There's No WiFi on the Prairie

by Nicholas O. Time

  “Mom,” I say. I want to complain. I wanted our time together. But I also know my mom is exhausted. So I stop myself.

  “Ava, I’m very sorry we didn’t get to watch our show together,” she says, sounding defeated. “I look forward to it too, you know.”

  If that were true, wouldn’t she have made time for me? She made time to take care of everyone else. Maybe I really should audition for this TV show. After all, no one would miss me here. I might as well be a big star in California and live with my dad. Then I can send some money home, to help with my little sisters and brother.

  I stumble upstairs to change and brush my teeth. Once I’m in bed, I check my phone and see that Ethan has done some work on MineFarm. Good. I was worried about him. And even more worried I wouldn’t have a place to steal farm animals from if the zombies return.

  I text Ethan: I have big news! Need your help tomorrow.

  He texts back right away: Me too. Wear comfortable shoes.

  At the end of his message is an alarm clock emoji. What is that? Is he reminding me to set my alarm for school?

  I check my phone alarm to see that it’s set, and it is. For the hundredth time I realize how I really couldn’t live without this phone. It’s my whole life. It’s more reliable than my own mother sometimes!

  I put the pillow over my head and close my eyes. After all, TV stars need their beauty sleep.

  Moooooooo!”

  My head pops up and I scan the hallway at school. Is that a cow? Again?

  “Mooooooooo!”

  There’s no cow in sight, but I quickly realize my hip pocket is vibrating. Someone has reset the text message alert sound on my phone to a cow mooing. It has to have been Ethan. He loves doing that kind of thing.

  I check my phone and see that he’s sent me a picture of a basketball in the library, with the words Meet me here, right now!

  “What?” I exclaim. We’re supposed to be boarding the bus for our field trip at the front of the school in a few minutes. Why would he want me to meet him in the library? And come to think of it, why was he acting so weird at lunch? I tried to tell him about my audition later today and he just kept nodding and smiling at me with this funny look on his face, and when I asked what was up, he said, “You’ll see.”

  I assume he’s planning a massive MineFarm raid on my cows (his former cows), so I’ve been checking in, but nothing’s happened.

  I decide to cruise by the library on the way to the bus, just to see why he’s acting like such a weirdo. If I hurry, I can still make it on time.

  As I walk in, Ms. Tremt comes straight toward me and looks me over. “Oh, good,” she says. “You’re wearing comfortable shoes. That’s every traveler’s number one mistake, you know.”

  “Huh?” I ask. “It’s just a field trip to a farmers’ market.”

  “Moooooooo!”

  Ms. Tremt whirls around. “No!” she yells. “Bad bovine! I just got you back home, and you know this whole thing needs to go according to plan!”

  Wow. This lady is all kinds of kooky. I pull my phone out of my pocket and show it to her. “Mooooooooo!” it says again.

  “Sorry, Ms. Tremt,” I say. “It’s just my phone mooing. Ethan set it like that, and I forgot to turn it off.”

  Ms. Tremt looks relieved. “I see. Well, that won’t be a problem today! Come with me. Opportunity is knocking.” She leans in close to me. “And when opportunity knocks, we don’t want to keep it waiting,” she says knowingly.

  Even when she’s not chasing a cow around, Ms. Tremt is a little odd.

  “Yeah, um, okay,” I say. I check my phone again to see what my new message is. It’s my mom telling me she’s got to work late again this evening and that the babysitter will stay with the little kids and order dinner for everyone, so I don’t have to rush home.

  I’m happy I’ll still be able to go to the audition, but that means another night of chaos when I do get home.

  “You know,” says Ms. Tremt. “You’re really not supposed to use your phone at school, Ava.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” I’m about to explain it was a text from my mom, when Ethan suddenly appears from the back room of the library. He looks wildly excited and kind of sweaty. He rushes toward me.

  “Ava! You’re here!” he says. “I’ve been dying to tell you my news all day, but Ms. Tremt said I had to wait until now.”

  “Tell me what?” Silently I hope it isn’t another story about a loose dairy cow in the library. Or what the dairy cow did in the back room of the library. Ewww.

