I cover my face with both hands. Petra is rubbing my arm, but I feel so detached I might as well not even be here.
“Leave her alone,” Petra says protectively. “She is crying real tears, you guys. Those cannot be faked.”
“Sure they can,” Anna says. “Come on, let’s take it from the top. It’s obvious we still need to find a good bass player, because this chick is just playing games with us.”
“I’ll drive you home,” Petra says, and even I can tell when there’s no point trying to backpedal anymore.
“Good luck with your brain, Andie,” Anna sweetly calls as we leave.
And because I’m pretty sure this isn’t my last loop and I’m feeling extra mean, I turn back and say even more sweetly, “Good luck trying to make Colton Vogel fall in love with you.”
Petra claps a hand over her mouth, and her eyes are wide as she grabs my arm to make a dash for the door.
We climb into her car and she says, “Did you see that look on Anna’s face? She’s never going to forgive you.”
“I’m pretty sure she’ll get over it.” I slump down low in the passenger seat. “By tomorrow, I’m predicting.”
“That Colton is a true heartbreaker,” she says. “Anna’s crush on him really changed who she was.”
“Heartbreaker doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“Why? Did you have a crush on him too?” she asks.
I laugh so hard that I can’t speak, and I don’t stop for so long, Petra starts to look worried.
“Is your brain thing okay right now?” she asks. “Whatever it is, do you need me to pull over?”
I tell her I’m okay and hold in my laughter, which makes my eyes start tearing up again.
Petra reaches over to pat my arm. “It’ll be okay, Andie. We can figure all this stuff out together.”
Which just makes me start crying. Hard.
chapter 15
By the time I walk in the front door, I’ve stopped crying and am starting to feel a little better.
“Oh, honey. What on earth’s wrong?” Mom says the second she sees me. It’s as if she can sense what I’m feeling, even when my feelings are running so wild I can’t catch them myself.
I drop into the couch and slump down. “Nothing, Mom. Just a hard night.”
“I thought you were having fun with some new friends. I would’ve been happy to come pick you up if you needed.”
“Yeah, I know.” I lean over and lay my head on her shoulder. “I’m just ready for today to be over.”
“Wishing you could fast forward through your life is no way to live it, sweetheart.”
I start laughing until I find myself crying all over again.
Mom just sits there, petting my hair until I calm down. Even once my breathing has stabilized and I’ve stopped hiccupping, Mom doesn’t ask a single prying question about my spontaneous emotional meltdown. Instead, she walks over to her video library, opens the glass door with her key, and pulls out a movie.
Without showing me what it is, she puts the DVD into the player. The screen fills with the image of a corkboard with scribbled-on Post-its, a photo of teens joyriding in a red convertible, and a button that reads Save Ferris.
“Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” Mom announces with a flourish. “It’s about time we revisit the old classic.” She looks so happy, I just nod and settle into the pink leather couch of doom. I have no fight left in me.
Onscreen, Ferris is preparing for his day off by tricking his parents into believing he’s too sick for school. Breaking the fourth wall, he explains that secretly licking one’s hands will make them seem clammy. He calls it a perfect symptom for a nonspecific illness.
He points out that the hand-licking thing is really childish, but then again, so is high school.
Ferris Bueller does not lie.
Mom and I smile together over the teacher’s repeated, “Bueller. Bueller. Bueller.” And when his friend asks what they’re going to do that day, she nudges me as Ferris gives the classic response that it’s more about what they aren’t going to do.
And it hits me. I can do all the things. While the teens onscreen create havoc in a fancy restaurant and ride on a parade float, I start constructing a list of fun activities in my mind.
Maybe I’ve been viewing my situation wrong, and I’m not being punished like Sisyphus after all. Maybe this isn’t a curse that I have to break.
Maybe this has been a gift all along.
