Under normal circumstances, that’s exactly what I would do. And after I was finished cramming, I’d go back to the beginning of the day to do it over. The second time around, I’d be ready for both the test and for McGibney’s question. When Megan wasn’t looking, I’d slip her notebook back into her pack before she even realized it was missing. This conversation would never happen, and Megan would never know that there was a version of events that I wiped out, where she stood in the hallway and offered to let me borrow her notes.
But these aren’t normal circumstances. I don’t know if I could go back four hours even if I wanted to. If I had the ability to travel again, I certainly wouldn’t be here at school, worrying about a test. I’d be with Anna.
“Thanks,” I say. I shove the notebook into my pack and start thinking of excuses for missing my next three classes. “That’s really cool of you.”
“No problem.” She stands there, looking at me like she has more to say. “Well, I’d better get to class. Good luck.” Before I can respond, she turns on her heel and walks away. I turn on mine and head for the library.
I’ve been sitting in the same carrel, staring at the same page and trying
I twist my pencil back and forth between my fingers, thinking about Anna and the last words I heard her say:
But I can’t get to Friday. And I can’t get to Wednesday and I can’t get to Thursday either. Every time I try, I open my eyes in the exact place I closed them. And suddenly it dawns on me. I’ve been trying to get back before homecoming so I don’t let Anna down. But what if I’m trying too hard to go back to a precise moment, when I should just be trying to get
I grab my phone but leave the rest of my stuff at the carrel, and head for a computer kiosk. I look up a 1995 calendar and find the month of October. I open up the calendar on my phone to today’s date and hold it up next to the screen. The calendars are nearly identical, only a day off. In 2012, it’s Tuesday. In 1995, it’s a Monday.
I head straight for the men’s room and lock myself in a stall. I leave my phone on the back of the toilet and close my eyes. I think back to the layout of Westlake Academy, trying to remember the quiet spots I found to hide in every time I felt like I was about to be knocked back to San Francisco.
Right outside our Spanish building, there was a rarely used path obscured by overgrown plants and shrubs. I brought Anna there once, the day we cut class and I told her the last part of my secret.
I have no idea if this will work, but I close my eyes, mutter the word “please,” and picture the location.
My skin prickles from the extreme drop in temperature and I breathe in fresh air that couldn’t possibly exist in a men’s room. As soon as I open my eyes, they dart around the empty field and I let out a gasp. I’m actually here.
I bring my hands to the sides of my face and peek through the glass doors. It’s quiet, and even though I landed
The hallway is empty. I look around for a clock and find one just above the next locker bank. I’ve timed it perfectly. I’m only a few feet away from where I need to be and I make it there with a minute to spare. I’m leaning against the lockers, trying to look like I belong here, when the bell rings. That’s when I realize that I’m the only one who’s not wearing a uniform.
Up and down the corridor, classroom doors begin opening and people start spilling out into the hall wearing the traditional Westlake black-and-white plaid. The girls are in skirts and white blouses. The guys are in slacks and dress shirts. I spot the occasional tie or V-neck sweater.
The rules are clear in this circular hallway dubbed The Donut, and because everyone’s required to walk clockwise between classes, they all head in my direction at once. A few people notice me standing here, looking out of place in my street clothes, and shoot me a questioning look as they pass.
I’m combing the crowd for Anna, but I don’t see her anywhere, and as the activity level dies down, I’m starting to question myself. Maybe I was wrong about her class schedule? But then I see her come around the bend, talking with Alex, and my heart starts pounding hard.
When she’s within a few feet of the classroom door, she finally spots me. She stops cold and covers her mouth with her hand. Her expression is impossible to read, and as she takes long strides in my direction, I can’t tell if she’s relieved to see me or furious that I didn’t show up when I was supposed to. I brace myself for the worst, but as soon as she’s close enough, she throws her arms over my shoulders and squeezes me tight. I’ve never been so happy to see her. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper in her ear.
Alex walks past us into the classroom, and mutters the word “asshole” under his breath.
“Ignore him,” she says as she buries her face in my neck.
I try to release her so I can see her face, but she tightens her grip. “I’m so sorry I missed homecoming.”
“I don’t care. You’re here now.”
The Donut empties out and I can tell the bell’s about to ring. I take a step back and rest my hands on her shoulders. “I need to talk to you.” I point with my chin toward the double doors that lead outside, and I can tell by the look on her face that she knows exactly what I mean. “I can’t bring you back this time though. You’re going to have to miss Spanish, for real. Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” She says it with a little laugh, as if it’s the only possible answer.
We follow the path up the slope until it ends at the big tree at the top of the ridge. We sit down next to each other, exactly the way we did last year when I told her the third and final part of my secret, and she became the fourth person in the world to know everything there was to know about me. But now, there’s nothing but pain and worry on her face, and I can’t help but wonder if I made the right decision that day.
“I didn’t know what to do.” Her voice is shaking and so are her hands, and I reach for them and scoot in even closer to her. “You were just standing there in the woods that day, all excited about something, and then out of nowhere you just collapsed. What happened? Why couldn’t you come back?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. There’s some stuff…missing. Was that the last time you saw me?” She nods but she’s clearly confused as to why I’m asking when this is information I should already know.
She’s breathing faster now and I can hear the panic in her voice. “Yeah. You got knocked back home.”
Not home. Not right away at least. If I wasn’t here and I wasn’t there, where was I, passed out in the garage for twenty-two hours?
Over the next fifteen minutes, I talk nonstop, telling Anna about everything that happened last week—the news story and me on my skateboard, the two little girls and my dad on sidekick duty—and that I have no idea where I was for nearly a full day, and how I’ve spent the last five days trying to get back to her. Her face contorts when I tell her how painful the returns have become, and how they got progressively worse and a hell of a lot bloodier.
“It’ll be fine now.” I put on my best smile and hope I sound reassuring. “I’ll just go back to doing what I’ve always done. Apparently, as long as I use this ridiculous thing I can do for my own selfish purposes, I’m free to come and go as I please,” I say.
Anna takes my face in her hands and makes me look her in the eye. “You have to promise me. No more do-overs, okay? Never.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the message I’m supposed to be getting here.” I let out a laugh, but Anna doesn’t join in.
“Promise,” she says.
“Yeah. I promise.” As I say the words, I wonder why it’s so easy to make this promise to her when I can’t make it to my own parents.
I sigh. “Well, at least my mom and dad can now agree on one thing. They’ve both made it crystal clear that I’m not to travel ever again.”
“Not even to see me?” she asks, and I stop laughing.
“No…well. Yes. Not exactly.”
Anna drops her hands and leans away from me. “What does that mean, ‘not exactly’? Did they tell you that you couldn’t come back here anymore?”
I look down at the dirt. “Actually, they did. But that was five months ago.”
