The next morning, I grabbed my neon-orange backpack and began my walk to the Alley.

I waved at Charlie as if it were a normal day. He waved back.

"Hey," Anthony nodded when I arrived. I nodded back and handed my brother his breakfast. "When are you leaving?" he asked, paying me for the food.

"Leaving for where?" Frank asked, hopping off the dumpster.

I turned toward him, "To get a hair cut. You should come with me." He rolled a joint and his eyes at the same time.

"Why ya leavin'?" Bernie asked sheepishly.

"I'll be back," I answered, "but you'll have to buy your own breakfast for a while."

"How long we talkin'?" asked Frank, who obviously didn't like to spend money on anything legal.

"Just a day, Sinatra. I think you'll survive." I laughed as he scowled at me.

Anthony finally hopped off the dumpster and walked over to me. "It's a shame. I don't know how long a man can go without seeing that pretty face of yours," he said.

"Wow! New record! You kept your distance for a full thirty seconds!" I replied sarcastically. He only smirked.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't openly flirt with my sister in front of me, Anthony," Joe butt in.

I rolled my eyes as Joe glared at him. "I'd appreciate if you didn't flirt with me at all." Anthony scoffed and went back to his dumpster, pulling a bag out of his coat.

I turned back to Joe, "If you're messing with me-"

"I'm not, Claire," he assured me.

I shook my head, "Joe, this is... time travel. That doesn't exist," I sighed.

He cocked an eyebrow, "Have I ever lied to you?" I considered this.

He never really lied to me when we were younger... why start now?

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

"Hey, Charlie," I greeted.

"You're leaving today?" he asked, cleaning a bike in the back room.

I nodded, "Yeah."

"Good luck," he said.

I sighed, "I hope I'll see you soon," and I walked through the blue door.

Where should I go?

I need go sort of far to throw off Henry...

The 50s seem culturally interesting. Why not? I began waking down and noticed that the years were painted on the back of every door. Well, that makes this easier.

There was a door every eighth step, so they all ended up on the same wall. They were also all different colors.

When I got down to 1990, I was already tired. I wish these stairs were a slide or something, I thought. And then, I was falling.

Not falling. Sliding. I turned the stairs into a slide just by thinking. What else can a Traveler do? I wondered, but, unfortunately, I got no answer. Man, that would've made life more simple in the long run.

I was passing doors fast, so, worried I'd miss it, I randomly yelled, "1957!" After at least a minute, they turned back into stairs, and I was sitting with my back against a bright, red door. After standing up on the step below it, I turned.

I shouldered my backpack, then turned the knob. "Here goes nothing," I muttered. What I stepped into was not what I expected.

It was Charlie's bike shop.

Only, it wasn't Charlie's bike shop.

There were people everywhere. Some were dancing. Others were eating. Music was coursing through the whole building, much like the adrenaline in my veins. There was a jukebox in the corner, and happiness in the air. The floors were black-and-white checkered, and the seats were bright red. There were milkshakes of every flavor all the down the bar. Kids in leather jackets were holding either a drink or another person, and the whole lot of them were yelling and screaming with joy.

I was in a diner, and the festivities were in session.

Then I remembered what Joe had told me: you always entered on New Years.

I was totally not dressed for the 50s. I had on skinny jeans, Vans, a tight, gray shirt, and a blue hoodie. Some kids gave me weird looks, but, for the most part, no one payed attention to me.

Then, I noticed a guy sitting down. He was the only one not dancing, picking at his cuticles. He'd smile at one of his joyous friends every so often, but he still seemed lonely.

If everything gets reset, I thought, I might as well talk to him.

"Hey," I nodded over at him.

"Hey, yourself," he said. "Do I know you?"

"Nope," I replied, sitting on the other side of the booth he was in. He looked at me for a long time, as if he was trying to decide if I was human or not (which I kind of wasn't, but oh well).

He had long, brown, slicked-back hair and a ratty leather jacket hanging off his shoulders. Under that, he wore a tight white shirt and blue jeans held to his waist with a belt. His shoes were old beat-up sneakers, and his eyes were dark brown. But despite the color, they sparkled like stars.

