Mira's Diary by Marissa Moss

time-travel? I hadn’t done any of this on purpose.
    Besides, I already had instructions from Mom in her letter. I didn’t trust this so-called friend at all. “My mom said I need to get Degas to support Dreyfus,” I told him. “So that’s what I’ll do. Once I figure out who Dreyfus is and why Degas should support him.”
    â€œNo, that’s a waste of time. I told her that would never work. She thinks instead you can save Dreyfus from being accused of treason in the first place. Then Degas’s opinion won’t matter.”
    â€œWhy should I believe you?”
    â€œYou saw your mother with me. You know she’s my friend.” He looked surprised that I’d doubt him, which made me believe him even less.
    â€œBeing together doesn’t make you friends.” Everything he said made him even more suspicious.
    â€œI can’t prove anything, it’s true. And if you don’t want to believe me, well, all I can say is that I tried.” He shrugged and actually looked relieved. “Maybe it’s best if you don’t listen to me.”
    â€œEven if I wanted to believe you, I don’t know how to get to 1894. I don’t know how to control time travel. Can you explain it to me?” I didn’t trust pasty, sweaty Morton, but I might learn something useful from him.
    â€œI can’t tell you how to time-travel. You have to figure that out for yourself, but you need to be looking for something, really looking, to go anywhere. After a while, you develop an instinct for what works.” Morton leaned back, looking almost relaxed. “These kinds of things I can tell you, it’s allowed, but you’ll still have to figure out what works yourself. Anything can be a touchstone. You just have to look. But you should know that sometimes they work only once. You can’t always go back and use the same touchstone again.”
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘it’s allowed’? What isn’t allowed?” I asked.
    The man turned purply red so suddenly that I thought he was having a heart attack.
    â€œI can’t tell you more,” he choked. “That’s for your mother to do. She said she’d given you the rules.”
    â€œShe did. She said we shouldn’t be in the same time and place since we’re related. Is that true?”
    The man nodded, his skin blotching into a mottled pink and white as he calmed down. “Better you avoid each other. It’s safer for everyone that way. And you know you can’t tell anyone you’re from the future.”
    â€œThat’s a pretty obvious rule,” I said. “More like common sense. Explain to me about Dreyfus. Why does it matter if he’s accused of treason? Why does Mom care?”
    â€œI can tell you what she thinks,” the man said. “I don’t completely agree with her, you understand, but she’s right about this. A single person’s life can make an enormous difference.”
    â€œSo?” I pressed. “Why this man? Who is Dreyfus anyway?”
    â€œHe’s a captain in the French Army who will be accused of selling military secrets to the Germans.”
    â€œWhy does Mom care about a traitor?”
    â€œHe’s accused,” snapped Morton. “That doesn’t mean he’s guilty.”
    â€œHe must have done something suspicious,” I insisted.
    â€œWhat makes him seem suspicious is that he isn’t Christian.”
    And suddenly it all made sense. Claude’s comments about the Jews, Degas’s friendship with the Halévys. Dreyfus must be Jewish, and that made him seem automatically guilty.
    â€œI get it,” I said. “So Degas needs to like Jews to support Dreyfus?” It kind of made sense, though it seemed stupid to accuse or not accuse, support or not support simply because of somebody’s religion.
    â€œBecause of how the French military treat Dreyfus, because of their