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“What’s up?” asked TR.

“I know her,” I said, pointing to Cat.

“
You
know her?” asked TR.

“I mean the zombie knows her.”

He nodded and strode over to Cat’s booth to get a better look. “She’s cute — if you like weird chicks,” he said. “I’m more into fake blondes with a lot of love, if you know what I mean.”

I drifted closer to her table. Cat poured powdered cream into her coffee, letting it form a tiny white island that gradually sank into the brown liquid. The skinny punk guy and the girl in black talked about what they might do that night.

“Hi,”
I said. If anyone could hear me, it would be Cat.

Her head tilted slightly, and she tucked her hair back behind her ear. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I felt like she wanted to look at me, only she didn’t know where to find me.

“Hi,”
I repeated.

“Dude, give it up,” said TR. “They’re clueless.” He clambered onto the divider between booths and hunched over their table like a gargoyle. “It’s like watching TV. Talk to it all you want, but it won’t answer.”

“I know,” I said, yet deep down I didn’t believe TR. There had to be some part of Cat that heard me. Some part that could sense my intentions. But with TR sitting there, I wasn’t about to try talking to her again.

I perched on the back of the booth across from him and watched her pour more powdered cream into her coffee. It formed another tiny white island that floated for a moment before dissolving around the edges and sinking.

The skinny punk guy was talking about going to some abandoned house. “We could sneak back there and drink some wine,” he said. “Then paint the walls more.”

The girl in black stayed silent. I think they were both waiting for Cat to respond.

Cat set down the powdered-cream container. “No. We can’t,” she said without looking up.

“Why not?”

Cat watched the last bit of powdered cream dissolve into her coffee. “Because my island keeps sinking.”

The girl in black and the skinny guy shared a concerned look.

“You okay?” asked the girl in black.

“Sure,” said Cat. “Sink your island and start over, right?”

“If your island sinks, where do you start over?” asked the skinny guy.

“Good point.”

“Not to mix metaphors, but maybe you should just drink the coffee,” said the girl in black.

Cat poured more powdered cream into her coffee, forming another doomed temporary island. “It’s no use. Everything sinks.”

“Told you this chick is weird,” interjected TR.

I didn’t argue with him. Still, out of all the people I’d seen, Cat made more sense to me than anyone. The sinking island, for instance, seemed like the perfect metaphor for all the questions I’d been drowning in and my desperate need to find solid ground to stand on. Every time I thought I knew something, though, more questions came up and eroded the edges, pulling me down again. So maybe it was the same for her. Something had happened and now she didn’t know who she was anymore.

TR’s attention shifted to a waitress refilling coffee at a nearby table. She leaned over, giving him a view of her cleavage. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” He nodded to the waitress.

I focused on Cat and her friends, wanting to learn everything I could about her.

“It’s Friday,” continued the skinny guy. “We have to do something fun.”

Cat pushed her coffee cup back. “Count me out,” she said. “I’ve had all the fun I can handle.”

The girl in black pulled a cigarette out of her purse. She tapped it on the table, packing the tobacco. “We can split it on the way home.”

Cat nodded and stood. Instinctively, I stood with her.

“You going to follow them?” asked TR.

“Maybe,” I said, not wanting to seem too eager.

“Cool. I’ll join you.”

“You sure?”

“It’s not like I’ve got someplace better to be,” he answered.

We stayed a few feet behind Cat and the others as they exited into the parking lot. I learned that the girl in black’s name was Tricia, and they called the skinny guy Spooner. The three of them cut through the lot behind the Coffee Spot to a residential neighborhood.

“At first, all I did was follow people,” TR said. “I even tried to pretend I was part of people’s conversations, adding comments when they spoke, but no one heard me. It was pitiful, dude. Then I discovered that I could walk through walls.” He gave me a wry grin and raised his eyebrows. “I’ve seen all sorts of chicks naked, dude. Pretty girls. Naughty girls. Religious girls. Big girls. Older girls. You name it. But even that got dull after a while. Or maybe not,” he mused, looking at Cat.

