Timeless (9 page)

Clara clasped Michele’s hand and looked at her pleadingly. “Will you help me? Help me learn the truth about why I was brought to live with the Windsors? That is why you came here, isn’t it?”

Michele had no idea what she could do to help—but she was struck by the similarities between Clara’s plight and her own. Both of them, though a hundred years removed, had been inexplicably sent to live in this new world with the Windsors, and both of them sought the answer why.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” Michele promised.

“Michele!”

She jerked her head up, and in one instant, the world returned to normal. She was back in her bedroom in 2010. Clara’s
belongings were gone, except for the diary in Michele’s hands. And Annaleigh was calling Michele through the intercom, asking if she was ready for her dinner to be brought up.

For a moment, Michele was too stunned to reply to Annaleigh. She stared down at the diary, wondering if that exchange with Clara had actually happened … or had it all been in her head? Was she certifiably crazy? And how come the trip back in time had been such a nightmare, while returning to the present was instantaneous? One thing was for sure: Michele had no appetite that night. She slowly made her way to the intercom.

“Annaleigh? I’m actually not feeling well. I think I’ll skip dinner.”

“Are you sure? Should I have medicine sent up for you?” Annaleigh offered.

“No, that’s okay,” Michele replied. “I think I just need to rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Michele pulled the skeleton key out of her pocket and stared at it in wonder. Did this mean … that her father was a
time traveler
? Had Alfred Woolsey somehow guessed? Was that why he’d given Marion the key? If only there was someone to explain … But Michele was on her own.

T
he next morning Michele woke up at the crack of dawn, her stomach churning with nerves. She had been up nearly all night, unable to stop wondering about the key and her unbelievable trip back in time. Had it all actually happened? But now she had her first day of school to face.

She had never been the new girl in school before, and starting in the middle of the year made it extra brutal. With a sigh, she pulled her cell phone from her bedside table to check her messages. The first text was from Kristen’s phone:
WE LOVE YOU, GIRL! Good luck tomorrow, we’re thinking of you and hoping it goes okay. Call us after! Xoxoxoxoxo, K & A
. Michele read the text a second time, overcome with a fierce longing for her
friends. It was going to be so weird being in school without them.

Unable to sleep any longer, Michele decided to use her extra time for getting ready. The strict Berkshire dress code meant that most of her own clothes were out, but her grandparents had instructed Annaleigh to buy her a first-day outfit: a white button-down shirt paired with a knee-length plaid skirt. Bare legs weren’t allowed, so Michele found a pair of nude nylons to wear with her black ballet flats. She couldn’t help cringing as she looked in the mirror. This überpreppy look was
not
her.

Michele blow-dried her hair, put on some light makeup, and then headed downstairs to the morning room. As usual, Annaleigh was at the table, sipping green tea while she looked over her to-do list. Classical music played lightly from the nearby radio. Annaleigh had offered to have breakfast brought up to Michele’s room in the mornings, but it made Michele feel even lonelier to eat alone in her room, so she preferred to join Annaleigh.

“Good morning,” Michele greeted her, plopping into an empty chair.

Annaleigh looked at her approvingly. “Good morning, dear. You look great. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty nervous,” Michele admitted as the kitchen maid, Lucie, placed a glass of orange juice and a plate of sizzling bacon and eggs in front of her. She gave Lucie an awkward smile of thanks, still uncomfortable with the whole concept of being served like this.

“Don’t worry. I can’t imagine that you’ll have any trouble making friends,” Annaleigh assured her. “I bet everyone’s excited
to have a Windsor back at Berkshire. And besides, you already know Caissie.”

Michele nodded politely, thinking that Annaleigh clearly underestimated the Exclusive-with-a-capital-
E
high school clique system, which rarely admitted intruders.

The two of them fell silent, and as the symphony playing on the radio faded out, a new one began—and Michele nearly spilled her juice in shock. She knew that music. It stirred something in her, an aching for something that she couldn’t quite remember. She had heard this symphony before, somewhere important. She
knew
she had. But where?

Suddenly, those mesmerizing blue eyes filled her mind. This was the song that
he
was whistling in the hall of mirrors from her recurring dream—the handsome stranger.

“Michele, what in the world is the matter?” Annaleigh asked, clearly alarmed by Michele’s sudden frozen state.

“This song—I’ve heard it before,” she said shakily.

Annaleigh looked at Michele quizzically. “Well, yes, I would imagine that you have. It’s one of Schubert’s most notable compositions.”

Michele nodded, but she knew that she had never heard it before, aside from in her dream. As the song ended, the deejay announced, “You’re listening to 96.3 FM, New York’s premier classical music station. You just heard Phoenix Warren and the New York Philharmonic with Schubert’s
Serenade
.”

“Phoenix Warren,” Michele said with a small smile. “My mom named me after his composition
Michele
. That’s why my name is spelled with only one
L
.”

