“Excuse me, young lady,” he said, “but I will not be spoken to like that. Return to your seat immediately.”
Now I don’t want you to think that just because I was free of consequences for 24 hours that I turned into some kind of violent hoodlum. I want to stress, I don’t like violence. I don’t like hitting people and I don’t intend on doing it again anytime soon, or indeed ever - it was merely an academic curiosity with Becky. With Mr Denver, it was a matter of necessity. I was only going to get this chance once in my lifetime and precious seconds were ticking past.
I put my hands firmly on Mr Denver’s chest and pushed, hard. He stumbled backwards, taken by surprise, and whacked his head on the side of the board. I didn’t stick around to watch him fall under the desk or lie there groaning - I ran. I ran hard and I ran fast . I kept telling myself that none of this was real, that it was all going to be erased, but I was shaking. God, I was shaking like a leaf.
I ran out of the school gates, not looking where I was going - I attacked a teacher, oh Christ I attacked a teacher - and then suddenly the pavement fell away beneath me and I was stumbling and a car horn was blaring and brakes were screeching -
I used my momentum to carry myself to the other side of the road, and once I was there I clutched a tree, feeling the bark scratch my forearms and not caring, needing the sensation, needing something to feel real. My heart was pounding and all I could think was that I might have died.
I looked behind me at the road, and my stomach dropped through my shoes. The car that had honked and swerved to avoid hitting me had mounted the kerb - and hit some other poor kid. He was lying motionless on the ground, blood trickling out from under his hair, face deathly white. The woman who had been driving the car got out and staggered, like she’d lost control of her legs, her mouth wide open like she couldn’t believe what had happened.
Everyone around was rushing towards the kid, and from the shouts of those closest to him, it wasn’t looking good. Someone was yelling at someone else to call an ambulance; another girl was screaming that it was too late.
It was only a matter of time before someone looked to me.
I ran. My own legs were shaking, but I forced them to run. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t what I’d wanted. When this had all started, I was going to use it to make careful, informed decisions. I’d find out the consequence of a particular course of action, and decide based on those consequences what I’d do the real time around. But now it was all spiralling out of control, it was reckless, it was pushing me onwards and turning me into someone I didn’t recognise, something I didn’t like. I had punched Becky Lane. Oh god, I had killed some poor innocent kid!
It doesn’t count, I told myself, it will all be erased, none of this is for real. I told my legs to keep pounding. It doesn’t count, it will be erased, it’s not for real, it doesn’t count. The words didn’t mean anything anymore. Maybe it would all be erased, but that didn’t change the fact that it was happening now. The bark under my hands had been real. The screech of the car’s brakes, that had been real. The kid was real, the blood was real, all of it was really happening.
I felt myself begin to sob, and came to a shuddering halt. I slid down a wall and dropped my head into my hands. What is happening, I whispered to myself.
That kid was dead. I knew it, I just felt it in my bones. He was dead, and it was all my fault. What if he didn’t come back to life when time reset? What if there was some sort of loophole? If he did come back to life, would he remember being dead? Was it possible he could forget ever having died? It seemed too huge to erase.
I kneaded my forehead with my knuckles. Real or not, permanent or not, I couldn’t get over the fact that I had directly caused someone to die.
To die!
I’d wanted to experience something I wouldn’t experience otherwise. I’d wanted to know the consequences of something I’d never try in real life. What greater question was there to answer than this - what happens when you die?
The breath caught in my throat, and my tears dried cold on my cheeks. I wasn’t really considering this. Was I?
But it was the strangest thing. Now it had occurred to me, it was all I could think of. It seemed so obvious. What else could I do with a chance like this? What else would come close to being as meaningful as finding out the truth of what happened after death? Wasn’t this the question that we had been asking ourselves for millennia? Wasn’t this the question behind all religion and spiritual thought? The idea that there was an afterlife - heaven, hell, nirvana, and reincarnation - the idea that death wasn’t…isn’t the end - what if I could disprove that? I swallowed. What if I could prove that?
I’ve never considered myself particularly religious. If I had to I’d say I was Christian - I was christened, at least - but we hadn’t been to church every Sunday since I was about 4, and even now it was hit-and-miss whether we’d make it at Christmas. Did I believe in heaven? It was a comforting thought, I reasoned, to have it there, even if it might not be true. My heart thudded painfully. Was I brave enough to find out?
I looked at my watch. It was almost half past five. I stared at it for a while. It didn’t really matter what time it was, if I was going to do this that would be the end of my little adventure. I’d wake up again at last midnight like none of this had ever happened - if I woke up at all.
I was still shaking. I got to my feet, steadying myself against the wall. I walked a few streets until I realised where I was. Just go home, I told myself. Just go home and wait for this all to be over. I suddenly desperately wanted to make up with my sister.
I knew I wasn’t going to go home. I had to do it. I had to know. The idea repulsed me and it made me weak with fear, but I had to know. I was the only person who was ever going to be able to do this. I wouldn’t even be able to tell anyone what I knew without being ridiculed. But I’d wanted power, wanted to do something life-changing and world-rocking: this had to be it. I was going to face my own mortality.
It’s a strange feeling, being a dead man walking. Especially when you’ve signed your own execution. Bizarrely, I started thinking of things I’d miss, getting nostalgic and thinking of the things I hadn’t done yet. I’ll be back tomorrow, I said. Today, in fact. It’ll be like it never happened.
