I grunt through closed lips as I tug my mom's lawn chair toward the side of the house. My fingers feel like they've rested in a slushie while the rest of my body is both hot and cold.

One thing I didn't miss was the fire that engulfed us when we first landed. Our skin didn't peel or blister, but it was hot to the touch.

The wind sweeps across me and fluffs my t-shirt. I hold the chair in one hand and the brick wall against the other, then lift my foot on the seat.

The chair wobbles as I lift my other foot, so I slam my palms against the glass to steady myself. I cringe at the noise, and my mind takes me back to when me and Regina snuck in the house.

My curtains are sheer and floral, slightly drawn apart. My table lamp and bedside light are on. Their orange color brightens the big room and shows me that I'm directly above my bed.

Like Regina taught me, I push upward against the windowpane. The sill creaks and paint peels away like the window hasn't been opened in years.

It opens like the sound of boards ripping apart and I grit my teeth. I take a few deep breaths, then plant my forearms on the sill.

I drag my knees across the bricks and the toe of my sneakers on them as well. I crawl and pull like a spider suspended in the air, grunting and breathing heavily.

I jerk myself forward, and my chest slams into the wall. I push my arms on the sill and use the weight to raise myself higher. My nose flares and my neck tenses before I fling forward and flop onto the queen-sized bed.

The comforter feels like silk and smells like dryer sheets. The texture pulls me in, and the scent shuts my eyes.

I take in a big breath, savoring the moment as if I'd be whisked away again by another Leonid shower.

The bedside clock ticks, and the ambiance from my fish tank fills the room too. The air pump rumbles with bubbles, and I turn my head toward the noise.

The tank, positioned beside my bedroom door, is five feet tall and just as wide. The base is black, and the glass is translucent. The dartfish-some violet and others faint yellow-and seahorses swim past the vertical bubbles at the corner of the tank. They pass the coral and the treasure chest that repeatedly opens and closes, spilling more bubbles.

I lift my head and my eyes scan the room, searching for something that the other Leila could've changed. The only thing out of place is the clear jelly bag of makeup lying on my table.

My floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are on the other wall beside the door, my table is facing the wall across from the bookshelf, my reading nook-an egg swing over a multicolored rug-is to my left, and my standing star projector is on my right.

My attention returns forward, and my heart sinks into my twisting stomach. My face feels warm, and behind my eyes burns. Tears form and blur my peripherals, giving me tunnel vision that also becomes foggy.

I think about Keenan, wherever he is, alone and probably angry.

Did he make it back home to 2023? Is he stuck in the '90s? Did he have to go all the way back to the day we landed and live out that week to rewrite it?

Is he okay?

So many questions flood my mind until pain spreads around my head like a tight rubber band.

I sniff back tears and snot, my lips trembling. A few drops fall off my chin and land on the backs of my hands.

Sniffling, I push myself onto my knees and step off the bed. I walk around the room, shutting off the lamps before stopping at my fish tank.

I bend down with my hands on my knees and my eyes staring at the large family I put together.

I didn't want a dog because of the smell, and I didn't want a cat because they tend to bring you dead things. I was scared of hamsters and gerbils because they resembled mice, so I picked fish.

What started as a goldfish transitioned to a seahorse after the goldfish died. Eventually, my parents started gifting me more and more creatures to fill my tank when they saw how easily I took care of the ones I had.

A smile spreads across my face when I see one of my seahorses near the coral reef. I place my palm against the glass, then I tap over and over with my index finger.

My smile melts when a herd of fry-baby seahorses-emerges from within the reef.

When I left, one of the seahorses was pregnant. I was so excited because I knew someone who was offering five dollars for a few of the babies.

I missed their birth.

I slowly stand up with my eyebrows lowered, my mouth falling slightly open.

If I missed their birth, what else did I miss?

***

"Leila, what happened to your hair?" It's the next morning and Dad's standing at the sink with his hands at work, scrubbing dishes. Mom cooked scrambled eggs and he made waffles for the three of us.

I reach a hand toward the top of my head and graze the frizzy coils that sprung out of my cornrows.

Dad looks at me over his shoulder and I twist my mouth to the side.

Mom never teased me for my hair. She always gave me affirmations while twisting or braiding it because she said her mom always teased her for not having good hair.

But now, it's like she's changed.

Maybe I'm overreacting.

"I just got your hair done yesterday," she says and my nostrils flare. I watch the steam rising and swaying from her white mug.

"It's my genes, DeeDee." We look at Dad. He has a grin that she doesn't respond to. She shakes her head at him and turns her attention to me. I lower my brows, my eyes flicking from one of hers to the other.

"No, I've never seen hair grow back that fast. Genetics don't work like that," she says with her eyebrows pulled in. She stares at me with a crease above her nose like she doesn't quite recognize me. "Remember, her hair was short-short. Like, at-her-ears short."

