by Robin Palmer
“What’s a d-book?”
“The thing you just said.”
“I said e-book.”
“Right. That’s what I said,” I lied so we could get back to business. “Okay, so here’s the thing . . . see . . . It’s not actually 2016. It’s 1986.”
He rolled his eyes. “Can you leave now? Some of us have stuff to do. Like Facebook creeping.”
“I’m serious,” I said.
“And I’m serious, too. There’s this new girl named Hedy Epstein, and she’s really hot and I’m hoping her Facebook page is public so I can drop her favorite books and bands into conversation tomorrow.”
“That’s just great, Ethan. Pretending to be someone you’re not is an awesome beginning to a relationship.”
“I know. Why do you think I’m doing it?”
“I’m being serious here,” I went on. “Last night when I went to bed, it was 1986. And when I woke up, I was here.” I wrinkled my nose as I looked at my dress. “With a pink wardrobe.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you doing drugs? Did you not pay attention in health class about how that stuff can warp your mind and make it so you screw up on your SATs and not get into a good college, which will ruin your life forever?”
“Of course I’m not doing drugs!” I cried. “I really mean it. I . . . time traveled.”
“So that’s what that was about at dinner,” he said. “I knew something was fishy, because you never get excited about something in school other than your approval rating going up.”
“I mean it. I swear to you.”
He searched my face. “Why aren’t you blinking? You always blink when you lie.”
“Because I’m not lying!”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t have time for this.”
“Fine. I’ll convince you. I know—I’ll give you a list of the popular bands from 1986: Psychedelic Furs, New Order, Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys—”
“You could’ve found that all out from Googling.”
“I don’t even know what a google is!”
He shook his head. “People don’t time travel to Los Angeles,” he said. “They go to interesting places, like different planets.”
“It’s not like I got to fill out a questionnaire before I left!” I grabbed his arm. “I know it sounds crazy—”
“Yeah. Because it is crazy.”
“And since I can’t get Jonah to believe we really are best friends and help me, I’m turning to you.”
“Andrea’s your best friend.”
“In this version, she is, but in 1986 we’re actually archenemies.”
“And who the heck is Jonah?”
“I just told you—my best friend. You know him! He’s great at Donkey Kong.”
“Donkey Kong’s a video game from like a million years ago.”
“Yeah. From 1986!” I sighed. “You don’t even have to believe me. You just have to help me find information about time travel.”
“I don’t know anything about it. Because it doesn’t exist!” he cried.
I pointed at the computer. “I bet that thing does.”
He shook his head. “Fine. I’ll help you do a search. But I’m only doing this to get you to leave me alone. Not because I believe you.”
I threw my arms around him. I usually avoided it, because of his funky BO, but I was so relieved I couldn’t help myself. “So what do we do?”
He swiveled his chair so he was in front of his computer screen and cracked his knuckles. “We Google it.”
I pulled a chair up next to him at the computer. “What’s that?” I asked as he moved something in his right hand.
He looked at me. “Seriously?”
“I told you I’m not from this century.” I cringed. “Did I really say that aloud?”
“You did. And the fact that you said something so stupid makes me think that maybe you are telling the truth. Anyway, it’s a mouse. And this is going to take forever if I have to explain technology to you.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll be quiet.”
As he moved the mouse, an arrow moved across the screen, across little pictures of folders underneath them, down to the bottom of the screen where there was a long line of symbols, including a musical note, a calendar, and a camera. He turned to me. “And if you do want me to explain it, it’s going to cost you extra.”
I rolled my eyes as he typed in how to time travel back in time. After a second a bunch of things popped up on the screen.
“How about that one?” I asked, pointing to something that said wikiHow. “It even has pictures.”
He clicked on it. “Go faster than light,” he read. “Dive through a wormhole.”
I did not do worms.
“Reminisce to relive your past,” he continued. “Listen to songs you used to love.”
“That could work. Let’s try that,” I said.
He clicked on a button and something called Spotify filled the screen. “What was the name of that band you like? The Psych Out Somethings?”
“Psychedelic Furs.”
He clicked away until a list of their songs filled the screen. “Pick one.”
“‘Love My Way,’” I replied.
The song began to pour out of somewhere, even though there were no speakers to be seen. I immediately felt myself relax. In fact, I started to get a little teary. How many times had Jonah and I listened to this together? “So what happens now? Do I close my eyes and end up back in 1986?”
Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know. Try it.”
“Okay.”
As I closed my eyes he turned the music up and we waited. Through “Love My Way” and two songs after that, but nothing happened other than my back getting stiff.
“Am I still here in 2016?” I asked with my eyes still closed once “Pretty in Pink” ended. Maybe I had gone into some sort of deep sleep without realizing it.
I heard Ethan shove some chips in his mouth. “Uh-huh,” he said with his mouth full.
