Waking in Time

by Angie Stanton

  I’m so sick of all of this. I have no control over my life, and now the only person I can possibly count on won’t even talk to me.

  A couple strolls out onto the pier with a blanket and a basket of snacks. It must be nice to belong to this time and not have a worry in the world. I don’t want to watch them flirt, but I don’t want to go back to my dorm and my nosy roommate either. Picnic Point and the Union will just be filled with cruel reminders that I’m in the wrong century. There’s literally no place on this campus I can go to be by myself and escape. But there are two rowboats and a canoe tied to the dock. No one can bother me out on the lake. Maybe I can row away from this 1930 nightmare. What the hell.

  I climb into the cleaner looking of the two rowboats and untie one of the lines holding the boat to the pier. “Could you toss me that other line?” I ask the guy on the date, pulling his attention away from his girlfriend for a moment.

  “Are you sure you want to go out? Looks like it might rain.”

  I glance at the cloudy sky. It doesn’t look too bad, and if I don’t get out of here right now, I’ll have a major meltdown. “I won’t be long.” I manage a tight smile as he tosses the line and I situate myself on the wooden seat. The boat drifts away from the pier. While I’ve canoed and kayaked plenty at summer camp, I’ve never actually manned a rowboat before. But it can’t be that hard.

  I dip the oars into the water, but I’ve reached too deep and nearly lift myself off the seat trying to pull them back. Okay, this is harder than it looks. Luckily I get in a few good strokes and have soon moved away from the pier and the curious eyes. I dip my oars again, but this time I dip too shallow. They skitter over the top of the water with a splash, and I fall onto the gritty floor of the boat from my overzealous pull.

  I scramble back into my seat, hoping the couple on the pier didn’t notice, and row more carefully after that. The breeze carries me away from shore and the site of my frustrations. The farther I row, the better the view. Liz Waters, the almighty rock, looms grandly on the hillside. The Carillon Tower pokes above the trees, majestically overlooking campus and, sadly, ruling my destiny.

  From farther out on the lake, the students at the Union Terrace look like tiny figures. I’m free from all of it and finally alone. Not a sign of 1930 in sight.

  I raise the oars, slip them inside the boat, and let myself drift. The lake is vast and the water dark, and I’m just a tiny meaningless blip like a water bug on the surface.

  A breeze gently pushes the boat, and the water laps against its side, soothing me. Geese fly overhead, back from their southern retreat. I let myself relax and think back to easier times, like when my biggest problem was getting rid of that sloppy drunk at the bonfire and Colton saving the day. It seems like forever ago.

  And then I wonder if Will’s tobacco tin was still buried there when I was at the bonfire that night. What will happen to Will in the future? The terrifying possibility strikes me that I may never know if I can’t get home.

  The wind picks up, blowing cool air off the water. I wrap my sweater tighter and hug myself. I look to shore and realize it’s a small speck in the distance. I’ve let myself drift too far. Crap.

  I slip the oars back into the water and aim the boat for shore as a light rain begins and punishes me with cold drops. Within a minute it’s a steady downpour and my sweater acts like a sponge. I grimace and pull harder on the oars stroke after stroke, until my arms ache. After five minutes of heavy rowing, I’m still a long way from shore and there’s a growing puddle of water in the boat. My hands begin to blister and keep slipping off the wet oars. When my hand slips again, one oar pops out of the holder and over the side. Scrambling, I reach for it, but the choppy water has already carried it out of my grasp.

  “Dammit!” I scream.

  I try rowing with the one remaining oar, but it only sends me in a circle. With no other choice, I lift the unwieldy oar from its holder and stand carefully, wobbling to keep my balance as the rain pours down on me. I attempt to paddle after the oar that’s floating away, but it’s no use.

  “Why can nothing go right?” I yell. “I hate you, world! You hear that? I hate you!”

  But the pelting sound of the rain on the water muffles my complaints. I plop down onto the seat, careful to place my remaining oar inside the boat, and cover my face in defeat.

