See You Yesterday by Rachel Lynn Solomon

Author:Rachel Lynn Solomon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2022-05-17T00:00:00+00:00

DAY NINETEEN

Chapter 25

EVERYONE CALLS DRUMHELLER FOUNTAIN IN the center of campus Frosh Pond because of a decades-ago prank that sparked a tradition of sophomores dunking freshmen in the water. My mom claims she saw it happen one night when she was walking home from a concert, but I’ve never believed her.

I wait across from the fountain, outside the computer-science building. With her flash of blue hair, Christina is easy to spot. Naturally, her gaze sweeps right by me.

“Are you Christina?” I ask, leaping off my bench and hustling to fall in step with her. Bless her for mentioning her three-hour coding class yesterday today, which took five seconds to find online. She nods, dyed-blue eyebrows furrowed. “You’re good with computers, right?” I fight a grimace—this makes me sound like my grandma Ruth asking me to help install Skype on her ancient desktop.

But Christina doesn’t flinch, just stops walking and narrows her eyes. “Who told you that?”

“I, um, heard it around campus,” I say. “I need some help. With a computer issue. An internet-search issue, to be specific.”

Finally she softens, looking pleased that word of her genius has spread. “What are you trying to find? I don’t do anything, like, super illegal.”

Briefly, I wonder where the line is between illegal and super illegal. “Can you find out if something’s been scrubbed from a website?”

“Might be able to,” she says. “I was on my way to the counseling center, but I could be persuaded.” Right—she’d mentioned something about waiting in line. Given it’s two thirty now and I saw her at the Washingtonian at four thirty, it must be one hell of a line.

“For a hundred dollars?”

She grins. “Why don’t you step into my office…”

“Barrett,” I say. “Thank you.”

I follow her to Odegaard, which has the distinction of being the ugliest library on campus. She grabs an alcove on the second floor with such familiarity that I have to imagine this is a regular spot for her.

I pull over an aging wooden chair while Christina unpacks not just one but two laptops, and reaches under the table to plug in a charger.

“What are you looking for?” she asks. “Or—who?”

“Who.” This was our only lead, and I don’t want to leave a single stone unturned. “A professor who used to teach here in the physics department, Ella or Eloise Devereux.” I think back to the grad announcement Miles and I found. “She might be in her sixties?”

As she logs in, I get a look at her username, and my world tilts on its axis.

Christina Dearborn from Lincoln, Nebraska. The girl who was supposed to be my roommate.

“Something wrong?” she says, and I wonder if she can sense my heart tripping over itself.

“No, I—” I shake my head, laughing at the cosmic coincidence of it all. “I think we were supposed to be roommates?”

Her face completely changes. “Oh my god. Barrett. Yes! I thought your name was familiar, and I guess there probably aren’t too many Barretts on campus. They made a mistake—I’m a sophomore, and Olmsted is a freshman dorm.

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