Time Travel With a Rude English Boy from the Nineteenth Century.

The sea glinted brightly, fragments of light reflecting off of the pristine waves as the sun reached noon in the sky. I sighed, and my breath mingled with the sea breeze. The air was cool as a result of the sea’s presence, but the sun warmed the edges of my skin and face. The happy calls of children and seagulls resounded in the distance. I should have brought my greyhound and art supplies with me; it was beautiful outside today. I was the most peaceful I had ever been.

That is until a foreign boy crashed into me, sending us both sprawled across the pavement. “Ouch…” I groaned. The boy groaned back and inspected me critically. I scowled at his scrutinizing glance.

“Dear Lord,” he said in an English accent, “it appears as though the women on the future wear tight-fitting trousers. How frightening. What would your mother say if she knew?”

“My mother helped me pick out these jeans…” I frowned. “Who are you and why do you care about the welfare of my pants?”

“By the gods!” he exclaimed, completely ignoring the second half of my statement. “I cannot say that I like the future. Do you happen to know where I am?”

“San Diego, California,” I replied breezily. “Wait, you don’t know where you ar--,”

I was quickly pulled against a wall by the boy. He motioned for me to be silent. “Dacre Dalton,” he whispered quietly while shaking my hand.

“Payton Smith,” I said back in a normal voice. He frantically hushed me and nodded to two angry goon-like men, who were searching around the area.

“You’re an idiot, Dacre.” I noted dryly, and he quickly retorted with, “And you’re cheeky. Now that we have sorted through the formalities, would you consider hiding me? I’ll pay you handsomely for it.”

I paused, deep in thought, then said, “It’d better be a freakin’ big reward, Dalton. It’s not every day I conceal stowaways.”

“The handsomest,” he assured me, and then hurriedly pushed me around the corner of the building we were hiding behind. Stealing a peek at the goons, I realized that they seemed as out-of-place as Dacre was, and also wearing strange clothes that I didn’t recognize. They certainly didn’t shop at Forever 21.

Hmmm… I’ve never hidden a person before, I thought. With a lack of any place better to go, I led him to my condo.

Dacre Dalton stuck out like a sore thumb in a crowd. His clothes were a drab grey color, and almost every teen his age were dressed in bright neon colors. The entire way there Dacre was commenting on what people wore, what the stores looked like and how “dreadful” those giant metal carcasses with wheels were.

“Cars,” I had assured him sarcastically. “Those are cars, Dacre.”

When we reached the doorstep of my condo, I reached into the potted plant next to it and retrieved the spare key that was hidden there. I unlocked the door and put the key back into its hiding place, and then motioned for Dacre to enter. “Welcome,” I said dramatically while bowing, “To my humble abode.”

Dacre paused uncertainly, inspecting my house. “What are you, a vampire?” I rolled my eyes and pushed him inside. “I already invited you in. Get your skinny butt in here; you’re letting the draft in.”

When we were both inside and the door was closed, I kicked off my shoes and shuffled further inside the house. When I noticed that Dacre was just standing there, I grabbed his sleeve and dragged him onto the Lazyboy recliner and collapsed onto the couch across from him.

“Miss Smith,” Dacre said uncertainly, “I know that Americans quickly take a liking to a person, but this is far too fast. I haven’t even met your mother.”
I scoffed and said, “Cut the past-time charades, Dacre. I have to admit that you are a very good actor, but enough is enough. Tell me who you really are and why you’re wanted by whomever you’re wanted by.”

Dacre seemed taken aback by my words. “Is everyone in the future this bold?”

“Dalton,” I said in a warning tone.

“Miss, I don’t think you understand,” Dacre informed, “I really am from the past. Those men were following me because I have this.” He held up a pocket watch, suspended by a golden chain. I took this moment to inspect Dacre. He was around eighteen, my age, with feathery sepia hair and pale skin. It looked as though the sun never showed its light where he lived. His eyes were the most interesting thing about his face: they were a steel gray, tinged with cobalt blue. They had a glint of mischief in them. He was athletically built, but there was a sense of leanness about him. The watch he held was a sleek golden, but there was something else about the watch. It wasn’t ticking.

“Cut the crap, Dacre. That watch is broken.”

“Where I come from, you do not use a person’s first name until they give consent, Miss Smith.” Dacre warned, his eyes flashing.

I rolled my eyes and retorted, “Then call me Payton. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Dacre frowned. “Are you aware that you have a boy’s name?” When I narrowed my eyes, he sighed and continued, “This watch is a time machine. It can carry you throughout time. All you have to do is set the desired time and you’ll be on your way. Quite a handy device, actually.”

I studied him and the watch closely. “I don’t believe you,” I said finally.

Dacre rolled his eyes and said exasperatedly, “I’d prove it to you, but it needs to rest for forty-eight hours. By the way, would you mind if I lodged here?”

This is by far the most interesting thing that’s happened this week, I thought sarcastically. “Sure, why the hell not? It’s not like today can possibly get any weirder. There’s food in the fridge, and you can stay in my room.”

“No, no that’s quite alright. If there was a guest room I could lodge in…” Dacre suggested, and I shook my head. “I’ve got a kitchen, a bathroom, a studio and a bedroom. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“No, I can sleep on the… couch, you sleep in the bed.” Dacre persisted.

“Sorry, there’s no room for chivalry in this house. I’ll sleep on the couch, and that’s final. I have to finish that painting anyway, the deadline is coming up.” I insisted stubbornly.

Little did I know, this would be the start of the adventure of a lifetime.