The next morning, I start my school day by crouching on a toilet inside the boys’ bathroom near the front office. I’m wearing a baseball cap and hoodie and holding the mop I’ve snagged from the janitor’s closet. Listening, I wait for the president of the senior class to arrive to take his morning leak.
As soon as he’s tucked inside his stall, I slide the mop pole through the door handle, effectively locking him in. I’m hit with a wave of guilt as I leave the tiled room. The boys’ bathroom is beyond foul. In fact, if I’d ever tried to eat my pizza in there, I would’ve been immediately sick from day one.
Keeping my baseball cap low over my face and pressing my back against the wall, I sneak inside the announcement booth in the senior class president’s place and commandeer the microphone. In an official newscaster voice, I begin politely reciting everything that’s about to happen all day. And I do mean everything.
I’ve cycled through enough times at this point to include small details, such as, “Barry Helfeger will have so much trouble opening his locker combination, he’ll resort to kicking open his door, only to discover he’s broken into Kimberly Kessler’s locker instead of his own.” And, “The back two rows of Mr. Hoovler’s third-period science class will want to secure their glass beakers to avoid unnecessary damage when Christopher Nolan creates an explosion at his desk using a chemical reaction he learned over the summer at science camp.”
I go on like this for some time until, finally, the assistant principal breaks in and turns off my microphone. I apologize for the prank and am sentenced to detention for the rest of the week. She eyes me suspiciously when I accept my punishment with a bright smile, but doesn’t hold me for further questioning. Probably because she has no idea how impossibly accurate my predictions just were.
As I walk out of the booth and down the hallway, I spot two seniors I’ve announced will be breaking up today. I forecasted Jay and Jody’s split because they’ve had a very public fight in the hallway after sixth period every single time I’ve looped. But right now, I see the two of them embracing in front of Jody’s locker.
Smoothing back her hair with one hand, Jay says, “That announcement was crazy. I love you.” Hearing me announce their break up must have somehow convinced them to rally and save their relationship.
Of course, my prophecy that Colton and Kaia will hook up before the day’s end absolutely comes true. I obviously didn’t say anything about her eating disorder, but I’ve checked in on the bathroom near the cafeteria after lunch here and there. Sure enough, her kitten heels are always facing the wrong direction. I wish I could help her, but I have no idea how.
Over time, I’ve worked a few public service acts into my schedule. For instance, I pace my walk down the hallway to fourth period just right so I can seamlessly catch a freshman’s books for him before they go flying. His look of gratitude borders on outright adoration.
I leave my new school sneakers inside the locker of a girl I’ve noticed is insecure about having shabby ones of her own, and I surreptitiously spray air freshener into the locker vent of a kid who forgot to shower this morning. I consider leaving a stick of deodorant on the shelf inside, but I’d hate to have him feel like it wasn’t from a friend. Hormones are no joke, and the same ones that have him stinking up the tenth grade could conceivably cause him to burst into tears if he realizes someone else noticed his body odor.
Sitting beside Petra in the cafeteria, I do a quiet countdown of, “Three. Two. One . . .” and a huge clatter! crash! smash! sounds out from the kitchen. I return Petra’s shocked expr
ession with a knowing look. Raising one finger, I mouth along with the lunch lady shouting out, “Crikey!”
Petra’s eyes grow even wider, but I just shrug and go back to eating my brown goo. Which, by the way, is an acquired taste.
In all my classes and without raising my hand, I answer every single question posed by every single teacher. Sometimes, before they’ve finished asking them.
I even mime the English teacher, Mr. Demers, as he goes over the syllabus for our study of the Greek gods. Turning, I realize Tom is watching me with rapt attention.
He leans over and whispers, “Did you hack into the computer system and steal his notes or something?”
“Nope.” I smile. “I’ve just heard all this before.”
“Yeah, right.” He laughs. “Nice trick.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“Did you already sit through this class by accident or something? If you can memorize lines that easily, you should try acting classes. That is some serious skill.”
