Boundless (Unearthly) by Cynthia Hand

hallway, near the door, in case we need it again. Then I wander back into the yard and summon a circle of glory. I check my watch and determine that Wan Chen’s going to be in class for another hour, so I close my eyes and concentrate on my room, the lavender bedspread, the small desk in the corner that is always messy with papers and books, the air conditioner in the window.
    I can picture it all perfectly, but when I open my eyes, I’m still in Jackson.
    Dad told me to focus on something living, but we don’t even own a houseplant. Maybe this isn’t going to be so easy after all.
    I close my eyes again. There’s the smell of mountain snow on the air. I shiver. I would have brought a coat if I’d known I was going to be in Wyoming today. I’m a wuss about cold.
    You’re my California flower, I remember Tucker saying to me once. We were sitting on the pasture fence at the Lazy Dog, watching his dad break in a colt, the leaves in the trees red just like they are today. I started shivering so hard my teeth actually began to chatter, and Tucker laughed at me and called me that—his delicate California flower—and wrapped me in his coat.
    All at once I become aware of the smell of horse manure. Hay. Diesel fuel. A hint of Oreos.
    Oh no.
    My eyes fly open. I’m in the barn at the Lazy Dog. I haven’t gone to my home.
    I’ve gone to Tucker’s.
    I’m so startled I lose the glory. And right that minute Tucker comes whistling into the barn carrying a bucket of horseshoes. He sees me, and the tune fades from his lips. He promptly drops the bucket, which lands on his foot, which makes him jerk his foot up and start hopping on the other one.
    For a long minute we just stare at each other. He stops hopping and stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, wearing a flannel shirt that’s one of my favorites, blue plaid, which makes his eyes so beautiful. I flash back to the last time I saw him, almost six months ago, Yellowstone and the brink of a waterfall and a kiss that meant good-bye. It feels like it happened a lifetime ago, and at the same time like it happened yesterday. I can still taste him on my lips.
    He frowns. “What are you doing here, Clara?”
    Clara. Not Carrots.
    I don’t know how to answer him, so I shrug. “I was in the neighborhood?”
    He snorts. “Isn’t your neighborhood about a thousand miles southwest of here?”
    He sounds mad. Something in my gut twists. Of course he has all sorts of reasons to be mad at me. I’d probably be furious if the situation were reversed. I hid things from him. I pushed him away when all he wanted was to be there for me. Oh yeah, and I almost got him killed, let’s not forget. And I kissed Christian. That was the kicker. Then I had to go and break his heart.
    He rubs the back of his neck, still frowning deeply. “No, seriously, what are you doing here? What do you want?”
    “Nothing,” I say lamely. “I … came here by accident. My dad’s teaching me how to move through time and space, something he calls crossing, which is like teleporting yourself to where you want to go. He thought it would be hilarious to leave me to get home all by myself, and when I tried, I ended up here.”
    I can tell by his face that he doesn’t believe me. “Oh,” he says wryly. “Is that all? You teleported.”
    “Yeah. I did.” I’m starting to get irritated, now that I’m finally over the shock of seeing him again. There’s something about his expression, a wariness that instantly rubs me the wrong way. The last time he looked at me like that was after we first kissed, right here in almost exactly this spot, when I lit up with all my happy glory and he knew I was something otherworldly. He’s looking at me like I’m some strange unearthly creature, something not human.
    I don’t like it.
    “You can mess with time , huh?” he says, rubbing his neck. “Think you could go back about five minutes and warn me about dropping the bucket of horseshoes? I think I might have