"Yeah, I remember. I was the one who paid for it." Mom cracks a smile and lifts her coffee to her lips. "Wait a minute," he says, and my heart skips a beat. "So, if your hair is long now, you givin' me my money back, LeeLee?"

Mom rolls her eyes onto him and says, "Boy, can you be serious for one minute?"

"Baby, it's just hair. Ain't nothing to be serious about." He sets his wrists on the sink's brim. Suds sit on his hands like gloves and water drips off his fingertips. "Maybe her hair grows fast. Yours used to be like that when you was pregnant with Amir."

"That's 'cause I was taking prenatals." He glances at the ceiling light, puckers his lips, and shrugs. He turns his attention to the dish. "Speaking of, where is Amir?"

"He and Trey went to go shoot hoops at their little friend's house." He reaches a hand in the water and pulls the drain plug. The sink gurgles as the water spirals down the drain. He furrows his eyebrows as he turns to look at Mom. "Wait, didn't you have to be somewhere today?"

They stand in silence for a few breaths, staring at each other in confusion. Eventually, her face relaxes and she gasps.

"Oh, yeah," she says and carries her mug to him. When he lifts the soapy dish, she tosses her coffee in the sink and he whips his head toward her. His dreadlocks flick off his shoulders and swing behind him. "Thank you for reminding me. I gotta go to my appointment." Mom leans in, seeming to ignore the confused look he's giving her-or doesn't realize he's eyeing her- and she pecks his lips. He does the same. "I love you."

"I love you." He watches her place her mug in the empty sink and walk toward me near the arch. Her sisterlocks are tied back in a low ponytail that stops just below her shoulders. "Take my car. I gotta change the tire on yours."

"Alright," she says without looking at him. She lowers her head and stares at me like she's looking over glasses. "Leila, behave." Each word is like a gentle jab or a warning. Though I crease the skin above my nose, I don't question her. Instead, I nod slowly. "I love you."

"I love you too," I say, but it sounds like a question. She gives me a faint smile, then steps past me. She lifts Dad's keys to his Range Rover from the hook, then her coat and hat.

When she shuts the door behind herself, Dad turns his head to me. He flashes his off-white teeth and says, "Guess it's just you and me, LeeLee." He asks what I wanna do today, and I purse my lips.

There's about six feet of space between us but the distance feels longer. Another reason why I regret time-traveling is because I got too used to my fake parents and now my real ones feel like strangers.

Though I caused the other ones to divorce, I miss them.

I know Leila's gonna be real surprised when she gets back and finds out.

"Maybe we could play uno," I say, again it sounds like I'm unsure. He narrows his eyes at me and my heart sinks into my stomach. Now, whenever I speak and someone makes a face, my stomach grumbles.

"I thought you hated card games?" I don't respond. My chest tightens and I take a deep breath from the bottom of my stomach. I've heard of déjà vu. This feels like that. "Remember yesterday night we tried playing Monopoly and you said you didn't like board or card games?"

"I was just-tired, I guess," I say, and he nods. He turns to the plate in his hand and flicks the hot water on. He runs the water down the plate, watching the suds slide off and into the drain.

"Well, let me finish up in here and change her tire, then I'll get the cards." I agree, then turn my back to him and step out of the kitchen. I walk down the hall and into my room.

Shutting the door with my back against it, I stare at the jelly bag on my desk.

There's tubes of brown foundation and sticks of other makeup material. I continue past the fish tank, glancing at the fry near the coral reef, then I stop at the writing desk.

I picture Regina's pale blue eyeshadow and semiperfect eyeliner; the vanities in our rooms where we stored makeup and hair supplies.

The other Leila is more like her than I could ever be, but my heart feels heavy knowing I'll never see her again. None of them.

I'd write a notebook of questions if it meant that one day there would be a chance I'd be able to deliver it.

I slide the swivel chair from under the desk and sit down. My hands glide down and up the arms, my fingertips grounding me in reality with uneven brushes.

What's school like now? Did the other Leila make friends or enemies? Are Jodi, Trey, and Amir still ignoring me?

Specs of violet float past the corner of my eye so I turn my head to the left. One of my dartfish is hovering near the glass, staring at me with its beady eyes.

I sit there for a few moments, neither of us breaking away, then I kick and drag to glide closer in the chair.

I lean forward until my elbows are on my knees, and I scan the skinny fish swinging its tail side to side.

It's no bigger than two inches and is as skinny as a hammering nail.

The longer I stare at its eyes, the more mine flicker and give me a woozy headache. Around the eyes are splashes of neon colors like green and blue that seem to intensify as it sways side to side.

I give a tired smile and watch it turn around. It swims away from the glass in search of its family and my grin fades.