“What the actual crap?”
“Andie. I said language.” Mom firmly believes the word crap is a swear.
I catch myself and take a deep breath. “Um, did anything strange happen last night? Like, maybe I talked in my sleep or was dancing around the living room? Possibly wearing fishnet tights with this dress?” I don’t dare hope that all of yesterday was just a dream.
My father glances at Mom. I can tell by his look that his therapist senses are tingling.
“Oh, no.” I point my finger back and forth between the two of them. “You are not going to start acting like I’m the crazy one here. I am not the crazy one.”
“Who said anyone has to be the crazy one?” Dad uses his counseling voice as he slides a plateful of steaming pancakes onto the table.
“Nobody has to be the crazy one,” Mom says in a way that implies I’m definitely the crazy one.
The two of them look at me as if I’m a science experiment that might bubble over at any moment. Faking a laugh, I grab three pancakes off the stack and say, “I just didn’t sleep very well on the couch.”
Mom asks how I liked Pretty in Pink last night, and I just shrug and take a giant bite of dry pancake to avoid making eye contact with her. My mind is reeling. Unless I sleep-watched Pretty in Pink, and dreamed up a horrible first day of school for myself, and then sleep-watched The Breakfast Club, none of what’s happening right now is possible.
An awkward silence settles around the three of us as we sit at the kitchen table, eating our breakfast. But these pancakes have not been whistled over. And I can taste the difference.
I head upstairs to get dressed for school, and root through my drawers until I find my flowered PJs. I sniff the flannel material as hard as I can and smell . . . nothing. Or rather, the slightest twinge of fabric softener. According to my sense of smell, I haven’t worn these flowered PJs since they were washed.
But I have. I wore this awful dress to school and had a horrible day, and when I came home I changed into these exact PJs and fell asleep on the pink couch. I know I didn’t dream everything.
I suppose Mom and Dad could just be messing with me to test my resilience or as twisted research for some new book, but my parents are not this good at lying. They tried throwing a surprise party for my fifteenth birthday, and the two of them were a wreck. Mom kept getting the hiccups and acted so frazzled I knew something was up, and Dad couldn’t stop giggling. It was downright creepy. There’s no way the two of them are behind this.
Could the universe really be handing me a do-over? Maybe each of us gets one do-over day in our lifetime. Is it possible I blew things so spectacularly yesterday that someone with a lot of authority decided I should get another shot? I can’t imagine no one ever mentioning this can happen.
On my laptop, I type in a search for “repeating same day” and get some ads for “next day delivery,” plus a bunch of links to various science fiction stories and a few romantic comedies that look sort of fun. Of course, the epic Bill Murray movie Groundhog Day pops up, and I stop to consider the Punxsutawney Phil connection. Unfortunately, I have to start getting ready before I can determine if the town mascot is some sort of mystical creature who’s controlling my life.
I try taking a hot shower, but that does nothing to change the date on my cell phone. Whatever the date, at least I can wear a less outrageous outfit today. I style my hair in long, loose waves, and I’m just lacing my favorite black boots over my best-fitting jeans when I hear the doorbell ring downstairs.
“Andie!” Mom calls in a singsong voice. “Your ride is here.”
Giving myself a quick once-over in the mirror, I head downstairs, barely daring to hope it could be Colton here to drive me to school.
As I make my way down the steps and the living room comes into view, there he is: looking as handsome as ever and wearing the same comfortable jeans and tight T-shirt he wore yesterday.
This time he and Mom are still standing by the front door when I get downstairs. I glance out the window, half expecting to see Kaia sitting in the passenger seat of his car, but it’s thankfully free from the glare of her glossy hair.
“Cool shirt.” Colton points to my T-shirt with a line drawing of a daisy on the front. I have to agree, it represents the perfect degree of irreverent charm.
“Thanks.” I’m dying to ask him if he’s here because he feels bad for ditching me yesterday, or if he’s here because yesterday never actually happened. But there’s no need to advertise the fact that I’m probably crazy now.
