by Jana Miller
And now Annie, Evan, and Dylan were looking between the two of us, lifting eyebrows, and looking at each other. I felt my face heat. For a few moments I thought my secret was exposed—that Jake had figured it out, that now they all knew.
But then he described time moving backwards, his main character moving backwards, even sound moving backwards, and I realized he knew way too much about the strands.
And if he knew about the glowing strands…and pulling them…and everything reversing…
Jake could rewind time, too.
Chapter two
How was this possible? I’d never met anybody who could do what I did, never found anything in my research over the years that even hinted at it being possible.
Suddenly Jake’s crazy eyes made complete sense. My mind was bursting with questions as I stared at him. Questions for myself—How is this possible? Does this mean there are other people who can rewind time? And questions for him—How long have you been doing it? Do you know why we can rewind or what makes it possible?
I looked around as he continued to read, wondering what the others were thinking. Their shifting glances and irritated expressions told me that of course they hadn’t jumped to the ridiculous conclusion that our stories were actually based in truth. Instead, they thought we’d shared ideas. Cheated. And were incredibly stupid for doing so. I almost laughed. Yes, that would have been incredibly stupid—but more to the point, incredibly impossible. As if Jake Monson, the cool, careless senior, and Chloe Brown, the quiet sophomore girl, would socialize in any way.
This was quite possibly the most uncomfortable situation I’d ever been in. Normally my impulse would be to rewind, but I didn’t want to erase this moment for him; I wanted him to remember it.
Too bad I was going to have to erase it anyway. I couldn’t let the others remember that we’d written about the exact same ability, and Jake and I definitely couldn’t turn in stories that were so similar. One of us would have to rewind it.
But for the moment, I listened to the rest of Jake’s story. I let myself stare at him, excited and completely freaked out by our discovery, and he stared back when he finished reading, his eyes intense and excited.
Someone in the group cleared his throat. This moment would have been incredibly awkward if I hadn’t known that nobody would remember it.
Okay, it was incredibly awkward anyway. And I couldn’t handle it anymore.
I gave Jake an apologetic look, sorry that he wouldn’t be able to find out like this—that he wouldn’t remember our natural, crazy, mutual discovery. Instead I’d have to figure out a way to tell him. I was sorry we wouldn’t have this moment of connection again, knowing I wouldn’t be able to recreate it even if I tried.
With a sad smile and a small shrug in his direction, I closed my eyes and pulled.
I watched everyone’s crazy expressions—backward and at high speed—while I decided how far back I needed to go.
I needed enough time to write a new story, so I settled on just before lunch, releasing the strands as I was leaving my history class, then I leaned against a wall for a minute while the vertigo passed and the headache took its place. Doing my best to ignore that, I took the stairs two at a time up to the library.
I was a little frustrated that I’d have to write a new story, especially after all the time it had taken to work up the courage to write about it. It had felt freeing, like I could tell without actually telling.
But then I reminded myself that now I could tell. I could tell Jake.
Shaking off that thought to deal with it later, I sat down at a computer to write a story about becoming invisible. I kept getting distracted, thinking about Jake’s ability and how I would tell him. It took me the whole lunch period to write the four-page minimum of a pretty crappy rough draft. It would have to do for now.
The bell rang and I pulled the sandwich from my lunch as I left the library, scarfing it down as I walked down the hall toward my locker. Then I remembered what had happened at my locker—or what was about to happen—and I slowed my pace. I kept close to the wall as I finished eating until I saw Nikki and Jordyn brush past me. I continued to walk slowly, keeping tabs on them as they spotted Maya waiting for me at my locker and approached her.
Bullet dodged.
* * *
I relived my geometry class—boring, but at least I knew I really got that day’s material—then headed to creative writing again. I reminded myself not to look at Jake like we were besties or like I was a creepy stalker and listened to the other stories again. I toned down my critique of Evan’s story this time, read my lame one and received lame feedback, and realized that Dylan’s story, the one I’d completely spaced the first time around, was the best one of the group. And I could give him an actual opinion this time.
I focused intently on Jake’s story, trying to catch every detail, wondering how accurate it was and how much he’d made up. Did he really see the strands as a river? My stomach was in knots as I tried to play out in my mind how I would approach him, how I would tell him that I knew his story was true and that I had the same ability. Without sounding like a freak.
I gave Jake the feedback about his story that I’d practiced in my mind during geometry. Then I mentally went over how I would tell him that I could rewind time.
Because I was going to tell him.
Wait. No, I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready yet.
But I really should, before I could talk myself out of it.
When the bell rang, I kept my eye on him and pulled out my original story as everybody packed up and rushed out. It was the end of the school day, so I knew he wouldn’t have to rush to another class. I made it out before him and stood by the door until he came out.
“Jake?”
He turned, obviously surprised when he saw it was me.
I cleared my throat. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Uh—sure,” he responded, obviously confused. “I’ll see you later,” he said to the guy he’d been walking with.
