The Backward Season by Lauren Myracle

Author:Lauren Myracle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-01-27T05:00:00+00:00

I wish Klara Kosrov would notice me.

—NATHANIEL BLOK, AGE FOURTEEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Emily, Age Thirteen

When Emily reached the lake with her art supplies, including the new pencils Nate had given her for her birthday, she spotted Klara Kosrov curled on one of the bench swings situated around the park. Klara, who shared her birthday. Klara, whose sister Emily had seen roller-skating.

Klara was reading a book. She was barefoot, and her long hair gleamed in the sun.

Emily paused. Should she go to Klara? Wish her happy birthday? She grew shy, and instead sat on the grass near the water. She sketched for a bit. She was happy. A shadow fell over her, and when she looked up and saw Klara standing in front of her, she grew even happier.

“Emily, hi,” Klara said. She wore cutoffs and a white camisole. A pale pink bra strap curved across her upper arm. She hooked it with her index finger and pulled it back into place. “Can I join you?”

“Sure,” Emily said.

Klara dropped to the grass, leaning back on her palms and offering herself to the sun. “Happy birthday,” she said with a grin.

“And to you as well,” Emily replied. She grinned, too.

Ripples on the lake glittered. Starlings called out from whispering leaves. Emily knew it was crazy, but she felt the oddest conviction that somehow, she and Klara were occupying a sliver of time untethered from the bonds of seconds and minutes and hours. Or maybe . . . was all of time untethered by seconds, minutes, and hours?

Maybe humans chose to count out time on their watches and clocks, and so time obliged, arranging itself into past, present, and future.

But what if, in reality, time was time was time?

She caught Klara looking at her funny and blushed.

“I get spacey sometimes,” she said. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” said Klara. “It’s part of your charm.”

Emily blushed harder.

“I’m kidding!” Klara said. “I mean, I’m not, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s cute.”

“Great. I’m charmingly spacey.” Emily nodded, determined to let it go at that and not dig herself any deeper. She asked Klara what book she’d been reading—The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, one of Emily’s favorites—and they talked about how cool the idea of alternate realities was.

They moved on to other subjects, and gradually Emily relaxed. Then Klara pulled out a bottle of nail polish and asked if Emily would paint her nails, which made Emily nervous all over again.

“Are you serious?” Emily asked.

“Since you’re so good at art,” Klara said. “Please?”

“Being good at art means being good at painting nails?”

“I’m not suggesting you grow up to be a manicurist. Just . . .” Klara giggled. “When I paint my own nails, I do a crappy job. Anyone could do a better job than I could.”

“Oh. I feel so much better,” said Emily. She laughed at Klara’s stricken expression and untwisted the lid of the polish. “Kidding. Yes, I’ll paint your nails. I might do a crappier job than you, though. I’ve never done this before.”

As Emily brushed

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