Dad comes out of the kitchen just then, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
Mom tells him, “Honey, this is Colton.”
I can’t hold it in any longer and ask, “Didn’t you guys meet yesterday?”
“How would we meet? I’ve never been to your house before.” Colton looks at my dad. “Have you been to the movie theater, maybe?”
“No, Andie gets her love of movies from her mother.” Dad gives me a look of concern. “Are you okay? Starting at a new school might be more of a strain than I anticipated.”
I stand there dumbly, feeling like I’ve just plunged headfirst into the setup for some wacky situation comedy. I try to decide what to do, but my brain comes up with zilch. This is unexplored territory as far as I’m concerned.
Colton smiles and grabs my hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”
He pulls me over the threshold, and I’m left holding on to the hope that things will at least go better than they did yesterday. I mean, well, today. That last time.
When we pull up to the school building, I jump out of Colton’s car ready to figure out what’s going on. Maybe here at the high school, time will catch up and things will go back to normal.
It isn’t until I witness the same students from yesterday, repeating their identical greetings to each other, that I allow myself to believe this is really happening. I stand in the doorway to the school, turning slowly amidst the uneven harmony of “Welcome back” and “Hey there” and “How was your summer?” and “I can’t believe we’re finally sophomores/juniors/seniors!”
This is real.
All of my wishing I that could go back and say or do the right or cool thing after saying and doing so many wrong and uncool things must’ve finally paid off.
I’m getting an actual do-over.
And I’m determined not to screw things up this time.
As we enter the school, Colton’s admirers greet him enthusiastically, just like they did yesterday. Except that now people are giving me looks that are less confused and more curious as I project a semi-attractive-seeming red-haired new girl wearing the perfect first-day-of-school outfit, who may-or-may-not be dating Colton.
We walk past the same athletic guys as yesterday, but now a number of them eye me like I’m a girl rather than some freak of nature.
My hopes are soaring as we walk through the giant doors leading to the cafeteria. I’ve been trying to plot how I can fix the way things went yesterday and decide I really need to get Colton to myself for lunch. Looking back, that was the point where I completely lost him.
When he points out the table in the corner and tells me to meet him, I ask, “Is there anywhere we can drive to for lunch? A Taco Junction or Burger Palace? Or can we maybe just sit outside someplace?”
He wrinkles his nose and looks out the window. “I’m really looking forward to hanging with my friends, and it’s a little overcast today.”
“No problem,” I say. “I was just hoping to get a few insider tips for life here at Punxsutawney High.”
He smiles. “The gang will be happy to help you get around. You’re going to fit in here just fine.”
Right. If I can only figure out a way to fit myself in-between him and Kaia.
As we leave the cafeteria and walk down the hallway, I imagine I detect fewer flirting signals flowing from other girls toward Colton. It’s as if my appropriate first-day attire has created a force field of date-ability that is transmut
ing Colton and I into a more obvious couple who . . .
“Hey there, Colt baby!”
Colton is immediately engulfed by the three manic blonde cheerleaders from yesterday. I curse myself for thinking he could be taken off the market so easily.
This time, when one of the lesser-blondes asks me if I’m planning to try out, I tell her yes, which makes Colton’s eyebrows jump in a good way. Of course, no human beings can ever witness me trying to act like a cheerleader. Or even clap, for that matter … But at least for this moment, I have Colton’s attention. Once I’ve pretended to memorize the details of tryouts, I easily pull him away from the blondes and their cheerleading skirts.
When we pass the people wearing black underneath the stairwell, I laugh at Colton’s warning and even place a flirty hand on his arm. Once again, I get a dark look from one of the girls, and I fear that maybe all I’m doing is repeating my same mistakes. But Colton gives me a secret smile that causes every other thought to vanish from my head.
