to take this.

“Hello?” I say tightly.

“Cullen, glad I caught you. It’s Dare.”

I reach for a metal bookmark that was gifted to me by my former college. I spoke at their graduating ceremony last year and then I was wiped out for an entire month. Now, I wisely decline all speaking engagements.

Slipping the bookmark within the pages, I close the book neatly. “Can I help you?”

“I just wanted to check if you’d seen my good friend Hastings today?”

“Yes, I saw him.”

Mr. Sullivan waits.

I add nothing more.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry if you were shocked. I should have given you a heads-up about that.”

“I would have appreciated one,” I say.

He doesn’t seem offended by the scolding in my tone.

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