by Gwen Hayes
Nate, so close I could feel his breath in my ear, said, “Like Dynasty?”
“Coincidence,” I blurted. Mom had named me after her favorite character on Dynasty. For those of you whose parents are not stuck in the ‘80s or addicted to soap channels on cable—Dynasty was about a rich family who defy explanation. Lots of catfights and intrigue. Krystal Carrington was the main character, but Mom thought it would be too weird to name me exactly after her.
Reversing the order made perfect sense.
“Date of birth.”
“October 05, 199—I mean,” Crap. I detest math. “1970.” That was close.
“What kind of transcripts do you want?”
“Let’s just do B’s straight across.” The key was not to draw too much attention to myself—but if I ended up stuck here, I had college to think about. B’s were solid.
We filled out the rest of the database, and Paul was just finishing when I nonchalantly threw out, “So…what do you guys know about time travel?”
“Yes! I knew it!” Kevin shot up from his chair and pointed to Paul. “You owe me twenty bucks.”
Nate and I exchanged confused glances.
“Paul guessed alien, but I said time traveler.”
Nate unfolded himself from the chair. “What are you talking about?”
“We knew it was something. She’s not like the other girls.” To me, he added, “Future, right?”
“You think I’m from the future?” Did I stick out that much?
He had the sense to blush a little. “Well, Paul thought you were a hot alien.” As if that were a good argument.
Crap. Crap. Crap. “I need to go.”
Nate grabbed my arm. “I don’t think so.” He led me back to the love seat. “What the hell is going on?”
As I lowered, I said, “I’m in the Witness Protection Program?”
The three of them exchanged glances and then shook their heads.
“I’m a teenage runaway; it’s very tragic, really.”
They didn’t even look at each other that time.
“I’m on the lam after a bank heist.”
The Trifecta crossed their arms and glared at me.
“I can’t believe you guys believe time travel over the teenage runaway story.” Tough audience.
“I’m not sure I believe any of the stories,” Nate said. “Why do they think you’re from the future?”
“I don’t know.” Really I didn’t. “Ask them.”
Paul began pacing. “It’s not possible. Time travel is not possible.”
“Settle down, savant,” Kevin answered. “She’s not an alien, and you owe me twenty bucks.”
Kevin and Paul argued back and forth while Nate watched me like I was a flight risk. His jaw ticked and he stared at me. His future had police interrogator written all over it. I was going to crack any minute.
Finally, Paul addressed me. “Did you build it yourself?”
“Build what?”
“Your time machine.”
“I don’t have a time machine. I have no idea how I got here.”
Whoops.
Instead of surrounding the computer monitor, now everyone formed a half circle around me and stared expectantly at me, waiting for more details. As disappointed as I was in myself for outing my travel, I was relieved to be able to share it.
“I need help, you guys. I don’t understand what happened and I don’t know how to get back. And I don’t get the paradox thing either.”
“Which one?” asked Kevin.
I groaned. “There’s more than one?”
Great. Time paradoxes. Or was it paradoxi?
“Start from the beginning,” Paul offered. “And don’t leave a single thing out.”
Nate hit his shoulder. “Dude, if you showed this much enthusiasm for a girl instead of sci-fi, you might actually get laid.”
Brain bleach on aisle four, please. Paul and his Adam’s apple having sex just about cured me from ever wanting to do it myself.
“You guys need to tell me about the paradox stuff.”
“Well, you should be okay for now, as long as we keep you away from your parents,” Kevin said.
I buried my face in my hands.
“What’s the matter?” Paul asked.
“Heather is my mom.”
One of them said, “That is not a good idea.” And the other said, “Dude.”
“A little late now.”
Nate rolled his eyes at the other two. “Start from the beginning.”
“Okay. I was in the girls’ bathroom.”
“What year?” Paul asked.
“2011. Serendipity High—same school. I was looking in the mirror when my reflection started acting of her own volition—autonomously from me. I blacked out and woke up here.”
