YesterWorld (Book 2 of the Down World Series)

Original Edition: Chapter Twenty-Five

I had seen this version of our town before, of course, but it still broke my heart to lay eyes on it again. The minute we stepped off the train, I could see the influence of the invading Russians: the guards in stiff uniforms roaming the train platform, the signs in dual languages. But the biggest anomaly was the division between the people: rich and poor.

On the rich side, the same fifties' fashions that had been trending in Portland seemed to be in vogue—lots of red lipstick, bouffant hair, and what appeared to be fox-fur coats. Near as I could figure, the fifties had been some sort of heyday for the Russians and the Americans who were glad to have them. Money was pouring in, they were all living the high life. So there was still some cultural fascination with that time period that never really died out. At least, not for them.

But on the poor side, kids younger than me shuffled aimlessly around the tracks with no shoes on their freezing feet, begging passersby for change.

As Adam and I threw our backpacks over our shoulders and started walking away from the station, I wondered how we must look to the people all around us. Which group did we seem to fit into? Or was it obvious that we didn't fit in at all?

My instinct was to head to my house, but I dreaded to discover what it might look like in this reality. Would my dad even still live here? Would he be married to Laura? I reminded myself that it didn't matter; that if we were successful in finding and stopping Jenny, this version of events would cease to exist. But for now, it mattered very much, both to me and everyone else around me.

"What's the plan?" I asked Adam once we were across the street in front of Graussman's Pharmacy and safely out of earshot of the Russian guards.

"We need to get a more specific idea of where in history Jenny went—when the paths of our world and this one first separated."

"Okay. So should we go to the library, or..."

"Oh, you mean the library where you did your Genghis Khan research?" he teased. I could only blush in response. "Word to the wise," he continued, "don't crib off Wikipedia. We have software to detect that."

"It wasn't all from Wikipedia," I protested, but I had to admit he had caught me.

"It's not important right now. We can't go to the library."

"Why not?"

"Because history is written by the victors, M. We'd only get the official Russian version of events. We need to talk to real people."

"What real people?"

He pulled out a couple of the pictures from Sage's album, flipping through them until he found one of Sage herself, sitting awkwardly in front of a statue of Stalin. "Sage's mom. She was very smart and always nice to me. She's not alive anymore, but we could use this picture to go back to this date and talk to her there."

"Yeah, but Adam, this is a different timeline than when you met her. She won't remember you." I hesitated a moment before saying anything else, but then I couldn't stop myself. "And neither will Jenny."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because if this is just some excuse to go see your ex-girlfriend, I really don't have time for it."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"The adult Jenny left our timeline, came down to this one, and then went back to the forties. That's what Sage said. She's the one we're looking for—the adult from our timeline—not a seventeen-year-old, which will be a different version of her anyway. We shouldn't waste our time—"