I opened my eyes. “So much for that.” I sighed. “If I’m going to be here for a while, can you at least give me a primer on all this electronic stuff?”
“I guess. Otherwise you’re just going to bother me with questions about it.”
I smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”
For the next hour I got a crash course on all things electronic. Or, to be more specific, all things called social media. Facebook. Tumblr. Instagram. Spotify. Foursquare. Google Plus (“No one actually uses that, but it’s good to be signed up for it in case it ends up taking off one day,” Ethan explained). By the end of my lesson, my head was spinning.
He looked at the clock. It was already nine. “Okay, you think you can handle it from here?” Ethan asked. “Because I’m gonna binge-watch some Parks and Recreation on Netflix.”
“Binge-watch?” I asked, confused.
“I’ll explain that one later,” he said, pushing me out the door. “Hey,” he called when I was almost to my room.
I turned.
“I’m not saying I believe you or anything, but if I did, back in 1986, am I as cool as I am now?” he asked anxiously.
I thought about how to answer. He may have been the most annoying little brother on the planet, but he was my little brother. “You’re even cooler,” I finally said.
He smiled smugly. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
Back in my room, I plugged my iPhone into the speaker on my desk like he had taught me. There was a lot of stuff by someone named Justin Bieber in my iTunes library. And a band called One Direction. And that Katy Perry chick Andrea said I liked. All of it was poppy and mainstream. Exactly the kind of stuff you’d expect the most popular girl in school to listen to. There wasn’t one New Wave song—not by the Cure, or the Psychedelic Furs, or Depeche Mode. Luckily I found it all on Spot
ify, which Ethan had showed me earlier. As I listened to some Depeche Mode, I picked up a framed photo of Brad standing behind me with his arms around me and studied it. I looked happy. But when I drew it closer, I saw that wasn’t entirely correct. What I looked was proud, which was a whole different thing than happy. Andrea’s social stock had risen when she started dating him, and I bet it had been the same for me.
Brad didn’t seem like a bad guy. Sure, he wasn’t the brightest star in the sky, but he wasn’t a jerk or anything. But as my grandmother liked to say, every pot had its lid, and Brad was not my lid. I picked up the photo on the other side of the computer, of me and Andrea. Blocking myself out of both photos, I put them together so that Andrea and Brad were now the couple.
“Now this is a pot and a lid,” I said aloud. Even their poses matched up, so that it looked like he had his arms around her and she was leaning her head back against him.
Since I couldn’t find my boom box anywhere that would allow me to listen to the radio, I typed in the school radio station’s call letters into the Google search bar. (I had learned from my tutorial with Ethan that when all else failed, try that.) Sure enough it came up, with something that said Click here to listen. When I clicked on it, Jonah’s voice came out from the computer, announcing that we had just heard a song by a band called Okkervil River and were about to hear the Head and the Heart. It sounded corny, but just hearing his voice while I played around on the computer was comforting, even if he wasn’t talking to me.
Somehow I managed to get onto that Facebook thing everyone was so obsessed with. When the page loaded, I was greeted with a picture of myself wearing a tiara. Andrea wasn’t kidding. “Well, that’s got to go,” I said aloud. Eight hundred twenty friends?! Who were these people? I scrolled down, recognizing some of the names—of course there was Andrea and Brad and other kids from Castle Heights, like Dylan Schoenfield and Josh Rosen. Even my grandfather was on this thing, with a picture of a bagel and cream cheese above his name. The only person I seemed to not be friends with was Jonah. I typed in his name and clicked on a button that said Add Friend. I knew I was pushing my luck and officially entering stalker land, but if he wasn’t going to talk to me in person, maybe he’d do it this way.
While I waited for something to happen (What, I wasn’t sure. . . . His face to pop up on the screen? An alarm to go off?) I started scrolling down on something called a newsfeed. I quickly discovered that Facebook was as addictive as Bubble Yum gum. I tried to get off—I really did—but scrolling down a person’s page, there’d be some article that looked interesting, or a video clip about dogs nursing newborn kittens, which would then lead to a quiz. Just as I was about to take one about what your clothing style says about your personality (I had a hunch mine would say I was old-fashioned and had a hard time letting go), my phone rang and Brad’s photo flashed across the screen along with the word FaceTime.
“Hello?” I said warily after I clicked on Accept.
“Hey, babe.”
“Ahhh!” I yelped as I jumped. This wasn’t just a phone call—I could actually see him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I just . . . didn’t know you were going to call me now.” Was that how you even referred to what this was? A phone call?
He did the inbred-dog move with his head. “But I always call you to say good night.”
Wow. That was so sweet. Too bad I wasn’t the least bit attracted to him, because if I had been, I would have been a very lucky girl. “And I love that you do, because it’s so considerate,” I improvised.
He smiled. “So whatcha been doing?” he asked.
“Oh, you know. . . . This and that. . . .”
