Push

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There’s a boy calling my name.

Déjà vu. Sort of.

“Miki,” Luka Vujic says. “You okay?”

Wrong pitch, wrong tone.

Wrong boy.

There was a moment weeks ago when a different boy was calling my name, his voice inside my head, where no one else could hear.

That was the beginning, and the end. End of the known and familiar. Beginning of my new reality, where I jump between my life as plain old Miki Jones, and an alternate world where I fight the Drau—beautiful, terrifying alien predators bent on conquering Earth.

I don’t understand it. I don’t get how it works. All I know is that one minute I was trying to save Janice Harper’s little sister from getting hit by a speeding truck; the next I was lying in the road, broken and bloody. Dying. Dead. I woke up in a grassy clearing called the lobby, alive, healed, not hurt at all, lying on my back, staring up at a handsome face and old-school, mirrored aviator shades—both of which belonged to Jackson Tate.

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