"Who're you?" he asked, suddenly interested.

"Claire. You?" I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin on my hands.

"Ritchie," he replied, copying me and grinning as he did so.

"What're you doing over here all by your lonesome?" I asked, sitting up again (I was trying to talk like they did back then, but I'm pretty sure I failed).

He sighed, keeping his position, "It's already past midnight. I don't see the point in continuing the celebration."

I cocked an eyebrow, "Then why are you still here?"

"Everyone else is." I nodded. "Besides," he added, "I don't like walkin' alone. All the rich kids are out and drunker than drowned rats. Too dangerous."

"What a shame."

"Tell me about it."

"Well, I'm not exactly educated on the subject."

He laughed, "You been livin' under a rock? Where're you from?"

I thought for a moment. What was I supposed to say?

"The future," I smiled as I said it.

"Yeah, I bet," he laughed, "Where are you actually from?"

"Florida," I said.

He nodded. "Never been."

"It's pretty nice," I replied.

"Hey, Ritchie," another guy interrupted, approaching the booth.

"Darrel," Ritchie said, acknowledging him.

"Hey, baby," Darrel said coolly, leaning on the table and smirking in my direction. The only thing I could think was, Anthony's grandfather.     

"Hi," I said with a tight-lipped smile.

"Darrel," Ritchie snapped, "lay off, will ya?"

Darrel looked over his shoulder with a smirk. "Sure, lil' buddy," he said, ruffling Ritchie's hair. Darrel turned his attention back towards me. "Hey, be good to Ritchie here, you dig?"

I nodded, and he left with a goofy grin on his face.

"Sorry 'bout him," Ritchie apologized. "He's a character." I could see Ritchie blushing as he fixed his previously-styled hair.

"It's fine," I replied.

He looked at me then. Like, really looked at me. Not like he did before when I first showed up, but with a different sort of curiosity. I couldn't help but look at him the same way.

Then, there was a 'click' in my stomach. An involuntary 'click', like the sliding of a lock. Then, I saw an image. A woman and two kids that I'd never seen before appeared, and faded just as soon as they came.

Leave it to that to pull me out of my moment. "Claire," Ritchie said.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Where you headed tonight?"

It dawned on me; I had to leave. Soon.

"I don't know, actually," I replied. I mean, I wanted to find a good place to hide this backpack, not only where Henry wouldn't find it, but where others couldn't find it as well. And I told the "gang" I'd be gone for a day, so...

"I mean, I've got a house," Ritchie said, "It ain't too clean, and it's awful small."

"Thanks for offering, but I don't want to intrude. I'll figure something out," I assured him.

He shook his head, "I don't want you sleepin' on the streets. I'll sleep on the couch for the night, anyway. Besides, it's already morning. It'll be even later by the time we get there."

Everything resets, I remembered.

But I couldn't do that. Whether he'd remember me or not, I couldn't just stay at his house. He could be an ax murderer or something. For all he knew, I could be an ax murderer. And I still gotta hide this bag.

"I'll find some place. A hotel or something," I lied.

"Can I at least help you look? I know where everything is around here, and I'd feel mighty bad if I just let you go out there alone," he reasoned.

What was the harm? Everything would reset. And, I could hide the bag on the way to some hotel. I nodded, "Yeah. I'd like that."

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"You cold?" he asked, lighting a cigarette.

I shook my head, "I'm fine."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "I think there's something down that way, but that's 'rich kid' territory."

"Then let's go," I said.

"Just lay low around there, okay?"

"Yeah. Gotcha," I replied.

After a few minutes, he spoke again. "Gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't even ask if you wanted a smoke."

"No, it's fine. I don't smoke, anyway," I replied. He shrugged and took a long drag on his previously mentioned cigarette.

"We're in their territory," he sighed, smoke flowing out as he spoke.

I got the idea. It's like when you go into a cave. A bear has every right to eat your face off in there. You're in its home.

But humans aren't wild animals.

They're humans.

"Just lay low," I repeated.

He nodded, "But with that backpack of yours, they'll see us from a mile away." I looked at him, and he was smiling.

But he stopped smiling when a swerving mustang drove up real slow behind us.