  “I traveled back in time and played basketball with Michael Jordan in game six of the 1998 finals last night! I couldn’t take a photo of the game because Ms. Tremt has all these rules. . . .”

  Ms. Tremt gives him a look, and he stops cold. A second later, she nods at him to continue. It’s like a weird puppeteering trick or something.

  “Anyway, now it’s your turn, Ava!” says Ethan. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Where do I want to go?” I repeated. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but yes, it is my turn for once! I’m totally going to change my own life today,” I say. “But I already told you about that at lunch. So what’s going on?”

  “Ava, this will come as a shock, so prepare yourself,” Ms. Tremt says gently, looking at me as if I might bolt.

  I don’t. I stand still and listen. I’m not really expecting our librarian to have earth-shattering news. Ms. Tremt takes a deep breath. When she begins speaking again, she speaks slowly and clearly, as if she wants to be certain I hear every single word.

  “Ethan traveled to the past last night, and I helped him,” Ms. Tremt continues. “I thought he deserved a reward for all of the studying he’s been doing. And since I know you’ve been helping him—”

  “Or trying to help,” interrupts Ethan. “In between letting zombies eat my MineFarm cows. And letting me label the parts of a cell wrong and then correcting me after I’ve finished the whole thing and have to erase it all and start over.”

  I shrug. “You needed to learn it.”

  “Anyway, as your reward for helping him, now it’s your turn,” says Ms. Tremt. She fluffs her purple scarf just so around her neck and hands me a large leather book. It has fancy gold gilded pages and beautiful lettering on the cover that reads, The Book of Memories.

  “What’s this?” I ask. “I don’t have time to read a book, Ms. Tremt. Ethan and I have to board the bus for our field trip, like, now.”

  “Just listen, Ava!” Ethan says, his eyes shining.

  “You’ve been helping your friend study, and now you get to reap the benefits,” says Mrs. Tremt. “Hard work always has its rewards, Ava. Remember that.”

  “Um, great,” I say, still totally confused. Why is Ethan hopping around like a happy bunny, and why is Ms. Tremt being so pushy with this book? “Ethan, we’ve got to go,” I say again.

  Ethan shakes his head. “Stop, Ava, and listen. We’re going to travel to the past. Ms. Tremt’s name—Valerie Tremt—is an anagram for ‘time traveler,’ ” he says. “She’s a time traveler!”

  “And my name is an anagram for . . .” I think for a moment. What’s an anagram for Ava Larsen? “ ‘Alas Raven,’ but you don’t see me flapping my wings around the room,” I joke. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

  Ms. Tremt and Ethan don’t laugh. I admit, I was expecting a little laugh. After all, “Alas Raven” is pretty good.

  “Take this seriously,” Ms. Tremt says, shaking a finger at me.

  Meanwhile, Ethan looks like he’s trying to do anagrams in his head. “Um, mine would be ‘Thean,’ or ‘Thane.’ Naw, those aren’t good. . . .”

  “Are you two feeling okay?” I take out my phone to check the time.

  “Ava!” Ethan snaps. “Listen, all the weird stuff that happens at school . . . the cow, that Viking guy you told me about?”

  “Yeah, this school is totally weird. That’s why I’ve decided to become a child actor and move to L.A.,” I say.r />
  “Ava, I know you think living in California would be cool, but trust me, this is way cooler! Just think for a second. If you could go back in time to change one little thing in the past, what would it be?”

  I think for a second. “Easy. I’d make my mom decide to go to college in California like she should have back in 1991, so I could be living the sweet life now,” I declare. “Then, even if my parents still ended up getting divorced, my dad would be nearby, and we’d have a pool.”

  “I don’t think that will work . . . ,” says Ethan, looking disappointed.

  “Nope, totally fine!” says Ms. Tremt. “Quick, let’s do this, before that cow comes back. She’s been surprisingly uncooperative this whole time. . . .”

  “What? Ms. Tremt, I thought you said you couldn’t change the past for selfish reasons. . . . Time travel works via positive energy, right?” says Ethan.

  “No, no, no, noooooo,” says Ms. Tremt, giving a little laugh. “I didn’t say that. He’s remembering wrong.” She starts nervously motioning toward me for some reason. Maybe because I’m filming the two of them and their total weirdness on my phone.

