Future of Us

by Jay Asher

  Tyson takes a huge bite of his sandwich. “Good for her,” he says while chewing. “That guy’s smarmy. Did you see how he shaved his head?”

  “‘Smarmy’?” Kellan swats his arm. “Where are you coming up with these words?”

  This morning, when Emma and I were talking about relationships, she never said she was going to dump Graham today. If she did this because of something she saw on Facebook, there’s no telling what ripples she just caused. We’re supposed to talk to each other about this stuff!

  “I don’t know if this is true,” Tyson says, “but some people think Graham and those other guys shaving their heads together was some sort of gay pact. Did you hear about that, Josh?”

  A lump of bread catches in my throat. Why does he think I’d know about a gay pact? My eyes begin to water, and Kellan shoves her Sprite at me. Have people known my brother was gay but never told me about it? While I start coughing and gagging, Tyson laughs so hard he puts his hand against the ground for support.

  “Are you okay?” Kellan asks, leaning close to me. “Nod your head if you need me to give you the Heimlich.”

  I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Kellan glares at Tyson. “That is the stupidest thing you’ve said all day. What on earth does shaving your head have to do with being gay? Are you gay because you and Greg tried to light your farts on fire?”

  “You remember that?” Tyson cracks up. “Oh, man! Do you still have that tape, Josh?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere.” It’s hard to believe David might be gay. I mean, he must be gay because I don’t know any straight men in relationships with guys named Phillip. But now I have to rethink so many things I thought I knew about my brother. We never did meet that girl he spent so much time with after school. Was Jessica really a dude? He had Mom and Dad so worried about how much time they spent together. They even told him they weren’t ready to become grandparents yet.

  “Graham isn’t gay,” I say. It’s still hard to say his name without seeing his hand up Emma’s shirt.

  Kellan throws a fry at Tyson’s face. Amazingly, he catches it in his mouth.

  “Anyway,” she says, “I don’t see why it matters to you who’s gay or not.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tyson says, biting off more sandwich. “My dad thinks Ellen DeGeneres is gay, and we love Ellen!”

  “Are you kidding? She’s not gay,” Kellan says.

  “Who’s not gay?” Emma asks, walking up to our group.

  Kellan clasps her hands and smiles at Emma. “So is it true? You’re no longer with what’s-his-name?”

  Emma looks right at me. “Did you—?”

  “Did I what?” I ask. And then I laugh. She thinks I told them about getting rid of Jordan Jones Jr. “She’s talking about Graham. We heard you broke up with him.”

  Emma pulls out her lunch, a clear Tupperware with steamed broccoli, carrots, and cubes of orange cheese. “It was time,” she says.

  Kellan offers Emma a fry. “If you want advice on finding a new romance,” she says, “you should ask Mr. Templeton over there.”

  Emma and I look at each other, puzzled.

  “Don’t act so innocent,” Kellan says. “I’ve seen you chatting up girls all over school today.”

  Tyson slaps me a high five. “My man!”

  Emma opens a bag of pretzels and laughs. “Oh, I’m not so sure Josh has romance all figured out.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. Is she talking about Sydney, and how I don’t know what to do next? She’d better not be joking about rejecting me herself.

  “You know what it means,” Emma says.

  “You guys are always teasing me, saying I’m clueless about romantic stuff,” I say to Emma and Kellan, “but maybe I know more than you think.”

  “That’s what you’re hoping,” Emma says. “But I don’t think you have any idea what you’re doing.”

  “Really?” I say. “Well, if you ever need advice on how to make a real relationship work, I’m right next door.”

  Tyson and Kellan glance at each other but don’t say a word.

  PEER ISSUES IS ALMOST OVER and I still haven’t said a word to Sydney. Tapping my pen against the desktop, I casually look over my shoulder. She smiles when she sees me, and I smile back.

  “Josh Templeton?”

  I turn around and Mrs. Tuttle is looking at me. Standing beside her is Thomas Wu, a student aide from the front office. Mrs. Tuttle points me out, and then Thomas walks up my aisle.

