GENRE: YA Sci-Fi
When sixteen year-old time traveler Bree Bennis botches a History midterm to the distant past, she inadvertently transports a boy home with her to the 23rd century. He claims he’s in love with her, or rather, a future version of her that doesn’t think he’s a pain in the arse. But after she discovers that a recent rash of time travel accidents are actually attacks, she might need her temporal tagalong’s help after all. And when those closest to Bree become the next victims, he may be the only person she can trust--her future self included.
Hitting the ground is the hardest part. Nine times out of ten, it’s dirt or gravel. But all it takes is that one time on concrete, or worse, asphalt, to send even the most experienced Shifter into a panic.
My feet slammed into cobblestone. Muskets cracked and echoed down the alley where I’d landed. Acrid gunpowder stung my nostrils, searing my throat as I fought back a cough and crouched down. The gunfire grew louder and louder, bouncing off both sides of the narrow passageway, so I couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from.
Where was I? Valley Freakin’ Forge?
If so, my dang transporter had missed the target by well over two centuries. Good grief. How hard was a 23rd to 21st Shift? Wyck must have set a new personal record. He would pay for this when I got back.
Puffs of fresh gunsmoke clouded the already dim alley. Pull yourself together, woman. I slipped behind a barrel and pulled out my QuantCom. A Virginia address and instructions popped up. “Bree Bennis, pre-Tricentennial midterm. Deposit package contents on Muffy van Sloot’s grave with following message: ‘There’s no time like the past.’”
So help me, I thought, if this is for a dead cat, heads will roll.
Dr. Quigley could flunk me for all I cared. Okay, that wasn’t even a teensy bit true. I needed an A on this test in a craptastic way. Still, I wasn’t taking a musket ball to the head for anyone.