“More like, I’ve listened to this speech over and over every single day since the summer.” I look up at the ceiling. “About four and a half months’ worth by now.”
“Summer vacation literally just ended yesterday,” Tom says. “And you weren’t even at this school before that.” He gives me the look my dad gives me when he’s deciding whether I’m due for a mental assessment and tune-up.
“Tom! Please.” It’s the first time I’ve heard Mr. Demers speak sharply. He consults his seating chart. “And Andie, is it? Do you two mind holding your conversation until after class?”
“Sorry,” I say. “Please do go on about Sisyphus.” My voice drips with irony that only I can understand.
When class ends, Tom asks, “So be honest, how did you know what Mr. D was going to say word for word?”
Tom’s the first one who has taken a real interest in my unusual knowledge. Most everyone else is so absorbed in their own first-day-of-school stuff that they don’t notice my odd quirks and comments. I haven’t thought through how I would explain all of this if someone called me out, so I tell him what’s really happening.
“No big deal,” I say. “I’m just caught in some sort of bizarre time loop.”
He squints at me as we walk down the hallway side by side. “You mean like you’re actually an adult or something, sent back in time like the movie Seventeen Again?”
“No,” I say.
“A little kid sent forward in age? Like Big or Thirteen Going on Thirty, except you’re only sixteen?”
“More like the movie Groundhog Day, where I’m repeating the same exact day over and over.”
He laughs. “Nice one, Andie. Welcome to Punxsutawney. Hope you get unstuck sooner than Bill Murray did.”
“According to the director, his character was stuck in that loop for over thirty years,” I say.
“Well, if he could’ve won his true love a little sooner, he would’ve been set free, right?” Tom says. “Of course, that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.”
“Right.” I turn and face him in the middle of the hallway. “Fun. Let me tell you, it is so much fun to start every day in a place where nobody really knows you, and they can never really get to know you because you are perpetually meeting everyone for the first time. Because, hey, isolation is fun.” Tom’s eyes widen as I continue. “And speaking of isolation, it is almost too much fun to stand by watching people who can’t see past stereotypes, and who make snap judgements about others they’ve never even spoken to based solely on labels and cliques and clothing.”
People in the hallway have stopped to watch our exchange, and Tom bites his lip in amusement. He thinks I’m putting on an act. But this is no act.
I raise my voice and feel my face go pink. “You all need to stop treating high school like it’s some giant tournament of rock, paper, scissors, where each social group thinks it’s better than the others and nobody ever wins!”
My heart is beating fast, and Tom tries to start a slow clap, but everyone in the hallway just reanimates and goes back to their day.
Tom grins at me. “You’re fun.”
I cover my face with both my hands and laugh as my breathing returns to normal.
When I look back up at Tom, it feels like he finally really sees me. After blinking a few times, he says, “But I still really want to know how you pulled off that trick with Demers.”
I smack the heel of my hand against my head and give a growl of frustration.
“Wait . . .” Tom says, but I just wave as I make the turn into the girls’ bathroom. It felt good to be sharing the truth for a change, but I shouldn’t be surprised Tom doesn’t believe me. After all, the Andie he got to know all summer long was a bit rude and totally doe-eyed over Colton. I can’t go back in time far enough to undo my drool, and now I doubt Tom will ever be interested in getting to know the real me.
I’m surprised to realize how much that upsets me. I wish I’d paid more attention to him from the start, because the more I’ve gotten to know Tom, the more I like him. Sort of the opposite of what happened with Colton.
Talking about Groundhog Day with Tom inspires me to visit the actual groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil, after school. I don’t really imagine the Bill Murray movie was a documentary or anything, but the town could be cursed. If so, that giant rodent could be holding all the answers.
One look tells me Punxsutawney Phil is not holding all the answers.
He’s cute and furry and happily napping on his fat little back inside a warm terrarium attached to the town’s library. A mural of a field is painted on the back wall, with fake rocks and trees springing up inside the glass enclosure. Phil is half-buried in woodchips, and sleeping so deeply I wonder if he’s even alive.