I looked around for somewhere private we could go and ended up leading him into the empty classroom next to ours. His dubious expression as he followed didn’t help my confidence. He wants to know this, I assured myself. He was obviously excited when he found out—before.
I handed him my rewinding story before he could ask any questions. “I wrote this. Before. I mean, it was my original story, before I heard yours.” I worked hard to tamp down my awkwardness and act confident.
“Before you heard mine? Didn’t you—?”
“Just read it, and I’ll explain.” I glanced at the door, then back at him. “Don’t look at me like that, just read it. I know it’s weird.”
I was sure he was trying not to smile as he looked down at the pages I’d handed him. The mocking kind of smile. I jiggled my knee in impatience as he began reading.
I could read in his posture and expression how far he was in the story, because it was the same as the first time. Straightening up, looking at me. Then staring at me before looking back down at it. “How—?”
“I know, but just finish it.”
He hurried to finish reading and then looked around in confusion. “How did you—” He lowered his voice, even though nobody was in the classroom. “You wrote this before—Can you—” He gave me the wild-eyed look again and I nodded.
Even though I already knew the answer, I felt like I was asking something embarrassingly personal when I began, “Can you really…?”
He hesitated before answering my unfinished question with a nod. “Yeah,” he said on an exhale. But then his expression changed, and he almost seemed suspicious. “Are you saying that you can?”
I swallowed and nodded as well. “I rewound after you read your story the first time. We both read them. I mean, I read mine first, and you looked at me all crazy—”
He shook his head as if to clear it. “Wait, what? The first time?”
“Yeah.” This was harder to explain in real life than in my head. “W
e read them out loud and kind of figured it out. I mean, we didn’t talk about it, but the other people in our group thought we’d cheated, so I rewound and wrote a different story.”
He took a breath, opened his mouth, and closed his mouth again, letting the breath out in a huff. I just waited, letting him form a question. “When did that happen?” he finally asked. “And why don’t I remember it?”
That wasn’t the question I’d expected. “Because I rewound it.” I’d thought that was obvious.
“But when I rewind, I always remember it.”
I nodded. “Yeah, you remember your own rewind, but nobody else remembers it. There’s no way for anybody but you to know that time is repeating.”
“Well, I know that, but...how do I know you really did it?”
“What?” I pulled my head back. “What do you mean?” I stared at him for a second. “You think I’m lying?” He just shrugged. “Why would I make it up?”
“I don’t know,” he responded, somehow coming off as amiable despite the accusation. “To mess with me?”
I stared at him. “To mess with you??” I snatched my story back from his hand and held it in front of his face. “You think I somehow wrote this after you read yours in class? You think I wrote a four-page story—typed it up and printed it—in the last ten minutes—just to—”
“There you are!” A voice from the classroom doorway interrupted my rant.
I whipped my head to the side and, seeing a short redhead girl standing in the doorway, dropped my hand to the side to keep my story out of view and stepped away from Jake, cheeks burning.
Realizing she’d interrupted something, she lifted her eyebrows. “What’s going on?” she asked Jake.
Jake glanced from her to me, eyes mocking, as he answered smoothly, “Hey, Lindy.” Of course, the infamous girlfriend. “We were just talking about our stories from creative writing. See, Chloe—it’s Chloe, right?” He turned to me, and I was too dumbfounded to do anything but nod. “Chloe thinks I stole her idea.”
What? I hadn’t said anything like that.
“Really?” was all she said. I couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.
I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Jake didn’t seem to notice.
“Mine was about how I can reverse time,” he continued. “You know, how I can go back and fix stuff, have a do-over if I need it?”
I stared at him, horrified, then turned to see Lindy looking amused. “Uh-huh?” was all she said, one eyebrow raised. I wasn’t sure if she actually knew that about him, or if she was playing along or what, but either way, Jake was doing something incredibly stupid.
“She says she can rewind time too, and she was just showing me her story—here, show Lindy your story.” He actually started to grab for it, but I pulled away from him, at a complete loss for words, preparing to rewind. “She can tell us which one is better,” he explained—as if that’s what this whole discussion had been about, as if it were a perfectly logical solution.
I had about ten things swimming around in my head that needed to be said to him—about how this ability needs to be taken seriously, about how you can’t just tell whoever you want, about how you can’t accuse people of cheating or playing some stupid prank, about how you can’t go around telling other people’s secrets—but I couldn’t get any of them out. I couldn’t make any of them sound good enough in my mind. He was still having this good-natured, one-sided conversation about rewinding and stories, and it was like Lindy was the amused audience and I was the idiot actor who’d forgotten her lines.
I wished I had some cutting parting words for him, but it was like he was oblivious. All I could do was close my eyes and rewind, assuring myself I would never again mention anything about rewinding time to Jake Monson.
* * *
I was still somewhere between embarrassed and fuming about Jake as I walked to the junior high after school, so when Janie gave me a weird look when she looked up from her group of friends and saw me approach, it didn’t help matters.
“What?” I said.
“Isn’t it Wednesday?” she asked.