Next, my heart starts beating as we approach the door to the choir room, but I remind myself that today I’m not dressed in a way that will make them want to adopt me. Or even inspire them to be particularly nice to me.
But just to be certain, when Colton gestures to the room and says, “And here we have . . . these people,” I grab his arm and pull him quickly out of the doorway.
Too late, I realize Tom was in the middle of greeting us with a friendly wave. So now it seems like I’ve purposely dissed him.
Tom turns the back of his slicked hair toward me and starts talking to the guy next to him who’s wearing suspenders. I’m hit with a pang of guilt over how nice he was to me yesterday, but today I remembered my wallet, so it’s not like I owe him anything anymore. Besides, he was probably only nice to me because I was wearing that bizarro pink dress.
As we walk away from the choir room, I can’t resist the urge to go for another selfie with Colton. I’m much more casual about it today, and ask him, “Is it still called a selfie when it has more than one person in it?”
“I always wondered the same thing.”
I take the photo super quick, and he has a genuine smile in this one.
I’m walking while posting it, but there’s something nagging at me. Something I’m forgetting about . . . and bam, I remember. Or more precisely, I’m reminded about running into Goth Guy yesterday when I run directly into him again. Hard. Clearly, walking while typing isn’t my thing.
This time, I mumble “sorry” as he bends down to pick up his Sharpie and I keep walking. If I don’t look directly into his darkly lined eyes, I can forget I was ever rude to his friends, thus ignoring the whole am-I-possibly-a-horrible-person debate. I also avoid eye contact when we pass the cluster of brainiacs, but I can’t resist a quick glance at the girl hugging her textbook to her chest. As she moves past, I wonder if she has a headband to perfectly match every outfit or if it’s just a special first-day-of-school thing.
Despite my best efforts to detour Colton away from Kaia, that girl must have some serious tracking skills, because it isn’t long before I’m cringing at the familiar nasally greeting ringing down the hallway toward us.
Colton looks nearly as happy to see her as he did yesterday, but not quite. And I’m encouraged when he glances at me before catching her dramatic hello hug.
But then I’m subjected to witnessing their reunion all over again, which was bad enough the first time. And yesterday, I didn’t even know that he’d be driving her home instead of me. Now it’s even worse, except for maybe the way her assessment of me in much cooler clothes sets her lips into a sharp line.
I wasn’t a threat yesterday in my goofy pink dress and my unwashed hair, but I’m a serious one now. I smile at her sweetly. “You must be Kaia. Colton’s told me so much about you.”
Colton gives me a look of surprise. “I don’t remember even mentioning Kaia this summer.”
“Oh, yes. That’s right.” I give her a smug smile. “You never even mentioned her.”
Kaia’s smile turns sour, and Colton shakes his head. “What just—?”
I break into a fake laugh. “I’m kidding, of course.”
But Kaia continues looking at me as if I’ve just spit on her kitten heels. She has no idea how I even know her name. Before I can truly enjoy her reaction, however, my tactic backfires. She turns to Colton, trails her maroon manicure through his hair, and purrs, “So, were you thinking of me this summer?”
She puts her face so close to his, there’s no need for him to respond. Clearly, he’s thinking of her now. Great.
When the two of them pull apart, Kaia coldly asks for my last name again, and this time I lie and say it’s Walsh, because a) Walsh is the last name of the Pretty in Pink Andie I was named after and b) Walsh starts with a W, which will group me with Colton and Vogel instead of Miss Hair Gloss and whatever her last name happens to be.
“You and I are in the same homeroom,” Colton says brightly.
I give him a wink. “Hope you don’t mind showing me the way.”
Kaia practically has steam coming out of her ears as I fling my arm though his outstretched elbow and the two of us head merrily down the hallway. In the opposite direction of what I know to be my actual homeroom.
As we walk, I try to engage Colton in a conversation about the action flick we watched repeatedly at the theater this summer. My goal is to remind him just how much time we’ve spent together, and just how helpful I was when he was working behind the counter for long hours.