“Really? I love that piece. It’s so beautiful.” Annaleigh began
humming it under her breath. Just then, her phone beeped with a text message. “Oh, Fritz just arrived. You’d better get going. You can’t be late for the first day of school!”

Michele nodded nervously, pushing back her chair and heaving her bag over her shoulder.

“Good luck!” Annaleigh called.

“Thanks,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I’ll need it!”

Michele stared at the scene in front of her as she reached Berkshire High School. The white stone Upper East Side school looked a little like the Windsor Mansion, with its Roman-inspired facade, Corinthian columns flanking the front doors, and wrought-iron gates surrounding the building. The front entrance seemed to be a makeshift runway, as glamour girls strutted up the steps one at a time, each managing to turn the dress code into a fashion statement. A willowy blonde with voluminous hair wore a flouncy, pleated black and red plaid skirt with an embroidered short black blazer, platform pumps, and a black leather designer satchel moonlighting as a backpack. Next up was a gorgeous African American girl wearing a stylish red trench coat over her green plaid jumper, with a large Chanel quilted handbag slung over her shoulder. The guys looked equally polished, with their perfectly coiffed hair, dark blazers over white button-down shirts and colorful ties, and gray or khaki belted pants. Feeling infinitely less glamorous than her classmates, Michele followed them up the stairs, her eyes on the ground.

With the help of her school map, Michele eventually found
her first-period class, U.S. history. As the students filtered in, Michele approached the teacher.

“Mr. Lewis? I’m the new girl, Michele Windsor.”

Mr. Lewis beamed and gave her a hearty handshake. “Welcome to Berkshire, Michele! We’re so happy to have you here.”

“Thanks. Where should I sit?”

“Oh, just wait here with me. I want to introduce you to the class!” he said, grinning at her as if Michele really ought to be excited about this. She stood awkwardly at the front of the classroom as the students looked at her curiously. Caissie Hart was among the last of the small group of students to arrive, and she gave Michele a tiny smile before getting into her seat.

As soon as the bell rang and everyone else was seated, Mr. Lewis announced, “Class, this is our new transfer student. Meet Michele Windsor, of the very Windsor family some of you studied in the New York history elective last year. She’s the first Windsor we’ve had here at school in almost twenty years, so let’s be sure to make her feel welcome!”

Michele smiled tentatively and quickly slid into the only empty seat. She could feel her classmates eyeing her up and down, surveying her appearance, and her face burned with embarrassment. She couldn’t help wondering how she measured up to their expectations of the newest Windsor princess.

The boy sitting next to Michele turned to her and gave her a friendly smile. He had a very all-American, Abercrombie look: dark blond hair, brown eyes, and a boyish grin. Michele smiled back shyly.

As she was leaving at the end of class, Michele heard Caissie call her name. “Hey, wait up!”

Michele turned around, but she soon realized that Caissie wasn’t talking to her. She watched as Caissie caught up with the other Michelle in class and the two of them sauntered out of the room together. With a sigh, Michele followed them out the door, hoping they hadn’t noticed her stop. But a quiet chuckle over her shoulder told her that someone had witnessed her embarrassing move.

“Hey.” It was the guy she’d sat next to. “I’m Ben, by the way. Ben Archer.”

“Hi. I’m—” Michele stopped short, feeling her face flush. “Well, you obviously know who I am, after that whole introduction.”

“Yeah.” Ben laughed. “Actually, the teachers told us last week that you’d be coming here. There’s been a lot of buzz going around about what you’d be like.”

“Oh.” To her mortification, Michele felt her face grow even redder. “I’m not really used to being the center of attention. Not at all, actually.”

“Yeah. You’re really normal for a Windsor,” Ben commented. “In a good way.” He grinned at her.

“Oh, well … thanks.” Michele looked at him with faint curiosity, wondering if he was flirting with her. The thought would have thrilled her in the past, but now it barely registered.

“Well, I have to go to the science hall now, so …” Michele’s voice trailed off and she glanced down at the school map in her hands.

“Oh, I’m going in the opposite direction. I’ll see you around?” Ben said hopefully.

Michele nodded. “See you around.”

A few hours later, Michele was suffering an acute case of New Girl Self-Consciousness Syndrome, compounded by the effort it took to keep up in her classes. Ms. Richards had clearly forgotten to give her the memo about how academically advanced New York private schools were, and Michele had a feeling she’d have to fight to hold on to her A average here.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the bell rang for lunch—but then had the painful realization that she had no one to lunch with. She lingered at her desk in the English classroom, wondering where she should go and what she should do, as everyone else took off for the school’s dining room. Suddenly, a hand gripped her elbow. “Windsor, you’re eating with us,” someone said in a high-pitched voice.

Michele turned around to face a girl who looked like a designer version of a 1950s housewife. She wore a pale pink cashmere sweater with a tweed skirt and black Mary Janes. The outfit was topped off with a pink plaid headband and a string of pearls that looked suspiciously real.