Opposite of Always

by Justin A. Reynolds

  “Yeah, this party is . . . awesome,” I say. I scan the crowd for Kate. “You enjoying yourself?”

  Jillian shrugs. “I was sorta hoping you and I would just hang out. Like without anyone else. And just talk or whatever.”

  I pause my Kate search and look at Jillian. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine. It just feels like lately we’re never alone. Between school and jobs and family stuff, we’re always so busy.”

  “I hear you,” I say, my search unpaused.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar. Is it a girl? Did you meet someone, Jackie?”

  I smirk. “Me? Meet someone? Yeah, right.”

  “Oh my God!” She jabs me in the shoulder. “Where is she? I wanna meet this girl.”

  “It’s nothing,” I say. “We just . . . I don’t want to make it into something it’s not, but . . .”

  “I’ll help you find her. What does she look like?”

  “Umm, let’s see. Well, she’s black. With dark hair. Brown eyes.”

  Jillian shakes her head. “Okay, so you’ve narrowed it down to half the party. Anything else? What is she wearing, Romeo?”

  “A sweater-dress thingie. With like a belt cinching it.”

  Jillian snaps her fingers. “Oh, I saw that girl. She got some punch and then left, I think. Or at least she went outside. Maybe she—”

  But I don’t wait for Jillian to finish. I’m already diving out the front door.

  Remind Me How I Know You

  I race around the house, dodging smokers and drinkers, until I spot her against the side of the house. She’s holding a cup and staring into her phone.

  Sensing my approach, she glances up. “Are you following me, Sorry?”

  “Who, me?” I ask.

  “No, the weird kid behind you.”

  I resist the urge to look behind me. “Just to be sure, there is no weird kid behind me, right?”

  She grins. “Only when there’s a mirror behind you.”

  “You’re funny,” I say. It’s sort of nostalgic, recalling how she always made me laugh.

  “Said no one ever,” she replies. “But thanks, man.” She sips from her cup. “So what do you study here?”

  “Huh?”

  “I know, I know. Totally weak pickup line, right? Hey, man, what’s your major. But I have a tendency to be weak, so bear with me.”

  “I don’t go to school here.”

  “No?” Her face twists into wonder. “You go to State then?”

  “I’m just visiting Whittier. For the weekend.”

  “For the weekend? You have friends that go here?”

  “Not yet,” I say sheepishly. “I’m here for a visit.”

  “Like a campus visit? As in you’re still in high school?”

  “I’m a senior,” I say. I attempt to subtly bassify my voice. “You actually led our tour at the student center.”

  She points at me like her finger shoots lightning bolts. “Quiet kid in the back!”

  “Yep. That was me,” I say quietly but still extra bass-y.

  She laughs. “You’re a big, bad senior,” she says, mimicking my quiet-bass. “So, what, you thought you’d come up here this weekend? Land yourself some college ass?”

  I retreat into my normal there’s a g-g-girl in front of me stammer. “No, uh, not at all, I was actually just, I mean, I wouldn’t do that, like ever, anyone who knows me knows that I’m not like that, in fact, I—”

  “Relax, man. I’m messing with you.”

  “Right. I knew that.”

  “Of course you did. You’re a senior.” She balances her cup on the porch banister. “So, Sorry, you hungry?”

  And the truth is, I’m not sure what’s happening to me. Why I’m here. Again.

  If I’m even here.

  If any minute I’ll wake up having been in a coma all along, or having dreamed the entire thing, or some other cringe-worthy plot device.

  But just the possibility of another chance with Kate has me reinvigorated.

  I bounce on my soles, like I’ve just discovered I can fly.

  Like I’m about to lift off for the first time.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I could eat.”

  She guides the longest fry ever into her mouth. “I’m Kate, by the way.”

  “I’m Jack.”

  She gestures at my mostly intact burger. “Thought you were hungry.”

  I take a small bite. “I am.” I’m not. How can I eat when I’m still trying to digest the fact that I’ve time-traveled?

  When I’m trying to figure out why I’m here.

  At this particular time.

  With Kate.

  She frowns. “Are you one of those super-agreeable people who always says yes to everything?”

  “No,” I say, chewing. “I’m just in a particularly agreeable mood tonight, I guess.”

  Her eyebrows lift. “Oh yeah?”

  “What can I say? It’s sorta feeling like one of those once in a million years type nights.”

  “You’re a confident kid. I like it. I bet you’re a heartbreaker.”

  “This may come as a shock to you, but nerdy doesn’t play all that well in high school.”

  She chomps on another fry. “Don’t worry. Nerdy plays well when you need a job. Besides, the best thing about college is that it’s a chance to remake yourself.”

  “So, who did you used to be?”

  “Me? I’m still working on my transformation.”

  “Well, don’t change too much. Otherwise, how will I recognize you?”

  She cleans her mouth with a napkin. “Jack, do I know you from somewhere?”

  I shake my head. “Why would you ask that?”

  She stares at me, and I stare back, and we sail right past the point where most people would’ve broken off their gaze, when most would’ve felt uncomfortable.