  He places a blue slip of paper on my desk. “You need to go to the front office right after class.”

  I look at the clock above the whiteboard. There are three minutes until the end of class. Three minutes until my first chance to speak with Sydney all day. And now I’m going to miss it!

  I stuff my binder into my backpack and then zip it shut. When the bell rings, I pull my backpack over my shoulders. Behind me, I hear a sheet of paper being torn. Glancing back at Sydney, I wish I could mouth Call me again, but I can’t do that without looking pathetic.

  But then Sydney reaches forward and passes me a folded piece of paper. Our fingertips touch and I get a shock of energy through my entire body. She smiles and breezes past me, leaving me gaping at the paper in my hand.

  On my way down the hall, I spot Thomas Wu at his locker.

  “Do you know why they called me to the office?” I ask him.

  “Your parents want you to come by their work after school,” he says, turning his locker combination. “But I’m not supposed to listen in on the phone calls, so I didn’t tell you that.”

  This must have to do with being late to school. Well, I really don’t care. Because I’m holding a note—written specifically to me—by Sydney Mills.

  In the front office, I sign in and take a seat in an orange plastic chair. I unfold Sydney’s note and see the words “my cell phone” and then a line of beautiful numbers scribbled across the fold.

  “You’re Josh, right?” a girl asks, sliding into the chair beside me. She’s a foreign exchange student from Brazil. She’s pretty, with long black hair and tiny freckles across her nose.

  “I am,” I say.

  “I’ve seen some of your drawings on my friends’ binders,” she says. “You’re very talented.”

  I smile at her. “I’m going to be a graphic designer someday.”

  “You’ll be very good at that,” she says.

  Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to get called to the office.

  36://Emma

  AFTER THE FINAL BELL RINGS, I’m walking down the stairs on my way to my locker when Kellan barrels past me. She stops on the landing below, shakes her hips, and belts out, “Cel-e-brate good times, COME ON!”

  “What are you celebrating?” I ask.

  Kellan keeps on singing, whipping her hair around her shoulders. “We’re gonna celebrate and have a good time!”

  I’ve been friends with Kellan long enough to know I’ll be standing here until the entire song is out of her system. While she swivels and sings, I take this chance to look for a baby bump. She’s wearing a black cotton skirt and a white T-shirt, and her belly looks as flat as ever. Then again, even if she’s already pregnant, she probably wouldn’t be showing yet.

  When she’s finally done singing, I ask again, “What are you celebrating?”

  “You!” She follows me down the stairs. “Breaking up with Graham. I didn’t have a chance to properly applaud you at lunch. So are you ready to celebrate and have a good time?”

  I wish I could muster her level of enthusiasm. Yes, I’m relieved it’s over with Graham. And I’m excited about Cody. But Josh’s attitude at lunch bothered me. It’s like the discovery of his future is changing him now.

  “Can you skip track today?” Kellan asks.

  “I probably shouldn’t,” I say. “I skipped yesterday, so—”

  Kellan knocks her hip into me. “You just want to see Cody’s gorgeous body doing sit-ups and g
etting sweaty and—”

  I clap my hand over her mouth. Then I lean in close and say, “Cody talked to me in the hall today. He came up to me.”

  Kellan pulls my hand off her mouth. Even though she thinks he’s self-absorbed, she understands my crush on Cody. Who wouldn’t understand? He’s beautiful!

  “What did he say?” she whispers. “What did you say back?”

  Here I am, about to spill every detail, but Kellan hasn’t done the same with me. She’s either having sex or is about to have sex or is possibly already pregnant, and she hasn’t breathed a word about anything.

  “He just said hi.”

  Kellan smirks. “Did you try out my Husband Theory again, or do you still have cats in your passenger seat?”

  “Is this the theory with the car coming toward us?”

  “Head-on collision.”

