by Mark Tiro
While I was pondering this slightly-less-than-existential question, I got a text from Katie, asking if I wanted to come over to her house to study. Before I’d grabbed my phone, I’d no clue what time it was. The time on my phone said it wasn’t even seven yet. That’s weird.
I texted Katie back. “Sure. On my way.”
It wasn’t far from our house to hers, and so I threw my backpack on and headed out.
When I got there and knocked on the door, Katie’s mom opened it.
“Hi, Maya. It’s always nice to see you. Did you come to study with Katie again?”
“Hello, Mrs. Henrickson. If that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it is, dear. She’s upstairs in her room. Why don’t you run up there, and you two can work on your project together? Do you need anything? I just made some cookies?”
“They smell so good. Thank you for asking, but I just ate dinner, and if I have one more bite, I’ll burst.”
“Okay, but if either of you need anything, just ask. We’ll be down here.”
I headed upstairs. Katie had already opened her door before I’d even made it to the top.
“Hello, Ms. Lee.” She was full-on giggling now as she started imitating her mom. “Can I get you something? Maybe some cookies, perhaps?”
I bit my tongue to keep from laughing at her impression of her mom until we got in her room and had the door safely closed behind us. Once we did, I let out a giggle. I couldn’t help it—Katie could be so funny.
“But your mom is so nice, Katie,” I said after I finally stopped laughing. “Why do you make fun of her?”
“Because it’s easy.”
“I know, but she is so sweet. I wish my mom was just half as sweet.”
“Half?”
“Okay, you’re right. I’d settle for maybe 10 percent. That would probably do it for me.”
She laughed. We both did. “I think if my mom was anything more than 15 percent as sweet as your mom, I’d actually keel over into a permanent a sugar coma.”
We both laughed again as I reached into my backpack and pulled out my iPad with our textbook and project on it, along with another old-style book everyone in the class got for the project.
“Old school,” I said, “because the school’s saving money.”
“Saving money?”
“You know, they refuse to let us just download the new version because they’d have to pay the licensing fees.”
“Oh,” Katie said with a grin. “Saving money? I guess that probably explains why the cheerleaders’ uniforms are so short this year. They’re probably saving money by not using the extra fabric.”
See what I mean? She is so funny. We both broke down laughing again. That’s why I loved Katie. We both had the same wry sense of humor. That’s why I’d always loved her, ever since I could remember.
Katie and I had met when she moved here when she was in third grade. We’d been friends ever since. I hadn’t had very many friends back then, probably because my mom had insisted on trying to speak Chinese at home to me but not to my brothers. Mom used to say it was because a girl would never be able to find a good husband if she couldn’t speak proper Chinese. My dad, of course, just ignored her and went right on speaking English to the whole lot of us. But that’s when he was young, and most nights, he didn’t get home from work until really late. And of course, that was before he got sick.
Just thinking that made me sad. I think Katie must’ve noticed because she tried to change the subject and talk about something.
“Hey, what’s that?” She pointed down to the pad and paper that had tumbled out of my backpack on to her bed when I’d been fumbling around pulling everything else out.
“Oh, that?”
“You’re silly! I didn’t know you were a journalist.”
“A journalist?”
“You know, one of those girls who’s always writing out things in her journal with pens and flowery paper about how deep and sad and lovelorn their lives are.”
“You mean keeping a journal?”
“Why, of course! But journalism is stupid. Why don’t you just post it online? It takes sooooo much more work to move your arm across the… paper with that… that… eewwww. That pen? What is all over that, are those… grease stains?”
“Don’t worry—your comforter and sheets are safe from me. These are just fake oil smudges. The place where my mom gets her oil changed gives these pens out for marketing. The notebooks, too. And of course, ‘why pay for something you can get for free?’ as my mom always, always says.”
She laughed. Her parents had no such hang ups. Whenever I’d gone out with Katie’s family, I’d never seen her parents try to negotiate down the price for anything. Not even once. If someone were to do that in my family, everyone would think they’d fallen and hit their head.
“So if you’re not a… journalist then, why are you carrying that journal-thingy around?”
I started to answer but hesitated.
“What, it can’t be a secret, Maya, or you wouldn’t have brought it to show me. We’ve always shared everything. Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
That’s true, I thought.
“Of course not. I’d never keep a secret from you.”
“So what is it?”
“It’s magic. It’s a magic—”
“Magic!” she cut me off, laughing. “Come on now, Maya. You can tell me the truth. Is it a boy? It is, isn’t it? What’s his name?”
I gulped, then took a deep breath and sat up.
“It’s David.”
“David? Who’s David? We don’t know anyone named David, Maya, do we? Do we even have anyone named David in our class? I mean, there’s that really nerdy kid, and I think his name might start with a ‘D’. Oh, and there’s that new kid who doesn’t speak English, so maybe his name is David, but oh, Maya, just tell me—who’s David?”
“Okay, I am, I am.” But I hesitated again, still not 100 percent sure about telling her. Then again, I’d already started, so here goes….