  My shoes are soaked, my fingers are more wrinkled than the time I spent two hours in my friend’s hot tub, and one of my blisters has broken open. I want to feel sorry for myself, but it’s my own stupid fault for taking out a boat.

  I hear something and search through the rain for the source. In the grayness, I see a boat heading my direction.

  Thank God. I don’t know how I would have made it back on my own.

  As the boat comes closer, I see a lone figure rowing. There’s no jerking or oars popping up out of the holders. The strokes are long, smooth, and strong. The figure comes into view and my suspicions prove true.

  It’s Will.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Have you gone daft?” Will yells over the downpour of rain and pulls his boat up next to mine.

  I can’t help myself. I grin.

  “Clearly, you have.” His jaw is clenched in anger as he reaches into my boat and grabs the tie line that’s floating in the rainwater. He secures the rope to the back of his boat and then turns to me. “You think you can step over?”

  “Of course. I’m not helpless.”

  He gives me the eye. “I believe you’ve just proven otherwise.”

  Rainwater runs down his face, and he blows it out of his mouth. Like me, he’s soaked.

  Will grabs the sides of the two boats with one hand. He braces his legs to keep balanced and reaches his other hand out to me. “I’ll hold the boats as steady as I can.”

  My heart pounds, and I don’t know if it’s because he came for me, the fact that I’m in the middle of the lake during a rainstorm, or because even with his hair soaked and pushed back to reveal his irritated expression, he is more handsome than I realized.

  Freezing to my core, I reach for his outstretched hand. He grasps mine firmly, holding me steady as I clamber awkwardly in my dress and heels out of my boat, over the paddle, and into his. The boats wobble and I scrape my leg on the side, but Will holds them together long enough for me to land safely. He keeps hold of my hand until I’m seated, making sure I don’t flip us both into the choppy lake.

  As the torrential rain continues to pour, he releases the boats and lets them drift apart, my boat still tied to the back of his.

  “Are you all right?” he asks with true concern.

  “Never better.” My teeth are chattering.

  Will frowns, then expertly handles the oars, turning the boat toward shore. I didn’t realize how far I’d drifted until I see how hard Will has to work to get us back. His sleek muscles strain under his T-shirt with each steady pull. The rain runs down the top of his nose, dripping off the tip. I smile despite the miserable conditions.

  “What are you so happy about?” he asks between pulls, not amused.

  “I knew you’d have to talk to me eventually, but I never imagined this is how it happens.”

  “We’ll deal with that later. Right now let’s get to shore before you freeze to death.” Wearing only his wet crew T-shirt and shorts, his arms and legs are a mass of lean muscle and goose bumps, and his cheeks are chafed red.

  Will rows us to the pier of the boathouse. He nimbly jumps out and ties off the boats, then offers his hand to me. My muscles are stiff with cold and I can barely stand, but I put my icy hand in his and he pulls me up easily.

  “Why didn’t you take us back to my dorm?” I follow him down the pier, the rain still pouring down. My shoes squish with each step.

  “I wasn’t keen on rowing another half mile in the rain. I’ll take the boats back to the pier after it lets up.”


  The boathouse is filled with crew boats, rowboats, and canoes. Up close, the crew boats are impossibly long, spanning the length of the building. There are more boats suspended above us and dozens of racks holding paddles, ropes, and other nautical gear.

  Despite being out of the rain, I can’t stop shivering. Will leads me past two guys working on a trailer.

  “Hi fellas, we got caught in the rain. Mind if we use the club room to dry off?”

  The other guys eye me. Water drips off my clothes like a leaky faucet. I don’t think they see too many women inside the boathouse, let alone one looking like a drowned rat.

  “We’re almost finished here. Lock up when you leave,” one says with a knowing smirk.

  Will ignores him and directs me to a stairway leading past the rows of suspended boats and up to a second-story room. He flicks on a light and heads straight for a fireplace against the back wall.