“That’s not why I’m following her,” I said.

“Sure it isn’t.” TR drifted into the street. He shouted and jumped every time a car passed through him, like he was jumping ocean waves. “You should try this,” he called after a few minutes.

Eventually, Cat and her friends arrived at an apartment complex. The place looked fairly run-down, with streaks on the cinder blocks from where air conditioners had dripped rusty water, brown paint flaking off window frames, and faded plastic kids’ toys cluttering the courtyard. Cat said good-bye to the others and entered an apartment on the first floor while Tricia headed upstairs and Spooner skateboarded on.

I stayed outside and watched the lights in Cat’s apartment flick on — first the living room, then her bedroom. At least I thought it was her bedroom, because the curtains covering the window were dark purple and green, which seemed like colors she’d pick.

“Now things get interesting,” TR said.

“You better not —” I started, but he kept going. With an exaggerated step, he passed through the bricks.

I stood, staring at the wall.

TR’s round head popped out a moment later, floating above the bushes like a grinning jack-o’-lantern. “You gotta see this,” he said, and ducked back in.

I wasn’t about to let him add Cat to the list of girls he’d watched undress. Closing my eyes, I stepped forward.

Nothing felt different, but when I opened my eyes, the night sky had been replaced by purple walls and white Christmas lights. The sudden change disoriented me. Even the ceiling was purple, except for some green glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across it. Flamingos, crying turtles, and blue caterpillars inhabited shelves, and a flock of giant playing cards dangled from fishing line above the bed. A cat grinned on one wall among a field of painted mushrooms, while a collection of teapots covered the dresser. Compared to Dan’s mostly bare walls, her room was a work of art.

Cat’s voice drifted in from the hallway. She entered a moment later, speaking into her phone. When she closed the door behind her, I noticed another, smaller door painted on the inside with the words
DRINK ME
written above it.

“Good night, Dad,” she said into the phone before hanging up. Then she shrugged off her backpack and jacket. She didn’t glance at TR or me, but I still stepped back to stay out of her way. TR went around her room, studying all the figurines, teapots, and books on her shelves like they were objects in a museum.

After kicking off her boots, Cat flopped on the bed. According to the giant pocket watch–shaped clock on her bedside table, it was nearly midnight. Rather than going to sleep, Cat grabbed an iPod off her desk, pushed in the earbuds, and turned the volume up so loud I could hear it. Then she slid a shoe box out from under her bed. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, lay three figurines — a grinning cat, a white rabbit with a pocket watch, and a stumpy little man wearing a huge hat. The figurines didn’t look all that special, but she stared at them for a long time, so they must have been important.

It surprised me when she dumped all three figurines into the trash. From the look on her face, I got the sense that she was throwing away more than just the figurines. Then she slumped back onto her bed and unzipped her sweatshirt.

“Let’s go,” I said to TR.

“Hold on. She’s about to take off her shirt.”

“That’s why we’re going.”

“Damn, man — we waited forever for this.”

“We’re going,” I repeated.

TR sighed. “Your loss, man,” he said, and stepped through the wall.

I took one last look at Cat and followed him out.

TR wanted to find a train to stand in front of. I went with him, but I wasn’t in much of a mood to get run over — even if the train would pass through me. After waiting on a trestle above a river for an hour, we walked to a nearby apartment building. Most of the lights were off and barely anyone seemed awake, but the stairs on the outside gave us something to climb. TR took the fire escape to the roof. He tried to get me to jump, but I had no desire to fall. Eventually, TR took the plunge alone. His large, plump body drifted back and forth like a falling leaf.

He jumped a few more times. The horizon slowly lightened, and birds chirped from rooftops. “We better head back,” he said, studying the sky. “You don’t want to be out when your corpse wakes up.”

“Why not?”

“Trust me, you just don’t want to be out.” He set off toward Main Street.

