by Bella Thorne
Mrs. Foreman floats out of the room on a cloud of self-satisfaction. The minute the door closes behind her, J.J. buries his face in his hands.
“Got any anagrams for ‘awkward’?” I ask.
“ ‘Skywalker…and woe,’ ” he replies.
“ ‘Skywalker and woe’?” I say. “Really?”
J.J. shrugs. “Technically that’s ‘so keenly awkward.’ ”
“Yeah, okay. That works better. And points for the Star Wars reference. Jack would be proud.”
J.J. smiles weakly, and I lean on the arm of the couch. After a moment I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me Mrs. Foreman wanted you to tutor me?”
“I didn’t know. She just asked if I’d tutor one of her students. She’s my main teacher recommendation, so I said yes.”
“She is?” I ask. “And you really want to major in history? I thought you wanted to major in English lit.”
J.J. looks me right in the eye. “Things change,” he says.
I can’t hold his gaze. I look down at my chipping nail polish. “Right.”
Neither one of us says anything for a while. It’s so bizarre. We’re with each other almost every single day, but I can’t even remember the last time we were alone together. Probably it was the day he broke up with me, almost a year ago. I can’t even believe it’s been that long. If you’d asked me then, I’d have sworn we’d be back to normal within a couple months—by last year’s spring break at the latest. Instead we kind of found a new normal, and judging by the futures I’ve seen, we don’t really find a way out of it. We stay friendly…but not super-close friends.
“You lied to Carrie,” he says.
I’m so caught up in my own thoughts I don’t know what he means for a second, but then I remember my story about Eddy. “Yeah,” I admit. “I didn’t think she’d approve of school over Senior Social Committee.”
“Good call,” he says. “I won’t tell her.”
Another minute of complete silence. I’m just about to tell him this is crazy and we should tell Mrs. Foreman it won’t work out when he says, “Okay, then. Let’s get started.”
My test is on the American Revolution, and J.J. spends a half hour trying to drill facts and dates into my head. I’m concentrating hard, I really am, but the more he spouts, the more it all sounds like noise to me. Even when he writes everything down on notecards for me, the dates just blend together and dance and mix up on the page and in my head.
Finally he sighs heavily, and I feel terrible because I’m not getting any of this at all.
“I’m calling it,” he says. “Elephant in the room.”
“Oh!” I jump in my seat. “I know this one! Republican party!”
He scrunches his eyebrows, then laughs out loud. “Okay, yes, that’s the symbol for the Republican Party, but that happened about a hundred years after what we’re studying. I meant our elephant.” He blushes a little and looks down at his hands. “You know…us.”
My heart gives an extra beat. I’m nervous, but I’m not sure why. What do I think he’ll say?
He’s looking at me like it’s my turn to say something.
“Right,” I offer.
“If I’m going to tutor you, we have to be normal. You can’t be weird around me.”
I’m so stunned it’s like he threw a bucket of cold water on my face. “Me weird around you?! You’re weird around me!”
“Seriously?” he snorts. “You barely say two words to me. Ever.”
“You barely even look at me! When we’re all hanging out, I could whip off my shirt and run around swinging it over my head and you wouldn’t even notice.”
The sides of J.J.’s mouth curl up in a smirk. “Pretty sure I’d notice if you took off your shirt and swung it over your head.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Wanna try?” he asks. “I’ll prove it.”
I wad up one of his notecards and throw it at him.
“Hey! Tutor abuse! I could get a lethal paper cut!”
“Only if I use the cards like throwing stars.” I pick up a notecard and fling it so it smacks point first into J.J.’s chest. He watches it hit its mark, then slowly gets up, raising a single eyebrow.
“I see you underestimate my ninja skills,” he says. Then, in a flash, he whips the rest of the cards off the table and flings them at me in lightning-fast succession, while I race around the room screaming and dodging away. I end up taking cover on the far side of Mrs. Foreman’s desk…which is right by her box of recycling. Score!
“Bombs away!” I shout as I crumple a sheet of paper and lob it at J.J. He counters with a mad volley of notecards.