“Mirror?” Nate sat up straight, like he’d just been poked. “You guys need to go. I’ll walk Carrington home.”
“What’s the matter now?” I asked.
“What’s wrong, Nate?”
He shook his head. “Not a thing.” He didn’t take his eyes off me. “But we need to research any paradox that might affect her future—or our future.”
Paul asked, “Shouldn’t we figure out how she got here first?”
“I’ll work on that.” He was shooing them out the door while they argued.
All was not well in Nerdville, but they left me alone with him anyway.
“Tell me what’s really going on,” he demanded.
“What are you talking about?” I started wondering if it was such a great idea to be alone with him. Aside from the fact that he was unhinging, he was also a lot cuter than I wanted him to be.
His eyes blazed blue-gray fire. “How did you know about the mirror?”
“The mirror in the girls’ bathroom? I didn’t know about it, I sort of experienced it. Why are you so mad at me?” This time?
He sat on the coffee table in front of me so that we were eye to eye. The guy was big into eye contact. And still overly intense.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“I’m trying to decide if you are playing games with me.”
I sighed. Like I had time for games right now. “I don’t understand you, Nate. You took one look at me and decided you hated me. Then you were nice. And now we’re back to Scary Intense Guy and my head is spinning. I’ve had a really bad weekend, I hate jelly shoes, and I am going through caffeine withdrawal because my grandparents only drink instant and it will be years yet before lattes are popular.”
I finished my rant and rubbed my temples while he continued to stare at me. Was he even aware that his legs brushed mine? I know I was—electrical currents zinged from the contact.
“I want to show you something.”
He got up and reached his hand out for mine. I rose unsteadily, and he led me toward the bathroom. Which was when I realized that across the little nook of a hallway from the bathroom was his bedroom.
I stopped short. Show me something, ha. “I don’t think so, buddy.”
“Relax.” He tugged me again. “I’m not dragging you into my room so I can jump you.” He arched one brow. “Even if you beg.”
I made snotty faces at him while my heart bounced around my rib cage like it wasn’t tethered in place. “How do you do that eyebrow thing?”
“Practice in front of a mirror.”
“No, thank you.” I no longer cared to spend that much time in front of a mirror. Who knew where I’d end up next?
He opened his bedroom door and gestured “ladies first.” I hesitated. I hadn’t been in a boy’s bedroom since I was about seven. Parents frown on that type of thing after a certain age—about the time the Legos get put away. I crossed the threshold; it seemed like a big moment.
I don’t know what I was expecting. It reminded me of my room, only blue. Bed, desk, dresser. No big. His desk was built into a set of wall shelves, and he lifted up the top of it and it turned into an easel.
“Nifty.” That was my attempt at
casual indifference, and it was met with a knowing perusal over his shoulder.
I couldn’t stop stealing glances at the bed. It looked bigger than mine but that was probably because it wasn’t filled with stuffed animals and squishy pillows. I have a passion for squishy pillows.
He thumbed through a sketchbook, searching.
“So, you’re an artist?” Stater of the obvious, am I.
He nodded, “Mostly comic books.” He handed me the book. “Take a look at that.”
One cursory glance had me sitting quickly on his bed. There was one frame, drawn in pencil. A girl with crimped hair in a side ponytail pointed to her reflection. The reflection, a sad mirror image of the girl, held her hands up to the mirror with a lone tear falling from her eye.
“How did you…?”
He joined me on the bed. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. How did you know I drew that? I haven’t shown anyone.”
“I didn’t know you drew this. I haven’t told anyone about the mirror before tonight.”
He took the pad from me and set it on the other side of him. Then he picked up my hand and held it between both of his. “Carrington, I drew that last night. Before we met.”
MY heart sank to the pit of my stomach. Prickles of numbness assaulted my nerves and I was going, going, gon—
“Whoa. Stay with me, Red.”