Ignoring the sign that says, “Do not tap on glass,” I give a quick knuckle rap.
Unimpressed, he opens one eye, scans me, and closes it again.
“Not quite what you’d call an energetic fellow, is he?” a deep voice says from behind me.
I whip around. “Sorry, I was just trying to . . .” What? I have no idea what I’m doing here.
The man standing behind me gives a chuckle. “You could bang all day. Anytime he’s not busy eating, that groundhog is fast asleep.”
I turn back to look at Phil’s upturned belly. I wish I could tickle it. “That’s really all he does?” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
The man leans in toward the glass. “Well, every now and then, he does manage to escape.”
I grab the man by his wide shoulders and force him to look at me. “He escapes?” I practically screech. “How? Where does he go?”
“Easy there.” The man takes a step backward away from me. “He’s been known to climb through the ceiling tiles and escape into the library.”
I press my whole face against the glass and look up at what appears to be a newly painted ceiling inside the terrarium.
“Actually,” the man says, “I do recall they replaced the tiles a while back. No more escaping for Phil.”
My eyes swing back down to Phil, who opens his one eye at me again. We stare at each other for a long time, and I imagine the fun he was having back when he could wander free inside the library. Probably surprising patrons by popping out his fat-cheeked face between the books on the bottom shelves. Maybe even getting a pet from a child, or acting naughty by leaving poop pellets in drawers and making the librarians scream.
I can feel how trapped he is now.
“You get it,” I whisper to him through the glass, and he knowingly closes his eye.
I continue cycling through variations on my day, getting bolder and bolder with my choices, and teaching myself skills of questionable integrity such as picking locks and hotwiring cars. Finally, taking inspiration from the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, I borrow my neighbor’s red Ferrari one morning and drive it all the way into Pittsburgh.
As I cross over the Liberty Bridge into the city, I smile over how lucky I am t
o live just a few hours from such an incredible city with so many bridges for me to explore. I peer through the guardrail at the Monongahela River far below and get a thrill of freedom that makes my fingers tingle.
Once I’m in the city itself, I head downtown and park the car illegally right in front of the big stone building of the Andy Warhol museum. Inside, I study mannequins covered in dots and stand in a room filled with silver Mylar pillows with my arms spread wide. And of course I consider rows and rows and rows of perfectly painted Campbell’s soup labels. For some reason, the blandness of the logo soothes me. They are familiar and common, yet endless and eternal, and each one is exactly the same in an organized way that makes me feel in control.
After the museum, I drive over to the Southside to ride the Duquesne Incline, which is basically a cool old trolley car that runs up and down Mt. Washington at a steep angle. As it climbs, I look out the antique wooden car’s windows, and the skyline rises into view.
I’ve always loved the way the city is surrounded by three rivers that make a Y where the Monongahela and the Allegheny become the Ohio River, forcing the city into a point. Once we reach the top, I stand on the observation deck and stare down at the Point State Park fountain nestled right in the crook, marking where the two rivers flow into one. The enormous stone fountain isn’t always running, but I’m happy to see it’s shooting a torrent of water high into the air today. My day.
I’ve visited Pittsburgh every summer of my life, and I feel a wave of affection for this city. I calculate how long it will take for me to explore every out-of-the-way nook and cranny, and fleetingly wish I could share my adventures with someone. Anyone. My mind wings to Tom, and I picture us sitting in the Regent Square Theater down on Braddock Avenue waiting for a film to start. Probably a classic like Casablanca or Charade. It’s one of the spots my family has always made a special point to visit. Of course, it’s usually Mom’s idea.
I feel a pang over how panicked my parents must be feeling by now. I didn’t leave a note, since I figured there was a chance I wouldn’t even be missed as a new student at school. My hope was they wouldn’t know anything was out of the ordinary until later.
Pretty in Punxsutawney Page 17