“Okay, sorry. I’ll listen,” Katie said as she sat down and pulled up a pillow to hug while I told the story.
“This list, I mean—this pad of paper, and this pen,” I said, opening the pad to show her the list, “this is… well—it’s magic.”
Katie didn’t say anything, and I kept talking.
“I had kind of… an experience.” I waited for her to say something. Katie always says something. Now, though, she was just sitting here listening. Intently.
“See, I had this experience. I don’t know, maybe I hit my head or something. I probably did because it seems crazy, and I still can’t seem to keep it all straight in my head. But I had—I think it was like one of those things you see if you turn on the TV when you get home from school in the afternoon. It was like I’d died or something, but I didn’t. It was like I was in a tunnel, but I wasn’t. And there was someone there named David, but then he wasn’t, either. I’m sorry. I know I’m not making any sense.”
But Katie was looking at me, seriously now, not saying a word. And so I went on.
“So I had this experience, I don’t know. I can’t remember the details very well. I start to forget really quickly each time I come back. You know—like you do when you wake up from a dream. I probably wouldn’t remember at all, except that it keeps happening every time I write something on my list. And then I remember it, all over again.”
“Your list?”
“Oh, yes. This,” I said, holding up the pad and pen. “If I write something on this list with this pen,” I said, holding it up as I did.
“Fake oil smudges, right?” She asked, glancing down nervously at her comforter.
“Yes. That’s the last thing to worry about with this list. Anyway, I think I’m up to, what is it?” I asked myself, running my finger down the list to the last entry, which answered my question. “Eleven. That’s what I’m up to. My next entry will be #11.”
“Next entry? In your… journal?”
“It’s not a journal. It’s just a list.”
“Just a list? You mean just a magic list?”
“Yes! It’s a magic list. See, whatever I write in it… I mean, I don’t know how to say this, other than whatever I write on my list—it just comes true. It’s a—”
“Magic list?”
“Well, whatever I write comes true, and the only one who knows about that—well, I mean, I tried to tell my brother—”
“You tried to tell Tom?”
At the mention of Tom, I felt the weirdest thing. My stomach fell out, like when you’re going down a drop on a roller coaster, only it’s all in the dark, and you didn’t know it was coming until you were already falling. Something between a pang of guilt and sick-like-I-want-to-throw-up. That’s how I felt.
I must’ve been dizzy or something too. I think I got weak, and for just a second, it seemed like I wasn’t in Katie’s room anymore. Once everything stopped spinning, I wasn’t in Katie’s room anymore. Now, I found myself in a different room—watching from the side. As the image unfolded, I watched in horror as someone pushed the door open and walked in.
Me. It was me, and I had just walked in on… them.
First I noticed Steve, who I had the strongest feeling was now my boyfriend. But I also remembered him as not my boyfriend. I also had these strange, competing memories that were telling me he was gay. And others where he was a prince, and … oh! My head was ready to explode from all these competing memories.
She was there, too. She was some girl who I swear I knew, but I couldn’t remember her name. They were both there, in bed. Together. The sheets and all their clothes were lying tossed aside on the floor, while they were rolling around, naked, on the bed. Together.
I braced myself and closed my eyes. Just as quickly as the image had come, it disappeared. When I opened my eyes, I was back in Katie’s room, and there was no trace of whatever that was that I’d just seen.
“Sean,” I told Katie once I’d started to recover. “I mean, it was my brother Sean, not the other one, who I tried to tell about the list. But it sounded too crazy, and so I couldn’t tell him. Katie, you’re the first one I’ve told. Please don’t tell anyone, please? It sounds so crazy—”
“Swear.”
“Thank you. Actually, it’s David.”
“David what?
“Now that I think about it, he’s the only one who really knows about the list. I think he’s responsible for it even, because it’s him who I keep seeing every time I… every time I have one of these experiences.”
“What do you mean, experiences? Like whenever you write something down on that list, you see David?”
“Not exactly. I mean, if I write down I want to see David, then that’s what happens—I see David. But if I write down something else, then whatever I wrote down—that’s what happens.”
“Is it okay, Maya, if I look at some of the stuff you’ve written on this list?”
“Well sure, I guess. It’s not like I’m a journalist or anything.”
Katie picked it up and started reading. Not long after, without even raising up her head from the page, she asked me, “So who’s this Angel person on your list? She doesn’t go to our school, does she, or I would’ve heard of her. Or have I? Oh wait, Maya—she’s not that girl…”
“What?”
“Angel? Is she that Angel? You don’t mean that one really gross girl who will just make out with any of those stoner boys at school? That must be how she’s paying for her pot. And who knows what else she’s doing for it after school.” She paused, then became serious. “Oh wait, I forgot. I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“You and that Angel girl used to be friends a long time ago, no? When I first met you, your houses were in the same neighborhood, and you were close? I’m sorry, I’d completely forgotten.”
“If you say so,” I said. “I barely remember, but, yeah, maybe I guess we were friends back then. It was so long ago, almost like it’s from some strange parallel universe, that I barely even remembered who she was until you just reminded me.”
