agency would not be open for business. As we speak, they are fully accredited with the government.”
My body shudders beneath her cold hand, but I’m grateful for the save.
“Plenty of speculation and false accusations out there,” Germaine says. “We can understand that. But here’s the issue—and what, I feel, is the heart of the uproar—time travel is sophisticated business, of which massive dangers, possibly even erasure of existences can result. How is the public supposed to believe that someone of Bianca’s young age is responsible enough to handle it, let alone the fact that her close friend has a reckless habit that could affect her ability to command a knowledge of time-handling efficiently and responsibly?”
“It’s not—” Garth begins.
But I can’t let her speak for me. I interrupt quickly. “Time travel is serious business, I realize that, but I’ve grown up inside this business, know the Butterman time travel science backwards and forwards. If I can’t handle it, then no one else can either. It’s what I’ve always known.” I swallow hard, my hands trembling beneath me. “Tristan Helms’ personal life has no bearings on how Butterman Travel operates. He makes his own choices, and yes, he’s my friend and I trust him.” I glance at Dad. “Our commitment to our customers is safety and reliability without disrupting timelines, and we’ll never compromise that. My personal life is just that, and it’s separate from business.”
Germaine nods. “The world saw Tristan Helms’ interview a couple days ago, and he was resolved to mention his relationship with you had nothing to do with his past bad habits, that if anything, it was keeping him on the straight and narrow. How can you be certain those same bad habits won’t interfere in your professional duty? I think what the world wants to know is, why take the chance, or even risk it?”
I push my shoulders back, weighing my words carefully before I let them out. I can’t let people see me riled up. Be smart, Bianca . “When I was a little kid, I used to bite my fingernails down to the quick. Sometimes they’d bleed. My mom tried everything to get me to stop, but I couldn’t break the habit. For a long time I had to wear bandages on all my fingers, and it affected my ability to type. My parents didn’t
give up on me, though. They didn’t tell me it was hopeless, or that I’d never be able to fully use my fingers again. They stuck by me and kept at me til I got better—til I broke the habit. And it’s never interfered in the job I do today.”
“Point taken,” Germaine is quick to say. “But nail-biting doesn’t have the potential of ruining your life, or the lives of those around you.”
“You should’ve seen my nails.” My poor attempt at making light of the situation.
Germaine cracks a half smile. “I want to thank you for being with us today, and helping our viewers get the story straight. We wish you the best, Bianca Butterman, and you as well, Agent Lola Garth. Thank you for your time.”
The WNN theme music plays and the screen shot shifts from Germaine’s head to a montage of past interviews with various people.
Garth removes her hand from my shoulder. Lights come on all over the office now and the staff starts moving around again. Mom and Dad rush over and Dad shakes Garth’s hand, while Mom thanks her profusely. Ignoring me as if I’m not even in the room, much less their daughter who just handled a worldwide press release.
This is all so weird—knowing the world is watching and having opinions about everything I say and do. Bizarre as hell. Only one person I can think of who knows exactly what it feels like.
I swivel my palm-com device around to message Tristan, but Mom and Dad crowd me now.
“You did great, Bee,” Dad says. “We’re proud of you.”
“Agent Garth thinks this will go over well,” Mom adds.
“It ended on a perfect note,” Garth says.
“Let’s get some lunch, huh?”
My body shudders beneath her cold hand, but I’m grateful for the save.
“Plenty of speculation and false accusations out there,” Germaine says. “We can understand that. But here’s the issue—and what, I feel, is the heart of the uproar—time travel is sophisticated business, of which massive dangers, possibly even erasure of existences can result. How is the public supposed to believe that someone of Bianca’s young age is responsible enough to handle it, let alone the fact that her close friend has a reckless habit that could affect her ability to command a knowledge of time-handling efficiently and responsibly?”
“It’s not—” Garth begins.
But I can’t let her speak for me. I interrupt quickly. “Time travel is serious business, I realize that, but I’ve grown up inside this business, know the Butterman time travel science backwards and forwards. If I can’t handle it, then no one else can either. It’s what I’ve always known.” I swallow hard, my hands trembling beneath me. “Tristan Helms’ personal life has no bearings on how Butterman Travel operates. He makes his own choices, and yes, he’s my friend and I trust him.” I glance at Dad. “Our commitment to our customers is safety and reliability without disrupting timelines, and we’ll never compromise that. My personal life is just that, and it’s separate from business.”
Germaine nods. “The world saw Tristan Helms’ interview a couple days ago, and he was resolved to mention his relationship with you had nothing to do with his past bad habits, that if anything, it was keeping him on the straight and narrow. How can you be certain those same bad habits won’t interfere in your professional duty? I think what the world wants to know is, why take the chance, or even risk it?”
I push my shoulders back, weighing my words carefully before I let them out. I can’t let people see me riled up. Be smart, Bianca . “When I was a little kid, I used to bite my fingernails down to the quick. Sometimes they’d bleed. My mom tried everything to get me to stop, but I couldn’t break the habit. For a long time I had to wear bandages on all my fingers, and it affected my ability to type. My parents didn’t
give up on me, though. They didn’t tell me it was hopeless, or that I’d never be able to fully use my fingers again. They stuck by me and kept at me til I got better—til I broke the habit. And it’s never interfered in the job I do today.”
“Point taken,” Germaine is quick to say. “But nail-biting doesn’t have the potential of ruining your life, or the lives of those around you.”
“You should’ve seen my nails.” My poor attempt at making light of the situation.
Germaine cracks a half smile. “I want to thank you for being with us today, and helping our viewers get the story straight. We wish you the best, Bianca Butterman, and you as well, Agent Lola Garth. Thank you for your time.”
The WNN theme music plays and the screen shot shifts from Germaine’s head to a montage of past interviews with various people.
Garth removes her hand from my shoulder. Lights come on all over the office now and the staff starts moving around again. Mom and Dad rush over and Dad shakes Garth’s hand, while Mom thanks her profusely. Ignoring me as if I’m not even in the room, much less their daughter who just handled a worldwide press release.
This is all so weird—knowing the world is watching and having opinions about everything I say and do. Bizarre as hell. Only one person I can think of who knows exactly what it feels like.
I swivel my palm-com device around to message Tristan, but Mom and Dad crowd me now.
“You did great, Bee,” Dad says. “We’re proud of you.”
“Agent Garth thinks this will go over well,” Mom adds.
“It ended on a perfect note,” Garth says.
“Let’s get some lunch, huh?”
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