  “That,” she says. “Because of that.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The way you look at me. Like you’ve been doing it our whole lives.”

  “What do you want to do now?” I ask.

  We’re outside the diner, and it feels twenty degrees colder.

  Kate pulls her sleeves down, burying her hands inside her sweater. “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night. I’ve got a paper to write and I haven’t even finished the reading.”

  “Oh,” I say. I rack my brain for a reason to extend our night.

  “Besides, won’t your friend worry about you?”

  “My friend?”

  “You said you came here with a friend from home.”

  “Oh. Right. Jillian. No, she’s not the worrying type.”

  Kate gazes upward, the moon staring down at us. “That’s a good way to live. Worrying is for the birds.”

  “So, let’s not worry tonight. Let’s do something fun. If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?”

  “Anywhere,” she repeats. She taps her chin. “Venice.”

  “Okay,” I say, laughing. “Anywhere within driving distance.”

  “Well, there is one place, but it’s in the middle of nowhere.” She hesitates. “You’re not a serial killer, right?”

  “Not serial yet,” I assure her. “But ya gotta start somewhere.”

  “Sicko.” She smiles. “There’s something about you, Jack. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But I’m working on it.”

  “Good. Keep working.”

  “It is sort of beautiful.”

  “Sort of?” Kate twirls on her heels. “Look around, Jack. There’s nothing sort of about the gorges. This is the best place on earth, in case you didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t. But I do now.”

  “Damn right you do.” She balances on a log. Walks it in precise but graceful steps.

  “Are you a dancer?”

  She looks at me over her shoulder. “In a past life.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  She stare
s down at the water. Juts her hand into it and emerges with a smooth stone, studies it in her palm. “The world had other plans for me.”

  “You don’t strike me as a person who’d let anything dictate her plans, the world included.”

  “Yeah, well.” She drops the stone back into the water. “I guess you don’t know me, do you?”

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just saying—”

  “I know what you meant. Don’t apologize.” She steps deeper into the gorge. “You want to see something really cool?”

  We walk through the riverbed for another hundred yards before I realize where we are. Where she’s taken me. We’re standing in the exact spot—where we shared cereal together and talked about what our futures might look like. Before I knew she was sick. Before I knew her. When we were still only in like.

  She points skyward. “The stars are popping tonight.”

  “It’s like they’re competing. I’m the brightest! No, I’m the brightest,” I say in my best high-pitched star voice.

  She grins. “You have an interesting point of view.”

  “That’s not the first time I’ve been told that. I’m developing a complex.”

  “No. Interesting is good. Interesting is very good.”

  And I can’t wait anymore. I can’t. “Kate, can I ask you a question?”

  She looks away, eyes back on the sky. “Uh, sure, I guess.”

  “It’s going to come across as odd and definitely premature. Fair warning.”

  “Okay, you’re scaring me now. You’re not going to ask me to kiss you or something, are you?”

  “Not yet, but maybe we’ll get there, one day. I mean, if you play your cards right.”

  She laughs, and I feel it, her laughter, travel through my bones. Like old times. “So, what is it then?”

  “Remember, I warned you.”

  “Okay, okay. Get to it already.”

  “How do you feel about high school proms?”

  Cereal Killers

  Somehow we end up at the $ave-Mart.

  In the cereal aisle.

  And the aisle is daunting. There’s so much cereal to choose from. Like, even as we stand at the top of the aisle, the boxes are multiplying right before our eyes.

  Kate and I stand shoulder to shoulder. “So, what’s your poison?”

  She shrugs. “What’s your fave?”

  I shrug. “I pretty much just like cereal.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got to have a favorite.”

  “What’s yours?”

  She laughs. “Froot Loops all the way.”

  I look down at the handbasket I’m holding. “I think we’re gonna need a cart.”

  She grins. “Race you?”

  “On your mark, get set . . .”

  But she’s already gone.

  I chase after her, and then we’re running down the cereal aisle, swiping boxes into our cart. We show zero partiality. Fruity cereal, nutty cereal, thousand-grain cereal, it doesn’t matter. If it floats in milk, it’s in our cart.

  And I can’t stop laughing.

  And then Kate’s chasing me with the cart, nipping at my heels, threatening that annoying, semipainful collision when someone crashes the cart into the back of your ankle, and you swear and cry and one-foot hop. But fortunately for my ankles, I’m just quick enough to avert Kate’s cart-pushing danger. Up and down the multicultural foods aisle we sprint, and then down the fruits and veggies, and finally we halt our cereal caravan in the tundra.

  Also known as the dairy section.

  Kate giggles. “We’re gonna need a lot of milk.”

  “You think they sell cows here?” I ask.

  You should see the look on the cashier’s face when it’s our turn to check out. “Umm, so, did you find everything you were looking for?” she asks us, as we load box after box onto the conveyor belt.

  I turn to Kate and nod. “I can’t think of anything else I need.”

  Kate shakes her head, like this guy is so cheesy. But then she slips her fingers into mine and everything fades until it’s just me, Kate, and a never-ending conveyor belt of cereal. And the world makes sense.