Soon it’s an all-out paper war, with each of us diving for the other’s used ammunition as we dodge and attack. We leap on Mrs. Foreman’s couch, duck under her desk, and roll her desk chair like a moving shield, shouting and squealing with every throw and hit.
Until the door opens. We freeze—sweaty, tousled, and panting—as Mr. Winthrop leans his head in. He looks angry at first, but then his expression widens into a knowing smile. Unlike Mrs. Foreman, Mr. Winthrop prides himself on keeping up with all the student social drama, so J.J.’s and my past is no secret. “I heard shouting,” he says. “Everything cool in here?”
“We’re good,” J.J. says.
Mr. Winthrop smiles wider. “Glad to hear it.” He winks and shuts the door…and two seconds later J.J. and I collapse onto the couch laughing.
“Did he seriously wink?” I ask.
“ ‘Skywalker and woe’—next thing I’m writing on his board.”
“ ‘So keenly awkward,’ ” I agree.
We sit there for a second, shaking our heads and bursting out with another laugh every time our eyes meet.
“I’ve missed you.”
I say it without meaning to, but once the words are out, I feel this deep pain inside because I realize how much I mean them. I’ve missed J.J. desperately. There’s no one else I’m this goofy and happy and easy with—not even Jenna. And all of a sudden I’m terrified and can’t look at him because I’m afraid I ruined it and he’ll pull back into himself like before. Finally I risk a look at his face. My heart thumps when I see his eyes. Even though he’s smiling, his eyes are deep and serious, and he doesn’t take them off me.
“I’ve missed you too.”
The deep pain inside me explodes into happy fireworks and I want to throw my arms around him for a huge hug, but I don’t. I just look at him with a dopey smile on my face. Maybe not quite as dopey as the one on his…but yeah, probably the same.
“Okay,” he says, pounding on the couch, “let’s get you tutored up. We’re out of time today, so we’ll start tomorrow after Senior Social Committee. I’ll come to your house.”
“Really?” I ask. “I thought you always see Carrie after Senior Social Committee.”
“I do,” he says. “But this is to impress Mrs. Foreman and improve my college recommendation, so it takes precedence. Carrie’ll understand.”
I raise my eyebrows. “She’ll understand you’re hanging out with me instead of with her?”
“Not a chance,” J.J. admits without hesitation. “But she will understand ‘a nun’s magnificent speeds.’ ”
I don’t even ask. I just wait until he translates.
“An unspecified assignment,” he says. “Doesn’t make sense to get her upset about nothing.”
“Right,” I say. And while keeping the tutoring a secret from Carrie makes it seem like it is something, I totally agree with J.J. Much as Carrie and I are pseudo-friends, she’s very aware that I’m the only other girl J.J. has ever dated at Aventura High, and she’d be freaked by us hanging out alone together. Especially during time that’s supposed to be theirs.
Of course, if I have my way, this won’t be an issue after Saturday’s Scare Pair dance. Carrie will be off with Keith Hamilton, and J.J. will be floating in anagram splendor with Mariah Amhari.
The next day, J.J. does exactly what he promised. He
shows up at my door moments after I get home from Senior Social Committee.
“No books?” I ask when I answer the door and see he’s empty-handed.
“No need,” he replies. He beelines for my couch, picks up the remote, and starts surfing through all the TV menus. “I know you. Books won’t get this stuff into your head. If you’re going to learn about the American Revolution, you have to become interested in the characters. So here,” he says, nodding at the TV, “characters.”
He presses a button and we start watching a movie called The Patriot, which is about this guy who reluctantly joins the Revolutionary War, alongside his ridiculously hot son. The movie’s not bad. Lots of action, and of course the hot son, who dies in his dad’s arms. When it’s over, J.J. starts telling me all the ways the movie is historically wrong. He brings up a bunch of things we’ve talked about in class, but while they were just dizzying dates before, now I feel like I can ground them in some kind of reality. I can imagine the people he’s talking about, even if they weren’t in the movie, and it all feels more alive. I’m shocked when my mom comes home with Erick and says it’s already eight o’clock—I had no idea we’d been studying so long. Mom makes a huge fuss over J.J. when she sees him—she always thought he was great—and when she hears we haven’t eaten, she insists on making us a meal, which we eat while we talk about school, and our friends, and our lives, and the best things each of us has been watching online that we can’t believe the other one hasn’t seen. We show them to each other and laugh like crazy until my mom boots him out because it’s a school night and she insists I get some sleep.