Nat braced me in his arms and the world began righting itself, for the most part. I still felt like I was chewing on cotton balls. “Please explain.”
He didn’t let go, and I let my head rest on his shoulder. It may have been foolish, but it felt good to rest for a minute. He wasn’t pushing me off him, so I settled in. Just for a little while…
“I fell asleep watching a movie last night. I woke up suddenly with this vision. The two girls on either side of the mirror.”
“One girl,” I piped in.
“Technicality. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep or eat or even take a piss until I penciled it out. Like I was possessed. Once it was done, I had no idea what to do with it. It isn’t like my usual stuff, and I had no story go with it. I figured it would come to me eventually, so I put the sketch away. When I saw you tonight…it scared the crap out of me.”
I pulled back to look at his face. “I have that effect on all men.”
He grinned. “I suffered a serious case of déjà vu. I knew you were her—the girl in the picture—the second I laid eyes on you.”
“Then why were you such a jackass?”
He snorted and pushed my head back onto his shoulder. “You seem to bring that out in me.” He paused for a moment. “When I recognized you, I just assumed I’d seen you before in town or something, and that’s why I’d drawn you as the girl. But when you talked about the mirror—it’s more than a coincidence.”
I focused on the quiet between us for a few minutes. “What am I going to do, Nate? Do you think you were, like, prophesying my arrival or something?”
He rubbed a lazy pattern of circles on my arm with his hand. “Maybe it was my fault. Maybe because I drew it, you showed up.”
I preferred to think he just had a psychic connection to me, rather than an if-you-build-it-they-will-come thing. Either way, weird seemed to be an understatement.
Okay, Carrington, let’s run down the sitch, shall we? In the last twenty-four hours, you witnessed your reflection become separate from yourself; you blacked out and woke up in 1986; you’re sharing a bedroom with your mother, who thinks you’re in the Witness Protection Program; you appear to be stuck in time and don’t understand how you got here; you’ve befriended a trio of nerds, one of whom drew a picture of you before you showed up; and said nerd is now holding you in his arms on his bed and you are not only allowing this but are an active participant.
And by active, I meant I really enjoyed the way he made me feel safe and in a little danger at the same time. We were on his bed, after all. And even though I didn’t know him yesterday (which, remember, was actually nine thousand plus days ago), cuddling into his arms seemed like it was the rightest thing in the whole world. Considering the strangeness of that world lately, I suppose that really wasn’t a huge feat.
And then, instead of wondering why I traveled time and what the sketch had to do with it, I got tangled up in wondering why this boy was such an enigma. Completely different from the guys I usually liked—he also didn’t really fit with Paul and Kevin either. Where they were socially and romantically stunted, Nate obviously was at ease with girls. At least, he was with me.
He had that whole Rhett Butler thing going for him. Well, except for the hair pomade that he didn’t use and mustache he didn’t have. Okay, he actually didn’t look anything like Rhett Butler. It was his attitude. He seemed steeped in confidence. And he knew how to flirt.
“Has anything like this ever happened to you before?” he asked.
“No. Usually when I travel the space-time continuum I keep it to five years max in either direction. What about you? Have you ever thought it might be easier to meet a girl at the roller rink than draw her into life from a sketch pad? Or is this a new talent?”
“You should be thankful I didn’t draw you naked. It’s getting late. We should get you back to Heather’s.” He unwound himself from me and stood up. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that you are staying there, though. Try to keep a very low profile until we’ve had a chance to study all the parodoxes…” He frowned. “Parodoxi?”
I nodded. “I’m scared I’ll fix it so I’m never born, and then what?”
He pulled me to my feet. “Kevin and Paul are the best researchers I know. And when they get the answers, Kevin will translate all of Paul’s science-speak into a language you and I can understand. Meanwhile, we’ll work on possible causes for the travel to begin with. Since you didn’t build a machine—it’s likely that we are dealing with some kind of paranormal phenomenon.”