  It feels wrong to try out Kellan’s theory knowing I’m supposed to marry Kevin Storm. I couldn’t find any pictures of him on Facebook, so it seems unfair to imagine someone else in the car simply because I don’t have a mental image of Kevin.

  “Is Tyson still in your passenger seat?” I ask.

  Kellan bites her lip for a moment, and then says, “Are you sure you can’t go to the lake today?”

  She’s avoiding my question. Are she and Tyson getting back together? I felt like I was picking up signs at lunch, but I couldn’t be sure. If they are getting back together, he could potentially be Lindsay’s dad!

  “Will you please come to the lake?” Kellan says. She touches my elbow. “We’ve barely hung out all week.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “I can’t,” she says. “I have my college class.”

  The cute college guy! That’s why she never wants to miss class. Could he be the baby’s father? Has she been going back to the dorms with him after class?

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll come to the lake.”

  Kellan claps her hands together. “But you need to drive. I had a doctor’s appointment before school, so my mom dropped me off.”

  What? “Why did you see a doctor?” This has to be about the pregnancy.

  Kellan looks at me and then breaks into a laugh. “You just went completely pale! I’m not dying, Em.”

  I need an answer. “Then tell me why you went.”

  “It was just a check-up.” She flips her hand dismissively. “Can we stop by your place and grab swimsuits?”

  As we walk past the front office, Kellan knocks hips with me again, and this time I knock back. But then I glance through the office window and stop cold. Josh is sitting in a chair with his back to us. There’s a girl leaning close to his shoulder, watching him sketch something on her notebook.

  “He’s drawing Pepé Le Pew,” Kellan whispers. “I think our little Josh is finally learning how to hit on girls.”

  I grab Kellan’s arm and pull her away. “If that girl wants a chauvinistic, sex-addicted skunk on her folder, that’s her problem.”

  WE WALK UP THE STAIRS to my bedroom, and Kellan asks if she can borrow my red bathing suit. “You should definitely wear your tan bikini,” she says. “Guys love it.”

  “How do you know?”

  Kellan opens my bedroom door. “Not that we care what Josh thinks, but when you wore it at the lake, he was checking you out.”

  My mind flashes to that photo on Facebook. The good ole days. Josh said he took the picture by accident. Well, if he was checking me out, he’s definitely over me now. Now he’s got his pick of girls at school, and it’s only a matter of time before he permanently picks Sydney Mills.

  I locate Green Day’s Dookie in my stack of CDs, slide it into my stereo, and click fast-forward until I get to “When I Come Around.” I’ve always liked this song, and Cody definitely put me in the mood for it.

  “Is that your new computer?” Kellan asks, unclasping her bra beneath her shirt. “Look at that monitor!”

  I wonder what would happen if I showed her Facebook. She said she wouldn’t want to time travel, but how would she feel about reading her future . . . reading about Lindsay? Would her future self want her to know? And what would my future self want me to know? And Josh’s?

  Do they remember that, during this week in May, we’ve discovered a way to read Facebook? Maybe when they’re writing this stuff, they’re encoding what they say with subtle messages, guiding us into making different decisions. Maybe Kellan’s future self knows she’ll be in my bedroom today, inching closer to my computer. If that’s true, then adult Kellan can tweak what she says to reflect whether or not she wants seventeen-year-old Kellan to know about the baby.

  “Can I check my email?” Kellan asks, pressing the power button on my monitor.

  Or maybe Josh and I are the only ones who are supposed to know about this.

  Or maybe time doesn’t even allow us to remember because it’d rip a massive hole in the universe.

  “No!” I push Kellan’s hand away from the computer.

  She steps back, confused. “I’m not going to break it. Remember, I’m the one who showed you how to use the Internet.”

  “It’s just that Martin’s getting home soon,” I say. “He and my mom have been touchy about how much time I’ve been spending online.”

  There’s no way I can bring Kellan into this, too. I throw our bathing suits and flip-flops into a beach bag and send her down the hall in search of towels.

  37://Josh

  DAD PICKS UP his office phone and dials Mom’s extension. She’s only two doors down, so I can hear it ring.

