Time Sight

1

MAGIC EYEBALL



WILL WASN’T ENTIRELY SURE WHY he was on a plane to Scotland, with only his little brother and no parents at all. His father had explained, of course, but there hadn’t been time for all the questions Will wanted to ask. Everything had happened in a great hurry.

There had been that first phone call in the middle of the night, and then more phone calls to follow, so that Will thought his father’s ear might fall off from being pressed so tightly to the receiver. Then Will had been put in charge of packing for himself and his brother, Jamie, one suitcase each, and it had been hard to know what to take and what to leave behind. Jamie still slept with his stuffed bear, but it took up so much room! And they would need underwear and socks and things.

“Pack sweaters, too,” Will’s father had said in between phone calls, his face pale and his hair still wildly on end from where it had lain on his pillow.

“But it’s almost summer, Dad!” said Will.

“The Highlands can be cold any time of the year. Damp, too. Pack rain jackets.”

Jamie had fallen asleep in the cab to the airport, a warm huddled bunch against Will’s side, clutching his bear in a death grip. Will felt like clutching something, too, only he was twelve and past that sort of thing. He did wish, though, that his father would talk to him, instead of to whoever it was on the other end of the phone.

His father put the phone away long enough to buy them books at the airport. Jamie got something with pictures—Magic Eyeball, it was called—and Will hardly noticed what he grabbed. Something thick, to last him for the nine-hour flight. He stuffed it under his arm and looked up at his father.

“You’re a good lad, Will,” said his father. “I know you’ll take care of Jamie. And once you land in Scotland, Cousin Elspeth will take care of you.”

“Will you bring Mom home?” It was an effort to push out the words; Will’s throat felt strangely tight.

“Of course I will.” Will’s father spoke heartily. “It’s all just a mix-up, I’m sure, but sometimes these things are better handled in person. Don’t you worry a bit.” He smiled, but the line between his eyebrows deepened, and he blinked twice, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. “Now one last hug all round, and then get on your plane. I’ve got a plane to catch myself. Oh, and here’s some spending money—you might want to buy a souvenir at the castle.”

* * *

“Cookies or salty snacks?” The flight attendants were coming down the aisle with their cart. “Coffee, tea, or soda, sir? Cookies or pretzels?”

The white-haired man on Will’s left flipped a latch on the seat back ahead of him and pulled down a tray table over his knees. “Coffee, please,” the man said, his voice a warm Scottish rumble.

Will copied the old gentleman, pulling down his own tray table and Jamie’s, too. “Two root beers, please,” he said, just like an experienced traveler. “And cookies. Jamie, stop bouncing on your seat, or you’ll knock over the drinks.”

“But look, Will! I can see it, I can see the picture! I have the magic eyeball!” Jamie thrust the book across his armrest and bumped the tray table, hard.

The root beer sloshed—the plastic cup rocked. Will lunged for it, but the cup slipped away from his fingers. Brown frothy liquid poured over the tray’s edge, soaked his jeans, and splashed all the way to the old gentleman’s newspaper.

The man was surprisingly nice about it, but the flight attendant had to mop up the mess with towels, and the other passengers turned around to stare. Will’s ears felt hot, and his legs were damp and sticky.

“Can I have another root beer?” Jamie asked.

“No,” said Will.

Jamie kicked his legs a little. Then he kicked them a little more. His foot hit the back of the seat in front of him.

The woman in the seat turned around and gave them both a meaningful glare.

“Hold still!” Will hissed in Jamie’s ear.

“I’m boooored,” said Jamie.

“Look at your book, then. That’s why Dad got it for you.”

Jamie’s lower lip pushed out. “You look at my book. Tell me if you can see the pictures. I bet you can’t.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Of course I can see the pictures.” He opened the Magic Eyeball book and glanced at a page. “See? It’s just some random pattern. Why did you want this book, anyway? It’s dumb.”

“No, look at the pictures. My friend Ben has one, and he showed me how. Read the directions.” Jamie moved a stubby finger along a line of type. “Method … One. Put … your … nose … close … to … the … book,” he read aloud.

Will sighed. Jamie had only just finished kindergarten, but he was already reading well, and he loved to show off. “I’ll do it if you stop bothering me. Look out the window, why don’t you? You asked for the window seat, so get some use out of it.”

* * *

Jamie had fallen asleep, huddled in the corner of his seat with his cheek pressed against his stuffed bear. Will was still trying to see what his brother had seen in the Magic Eyeball book.

There were apparently pictures hidden in the repeating patterns. If you held the book at a certain distance—or unfocused your eyes just slightly—or somehow looked past the page while still looking at it, then a whole different picture would appear. The book said to be patient, and relax, and not to try too hard. Will had been patient for what seemed like a very long time, and nothing had happened. It was a stupid book. He slammed it shut.

Outside, the sky had grown dark. Will unbuckled his seat belt, leaned across the armrest, and peered out past Jamie’s nose. Behind him, the plane’s wing stretched away in sections of gray riveted metal, and a flashing light glowed orange every other second. Far below, he could see pinpricks of lights like fallen stars: ships, sailing on an ocean as black and endless as the sky.

The world seemed all at once far too big and dark. It was a place people could get lost in.

Will leaned back in his seat and tried as hard as he could not to think about his mother. His father was going to her. Surely that meant things would be all right in the end?

The interior of the plane was like a snug cocoon. The cabin lights were dimmed, and most of the passengers were asleep. The old gentleman reached above his head to turn a small knob, and a thin ray of light speared down to pool on the book in his lap. His hand turned the pages with a quiet sound.

Will wished he could sleep. He had been awake since the call in the night, and his eyes were gritty, but his mind was too full of worried thoughts to rest. He shook his head, hard, to clear it. He would read his book.

Text copyright © 2019 by Lynne Jonell

Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Vivien Mildenberger