“You’re welcome.”
I started to answer her—to say a joke, even—but when I went to open my mouth, no words came out. Instead, I felt a flair of anger at hearing a name that a second ago, I had barely even remembered.
At hearing Angel’s name, I started to shake. It was like I was almost apoplectic—and I wasn’t even sure I actually even knew who this Angel girl was.
Or maybe I do.
It’s like I remembered her. Angel. I remembered what she did to me, sleeping with my boyfriend. But it’s also like—I didn’t have any memory of her whatsoever. These two ‘memories’ were competing in my head, giving me a headache. It’s like she’s just a ghost, and not real, but at the same time, we used to be best buddies. This bothered me more than I could say. I felt like I was getting seasick just thinking about it, and so I just sat there not saying anything.
Katie must’ve known something was off, and so she asked me a completely different question. “Maya, if you can write anything you want with your list, and if it’s magic and whatever you write will come true, why don’t we use it to get our homework done?”
This hadn’t occurred to me yet, and when she said it, my mind was still wandering around… still lost in thought. I knew this Angel person must be important, but as I racked my brain, for the life of me, I just couldn’t remember how or where I knew her from.
“I’ve never tried using the list…” I hesitated, “on homework. Honestly, I’ve only ever tried it when I was alone, too, so I guess we could see what happens if I try that now.” Part of me was nervous because I had seen how this list could take even the simplest things and just twist them all crazy-like. On the other hand, though, part of me was almost giddy, thinking about all the other things I could use the list to do—not just homework—if this worked out.
I took the pen out and wrote a #11, and next to that, I wrote what Katie had said.... Basically—“Get our homework done.”
As I picked the pen up from the paper, I heard the familiar pop in my head, the pressure changing or whatever. Again though, I looked at Katie, and everything looked exactly the same. It’s all still the same, I told myself. Nothing happened—why does nothing ever happen when I want it to?
I looked around the room again. Still. Exactly. The same.
“I guess it doesn’t work anymore,” I said. I felt sheepish and guilty. It was as if I’d been lying to her about the list being magic. Maybe it really didn’t work anymore, I thought. Maybe its magic was all used up. It hadn’t worked last time I’d tried to use it—at least, I was pretty sure that it hadn’t worked. So maybe it’s just completely done now?
“Not so fast,” Katie said. “You wrote about our homework, so why don’t you check it first?”
“Good point,” I said, opening my backpack to see if there was finished homework in there.
Nope. Nothing. No homework in my backpack.
“Not there, silly,” Katie said. “Check online. We have to upload our science module for the teacher to the website when it’s done. Check online to see if it’s done.”
Of course—I’d completely forgotten. I typed in the domain for the server where we upload our homework for the teacher. Still, nothing came up.
Well, not exactly.
One thing came up. It was this: the entire domain which I could swear I had memorized and I knew by heart because I’d had to type it in like every day for the past two years in school—it just didn’t exist.
I closed and opened the browser and then re-typed it.
Nothing. I did this a few more times until it became clear that whatever else the list had done, it had disappeared the website.
“Did you forget how to type again?” Katie said, laughing at me. “I swear Maya, you would even forget who your best friend was if I didn’t remind you, like every day, in first period.”
She pulled my tablet over to her and started t
yping in the website address: “https://” and then, the letters A-N-G-E-L…”
Angel! You! That’s the moment everything about Angel came flooding back to me.
That’s also the moment when I pulled my eyes away and let Katie finish pulling up the website. When she was done, she looked up at me, beaming. “It’s there! It worked! Our finished science module is all uploaded, right there. Wow! You have magic powers, Maya.”
I forced a smile. Katie was ecstatic, and it looked like she was going to bounce off the walls.
I tried to look excited, but in truth—I was terrified now.
I don’t remember this website. Something, at least this one little thing, was different. I started to wonder what else had changed.
At just about the same time, I’d remembered more about Angel—even though Katie had no memory of her at all. Maybe Angel didn’t even exist here—at least not in Katie’s world, which was weird, because if Katie had always been my best friend, like, forever, how is it that I could also remember that Angel was my best friend, like, forever, too? How can there be two different sets of forevers? My two competing sets of alternate-reality memories seemed like they were crashing together now. The thought of it made me really nervous.
But what about the homework? Maybe I had just been using the list wrong the whole time. Maybe if I wrote whatever I wanted the right way on this list, then maybe I could get anything I wanted to come true? Just like this homework project had?
I was afraid and excited at the same time. Not knowing if this list was going to work the right way or do crazy things was like some weird thrill for me now. Either this list thing could go horribly wrong—just like it had before when I’d tried it—or it could work perfectly fine—like with this homework project—and I’d get anything I wanted.
I was feeling a strange, tingly sensation now. I didn’t really like the feeling. I could have anything I wanted. As I thought this, it made me feel even more tingly. It was a weird feeling, and yet—I wanted more.
I looked back at the tablet and noticed it was almost 10pm. I needed to start getting home because we had school tomorrow. Getting up on time had never been easy for me, even in the best of times.