  We drag our bounty up Kate’s dorm stairs and proceed to gorge ourselves until we’re a few spoonfuls from frosted combustion.

  Kate’s floor is covered in partially consumed cereal boxes and their cheesy-but-adorable cereal-box prizes. We’re both already sporting the temporary tats we found at the bottom of the Wheat-O’s; Kate, a flame-spewing dragon on her forearm, me with what we’ve decided is a friendly wombat applied to my shoulder.

  Kate scratches her head. “People are going to think we’re high.”

  “So,” I say. “What should we do with our remaining treasure trove of whole-grain wheat and artificial flavors?”

  Kate holds up her finger. “I have an idea.” She gathers an armful of boxes.

  I push aside my empty bowl. “Wait, what are you doing?”

  “C’mon! Cereal for the people,” she declares. She walks to the door.

  I pop up and open it for her.

  “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing?”

  “What are you waiting for? Get an armload, Jack Attack.”

  And then we’re knocking on every dorm room, tossing random boxes of cereal into the hands of surprised—yet appreciative—dorm occupants. Because everyone needs a Silly Rabbit, or a Cap’n, or even a chocolate-loving Count in their lives.

  Everyone deserves to taste magic.

  Close Encounters of the Friend Kind

  Before Jillian even says a word I know this isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. She’s leaning against the car, her body language invoking rather lovely vocabulary, such as:

  Irked.

  Exasperated.

  Aggravated assault.

  “Where have you been?” Jillian demands.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m really, really sorry.”

  “You don’t know how to answer your phone? I was worried something happened to you.”

  “I lost track of time and I didn’t realize . . . I’m sorry, J.”

  She puts her hands on either hip. “This have anything to do with sweater-dress girl?”

  I nod.

  “I figured as much.” Her face relaxes the tiniest bit. “You have a good night?”

  I slip my hands into my pockets, rock on my sneaker heels. “It was cool, yeah.”

  “Well, lover boy, now we’ve gotta haul ass back home. Where’s your stuff?”

  “Um, about that. The thing is, I was sorta hoping to, uhh . . . stick around until later tonight.”

  “But you know I have to get home and study for my French test tomorrow. I’m sorry, Jack, but your girlfriend isn’t going anywhere.”

  “I was thinking . . . maybe . . . you should . . . head back without me?”

  “What are you talking about? How are you going to get home?”

  “Bus,” I say softly. I dig a gravel-hole with my shoe.

  “I’m an idiot, right? Because I was under the impression we were going to hang out this weekend. But then we go to a party and you’re a ghost the rest of the night. I think to myself, It’s okay, we’ll meet for breakfast like we’d planned, but then you don’t show up . . .”

  Damn. I totally forgot about our breakfast plans.

  “And then you send your phone straight to voice mail all morning, only to finally show up at my car and tell me you’re gonna find your own way home.”

  “J, it’s not like that. I’m sorry. I really meant . . . something crazy has happened.”

  “Something crazy is still happening, Jack,” she says. “I hope you have a great time, really. Give Sweater Dress my regards.”

  “J, I just . . . don’t be that way, please. You don’t understand.”

  She flings open her car door. “Nope, I have an excellent handle on things. Maybe I’ll see you back home. You know, if you remember how to work a phone. Later
, Jack.”

  She pulls out onto the road. I wave at her.

  And this is what feeling happy and crappy at the same time looks like.

  Kate and I find a quiet spot in the library; she spends her time studying economics, while I spend my time studying how cute she is. My primary study method consists of staring at her and then quickly averting my eyes when she notices.

  “What, do I have something on my face?” she asks, looking up from her book.

  “No,” I assure her. “But my lips are up for the job.”

  She groans loudly. “Just when I thought humankind couldn’t be any cornier . . .”

  “I came along.” I finish the sentence for her.

  She rolls her eyes, but she smiles, too.

  “Kate, can I ask you something?”

  “What, you thought of another school dance?”

  “Are you feeling okay? Like, how do you feel, like, uh, physically?”

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  “I don’t know.” I lie, because why would I ask her that. “You’re a little pale?”

  She studies my face. “I feel fine, Jack. Thanks.”

  “Cool,” I say. “Good.”

  “Actually, I may have slightly overdone it the last twenty-four hours.”

  I nod. “We’ve been running all over the place.” And I feel bad, because I don’t want to be the reason Kate’s not well. But also I’m not sure what to do about it. “Maybe we cut back on our grocery store marathons,” I suggest.

  She smiles. “Cereal aisle sprints are more my speed.”

  High Off Life 2.0

  I catch the midnight bus home, which my parents are less than thrilled about.

  MOM on the phone: Crazy people take the bus late at night.

  ME: I’m pretty sure crazy people aren’t as strict with their bus-riding schedule as you think.

  DAD: Don’t be sharp with your mother. She’s worried about you.

  MOM: Your father grilled steaks.

  ME: I’m sorry, guys. Really.

  DAD: There’s not much we can do now.

  MOM: Maybe we should come pick you up.

  ME: I don’t think that’s . . .