It feels so much like we’re back to normal that I half expect him to pick me up for school the next day, but of course he doesn’t. I do see him at lunch. It’s my first day braving our circle since I saved Sean’s future by destroying it, and he’s handling it reasonably well by pretending I don’t exist and cringing whenever anyone says my name. As for J.J. and me, we act more or less the same way we have all year. Friendly, but in a cool, sorta distant way. It’s only when something comes up that reminds us of one of the YouTube bits we saw last night that he catches my eye over Carrie’s head and we both start laughing.
“What?” Carrie asks, already joining in and giggling. “Share with the rest of us.”
“It’s nothing,” J.J. says. “I swear.”
“Hey, Jack,” I say brightly, fake-changing the subject. “What do you know about Skywalker and woe?”
It’s a bogus question, meant only for J.J., but Jack takes it seriously and rambles on about the emotional state of the Star Wars character through all the movies. I force myself to look very interested and nod a lot, but really I keep glancing at J.J. His lips are pursed and he keeps looking down, trying to hide his smile.
That evening it’s the same as the night before. He comes over—with a pizza this time—and we watch another movie. This one’s called 1776. It’s a musical about the Declaration of Independence with some songs so truly dippy that I have to stand on the couch and make up my own words as I sing along.
“Come on!” J.J. laughs. “You have to listen to the words.”
“My words are better,” I say. “You’re just jealous ’cause you’re not as quick.”
“Seriously?” J.J. asks, and of course the next second he’s on his feet, too, killing me with his own version of the song that’s all about Mr. Winthrop and his quest to be the coolest teacher at school. When the song’s over, I bow to his superior songwriting skill and we plop back down to watch the rest of the movie.
At least, I’m supposed to be watching the rest of the movie. Instead I’m suddenly very aware of the inches between us on the couch. It feels solid, like the space between two magnets, when they’re so close you know if you bring them even a millimeter closer they’ll snap together. And even though I’m watching John Adams sing and dance, I’m seeing J.J. and me the way we were last year over Thanksgiving break. When he’d come over and we’d watch movies right here on this couch, only he’d have his arm around me and I’d lay my head on his shoulder. When it was good between us, before I got all mixed up with Sean and didn’t want J.J. anymore.
Was that a mistake? I mean, I was totally wrong about being with Sean. Was I wrong about not being with J.J.?
I push the thoughts out of my mind and try to concentrate on history, but the same thing happens Thursday night. I try to concentrate on the movie, but all I can think about is the way J.J. looked at me the first time he said he was crazy about me. The way it felt when he surprised me with our first kiss.
I wonder…as long as I’m mixing things up for the Scare Pair dance, why don’t I pair myself with J.J.?
No. That’s insane. I messed J.J. up big-time when we went out before. We’re finally friends again. I’m not going to risk that. I can’t even dream about possibly, maybe, in the slightest, tiniest way even hinting to him that I’m feeling this way unless I know it’s real and deep and about more than just loving him as a friend.
Still, I can’t help but wonder…if my plan works and he and Carrie break up…will he end up with Mariah, or is there a chance he could end up with me?
I know one way to find out. That night in bed, I pull the locket from underneath my giant T-shirt and open it up. I set it for five months from now. That’ll be next year, so I flip the year wheel as well, only I accidentally spin it way too far and have to spin it back to get to the year I want. Then I snap the locket closed, hold it in my palm, and concentrate on J.J. and me and what’s to come.
I’m standing in the middle of an island. Not a desert island, a kitchen island, which I realize when I look down and see my stomach end in a slab of granite countertop. It’s disconcerting, but only slightly less disconcerting than hearing my own voice behind me.
