I shivered. It was scary, listening to Mother talking to myself downstairs. I heard my other self answering something, then the sound of her—my—steps coming up the stairs. In a panic, I dodged into the spare room and closed the door.

I heard the steps—my steps—go past and into my room.

The minute I heard the door of my room close, I rushed out and down the stairs.

Mother was standing at the front of the stairs. When she saw me, her mouth dropped. “But … but … just a minute ago you were in your robe and your hair was all wet!”

“See you later, Mother,” I panted. And I ran.

Behind me I heard Mother muttering, “I’m going mad!”

I didn’t stop and try to explain. I might go mad, too.

It would be great if I could just keep the magazine with me. But, like the spring roll, it would get carried back to its own time after a few minutes. So the next best thing was to read the magazine as fast as I could.

It was hard to run and flip through the magazine at the same time. But I made it back to Peter’s garage and plopped down on the stool.

At last I found the story: the story that had won the contest in our grade. I started to read.