Excerpt from "Here By Mistake: The Secret of the Niche"
[Fourteen-year-old Brandon, from upstate New York in 2005, has been stranded in 1965. He returns with Sarah and Stephen to 2005 and finds an eighteen-year-old friend from 1965 much changed.]
“Ow,” Brandon cried. He tumbled head over heels, flipped over Stephen, and landed on his back.
“B? Okay?” Stephen asked, himself rubbing his tailbone.
Brandon sat up slowly and nodded. “You?”
“As soon as I find my glasses. My backpack flew off after all.”
“Here it is.” It was Sarah’s voice. She poked her head out of the green folds of a comforter she had landed on. “It hit me in the face,” she snapped, handing it over.
Stephen unzipped the side pocket and took out his glasses. The taped stem had come off. He put them on anyway.
“They sit straighter on your face than before,” Brandon said, rotating his shoulders. “Can everyone stand?”
They got stiffly to their feet. Brandon raised his head and saw the niche—shining as always and leaning against the stone wall. He went up to it and knocked on the recess. It was solid. He turned around. Row upon row of stacked crates stretched before him. The smell he recalled from his aunt’s basement filled his nostrils. A smile spread across his face.
“Everything’s the same. We made it. We’re back!”
“We’re back,” Sarah agreed. “But it’s not the same.” She waved her hand across piles of comforters, blankets, and pillows on the floor. “These weren’t here.”
“That’s right,” Stephen said, flipping the quilted corner of a sleeping bag with his foot. “Where’d they come from?”
A hearty laugh, familiar yet deeper than they had become accustomed to, cut through the stale air. A broad figure stepped out from behind the first row of stacks. His salt-and-pepper hair and two days of white beard caught the light. His gray eyes were smiling. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “I’ve been waiting forty years for this.” He spread his arms and grinned. “Welcome back, y’all.”
Brandon took an amazed step back, then ran and threw his arms around him.
Quint laughed again. He held his friend tightly. “Welcome home, B,” he said.
“Ow,” Brandon cried. He tumbled head over heels, flipped over Stephen, and landed on his back.
“B? Okay?” Stephen asked, himself rubbing his tailbone.
Brandon sat up slowly and nodded. “You?”
“As soon as I find my glasses. My backpack flew off after all.”
“Here it is.” It was Sarah’s voice. She poked her head out of the green folds of a comforter she had landed on. “It hit me in the face,” she snapped, handing it over.
Stephen unzipped the side pocket and took out his glasses. The taped stem had come off. He put them on anyway.
“They sit straighter on your face than before,” Brandon said, rotating his shoulders. “Can everyone stand?”
They got stiffly to their feet. Brandon raised his head and saw the niche—shining as always and leaning against the stone wall. He went up to it and knocked on the recess. It was solid. He turned around. Row upon row of stacked crates stretched before him. The smell he recalled from his aunt’s basement filled his nostrils. A smile spread across his face.
“Everything’s the same. We made it. We’re back!”
“We’re back,” Sarah agreed. “But it’s not the same.” She waved her hand across piles of comforters, blankets, and pillows on the floor. “These weren’t here.”
“That’s right,” Stephen said, flipping the quilted corner of a sleeping bag with his foot. “Where’d they come from?”
A hearty laugh, familiar yet deeper than they had become accustomed to, cut through the stale air. A broad figure stepped out from behind the first row of stacks. His salt-and-pepper hair and two days of white beard caught the light. His gray eyes were smiling. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “I’ve been waiting forty years for this.” He spread his arms and grinned. “Welcome back, y’all.”
Brandon took an amazed step back, then ran and threw his arms around him.
Quint laughed again. He held his friend tightly. “Welcome home, B,” he said.
No comments have been added yet.