“You’re sure it’s not horrible we’re crashing your anniversary?”
I spin around, the counter still bisecting me, and I gasp.
It’s not that seeing Future Me is a shock. It’s not, not anymore. What is a shock is this particular Future Me. She looks way older than me five months from now. Did I set the locket correctly? I yank on the chain and pull it out, then open it up and examine the date. The month and day are right…but when I hold the locket close and squint at the year I see it’s not set for next year at all. It’s six years from now. Or from then, when I left. So assuming Future Me went to college, she graduated two years ago.
I examine this Future Me for any clues about her. She looks a little different than other Future Mes. More professional and less casual, but maybe that’s because this is the oldest I’ve ever seen her. Her orange hair is shorter than I wear it now, just above her shoulders. She has bangs, and her hair hangs so straight I know we’re nowhere near Florida and its humidity. She wears jeans with a funky dark blue/light blue patch pattern on them and a giant brown sweater that looks so cozy I want to climb into it with her.
“It’s our dating anniversary” comes a reply, and I finally rip my eyes away from my future self to see who I’m talking to.
“Jenna!” I scream. “See? I told you you’re alive! And you’re beautiful! Look at your hair!”
I run through the kitchen island and reach out to play with the blond corkscrew curls that sprout out of her head and hang down to the middle of her neck, but of course my fingers pass right through them. Jenna would lose her mind if she knew she’d traded her eternal ponytail for this cut. She’d totally freak out if she saw her always-bare face painted with red-red lipstick, blush, and eye shadow, even though the effect is completely subtle and sophisticated. At least she’d be happy with the outfit. I could see her in these heather-gray leggings, boots, and oversized off-white cable-knit sweater.
“You’re killing me with this,” I tell her. “I would literally die to get a picture of you right now and show it to you when I get back.”
Future Jenna grabs a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. As she uncorks it, she says, “Dating anniversaries only matter until you’re married and
have a real anniversary.”
Future Me rolls her eyes. “You just got married six months ago. You haven’t even had a real anniversary yet.”
“Wait, what?!” I shout. “You’re married?! Who’s the guy? Is it Sam? Are you with Sam?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jenna says. “Dating anniversary still loses. Besides, no way was I going to let you come to Colorado and not stay with me.”
“Stay with you?” I echo. “This is your house?” I look around the gorgeously huge kitchen, with its stainless steel refrigerator and wood cabinets and giant island that served as my skirt when I first appeared in the room. Jenna’s not only alive in the future, but she’s also kicking butt.
She pours herself and Future Me a glass of wine and grabs two extra wineglasses; then I follow them into the living room. It looks like a ski lodge, complete with a sloped wood-beamed roof, a giant fireplace with a crackling fire, and sink-in couches. I listen in while Jenna and Future Me talk, but I also snoop around the room so I can soak up all the information I can. From what I gather, Jenna’s married not to Sam but to a guy named Simon. They ran together in college, and I figure out it was the University of Oregon because I see an afghan with the college logo on it draped over another couch. There are pictures on the wall of Jenna and Simon’s wedding. He’s exactly her type: tall and athletic-looking, with sandy-blond hair and striking blue eyes.
“Jenna! He’s so cute! And look at us!” I gush, pointing to another picture of the two of us grinning and mushing our cheeks together. She’s in her bridal gown and I’m wearing a gorgeous baby-blue dress. There are other girls wearing a similar dress in the background of the photo, but mine has a slightly different neckline, like it’s supposed to stand out and be different. I gasp. “I was your maid of honor, wasn’t I?”
Jenna doesn’t answer. She’s still talking to Future Me, and I realize I’m missing valuable intel, so I move closer and listen in. Future Me is asking Jenna about business, and I get that Jenna and Simon are all outdoors, all the time. They run a ski camp in the winter and a kids’ adventure camp in the summer, and spend spring and fall just enjoying themselves and prepping for the other seasons. They don’t make a ton of money, but Simon’s family bought them the house as a wedding present, and they make enough for everything else they need.