  “You guys are hilarious,” I say as I film. “Did you arrange this skit just for me?”

  “You told me I couldn’t change the outcome of the playoff game,” Ethan grumbles, mostly to himself. “Because that would be selfish. That’s what you said.”

  “Ava, delete that video, put the phone down, and come here,” says Ms. Tremt. Her voice has stopped being light and silly and instead is more firm and commanding than I’ve ever heard it before. Immediately I do as she asks.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Tremt,” I say. “I wasn’t going to post the video anywhere. You guys were just being too funny, talking about time travel and positive energy and stuff, I just wanted to get you both on film so I could rewatch it later. It was hilarious!”

  “Ava, I can’t seem to get through to you, which isn’t surprising, but you’ll believe me when you arrive,” Ms. Tremt says. “Now, both of you wear these scarves, because they’ll not only make you blend in where you’re going, but they also make it possible for you to easily communicate with people who speak other languages. They’re sort of like your visual and audio camouflage.”

  “Uh, great!” I say, deciding to play along. I need to get out of here and get on the bus. The scarf is actually really cute, though. It’s pink and orange stripes, and it might look good at my audition later. It would make me stand out from the other kids auditioning. “People make fun of your style, Ms. Tremt, but I like your scarves.”

  “Thank you,” says Ms. Tremt. “So, what’s your final decision, then, your mom’s childhood home, 1991? That’s where you want to go?”

  Still playing along, I nod and say, “Yep, sure.”

  Ms. Tremt writes it down carefully in the unusual-looking Book of Memories. Her pen begins to glow oddly. The whole thing makes me feel like I’ve stumbled into one of my favorite sci-fi TV shows.

  Ethan grins at me. “When the pen glows, it means it’s working.”

  I watch as The Book of Memories begins to grow as large as pair of French doors. It must be some trick, like a projected image or something. That would be just like Ethan.

  “Seriously, this is the best prank anyone has ever played on me,” I tell him.

  “It’s not a prank,” he replies, but the grin is still on his face.

  Suddenly I look around and ask, “Are you filming this? Am I going to be on TV, like those hidden-camera shows? Awesome.”

  “You have three hours in the past,” says Ms. Tremt, talking right over me. “Ethan, you know how to return, right?”

  “The book will glow when we have a ten-minute warning. We write today’s date and time in the book and let it grow,” says Ethan, putting on a watch that Ms. Tremt gives him. “Then we step into the book and back into the present. But we must do it right then or we’ll be stuck in the past forever.”

  “And?” prompts Ms. Tremt.

  “And we need to watch out for other time travelers,” Ethan says, fiddling with the watch.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Right, very good.” Then Ms. Tremt says to me, “Don’t worry, dear. Everything will make sense . . . in due time.” She whispers, “Don’t forget your phone,” as she tucks the phone into my pocket.

  Ethan grabs my hand and yanks me forward in a flying leap into the book, shouting, “1991, here we come!”

  BOOMF!

  “Moo!”

  Is that my phone?

  “Moo!”

  Why am I all wet, and . . . smelly? And why can’t I see?

  “Moo!”

  I’ve got to answer my phone. Where is my phone? It could be my mom worried about getting home late tonight. And I’ve got to tell her I might be late because I’m doing that audition. There’s something slimy and rancid on my face, and I wipe at my eyes with my sleeve to clear them. I can’t imagine what this slime is, but it looks like . . . slop? Whatever it is, it’s gross.

  “Moo!”

  Where is my phone?

  Something licks my face. It feels like my dog, Sunny, only it’s a much bigger tongue. I’m finally able to look up and see . . . a cow. Yes, a real cow. Again. And it’s the cow that’s mooing insistently at me and not my phone.

  But what’s even weirder is that I’m lying on a broken fence, with slats of wood poking me in the back, and my shoulder is in a broken pig trough. A pig trough?

  I scream. Then I scream again.

  “Stop screaming!” Ethan whispers in my ear. He’s beside me, also half inside the trough, only I didn’t notice because he’s covered in the pig slop too. He looks and smells disgusting.

