The day that the project was supposed to come back graded, Tally walked into world history with jitters, her hand clutched tightly around her thermos. Ilene had filled it with the black coffee in the cafeteria usually reserved for teachers, hopping in and out of the back before she could be sighted by a lunch lady.
Tally slid into her seat. Nate leaned over from his desk.
“I’m thinking Italian for our date,” he said. “We’ll drive into the city. I’ll steal a car. Thoughts?”
Tally couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. “You’re very confident that we’ll get a hundred.”
“Of course we will,” Nate replied. “As if I’d let an inaccurate detail slip in.”
Miss Weaver entered the classroom with a stack of papers. Tally tilted forward, her whole body pushing against the desk.
“Project grades will be given back at the end of the period.”
A collective groan moved through the class. Miss Weaver didn’t care. She started to teach. For once, Tally didn’t hear a single part of the lesson, her eyes latched on the papers sitting upon her teacher’s desk. After what felt like another whole lifetime, the end-of-class bell rang, and her classmates stirred to attention, spines perking. Their schedule today meant world history was the last period of the day. Most of the class hauled their bags to their shoulders immediately and surged forward for Miss Weaver’s desk.
“Ready?” Nate asked.
Tally’s stomach was in knots. Together, she and Nate approached the desk at a calmer pace, waiting for Miss Weaver to find their paper. Tally was going to start filling in her college applications after this semester. She would need to print her academic transcript.
“Here you go.”
Nate took the paper before she could see what was marked in red at the top. He grinned immediately, and Tally’s breath came out in a whoosh as she read the conclusion in his expression.
“Ta-da!” he sang, turning the sheet around to show a bright100.
Nate walked Tally back toward the dorms, the grade sheet clutched happily in her hands.
“You gave us a bit of an unfair advantage,” Tally mused on the winding stone path. “I almost feel bad.”
“For what?” Nate shivered, burying his chin into his scarf. His hands were in his pockets, braced against the cold. “We used the resources available to us. Fair play.”
Tally barely felt the cold. She wasthatdelighted about one grade. “You’re right. It’s the result that matters.”
They stopped in front of the girls’ dorms. Turned and faced each other. Nate bobbed up and down on his toes.
“So,” he said. “Tomorrow?”
Tally sighed dramatically. To tell the truth, she was entirely faking her disgruntlement now. “Isuppose.”
“Great.” Nate could barely contain himself. “See you tomorrow.”
Then Nate leaned in and kissed her cheek, and Tally froze. Not because of the sensation itself, which was warm and nice and pleasant. Because of everything after.
She pitched onto her knees.
Distantly, she heard Nate shout her name in alarm and sink down to help her, but she stayed locked where she was, hands splayed on the ground. Image after image flashed before her eyes, millennia’s worth of memories pouring backinto her mind. Every death wound and marriage vow. Every first wobbly tooth and last staggered step.
“Tally!”
Her head jerked up. She met Nate’s horrified gaze, and her first instinct was to laugh—a frenzied, frantic sound.
“Nate,” she breathed. “I was nevermadat you during our last life. We had investigators on our tail, and my supervisor threatened me. I was trying not to say too much because there were listening devices in our apartment. I thought I’d have the time to tell you after your conference.”
Nate stared at her. She had rendered him speechless, his lips parted in shock.
“Oh, thankGod,” he finally managed.
There were so many memories coming in at once that Tally could hardly process them. Each time she blinked, more came in: different family members and friends and mentors, one after the other. The only constant among them was Nate, always Nate.