“Are you trying to reassure me or scare me?” Paranormal. Like ghosts and demons? I shivered.
He cupped my chin and then hypnotized me with those intense eyes. “Carrington, you’re a smart girl. Look at how well you’ve handled this so far. A lot of people our age would be freaking out in a corner sucking their thumbs if this happened to them.” He held my hand and led me back to the front door. “That was reassurance, by the way. In case you have to ask again.”
“Have you ever done it?”
“Done what?” I teetered on the edge of sleep, rolling over to face Heather anyway and dragging the familiar quilt over my shoulder. I really needed some Z’s.
“You know…it.”
My eyes sprung open like a window shade. Fab. Thanks to my mother, sleep was out of the question and instead of sleep, I teetered on the edge of hell. “No, Heather. I haven’t done that.”
I’d already been through the big S-E-X talk with her once in my lifetime. I didn’t want to relive the experience.
“I haven’t either.” She raised herself to an elbow and propped her head on her hand, meaning this conversation was just getting started. “But I think I will…soon. With Tommy.”
Remember the teetering? Full-fledged plunge now. Go directly to hell, do not pass go, do not finish this conversation with your mother.
I wish I were that lucky.
“Um. Do you love him?”
“Totally. He really gets me, you know? I feel totally connected with him.”
For those of you just tuning in, Heather has just confided to Carrington that she thinks she’s ready to have sex with the boy she will later use as a cautionary tale to warn Carrington about going too far too soon.
Riddle me this: Which is better in the long run? If I don’t say anything and let my BFF get her heart stomped on, but preserve the future for both of us? Or convince her that Tommy is a total waste of oxygen and save her from the heartache I know is in store for her?
Time Travel: it’s not for the faint at heart.
“Is he pressuring you to sleep with him?”
The moonlight cast
a faint glow on Heather’s face, and I could see she was torn about how to answer that. “Not really pressuring. But I know he wants to, and I do too. I’m not a slut or anything… I just feel like I’m ready.”
Awkward silence.
Okay, what would Mom say?
“Having sex has a lot of repercussions. Are you sure you’re ready for all of them?” Great, now I’m a forty-year-old, and I haven’t been born yet. “Sorry. I mean…I don’t know what I mean. I guess that’s why I’m still a virgin. How do you know you’re ready?”
“Well, I’m in love with him.”
“Is Tommy in love with you?”
She exhaled loudly. “He says he is. And when he kisses me I can’t think straight, you know? And when he touches….”
I squinted my eyes tight. Happy place, happy place. I started reciting the multiplication tables in my head to block out where Tommy might have touched my mother and how much she liked it. I’d have been willing to scratch my fingernails down a chalkboard to avoid this conversation.
And then it occurred to me that maybe I really was in hell. Maybe, I died in the bathroom in 2011, and this was the punishment for lying and wanting to go to a kegger. Could God be so cruel? It was a genius plan, though. What could be a worse punishment for a teenager than forcing her to spend an eternity in high school…with her parent?
Then I remembered Nate. He didn’t feel like punishment to me. And then I realized Heather had stopped talking.
“Well, um. Are you on the pill? Do you have condoms?” Really, God, you are a helluva funny guy.
“You think I should use both?” she asked.
“Well, yeah. No birth control is one hundred percent effective and the pill won’t protect you from AIDS,” said the public service announcement formerly known as Carrington.
Her voice climbed an octave. “AIDS? Oh my God. It’s not like he has gay sex or anything!”
Whoa, Mom, defensive much? I realized that I’d forgotten about the newness of AIDS. In health class, we learned that in the mid-eighties, a lot of misinformation made the rounds. People thought that only gay men had it. “Heather, I had to do a report about AIDS at my old school. You can get HIV from unprotected sex with anyone—not just from gay sex. And a lot of other nasty stuff. You might be a virgin, but is Tommy?”
