A few days ago I went to check on my friend, reclusive author Clive Javanski. He was nowhere to be found. In his apartment I found this letter addressed to me. I’m not sure what to make of it. Apparently he believes he’s found a way to go back in time to a particular place when he was in love. And lost. And he’s there now. More likely he’s drunk. But I’ll read on. L, I forgot I’m supposed to look out the door of study hall to watch Sloane walk by. She hit me in the shoulder later in the hall because I didn’t. She looked hurt. Man, I remember how overwhelming it was now, to hear the bell and wait for…
