“Not a problem, Frannie,” she says, smiling. “We’re big girls. We have our own lives.”
“I’m really sorry,” I say. “I just… you know, it’s just been a bad morning.” I feel a twinge in my chest, and I instinctively glance down at the Steamer. It’s still tiny, but what did it just do?
“It’s cool, really,” she says. A moment passes, and she sets the controller down on the coffee table. “You look down. Something happen?”
“Yes,” I say. “I mean, no. Not yet. But it will.”
“Well, you wanna talk about it?” she says, leaning on my shoulder.
Yeah, I do. I need to talk to someone about this. Peter was no help, really; he said he’d look into why the Steamer was on me, but there was nothing that he could say at the moment. This thing is going to keep festering on me, frustrating me to no end until I finally get rid of it– or talk to someone, tell someone what I’m going through. If I can do that, even if it’s just venting, it doesn’t matter what that person says, I’ll feel better.
Except, I can’t tell Kyle. I know I can’t, and I know I have to keep the whole Interloper and time travel thing a secret. This is nuts. This is insane. Who the hell picked me to be the protector of time if I can’t deal with it?