Traveler L.E. DeLano (bookreader .txt) 📖

sitting alone on a bench near the far side of the open field.

“See her? Go over there, and recommend the book that’s on the bench next to her.”

I look at the girl. “That’s it?” It certainly doesn’t seem difficult.

“That’s it,” he affirms.

“That doesn’t seem life-altering.”

He shrugs. “This is typical, Jessa. You seem to think we’re going to send you on epic quests, but a lot of what we have you do is pretty minimal.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll give it a try.”

“You’ll need to make the transfer at seven thirteen tomorrow morning,” Mario instructs. “Go straight over to her and find a way to talk about the book. Then get right out of there.”

“What am I using for a mirror over there?”

Mario smiles. “There’s a public restroom just behind us.” He waves a hand and the scene behind him changes to show me the location. “Just follow the running trail back around to it. It loops the field.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“It usually is.”

“Usually?”

“If it’s done right.” He waves his hand and the scene changes again. “Here’s the inside of the restroom, so you know what to look for. Once you’ve been somewhere, you can just think of the place, but early on you might need more visual cues. Like landmarks versus street directions when you drive.”

I study the scene, focusing on a bit of graffiti on one wall. I should be able to remember that. Once I’m satisfied I’ve gotten a good look, I turn back to Mario and give him a thumbs-up.

“We’ll work up to more. But this is a good start,” he says, striding over to the red door. I follow him, glancing back one last time at the scene on the board.

“Remember, Jessa—do the job and keep it simple.”

“Simple. Got it.”

He opens the door for me to step through. A moment later I’m in bed, staring blearily at my alarm clock, and it’s 7:05.

“Crap!”

I hastily brush my teeth and pull on some clothes.

“A little more notice would be appreciated,” I grumble aloud, in case Mario can hear me. I know I don’t have to worry about how I look, since I’m changing bodies, but I don’t want her coming over to my morning breath and ratty pajamas.

At 7:13 exactly, I touch my hand to the mirror, and away I go.

I’m in the bathroom, and once again, I’m finding it hard to breathe in my new body.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I moan. Ugh. This Jessa is a runner. Who gets up this early in the morning to run without rabid animals chasing them or something? I’m coated in a thin film of sweat, and it’s clear I’ve been running for a while. I run track at school here, and I’m training for a 10K next month.

“Okay,” I say, giving myself a pep talk as I jog in place. “I can do this.”

I jog through the door and out onto the trail, circling around the path on the far side until I come up behind the girl on the bench. She has a pile of papers sitting next to her, and the book is perched on top of them. She’s staring at her phone, and she doesn’t even know I exist. I run by, bump into the bench, and knock the book off the pile onto the ground.

“Oh my gosh!” I say, trying to sound convincing. “I’m so sorry! There was a squirrel—it ran right in front of me!”

“Oh, it’s okay,” she reassures me. “I don’t like this book anyway.”

I crouch down, picking it up off the ground. I don’t recognize the title, and I know nothing about it.

“Yeah, it starts a little slow,” I improvise.

“You’re telling me.” She rolls her eyes. “Everybody loves it, but I just couldn’t get past that first chapter.”

“You need to!” I say with conviction. “Seriously. It’s so worth it. Don’t let the first chapter throw you.”

“Really?” she says skeptically.

“Really. It’s one of the best reads I’ve had in a long time.”

She takes the book from me. “Thanks. I guess I’ll give it another shot.”

“You won’t regret it,” I assure her. Then I take off jogging.

I’m jogging, I think. I can feel my legs stretching and the blood pumping in my veins. I’m moving at a pretty good clip, and the wind is rushing past my face. I feel like I could run for hours. This is amazing!

I loop the path twice more before I reluctantly head back toward the restroom. I can’t risk stomping a butterfly or something and wrecking things over here, but at the same time … I’ve never been an athlete before. Not that I’m horribly out of shape, but I’m also not the most coordinated person I know. And I don’t just run here … I dance. Oh, wow. I dance.

The memories burst inside me of recitals and competitions, spinning and flying through the air as my partners lift me or I leap impossibly high. I’ve got a performance next weekend, as a matter of fact.

I hesitate outside the restroom, and then I get a grip on myself and force myself to go back inside. There’s a woman there with a toddler, and I grab some paper towels, wet them down, and dab them to my face while I’m waiting. They finally clear out. I start to put my hand to the mirror, but I pause.

“Hold on,” I tell her. “Do you mind?”

She doesn’t seem to object, so I step back and kick off my shoes. I give one more glance at the door, and then I spread my arms wide. I set my feet apart, and with one strong kick off my right leg, I am turning. My head snaps around, and I spot perfectly as my body spins almost effortlessly on the tiled bathroom floor. Oh, I could do this all day.…

I snap to a stop, panting, red-faced, and exhilarated. I throw my arms around myself and laugh out loud. “Oh my God!” I say. “I can dance!”

I look at myself in the mirror.

“I can’t dance,” I say with