I blinked. “Oh, crap.” I volunteered at the Flagstaff city library after school every Wednesday, so I should have walked there instead of coming to Janie’s school to walk home with her. I blew out a breath of frustration. “Okay, well…I’ll see you tonight.”
I started to turn away, but she stopped me with a “Hey,” and stepped away from her friends. “Did you have a bad day or something?”
More like the weirdest day ever, but—“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Thanks. See you tonight.”
But as I turned to leave, I saw the boy she liked, headed right in her direction. “Janie,” I said a small grin, turning back and leaning in a little. “Look who it is.” I gestured with my head.
Janie’s eyes went wide when she looked in the direction I’d indicated, and her face went red. “Don’t look at him!” she hissed at me.
“Why not? He’s looking at you.” I always loved watching her around Dallin. She didn’t seem to realize that he was just as awkward as her. “And he’s coming this way,” I added.
Her eyes darted toward him, and she assumed what seemed to be an attempt at a relaxed, indifferent pose.
“Hey,” Dallin said as he approached, not quite looking at her.
And too late, I realized that he wasn’t actually looking at Janie. He’d been walking toward someone else.
But she didn’t realize it yet. “Hi. Hey,” she said as he started to cross in front of us, toward another kid, who lifted his chin with a “Hey, man.”
Janie’s face went bright red as Dallin turned and noticed her for the first time, but she didn’t see his face light up when he saw her; instead she was staring straight at me with an accusing, pleading sort of look.
I looked back to Dallin as he tried to start talking to her, a deer-in-the-headlights look overtaking his features, but since she wasn’t looking at him, he just lifted a hand awkwardly and mumbled, “See ya” to her before continuing toward his friend.
I turned back to Janie, who was now staring at the ground.
“That was the most embarrassing thing I have ever—”
But I was way ahead of her. If she’d known I could rewind time, this is one of those times she definitely would have asked me to do it. So despite the headache, I closed my eyes and pulled.
I only needed to rewind about twenty seconds, and when I let go, she was asking me if I’d had a bad day.
So I took a couple steps back and told her a little about Nikki always being so dramatic—until I was sure that she was directly in Dallin’s path.
“Guess I better hurry,” I said, glancing over and seeing Dallin’s eyes light up when he noticed her.
“See ya,” she answered, and I left with a satisfied grin, looking back once to see Dallin approach her with a shy smile.
Sometimes rewinding wasn’t actually so bad.
* * *
I was lost in thought as I shelved books that day—I couldn’t get over the fact that Jake had told my secret even though he barely knew me—when I heard my name called softly and looked up. “Oh,” I said, smiling. “Hey, Leah."
"Hey, how's it going?" Leah was several years older than me, a freshman at Northern Arizona University, and came here often enough to find classes for her children’s lit class. I could easily imagine her teaching third or fourth grade. Somehow she looked the part, even with her flowy pants and floral shirt, her dark hair bobbed above her shoulders.
I shrugged. “It’s okay.” But today’s stress pressed in on me, and suddenly I found myself asking, "Did you ever...switch friends in high school?"
She adjusted her fabric shoulder bag as she thought. “Well…I sort of migrated between a couple groups," she said. “Then eventually I just ended up sticking with one group more than the other." She peered at me. "Why? You having friend issues?"
I swallowed and
nodded. "My best friend started hanging out with these two girls that I just...I don't get them."
She made a face. “That stinks,” she said with a sympathetic half-smile. "I know it might not help a ton right now, but just remember that high school is so short. Everybody goes their separate ways afterwards. So just focus on...I don't know, being comfortable being yourself."
Be myself? Why do people say that, as if it's some obvious thing that you should just naturally know how to do? I mean, if I wasn't already "being myself," how was I supposed to even know what that would be like?
She must have seen the anxiety in my face because she added, “Just don’t stress too much about what other people think. Be nice to everyone, but you don't have to be friends with people who don't make you feel...good about yourself. You know?"
I nodded. "Thanks," I managed.
"Anytime. So...read any middle-grade books lately?"
I took a deep breath. "Um, I remember a couple from elementary school," I offered. "Here." I got a slip of paper from a computer desk and wrote down two titles.
"Awesome," she said, taking the paper. "I'll check them out. See you later, Chloe."
"See ya."
"Don't do anything too crazy," she said with a wink as she left. I snorted to myself. That's me, the crazy library volunteer . . .
A few minutes later, I realized that I had just managed to tell somebody something I was really worried about, and not once had I felt so embarrassed that I wanted to rewind.
Maybe Leah should be my new therapist.
Chapter Three
THREE WEEKS LATER
Something was wrong.
I knew it even before I opened my eyes. And then, for a second, I thought that maybe I couldn’t open my eyes. My head felt like it was being stabbed with a billion needles, and I was overcome with the sensation of falling through space. I’d never had a vertigo jolt this intense before, and I had definitely never felt one in my sleep—at least not one that had woken me up. I cracked my eyes open to see that it was barely dawn, and immediately a searing pain behind my eyes caused a wave of nausea. Closing my eyes again, I tried to take deep breaths but only managed short, panicked gasps between shocks of pain.