When I was 22, Auntie Amelia told me she was moving away. Her husband, Gladiator (trust me, I know) and my 8-year-old cousin Riley, had decided it was time to start a new life. I knew it was coming. I had been looking for my own place for almost a year and had almost succeeded. Unfortunately, every time I had saved enough money to be stable enough to live on my own, something would happen, and I'd have to start over. My car was set on fire, and I had to buy a new one. I lost my job as editor of a local newspaper I worked for. I had to have surgery on my ankle after falling off the shed roof. Small blips that forced me to continue burdening my poor Aunty.


I had no choice in the end. Amelia told me the lease was up in 50 days before kissing my cheek and driving away. The house felt so empty without them. No more little kids' toys laying around or Metallica blaring from the stereo. No more musky perfume smell or Papa Roach blaring from the stereo. No more pancakes for breakfast on Sundays or Iron Maiden blaring from the stereo. I'd grown accustomed to Gladiator's music taste.


As sad as I was to see my family go, I was also excited for the adventure that this would push me to embark on. My new editing job paid more than the last and I've been seeing more and more listings popping up in the area. Felicity, a good friend I made while at university, offered to let me stay with her and her roommate, Trish in the meantime. All that was left to do was pack and get rid of what was left.


It was while sorting through the abundance of my belongings that I found it. A small biscuit tin that had been sealed shut with at least 20 layers of hot pink duct tape with a label that read time kapsool. I hadn't laid eyes on the tin since I first moved here almost 12 years ago. I handed it to my aunty and said, "Can you hide this somewhere time capsuley?" She had laughed at me, I remember thinking she wouldn't do it but clearly, she had. Amelia had hidden it so well, in fact, that in 12 years, I hadn't found it until now. Behind the shelving in the garage, of all places.


I was about to open it until I remembered who I had made it with. Images of a red-headed boy with freckles and a lisp flashed through my mind. That's when I decided I would no longer be looking for a place to live. That small biscuit tin changed everything for me. I needed to find that boy. I needed to find Oliver Westley.