When You Reach Me

The Second Proof

Mom didn’t have to work on Christmas Eve day. We got a tree and strung popcorn for it, and she had some friends from work over. Richard made some eggnog from a German recipe his grandmother gave him, and they all ended up singing a lot while I wrapped presents in my room. I had bought Mom a pair of earrings, a bottle of purple nail polish with glitter in it, and some striped tights, even though I thought, and I still think, that striped tights look dumb. I got Richard an erasable pen from Gold’s.

On Christmas morning, we opened presents first thing after Mom made coffee, like always. I got some good stuff: a beaded bracelet, a portable radio, a fancy journal to write in with clouds on the cover, a sweater, and a tin of these really crispy ginger cookies I love from a bakery near Mom and Richard’s office.

We were just about to move on to pancakes when Richard handed me a hard, rectangular package that had to be a book.

“Let me guess,” I said. “A book?” I wondered if it would be the kind with a spunky girl on the cover.

“Very funny. Open it.”

It was a book. Actually, it was my book. But this was a hardcover one, with a different picture on the front. I read the title out loud: “A Wrinkle in Time.” And then I smiled at Richard.

“It’s a first edition,” Richard said.

“Richard!” Mom burst out. “You shouldn’t have.” This made me guess that first editions are expensive.

“Read what’s inside,” he said. “I had the author sign it for you.”

I opened the front cover. The writing was big and swoopy beautiful. Nothing like yours.

Miranda,

Tesser well.

Madeleine L’Engle

Christmas Day: Tesser well. Your second proof.

It wasn’t a game, I realized. Holding that book in my hands, I finally believed that whoever wrote me those notes actually knew about things before they happened. Somehow.

As soon as Richard and Mom went to make the pancakes, I ran to my room and took all your notes out of the box under my bed.

I am coming to save your friend’s life, and my own.

Coming from where? I asked myself. Coming from when? I was beginning to believe that someone I cared about was in real danger, but I still didn’t know who it was, and I still didn’t know how to help.

I looked at the second note: I know you have shared my first note. I ask you not to share the others. Please. I do not ask this for myself.

That was the worst part: I was alone.