David Potter - Abe Lincoln and the Selfie that Saved the Union

L OOKITS NOT AS IF I want to be a time-traveler or anything. I really have a lot of other things going on that keep me busy, such as school, and, you know, stuff. I also happen to be a kidtwelve and three quarters years old, to be exactwhich means you can be sure no one is going to pay me to go bouncing across the centuries. I dont even get paid for doing chores or homework. And its not my fault that my phone happens to have an app on it called iTimeit wasnt meant for me, that much I can tell you.

To complicate matters, there are these two other kidsBev and Brandonwho also have the iTime app on their phones. I wouldnt call them my friends, exactly, though we have gotten to know each other a little better since our first adventure. In case you havent heard about it, we only rescued General George Washington from being shot dead as a doornail and then helped him defeat the Hessians at the Battle of Trenton. So thanks to us, the United States of America is alive and well. And you are very welcome.

Weve been thrown together, Bev and Brandon and me. Were the only kids at the Fredericksville School who didnt go home for the Christmas holidays. Our parents are kind of busy, is the thing. So they call us the Left Behinds. Two seconds ago we hit the Submit button on our iTime apps and went from the eighteenth century to the twenty-first. The plan was to hop over to the school, grab something to eat, maybe take a hot shower. And then open the presents our parents had shipped, because today still is, after all, Christmas Day.

So we land on our butts, right where we should bein the basement of Taylors General Store on the grounds of Washington Crossing Historic Park. The problem is, were not alone.

Theres this crazy old guy whos kind of yelling at us. His name is Professor Moncrieff, and he is the inventoror the rather the co-inventor, along with his former studentof the iTime app. Weve just been told that the former student has Gone Bad. Name of Kurtis. Hes out to make a billion dollars or so off the iTime app, for one thing. For another, he intends to go back in time and change things. Just to prove that he can cause trouble, because thats what he likes to do.

Theres also our teacher, Mr. Hart, whose job is to go with us everywhere. He sort of missed the boat on the time-travel thing, but he did keep in touch via text. And please dont ask me how a guy can text from one century to the next. I dont even know how electricity works, according to Ben Franklinthats right, the Ben Franklinbut I already told that story.

Lastly, there are these military-type guys in the room. Each one wears mirrored sunglasses and stands with his arms folded across his chest. The message: we mean business.

Children, Professor Moncrieff says now. We do not have all the time in the world. To use the word time in its most traditional sense. Please give me your phones. They must be deprogrammed.

Children? Who does this old dude think hes talking tosecond graders? Give me a break. But the girl child among usthat would be Bevdoesnt seem to take offense. Shes smart, Bev is. Shes so smart she doesnt ever let you forget it, which is annoying. Whats the hurry? asks Bev.

Professor Moncrieff doesnt like the question. He frowns, and his dull blue eyes narrow further, if thats even possible. You can tell he thinks Bevs an impertinent smarty-parts.

We dont have time to debate this! Professor Moncrieff says. As we speak, Kurtis is meddling in an event that could prove catastrophic if he is not hunted down and brought to heel. This unauthorized time-travel adventuring must be stopped. My men are professional trackers. They will find Kurtis, I assure you. Now hand over your phones.

No way, Brandon says. Normally Brandons a pretty mellow dude. He doesnt worry himself over trifles like homework or good grades. But right now Brandons not buying it. How are these guys gonna find him? Its a big country. In any century.

I have added new functionalitynever you mind! Now hand over your phonesor else. He nods his head at his three goonsI mean his three professional trackerswho each take a menacing step toward us.

You can have this, I say, and open up the leather satchel I happen to be carrying with me. I snatched the satchel from a Mr. Kramm, who was Kurtiss right-hand man back in 1776. Stenciled on the outside are the letters T.G.W., INC. , which stand for Things Go Wrong, Incorporated. Thats Kurtiss idea of a joke.

Inside are papers, maps, gold coins, and extra bullets. I take out a handful of the gold coins, put them in my pockethey, you never knowand toss the satchel on the ground. I dont want it, I say. And I dont want this either. I also happen to have taken Mr. Kramms German Luger, a World War IIera pistol. I figure nothing good is going to come from my hanging on to it.