Class of 1983
Victoria Maxwell
Copyright © 2018 by Victoria Maxwell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-527229662 (Paperback)
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
Front cover & book design by Victoria Maxwell
First printing edition 2018
www.magicpizza.press
Also by Victoria Maxwell
Summer of 1984 | Santolsa Saga Book 2
For anyone who’s ever wished they were living in a different place or time.
Contents
Also by Victoria Maxwell
Prologue
1. Maple Syrup
2. The Book
3. Chinese
4. The Scrunchie
5. The Book Room
6. The Elk
7. The Escort
8. Ray’s Records
9. Mellow Yellow
10. Interlude I
11. San Dimas
12. Home Room
13. Lacey
14. Makeover
15. Super Pan
16. The Fire Station
17. Sober
18. Coffee
19. Ben
20. Back to Reality
21. Pajama Party
22. Interlude II
23. The Preppies
24. The Game
25. The Drive
26. The Fire Station II
27. The Walkman
28. Chicken
29. The Stables
30. Google
31. Nightmare
32. The Book II
33. Making Plans for Sammy
34. The Confrontation
35. Sammy’s House
36. Road Trip
37. The Grand Canyon
38. The Truth
39. The Stables II
40. Yearbooks
41. Limo
42. Prom
43. The News
44. Burger Barn
45. Clean
46. Road Trip II
47. Las Vegas
48. The Rescue
49. The Parentals
50. Back to her Future
51. Explanations
52. The Fire Station III
53. Goodbyes
54. Destiny
55. The Permanent Circle
56. Dee’s Diner
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
“You are to be hanged tomorrow at dawn.” The miserable guard sighed, almost blowing out the candle before him. He had given them their final meal, a small piece of stale bread each and a jug of murky water to share. He tugged at the heavy key, swinging from his waist like a pendulum, and locked the door of their cell. These women would never again know freedom. Never again hold those they loved. Never again would they see the sun set over New England farmland.
“Please sir,” came the desperate voice of the young blonde one they called Sister Helena. “I’ll do absolutely anything if you let us go.” She dropped to her knees, sobbing her small heart out as she gripped the iron bars that kept her prisoner. The guard averted his gaze, for he could not show weakness or temptation to these women. This was a dark world they lived in, a world full of spirits, devils and wild accusations made by those in power. To him, these women were no more witches than his own girls who were safely tucked up in their beds less than a mile away. The thought pained him, but he showed no mercy as he tucked the prison keys away beneath his robes.
“It is already to be,” said the woman they called Sister Catherine. She had a soft angelic way about her, beautiful hazel eyes that blazed with kindness. It was hard to believe she was anything other than the Godly woman she claimed to be. “We cannot change our destiny,” she continued, “we must all make peace with what is to come. We must forgive this man and all those who persecute us. They are not our enemies. They are just pawns in a giant game of chess played by others above them. They know not what they do. He does not mean to harm us, he does not want us dead, but to go against his masters will put his own life, and the lives of his loved ones, in danger.”
It was as if she had seen into his own mind. Could they really be what others said them to be? Some sort of witch-nuns the townsfolk had said, praying to a Christian God but playing with witchcraft, the power of something much older.
He pulled the bars with his big rough hands to both check and prove to the women that they were unable to escape. They must meet their fate, whatever it was, whatever they were. God had decided this. Not him. He was a pawn, just as she had said. A lowly pawn whose only business was to lock up for the night. He would not see these women again on any account.
“May God meet you at the gate,” he said with just a hint of compassion before turning to walk back through the dark passageway.
“Who’s to decide my fate?” It was the voice of the third woman. She had never uttered a word in his presence, refusing to take food or even look at him. He stopped to listen, for hers was a powerful voice full of conviction.
“Sister Maria,” said Catherine softly. “God decides our fate, he decides a destiny for us all, before we’ve even been born to this world.”
“God?” shrieked Helena wildly. “You think God wants this for us? To be accused of causing sickness and death on small children for no other reason than to die ourselves? What kind of a fate do you call that?”
“There are reasons,” said Catherine gently, “even if we cannot see what they are. We shall understand all at the heavenly gates tomorrow. Do not be afraid my Helena, for the angels will be with us tonight.”
When the conversation turned into nothing but the sounds of Helena’s angry sobs he began to move forward again. But it was Maria’s strong voice that called him to eavesdrop again just before he reached the steps.
“Never think that you do not have the power to change your own destiny,” she said.
“We are trapped in a cell made of stone and earth,” Helena cried. “We are deep underground. An iron lock and bars bind us, and we are to die in the early morning. How in Heaven can we change this Maria?”
