Later that night, Spencer joined her family for dinner. Still rattled from the events from the afternoon, she was unusually quiet at the dinner table. Her father had just gotten back from a long business trip in Canada, so the whole family was eager to hear how it went. While her mother, sister and father engaged in a captivating discussion about Canada vs. the U.S., Spencer stared down at her plate, pushing the cooked peas around her plate in circle formation. The white china always bothered Spencer, she thought it made the plate look less appetizing with all the different colors of food juice so bright against the pure white.

"Spencer, how was your day at school?" Spencer, still in her trance, ignored the question from her mother. "Spencer!" She jolted in her seat, her eyes adjusting to the critical eyes staring her down across the table.

"Sorry, what?," she asked wiping her mouth.

Hannah rolled her eyes at her younger sister. "Spencer, all you've managed to do, is push your food around for the past hour. You could at least act like you're interested in the conversation." Spencer looked to her mother, her face in a disapproving scowl. "Sorry," she replied quietly, taking a sip of water.

"How was school, Spence?," her father asked. She looked up at him, brown hair, soft grey eyes. She couldn't remember a time that her father had ever treated her like Hannah and he mother. He always seemed to have soft spot for his little girl. "It was fine...," she said, softly nodding her head.

He pursed his lips together, forming a smile. "Good. How's Journalism going?."

She took a long pause, her eyes focusing in on her dad. She had her answer in her head Fine. But something in her mouth, just couldn't push it out. "Um..." She fumbled for words, her mouth dry, she swallowed. "Do you believe in time travel?" Hannah dropped her fork onto the table, her mother's mouth hung open in disbelief.

Mr. Pearson frowned. "I-"

"Are you on drugs Spencer?," Hannah asked in disbelief.


"No! No! I'm not on drugs- it's just that- I'm doing a poll for Journalism." Her father nodded, grasping onto his daughter's lie in hope that she wasn't as insane as everyone thought she was. "Yes, a poll on whether people believe in time travel... makes sense," He said looking from his wife to his daughter.

Hannah raised her eyebrows in incredulity. "You buy that?"

"I-I think it's a very interesting topic. Good job, Spencer." He smiled warmly at her, but there was something about the way he did, she knew he thought he was crazy too.

"May I be excused?," Spencer asked. Her mother, still in a daze from her daughter's peculiar behavior, nodded meekly. Spencer politely got up from the table and exited. Before going up stairs she pressed her back to the wall outside the dining room. The forks and knives began clinking against the white china again as muffled conversation started up.

"I think we've got another Aunt Hazel on our hands," Hannah joked loudly. She knew Spencer was listening.

"That's enough, Hannah," Mr. Pearson's deep voice replied firmly. Spencer quickly ran upstairs, bursting through her door, she looked down at the trashcan in the corner of her room. She knelt down turning it upside down, trying to shake the contents out. She looked down on the wood floor but nothing appeared. She shook it harder, but before she could do it twice, she flipped it right side up. "No, no, no," she breathed heavily. To anyone else, an empty trashcan would be a relief. Spencer Pearson was no anyone else.