The zombie’s neighborhood was on the way, but I didn’t want to go there. The thought of spending another day trapped in Dan repulsed me. “Hey,” I said as we neared Dan’s block, “do you know who we are?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you know why we’re here? Stuck in the corpses?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” TR replied. “Does anyone know why they’re here?”

He had a point, although it didn’t make me feel any better. I stopped in front of Dan’s house. “This is where the zombie lives,” I told him.

TR surveyed the place. “Lucky you.”

I shrugged, but I wasn’t ready to go in. “What if we’re ghosts?”

“Hell, no.” TR nodded toward Dan’s house. “
They’re
the dead ones.”

“You’re right.”

“Maybe we’re aliens,” he continued. “Or angels. Or demons. Or mistakes. Who cares? It’s like worrying about where you were before you were born or what happens after you die. You can’t know the answers, so there’s no use stressing over it.”

“I guess,” I said, although I didn’t entirely agree.

“Like that joke,” he continued. “You know — the one about the guy who staggers into an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and says, ‘Please, help, I’ve been in a terrible accident!’ But nobody at the meeting moves. Finally, one of the dudes raises his hand and says, ‘I was in an accident once.’”

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s the point,” TR said. “Sometimes thinking about it doesn’t do any good. You just got to roll with it, you know?” He looked at Dan’s house, then back at me. “So I’ll meet you here tomorrow or yesterday or whatever?”

“Sure.”

I waited until TR rounded the corner before heading back to the apartment complex where Cat lived.

She turned restlessly in bed. Tears streaked her face, as if she’d cried herself to sleep — her island still sinking.

One of her arms lay outside the covers. I stroked my fingers across her wrist, so delicately I could have been touching her. Gradually, her breathing calmed. Then I drifted around her room and looked at the things on her shelves and the figurines she’d thrown away. They lay in the garbage on top of some ripped-up paper. In the faint morning light, I could make out pieces of the self-portrait I’d watched her tear off the wall earlier.

I reached into the garbage, wishing I could smooth out these torn fragments of her and tape them all back together. But my fingers passed through the crumpled edges.

I thought of the message etched into Dan’s wall.
SAVE HER.

TR may have believed wondering why we were here was useless, but it wasn’t. There had to be a purpose to my existence — a reason I’d been pulled backwards through the days, and Cat seemed part of it. Why else would I feel such a connection to her? Perhaps I
was
an angel, brought here to help her. Or save her. I may not have been able to physically save her, but there had to be something I could do — some way to make things better for her. And Teagan and Dan’s mom for that matter. Some way to fix everything Dan had messed up.

For a while, I stayed by Cat’s side, brushing my hands through her hair and whispering to her. I knew she couldn’t consciously hear me, but maybe she’d sense me there and be comforted. “You’re not alone,” I told her. “I’m with you. I won’t leave you.”

Sunlight leaked through her curtains. I watched the bright line creep up her blanket. Soon Cat would get up for school, and I’d go with her and whisper good things to her and keep her safe.

At least, that’s what I’d planned. Then a million tiny fishhooks lodged into my being and ripped me out of her room. Everything rushed past, merging into a long gray tunnel.

My head reeled. I thought I’d puke — which, for someone without a physical existence, is rather disturbing.

I slammed into the zombie right as he sat up and slapped his alarm clock silent.

The date on the clock read 11/13.

Welcome to yesterday.

The zombie spent a good ten minutes staring at the floor before shuffling to the bathroom. Every aspect of my being prickled from being reeled back into him. I focused on his morning routine, hoping that might make me feel better. He did most things the same as the other day, except this morning a small scab marked his forehead. Bits of it washed off in the shower, although some bruising and a red patch remained, indicating where the wound had been. It looked like he’d jumped into a ceiling fan, or maybe someone had smacked him with a shovel. Whatever had happened, it didn’t help — the zombie remained as clueless and infuriating as ever.