“Give me your bread,” Maria ordered.
“The bread?” squawked Helena.
“For the salt,” Maria explained curtly.
The guard held his breath as he tried to make out what came next. Whispering, no, not whispering, chanting. If they were nothing but nuns praying to God on their last night on Earth, why was he suddenly scared to his bones?
“Join hands,” Maria said clearly when the incantation was complete.
“I will join hands,” Catherine began, “but if God wants us to die tomorrow then we will die, there is no spell or prayer in all of the world that can change that.”
“What if God wants us to do this?” asked Helena suddenly, her voice now full of excitement. “What if this is our destiny?”
“It did not work for us in France and it did not work for us in England,” said Catherine gently.
“Nevertheless, we must never stop trying,” said Maria.
* * *
The guard stumbled back as the passageway began to shake. He dropped his candle and gasped. Torn between running towards the women to save them from being crushed in this place and b
olting up the steps to save himself, he stood frozen, unable to decide. He raised his hands to protect himself, from what, he did not know, and let out a moan. A bright light lit up the small tunnel, flickering three times like lightning, and then, it stopped.
He ran as fast as he could up the stairs and out through the doors of the town hall.
One
Maple Syrup
Magz, as she was called then, was instantaneously transported back to another time and place as she began to think about pancakes. Light and fluffy buttermilk pancakes covered in whipped butter, slices of thin crispy smoked bacon, all drenched in delicious maple syrup. She was sitting at the dining table grinning into a plate of her favorite breakfast, her little legs swinging, unable to reach the floor. Her mother was fussing about the table, making sure everyone had what they needed. Her father was winking a crystal blue eye at her over his newspaper.
“What’s that smell?” asked Jack wrinkling up his nose. Magz was hurtled back into the present and into a buzzing colony of lemmings in lemon yellow school shirts, shuffling soullessly towards their lockers. She was no longer playing happy families, she was back at her locker in the hallway of Saint Christopher’s High School on the top of a hill at the edge of Santolsa, a small desert town pretty much in the middle of nowhere.
“Maple syrup,” said Magz, licking the corners of her pale pink lipsticked lips.
“Uh Magz,” said Jack, his brown Converse sneaker letting out a little squeak on the linoleum as he stopped. “I think I know where it’s coming from.”
“Where what’s coming from?” she asked absently.
“The maple syrup.” He ran his hand through the front of his messy dark hair and looked down at his feet.
Magz looked down at her brown suede flats, the ones with the bows, and felt something twinge in her stomach.
“Is that…?”
“Maple syrup?” he finished for her.
“Shit,” she said under her breath as she looked up at the blue locker which was dripping with her favorite pancake topping. She sighed, grabbed the sticky lock and began entering her combination.
“It could be worse,” Jack offered as they peered into her locker together.
“How?” she asked deflated, pulling out a sticky old textbook and a can of hair spray.
“It could actually be shit,” he said lifting out a syrupy notebook.
“Not really helping.” Magz pushed through the crowd to get to the trashcan. She gave a dirty look to a portrait of a mean looking nun, one of the founders of the school who always kind of looked like she was overseeing the trash.
“Or it could be on fire,” Jack offered.
“It might as well be,” she moaned fishing out half a bottle of 7UP.
“OK, so this looks like a mess Magz, but it was way worse when my locker was on fire last month. The message was a lot clearer too. Fire says we wanna burn you at a stake. Maple syrup is more like- we might not like you, but we think you’re kind of sweet.”
Magz almost smiled.
“I guess you forgot your pancakes this morning,” Mindy giggled as she bounced towards them in her way too short for school rules brown skirt with her beef-head boyfriend Jim in tow.
“Well, Jimbo,” started Jack, “we do usually bring pancakes to school but today we slept late.”
“You two sleep together?” Jim frowned, running his thick beefy fingers over Mindy’s bad blonde dye job.
“Sure,” said Jack shrugging, “don’t you and Mindy sleep together?”
“We do it all the time,” Jim grunted as Mindy grinned. “But she’s not a lesbian,” Jim pointed his thumb at Mindy.
“Magz is a lesbian?” asked Jack. “Magz, you never told me you were a lesbian!” He faked a gasp, putting his hand to his mouth.
“Don’t be a dick Forrester 'cos you know where that’ll get you.” Jim grabbed Mindy by the waist pulling her close, her red-lipped grin reminding Magz of something out of Stephen King’s IT.
Magz felt sick.
