Through the Portal

Bobby stared at his pancakes. The syrup formed a golden pool around the edges, but he couldn't bring himself to take another bite.

One day equals one minute.

The words kept echoing in his mind, bouncing around like a pinball. Math had never been his strong suit; that was Jeffery's domain. But even Bobby could work out what Mark had just told them.

They could stay here for a month, and only half an hour would pass at home.

They could stay here for a year, and their families would only notice they were gone for six hours.

They could stay here for three years, and the envelope would still be sitting unopened on Jeffery's desk, waiting for a Sunday evening that hadn't arrived yet.

Bobby's hand moved to his Boonie hat. His father had worn this hat for years before passing it to him. Years of sweat and sun and adventure were woven into those threads. And now Bobby was sitting in an alien installation where years meant something completely different than they did in the world where his father had lived and died.

"Bobby?" John Morrison's voice was rough with age and concern. "You okay, son?"

Bobby opened his mouth to say yes. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the fact that John had earned honesty by living alone in this place for thirty-seven years. Maybe it was because John had lost his son and somehow survived it.

"I don't know," Bobby admitted. "I mean, this is incredible. This is the most amazing thing that's ever happened to anyone. But also..."

He trailed off. Across the table, Jeffery's fork sat abandoned in the syrupy center of his pancakes, his lips moving slightly, forming silent calculations. His eyes were distant, seeing equations that existed only in his mind.

"We're fourteen years old," Jeffery finally said, his voice cracking. "We're kids. We have families. We have lives that don't just pause because we found something incredible."