He says, “There’s something soothing about watching the same movie over and over. I only saw, like, two other movies in bits and pieces all summer long, but I caught that one at least sixteen times.”
Which surprises me, because despite watching the action movie with Colton several times, I still managed to view a wide variety of films over the course of the summer. Actually, in between helping out and hanging out, I basically saw every movie that came through the theater since we moved here.
I’m all for re-watching movies. In fact, I completely agree with my mom that you can’t truly know a movie until you’ve watched it multiple times . . . but sixteen viewings of one action flick over one summer? It sounds a bit excessive, even to me.
I shake my head and refocus on the fact that I’m here to make Colton fall in love with me, not the other way around.
When we arrive at his homeroom, he guides me directly up to the teacher standing behind the desk at the front of the room. Before I can stop him, he introduces me as, “New student, Andie Walsh.”
The teacher smiles pleasantly and says, “I didn’t realize we had a new student to greet this morning. Hello, Andie Walsh.” Looking down at her list of names, I watch her expression shift to perplexed. I wonder just how much evidence is required to verify me as New Student, Andie Walsh.
Probably quite a bit. Plus, someone will likely notice that a new student named Andie Knedman was also supposed to be transferring in today. I imagine a call to my parents to investigate the misunderstanding. If my mom answers the call, she’ll do her part to support my pursuit of true love, but then I imagine my dad picking up the phone and me ending up in some sort of juvie rehab program for forgetting my last name.
I say, “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s my other name.”
Colton and the teacher both watch me as I sheepishly look back and forth between them while avoiding actual eye contact.
“I mean, that’s my middle name.” I smile at Colton. “Do they not sort the students by middle name here?”
The teacher shakes her head and talks very slowly. “No, we go by regular last names here at Punxsutawney High School.”
“Oh, well. That’s the way they did it at my old school,” I say. “My bad.”
“What sort of middle name is Walsh?” Colton asks, and I shrug.
“Well then, what is your last name?” the teacher asks.
“My last name’s Knedman,” I say. “Guess I’m not in this homeroom after all?”
The teacher rifles through her desk. Handing me a small booklet titled Student Handbook, she opens the back flap to a map of the school.
“We’re right here.” She points to a spot inside the parallelogram and then draws her finger slowly along the shape to the opposite side. “This is your homeroom.” She’s one room off from my actual homeroom, but I’m not about to get busted by correcting her.
One of the lesser-blonde cheerleaders traipses into the room, and when she spots Colton, she immediately flings herself onto his back. He starts galloping in playful circles, and I realize that Kaia isn’t my only competition for his affection after all.
It isn’t until the teacher repeats Colton’s full name three times that he finally stops and the cheerleader dismounts. Fortunately, the woman must assume I’m a complete idiot who can’t find my way around a closed polygon on my own, because she asks Colton to please show me the way to my homeroom.
As we reach the door, I blurt out, “It’s a family name.”
The teacher and Colton both look at me.
“Walsh,” I say. “It’s a traditional middle name in my family.” Colton gives a wide-eyed smile and steps into the hallway. As I follow him out the door, I realize that getting a second go-around only means more opportunities to humiliate myself in new and spectacular ways.
The hallways are almost empty now, but as we pass open doorways, the scattered calls of “Colton!” and “Yo, Colt!” make it hard for me to keep his attention.
As we approach our destination, I’m horrified to realize that the homeroom the teacher mistakenly identified as mine is actually Kaia’s. When we reach the door, I feel as if I’m delivering a perfect bouquet of Colton to her, but what else can I do? I’m supposed to be acting clueless about my homeroom number. Not to mention my own name.
When we enter the classroom, I immediately spot Kaia sitting in a seat by the window and laughing at something someone has just said. She could be posing for a shampoo ad, and despite the overcast day, a beam of light manages to glint off her hair, nearly blinding me.
Pretty in Punxsutawney Page 6