  “My head hurts,” he complains. “Why did Tremt have to drop us someplace so hard. A feather bed would have been nice. Or a trampoline.”

  “What are you talking about? Drop us? Why aren’t we on the bus to the farmers’ market?” I’m shrieking, but quietly, since he told me not to yell and I don’t want to upset the gigantic cow still inches from my face.

  “We’ve traveled to the past, Ava. We told you, like, fifteen times that that’s what we were going to do. And now we’re here. You’re going to love it. I promise.” He rubs his temples. “Although, seriously, I would have picked a more exciting place to travel back to than a farm. And how come you never told me your mom grew up in the Midwest?”

  “She didn’t. And who says we’re in the Midwest?”

  I look around, wondering if I should believe him. It does look like we’re on some sort of prairie. There’s nothing but blue skies, fields of tall grasses, and a large cornfield beside us. And, of course, the fence we’re lying on and a sod-covered stable beside it.

  “We didn’t time travel,” I say stubbornly. “I’ve never seen this field before in my life, and my mom grew up in Connecticut. This is not my grandparents’ house.”

  “Hmm, well, maybe we landed in the wrong place,” Ethan says. “Time travel is funny. Ms. Tremt told me it’s powered by positive energy, which is unpredictable and confusing . . . like that cow. Why does that cow love you so much?”

  The cow is licking my shoulder to get more of the slops. It’s being very gentle though, and when it pulls back to look me in the face, I swear its eyes are smiling. I give it a quick pat on the nose and it looks back at me lovingly. It’s got to be the same cow that was outside my house last night and in the library yesterday. And I have got to be dreaming.

  “Ethan, I want you to swear to me right now that this is really happening and we’re not on a hidden-camera show. Because if all this ends with me being very famous, then it’ll be worth it. But if not, I’m really, really mad.”

  “Don’t be mad! It’s not a show, though. We’re in the past, only I don’t know where.” Ethan stands up and offers me a hand. “Let’s look around. The sooner we figure things out, the better.”

  “We really destroyed this fence,” I say, rubbing my backside as I stand up. We landed right on the thing and brought down tw
o long sections. About a hundred yards away, I see a beautiful chestnut-brown horse grazing. The air smells like the sweet prairie grasses, and the ground is so flat it seems like I can see for miles. Only there’s nothing to see! Just prairie. Not a road. Not a sign. Nothing.

  There is a small wooden house a few hundred feet to our right. It looks more like a cabin really, with two windows roughly cut into the wood and tar paper instead of shingles on the roof. And beyond the house, closer to where the cornfields begin, is an old-timey plow.

  Something clicks.

  “Ethan,” I whisper. “I don’t think—”

  I’m cut off by the sound of a woman’s voice. Quickly Ethan and I duck behind the trough, even though it isn’t much of a cover.

  “Come here, chicky chickens,” says the voice. It sounds like it has a Scandinavian accent. I look around for the speaker, but she must be on the other side of the house. “Time for your feed,” she calls. Then I hear something being scattered around and lots of squawking.

  A minute later I see the woman walking into the house. Her hair is pinned up in a braid that’s wrapped around the crown of her head, and she’s in a long, old-timey calico dress and apron. She looks like she’s in a play.

  “Uh-oh,” says Ethan, hunching down further behind the trough. “This feels wrong.”

  “Yeah, you think? This isn’t Connecticut in 1991!”

  I look around some more, thinking. I study the old-timey laundry hanging on a clothesline. Then there’s the plow, which I recognize from a book. Then, through the open window of the house, I hear the woman call out, “Martha! Martha Pedersen, it’s time to husk the corn!”

  Martha Pedersen . . . did I really just hear that?

  My jaw drops, and Ethan turns to look at me. My mom has mentioned that name to me before. It’s my great-great-great grandmother.

  “Ethan!” I say, doing the math. “This isn’t 1991. It’s 1891! And we’re out in the prairies of Minnesota!”

  “No way! That’s awesome!”

  I start to shake my head and explain that uh, no, that is not awesome, when suddenly, I hear a man’s voice. He yells, “WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FENCE? LAURA, KIDS, COME OUT HERE AND LOOK AROUND—THERE MUST BE HORSE THIEVES NEARBY!”