As it turned out, I was pretty near the office block where my mum worked. I walked towards it, praying I wouldn’t bump into her. Sort of hoping I would. If I was going to die today, even for a few hours, I’d like a hug before I went.
I went into Mum’s building and pushed the button for the top floor. I knew how to get onto the roof; we - my sister and I - had been friends with Mum’s assistant for years, and a couple of times when we were little she’d left us with him for the odd few hours. Once he took us on the roof of the building, and we thought it was just magical, the streets laid out below us, the tiny cars and even tinier people. Milling around, like ants. He’d laughed, and said it was where he came for a smoke. I’d been up there once or twice since.
I was surprised nobody stopped me. I think the trick is to look as though you’re supposed to be there, you know exactly where you’re going and why, and people will believe it. I was still in my school uniform - perhaps they thought I was here to visit a parent. On another day, I could have been.
It was cold when I pushed open the heavy door to the roof. The wind was up, whipping my hair and skirt and raising the goose-pimples on my arms. I blinked and squinted through it. I walked along the edge of the building, all the way around. The streets were laid out below me just like they always were. I traced well-known routes with my finger. That was the way to get home, there was my school, there was the route the bus took to get to the cinema. I felt very calm. Pigeons fluttered and took off around me.
I climbed up onto the parapet.
And then I panicked.
What the hell was I doing? I didn’t want this. But I couldn’t move. I was being driven towards it. It felt like something else was pushing me to do it, but it wasn’t
- it was me. I was being consumed by the desire to know. The desire to be able to do the unthinkable, to cross to the other side and be able to return.
I looked down. I almost fainted. I was a long way up. My heart thudded in my chest and my knees felt like water. I looked at my watch. I had plenty of time. I could go home and come back and do this later. What was the big rush?
And then I was falling.
I’ve never been one for rollercoasters. That feeling like your stomach is flying upwards and being left behind, that never appealed to me. This was different. There would be no swoop as the carriage led me away from the ground, to safety. The ground was coming up and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I have never felt fear like I felt right then. I was fear, I was nothing but terror. I thought of my parents, my sister, my dog. I thought of my fifth birthday party and skiing for the first time and Easter treasure hunts and picnics in the park. I thought of my mum. God, I wanted my mum. The wind was rushing in my ears and I could feel my arms flailing, and the scream of someone in the street seeing me, and the ground was rushing up to meet me and -
That’s the story of how I died. The next thing I remembered, I was sitting at my desk, staring at the clock next to my bed. The stars were bright outside my window. It was midnight.
I caught my breath very suddenly, a huge, cold, gulping breath. I felt dizzy. It was like being woken suddenly from a very deep sleep. For a minute I was completely disorientated. I didn’t know where I was or when it was. I snapped open my laptop and checked the date.
It had been reset. Just as they said it would. Rewind had worked. It was the day before everything had happened. I hadn’t yet eaten the muffins, I hadn’t been to school in those ridiculous shoes, I hadn’t slapped Becky Lane or got that kid run over.
I hadn’t died.
I wanted to run downstairs and check that all the muffins were there, but I couldn’t. I felt weak. I wasn’t sure my legs would be able to support me if I stood up. But there was the date on my screen, comforting and honest.
I breathed out, a huge, relieved sigh, and it turned into sobs. I rested my head on my folded arms and cried. Everything was ok again.
What was it like?
I must have died instantly. I tried to keep my eyes open as long as possible but they shut of their own accord a few moments before impact. It was like darkness hit me, hard and sudden, not painful, but all-encompassing. Imagine a brightly-coloured screen with loud music playing, and then everything goes black and the sound is shut off, all at once, right in the middle. The absence hits you. After that, nothing. There was the whumph of blackness and then here I was, gasping, at my desk again. I saw no heaven. I saw no hell. I saw nothing.
Overcome with emotion and exhaustion, I climbed into bed. My head was pounding. I felt hung-over. I fell into a deep sleep.
The next day, I leaped out of bed and gave my mum and sister a huge hug each. They were both surprised.
“What’s got into you?” they said. I smiled brightly, scooping my hair up into a ponytail.
“Nothing. I just felt like appreciating you today.” I came so close to losing you, said the voice in my head. I never want to come that close again. If I thought about it too much I still got the shakes. I couldn’t believe it had happened, I couldn’t believe I had ever had the guts. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe it was just easier for me to believe it was.
At school I skipped over to Natalie and gave her a hug, too.
“Hello to you, too,” she said. She nodded over towards Todd and his mates. “Someone’s looking particularly gorgeous today,” she said. I barely glanced in their direction.
“Let’s go to the movies after school,” I said. “Or the park. Or something. Let’s do something.” Nat laughed.
“Ok, sure,” she said, linking my arm. We walked down the corridor together.
As we made our way to first period, I passed a group of lower school kids. There was one, a small boy with scruffy brown hair and freckles, and seeing him gave me the hugest feeling of relief. I wanted to scoop him up and spin him round. I didn’t even know his name. I gave him the biggest grin I could, and in response he looked terrified.
I saw Becky Lane and Mr Denver that day, too. Neither of them paid me any attention at all, and it made me so happy.
In English, I worked on my presentation with my assigned partner. I glanced over at Todd. I knew now that if I chose to speak to him, we’d get on. I could make friends with him if I wanted. But there was no rush, after I debriefed with the Rewind people, I would have all the time in the world.
The End
DON’T MISS
AVAILABLE HERE EXLUSIVELY ON AMAZON
Rewind (Teen Fiction Collection) Page 2