“She’s not a lesbian, everyone knows that,” Mindy said, “and…”
Magz cringed knowing what was coming next.
“…If you didn’t, you could just ask Big Mick,” Mindy finished.
Magz felt even sicker as she thought about Big Mick and his stupid curly sexy blonde hair and sexy way he convinced her with his fake southern drawl that she was special and that he wasn’t just another stupid jock trying to get lucky, when in actual fact, all he was, was another stupid jock trying to get lucky.
“You’re a gay,” said Jim pointing accusingly into Jack’s face with his hotdog fingers.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Gays sleep too,” he said. “Not all gays are Vampires.” he hissed at them, showing his eye-teeth.
Magz stood by dumbly as she once again watched Jack get shoved into the locker next to hers.
“You dick,” Jim said, sending sour spittle into Jack’s face. “If we didn’t have a game this weekend, I’d mess you up so bad. Think of this as just a little reminder of what’s coming for you if you don’t shut up and remember who your superiors are.” He sent Jack flying into the locker again causing him to make a noise that was something between a painful sob and a laugh.
Magz dropped to his side as he lay on the cold grey laminate floor. “Are you OK?” she asked.
“Never better,” he groaned, closing his eyes.
Magz closed her own eyes as something wet began to drip down onto her head. Maple syrup.
“I’ve heard maple syrup is really good for dandruff,” Mindy said, throwing the bottle down so that it nearly hit Jack in the face before flouncing back down the hallway, cackling as she dragged Jim after her.
“There goes another one of your scrunchies,” Jack said opening his eyes.
Magz just shrugged and bit away her tears as the bell rang out signaling the start of another school day.
* * *
This was the kind of thing that happened often to Magz and Jack. Magz had pretty much given up hoping for anything to change, but getting your stuff trashed and having to watch helplessly as your best friend gets slammed into lockers on a daily basis just because you liked Phil Collins more than Chris Brown had become kind of soul destroying. Magz could not wait to get the hell out of this hell hole town of Santolsa and start all over.
Two
The Book
Magz was daydreaming about a young John Cusack when her English teacher threw a big old dusty book on her desk - the big old dusty book that would change her life forever.
Magz sneezed.
“Magz!” She looked up to meet a disapproving look from her favorite teacher.
“Have you even heard a word I've said this morning?” Mrs. Willis asked disappointedly.
Magz looked around the room nervously. She quickly scanned the old cracked chalkboard for information. Nothing. She stared at the crucifix above the school motto Prior Tempore Potior Iure, but she had no idea what the school motto meant or what Mrs. Willis had said. She felt a twinge of guilt. She liked Mrs. Willis. Only just last week Magz had handed in an assignment late and was let off with just a gentle warning. Magz thought Mrs. Willis, with her peppery spiked hair, era-and-age inappropriate affection for heavy handed eyeliner and fire engine red lipstick pretty much rocked.
Magz mumbled an apology as she nervously thumbed the sticky back of her earring. She was wearing the turquoise and gold triangles. They were her favorite earrings, a gift from Jack one rainy afternoon when she’d awkwardly realized she didn’t have any cash on her at a thrift store counter. The cashier wouldn’t take a credit card for less than ten dollars and so Jack handed over the seventy-five cents in change.
“Jack, can you fill Magz in on anything she may have missed so far this lesson?” Mrs. Willis threw a similar book on Jack's desk with an unnecessary force that nearly had him jump out of his seat, for Jack had been daydreaming also, although his daydream had very little to do with John Cusack.
Magz looked over at Jack. His
similarities to a young John Cusack were really quite remarkable. She sighed as she picked up a pencil which stuck straight to her sticky fingers. She had managed to fix her hair by make-shifting a headband with a pink scarf she’d found in the bottom of her denim backpack, but everything kept getting sticky again, no matter how many times she washed her hands.
Jack turned the dark blue book the right way up, making a face as he flicked some dust off his fingers. “Six more months, Magz, that’s it.”
“Six more months of getting slammed into lockers? Getting your stuff destroyed? Hair destroyed?” Magz hated her fine chestnut hair being a mess and it got into a mess so easily without maple syrup.
“I’m just counting the days Magz. Planning my escape. Planning for my future.”
“Uh huh,” said Magz checking the time on the pink digital watch on her wrist. If every day dragged on like this one six months were going to feel like six years.
“This time next year I’m gonna be driving my vintage sea foam green convertible over to Silicon Valley to pick up my pay cheque and life will be damn sweet. I won’t even spare a thought for this place.”
Class of 1983: A Young Adult Time Travel Romance Page 1