  “He’s here,” Dad says into the receiver.

  Dad’s office looks the same as the last time I was here. Mind-numbingly dull. Some of their best friends teach history, and their offices have powerful posters with cool quotes like “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” and “History is written by the victors.” The only poster on Dad’s wall is a black and white photo of a bald sociologist inspecting his glasses.

  Mom eases the door shut, and then sits in the chair beside me.

  “Why were you late for school this morning?” Dad asks.

  I knew this would happen. When Emma and I finally arrived at school, we were already ten minutes late. I was hoping if the school left a message on our answering machine, I could erase it before my parents got home. But apparently their work numbers are at the top of the contact list.

  “Dad and I give you a lot of freedom,” Mom says. “We don’t make you take the bus, but we expect you to get yourself there on time.”

  “We know you didn’t oversleep,” Dad says. “Your music was playing when we left for work.”

  “I caught a ride with Emma,” I say. “We lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”

  Dad taps his finger against his desk. “Did you forget to look at the clock?”

  “Why did you lose track of time?” Mom asks. “Was Emma in your bedroom?”

  This is what David was talking about. Before leaving for college, he warned me that Mom and Dad get way too overprotective about the opposite sex. But apparently, it wasn’t the opposite sex they had to worry about with him.

  “She wasn’t in my bedroom,” I say, which isn’t a total lie. I don’t think Emma actually made it through the doorway once she began laughing at my tighty-whities.

  “Were you in her bedroom?” Mom asks.

  I shouldn’t have to answer that question. I’ve never given them any reason not to trust me, yet they’re acting like I need to report back on everything I do. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a little kid anymore. I can even cross the street all by myself.”

  “That’s right,” Dad says. “And when you were a kid, we let you and Emma have sleepovers. The difference is, we know you’re not a kid anymore.”

  “You’re a teenage boy,” Mom says.

  “Really?” I ask. “Wow.”

  Dad leans forward. “Why were the two of you late for school?”

  I lean back in my chair and chuckle. “You want
to know if we were having sex, right?”

  Dad’s voice is tight. “That’s not what I said.”

  Mom lifts a hand to her chest. “Were you?”

  I stand up and pull my backpack over my shoulder. “No, we weren’t having sex. And I’m only telling you that so you don’t have a heart attack. But you’re assuming an awful lot just because I was a few minutes late to school.”

  “David was never late to school,” Dad says.

  “And yet,” I say, my voice rising, “he chose to go to college over two thousand miles from Lake Forest!”

  Mom and Dad turn to each other. There’s nothing left to say, so I grab my skateboard and leave.

  THE MAN IN A WHITE PAPER HAT passes me a sugar cone with two scoops of rocky road. Holding the ice cream in one hand, I drop a quarter in the tip jar and put the rest of the change in my pocket. I carry my board outside and sit on a wooden bench, working my way around the edges of the cone.

  I’m dreading seeing Mom and Dad later. Even though they brought David’s name into the discussion, I didn’t need to imply that he moved to Seattle to get away from them. I don’t even know if that’s true.

  Across the four-lane road, there’s a small shopping center with a comic book store, a hair salon, and a record shop. I watch a white convertible pull into the parking lot.

  That’s Sydney’s car! She looks at herself in the rearview mirror and tugs her hair into a ponytail as the top electronically closes around her.

  In one of my pockets is Sydney’s phone number written across a torn piece of paper. Her cell phone is probably in her car right now. In my other pocket are enough coins to make a call. And beside this bench is a pay phone.

  No, this is ridiculous.

  I wipe my lips with the back of my hand. If I call Sydney and tell her I can see her, she’ll think I’m a stalker. Besides, if Emma’s right and Sydney is playing hard to get, then she won’t answer her phone. She’ll wait to hear whatever message I leave, but I have no idea what I’d say.

  I watch Sydney walk past the hair salon and open the door of the comic book store. She’s into comics? Nice!