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What did we (two nervous, frantic girls) do with a dead body while a storm brewed outside, the lights actually flickered, and the minutes ticked closer to the moment when my car would drive up—with me driving? You would have thought we’d discussed the subject before. Because in less than five minutes of rational, scientific debate we settled on burying Megan, time machine style, in the hill out back. It sounded cold and callous, but really it was the best thing for everyone.
Mack made agitated chimpanzee howls when we dragged Megan down the hall, past his cell. The steps were the worst. Her toes smacked every stair tread with a dull thump. It was heart-breaking.
I hope you’re reading this, Skylar. Or Emily. Or whatever you’re calling yourself in your new reality. (I’m still going by Laken Mitchell, by the way.)
Sorry about leaving you in the past. I’m writing this down—a totally complete explanation and apology—so you’ll understand. And so when, and if, we meet up again in some future or past you’ll have already forgiven me.
Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure we’ll never be best friends again where I am now. Never finish high school together. Never have another sleep over where we dye my hair black and bleach yours blond. Never giggle over you-know-who’s cute butt.
Anybody who did what I did—what we did—would eventually lose someone. Kill someone. Accidentally … or not so accidentally. And sometimes you can see death on someone’s face. There’s nothing you can do then except move on. Right? Right?
I’m going to leave this diary at the pump house in hopes you’ll find it. That seems to be the only place that didn’t change. I can only hope that maybe an earlier version of you or me will find it, read it, and figure out a way to restore things. After all, I seem to be getting smarter with every time jump. It’s the hibernation that’s the killer.