“Yeah. Me too.” He yawned. “Okay I’m gonna hit the hay. I did upper and lower body at the gym, and I’m beat.”
Suddenly the screen got all wonky. “I think something’s wrong with your phone,” I said.
He leaned back. “I was kissing you.”
“Right. Because . . . you always do that when we say good night.”
He smiled again. “Of course I do.”
Maybe I could keep our relationship confined to the phone and we could just kiss that way.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me back?” he asked.
“Oh. I . . . uh . . . of course.” I took a deep breath and leaned in and gave a quick kiss to the screen.
“That’s it?” he asked, disappointed.
I fake-yawned. “Yeah. I’m a little tired. Sorry.”
“Okay. Well, good night, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Wait!” I yelled as he went to hang up.
“Yeah?”
“I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“I was just wondering . . . am I happy?” I blurted. I knew it was a weird question to ask, especially because mine and Brad’s ideas about happiness were probably really different anyway, but it was kind of scary to not know yourself at all, which was the position I was in at the moment. And after Andrea, Brad was probably the closest person to me. A fact that was so weird, I could barely comprehend it.
“Well, sure you are,” he replied. “I mean, we’re together. You can’t get happier than that.”
“Yes, I know. But what I meant is . . . am I happy,” I went on. “You know, with my life.”
“You’re the most popular girl in school. Of course you’re happy.”
“I know, but is that really enough?” I asked.
He thought about it. For a long time. Like so long that I was reminded of why he had been held back a year.
“What I mean is,” I continued, “don’t you think I should be doing more?”
“You mean like that idea you had to start a consulting business giving makeovers to people?”
“No. I meant like trying to effect change. . . . You know, bringing everyone at school together.”
“I guess you could try that,” he said, “but wouldn’t that take you away from your goal of getting the school to hang a portrait of you near the office?”
I could tell this conversation wasn’t going to be much help. “You’re probably right,” I said. “Thanks. Good night.”
“Good night, wookie. Love ya!”
I was dating a guy who called me wookie? Oh boy. “See you tomorrow,” I said as I clicked off. I sighed as I turned up the volume on the computer to hear what was going on on Jonah’s show.
“And now Talk to Me is open for questions,” I heard him say. “Whether you need relationship advice, music recommendations, or want to debate what the best energy drink is out there, we’re here to answer your calls.”
I picked up my phone and dialed. I knew the number by heart because I always called to request songs.
“Talk to me,” Nerdy Wayne barked when he answered.
“Hi. I, uh, have a question.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a question for Jonah.”
“I’m the producer. All questions go through me,” he said.
Now he was a producer? Geez, there was a lot of upward mobility in this millennium.
“Fine. See, I have a situation—”
“Everyone has a situation. That’s why they call here.”
“Can you just put me through?” I asked impatiently.
“Okay, but I’m only doing so because we’ve been light on the calls tonight, and I’m running out of excuses as to how to keep my mother off the air. Please hold.”
I paced nervously while I waited for Jonah to pick up. I wasn’t even really sure what I was going to say. I hadn’t gotten that far.
“Thanks for calling in to Talk to Me. And you’re on the air,” Jonah said a second later.
Why did this suddenly feel like a really bad idea?
“And who’s this?” he asked.
“This is . .
. um . . . Baffled in Beverly Hills?” I replied.
“Cute. So what can I help you with, Baffled?”
“So, um, I have this situation—”
“Everyone has a situation. That’s why they call here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is that like your new tagline or something?”
“No, but maybe it should be. It is kind of catchy. So what’s your situation?”
“Well, see, I . . . there’s this person . . . a guy—”
“Ah. So it’s a romance question.”
“Nope. It’s a best friend question.”
“A best friend who’s a guy. So which one is it?”
“Huh?”
“You’re secretly in love with him, or he’s secretly in love with you?”
“Neither.”
“Huh. Okay. This is a new one, then. So what’s the deal, then?”
“The deal is that . . . I miss him.”
“How can you miss him if he’s your best friend?”
“I miss him . . . because . . . recently he acts like he doesn’t know me.” That was true.
“How come?” Jonah asked. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”
“Nope. It was like one morning I woke up and things were totally different.” Again, not really a lie. Not the whole truth, either, but if I told the whole truth, he’d probably hang up on me.
“Well, have you tried to talk to him about this?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“He doesn’t seem to be all that interested in talking about it.” That was definitely true.
“Huh. Well, all I can say is that if he’s really your best friend, then you should keep trying,” he replied. “Because a good best friend is a terrible thing to waste.”
Hearing him say that made me feel worse. What if I kept trying and it still didn’t work? Then what? “Okay. I guess I’ll do that,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I started to hang up.
“Wait—” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Do we know each other? Your voice sounds familiar.”
“No. I don’t think we do,” I replied sadly. That also wasn’t a lie. If I were Jonah, I’d have no interest in knowing this version of me, either.