  “Take off that sweater before you catch your death. I’ll have a fire going in a jiffy.”

  The room is filled with old sofas and chairs that look like castoffs from a rummage sale. Framed photos of crew teams as well as plaques and trophies from various regattas line the walls and shelves. A large braided rug covers the floor in front of the fireplace.

  Will lights old newspapers in the hearth. The flames catch and soon a small blaze appears. I can’t stop shivering. I slip off my sweater, heavy with rain, then crouch near the fire, hugging my knees and waiting for the warmth to hit me.

  While the fire flickers to life, Will disappears and returns with a stack of small towels. “Sorry these aren’t any nicer. They’re used to wipe down the boats. And here is a change of clothes—they’re the smallest I could find. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall.”

  I stare gratefully at the gray UW crew sweatshirt and cozy sweatpants he’s holding out.

  “Don’t worry, they’re clean,” he says, as if I’d turn my nose up at dry clothes.

  “Thank you.” I say, accepting the bundle. “And thank you for coming out in the rain to rescue me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.”

  He nods. Still holding onto his anger. At a loss for what else to say, I go in search of the bathroom.

  I wring out my hair with a towel and slip on the oversized sweats. The soft fleece caresses my cold skin. When I return, barefoot and carrying my damp dress, stockings, and ruined shoes, I see Will has placed two wooden chairs before the now crackling fire.

  He turns to me with his brow creased, his irritated expression back. “You want to explain why you were out in the middle of the lake during a rainstorm?”

  “I didn’t plan to get stranded. Those boats are terrible—someone should invent a better system for keeping the oar in its hooky thing.” I hold my cold wrinkled fingers up to the fire. “Oh yeah, they do. In the future.”

  He cracks a rare smile and tries to hide it by rubbing his hair with a towel. “You didn’t answer my question,” he says, his hair now sticking straight up. The light of the fire colors his face. “Well?”

  I sigh and stare at the fire for a minute, reliving that trapped feeling that convinced me to take the boat out. “I’m so tired of it all. I don’t fit anywhere. There’s no place I can go to escape”—frustrated, I wave my hands in the air—“time!” My throat tightens with emotion. But I refuse to shed one tear in front of him.

  Will is standing in his wet clothes and sneakers, a towel slung around his neck, his hair jutting out at wacky angles. “So you took a boat out in a rainstorm.” He stares at me like he thinks I’m an idiot.

  “It wasn’t raining at the time.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Hey, if you would’ve just taken a minute to talk to me, I wouldn’t have done it, okay? I’m not a total moron. I think I’m allowed a little meltdown after falling back through time again and again.” I move to the hearth to get closer to the heat. “You were a nice guy the last time I saw you. Now you’re kind of being a jerk.”

  Will flinches. “Well, you certainly do speak your mind.”

  “The world changes a lot, trust me,” I say with resignation, the wind gone out of me.

  He takes his seat. We’re silent, neither of us knowing where to go with this. The fire pops. At least I’m finally beginning to warm up.

  When Will speaks again, it’s with a kinder tone. “How many times have you traveled?”

  I think about it, ticking off years on my fingers. “This time makes six… I think.”

  “Six!” He jumps out of his chair as if I’ve jabbed him with a fireplace poker.

  The number depresses me more now that I’ve said it out loud. “How many for you?”

  “Twice, but that’s two more than I can bear.” There’s panic in his eyes at the prospect of more time travel.

  I nod in perfect understanding. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in this time, but, in the future, you told me we’re good friends.” I look at him earnestly. “I could really use a friend right now.”

  Will leans against the fireplace mantle, his expression softening. “When you approached me yesterday, I’d just received some terrible news.” He rakes a hand through his damp hair, leaving it in slightly better condition. “I don’t know how to survive this thing that’s happening to me. I thought it would be best to avoid making any friends or connections, because I have no idea what tomorrow will bring… But you’re making me see things differently.”

