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“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“The music.”

David’s face was impossible to read. She never knew whether he was in a bad or a good mood. Without saying anything, David picked up an envelope and handed it to her.

Northwestern.

With shaking hands, she took it.

“It’s not opened,” she said.

“Your ability to notice things is uncanny.”

She chuckled. “Is that why you were playing the music? Are you worried?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were on the envelope, burning holes in it.

“You know that even if you don’t get the scholarship, you can still get into Northwestern. I can pay your tuition.”

He kept staring at the envelope.

“Shall I open it?” Rogene said.

She took a deep breath. Not only would this decide his future, but hers, too.

“If you please, my lady,” he said.

Ever since she’d told him about time travel, he’d been good-naturedly teasing her with such titles. But even so, she had found him watching YouTube videos about the Wars of Scottish Independence and documentaries about medieval Scotland. He’d even asked her a couple of questions, like what did people really eat, and how the toilets were, as though he was testing to see if she’d told the truth or not.

She ignored his gentle teasing, tore the short edge of the envelope, and took out the letter.

“‘Dear David,’” she read. “‘We are pleased to inform you—’”

She cried and jumped to her feet, hugging him. Her brother roared and hugged her back with such force that she feared her ribs would crack. He lifted her off her feet and spun her around.

When he put her down, he pumped his fist in the air. “I got it! Yeah!”

Rogene felt the tears stream down her face. They both knew what this meant. Despite his struggles with dyslexia, he’d gotten a scholarship into one of the best universities in the world.

Which meant, he’d be taken care of financially. And he was now eighteen.

Which meant…

If she trusted herself, and him, and really talked to him about this…maybe she could go.

She hugged him again. “Well, let’s celebrate with ice cream!”

Though the thought of ice cream made her sick again.

“Not ice cream,” he said. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Okay, how do you want to celebrate?”

“How about that good scotch you have in one of the cabinets?”

“No way, mister,” she said. “Not on my watch. Not for three more years.”