  “So, friends?” I ask.

  A smile curls his lips and, for the first time since I left Grandma, I feel that maybe I’ll be okay for a while.

  Will changes into crew team sweats identical to mine. We look like a bad version of Thing 1 and Thing 2. He tosses his pack of wet, ruined cigarettes on the hearth and frowns. After putting a kettle of water on the fire, he joins me.

  At first it’s awkward. We seem to have come to terms that we’re destined to help each other, but how do we begin?

  Will squats down and adds another log. Sparks fly into the air like fireflies at dusk. “You know who I am, but who are you? I don’t even know your name.”

  “I’m Abbi. Everyone else since I started traveling seems to know me as Abigail, but to my friends, I’m Abbi.”

  He catches my eye, and we both smile.

  “You realize this is a peculiar paradox. The fact that you know me from your past, which is in my future?”

  “Believe me, I’m well aware of how bizarre this is,” I say, staring into the fire. I hold my hands up to warm them, my fingers still like prunes.

  “You’ve got blisters.” Will takes my hand in his.

  “It’s okay. I deserve them.”

  He runs his finger lightly over my sore palms. Shivers run up my arms. He lets go of my hand, stands, and begins to pace. “So when are you really from?” he asks.

  Will’s eyes bug out when I tell him. “That’s a very long time in the future.”

  “I know. Every relative I’ve ever known hasn’t even been born yet.”

  “And every person from my time will be dead by your time,” he adds sadly.

  And that’s how we begin. Will makes us bitter coffee, full of grounds, and for the next hour, I catch him up on my travels and he tells me about his. I explain how I met the professor and how I think he’s the key to helping us.

  “But I can’t talk to Professor Smith anymore, at least not as long as I keep going backward in time. It’s going to be up to you. Once you meet him, you must do everything you can to help him. He becomes a brilliant physicist in the future, and I hope that he can find a way to send us both back to our real times.” And then I share with him the Sterling Hall bombing, the Smith Physics Library, and the uncertainty of the professor’s survival. It ups the stakes, as if we’re working on a ticking time bomb.

  Will considers my words. “While we’re here, we’ll look into every possi
ble clue, and I’ll share our findings with this professor… when I find him.”

  “And we should research the Carillon Tower. I’ve never been up in it, but maybe we can find a way.”

  “Wait—you think those bells that ring in the middle of the night have something to do with it?” Will looks at me in surprise. The light of the fire flickers over his face, casting warm shadows in the hollows of his cheeks.

  I nod. “Yes, I hear them too. There’s got to be some connection.”

  “And the effigy mounds…” he suggests.

  “Are you going all woo woo on me?” I tease.

  His brow wrinkles. “I don’t understand. What is woo woo?”

  I laugh. “It’s believing in spirits and special powers.”

  “All I know is that the Indians were quite serious about their customs and beliefs. They’ve been around longer than anyone else, so perhaps there’s something to it.” Will glances at the clock and frowns. “We need to get you back before curfew.” He hops up and scatters the embers in the fireplace.

  We gather our damp clothes and head outside. The rain has stopped. The air smells fresh and full of promise. “What about the boats?”

  “I’ll return them after I escort you back to your dorm.”

  The walk back is cool, and I’m glad I’m not in my wet clothes, although my shoes still squish when I walk.

  “When I saw you yesterday, you seemed upset. Or maybe sad is a better word,” I say.

  Will presses his lips together, and I realize he doesn’t want to talk about it, but then he opens up and says, “I just found out that my father’s farm and everything he worked his lifetime to build are gone. After my family died, I should have…” He shakes his head in frustration.

  “You told me. I’m so sorry.”

  He nods stoically. “As my father’s only living heir, the farm was put in my name, but then I shot forward in time, and the stock market crashed. The banks were in trouble, no one was making payment on the property, so it was repossessed by the bank.”