T-shirts advertised every product and cause under the sun, including a new graduating class. The first student to bring Michelle a note from a parent sported a tee that read GO TO HELL, WORLD. I'M A SENIOR! His politically incorrect cousin, 80-PROOF AND PROUD, came to the window five minutes later. Each of the cheerful young men planned to begin their last year of public education with morning dental appointments.
The attendance secretary was similarly struck by what she didn't see, such as tattoos, nose rings, knee-length shorts, and baggy pants. She also didn't see smart phones, iPods, and MP3 players. Boom boxes took their place and trumpeted their arrival with anthems like "Highway to Hell," "Rock 'N' Roll Fantasy," and "I Want You to Want Me."
Michelle saw many things on her first day of work, most notably people she hadn't seen in their youthful prime for a very long time. She saw Ellen Price stuff her lunch in her locker, Nancy Bailey wave to a friend, and Heidi Harrison flirt with a foreign exchange student. She had forgotten about André Moreau, lately of Lyons. But there he was in all his Gallic glory.
Michelle even saw Cass Stevens strut down the hall. She held a book in one hand and Jimmy Grant's ass in the other. But the perky cowgirl, dressed in Wranglers and an embroidered shirt, paid no heed to the woman who would never get her two-for-one shots at the Cattle Club. Nor did Scott Richardson when he made his cameo appearance moments later, just before the first bell. Laughing at a crude joke with another football player, he did not even glance at the attendance office, much less its new manager, as he walked past the window.
Michelle reacted to the sight of her one-time boyfriend with mixed emotions. She could readily see why she had fallen for him as a high school girl. Tall and chiseled with wavy brown hair, he was handsome as hell and undoubtedly still the smartest person in every room. But the crude joke reminded her that Scott could also be callous and mean. She did not find that appealing at all and wondered why she had failed to see, or at least acknowledge, that side of him in her first run through 1979.
A few minutes later the halls emptied, first period began, and Michelle tried to make sense of a pile of paperwork. John Ramsey, the metal shop teacher, greeted her warmly as he returned from a meeting with the principal. He had not been the only faculty member to pass through the neighborhood. Desmond Miller had done so shortly after Michelle had set up shop. He had asked if she played an instrument. A community orchestra met on Thursdays. Science teacher Ross Anthony had also said hello, as had Robert Land and foreign language instructors Jack Williams and Thomas Davenport. Male callers had outnumbered females three to one even though they represented barely a third of the faculty.
When the second-period bell rang at nine, Michelle withdrew to her desk, sat down, and tallied ten notes from parents. Some were creative. One mother wrote that her son had volunteered at a soup kitchen and had lost track of time. Two were typewritten. Most offered excuses that Michelle had used at least once as a student. She laughed at the thought of someone arriving late on the first day of school until she remembered that she had done just that as a senior. Suddenly, the notion didn't seem funny. It seemed even less hilarious when she got out of her chair, faced the attendance window, and saw a petite brunette stare at her with piercing blue eyes.
"I'm late. I know it," the girl said. "I'm just here to manage the damage."
Michelle stared at the youth for what seemed like an eternity before pulling herself together and walking to the window.
"Do you have a written excuse from a parent?"
"No. But I do have a note I forged in the parking lot."
Michelle bit her lip and held back a laugh. The girl had game.
The clerk picked up the slip the student had placed on the counter and gave it a look.
"It says here you have the Hong Kong flu."
"I slept in."
Both women laughed.
"What did you miss?"
"English."
"Mrs. Powell?"
"Mrs. Powell."
"Well, I'll tell you what, Miss . . ."
"Preston. Shelly."
"Well, I'll tell you what, Miss Shelly Preston. If you promise to bring me a better note and a better story the next time you're tardy, I'll accept this today."
"Are you kidding?" Shelly asked. Her eyes grew wide.
"No. I am not."
"Wow. Mrs. Wainwright would have never done that."
"I'm not Mrs. Wainwright." Michelle grinned. "I'm Miss Jennings."
Shelly stuffed a few items in a zippered notebook and then looked back at the secretary.
"Thank you, Miss Jennings. You're a lifesaver. You have no idea how crazy my mother gets over stuff like this."
Michelle laughed.
But I do, Shelly Preston. I do.
CHAPTER 12: SHELLY
Monday, September 10, 1979
Shelly shook the transparent sphere, placed it next to a greeting card on a picnic table, and watched the weather change in New York. She looked at her friend and raised an eyebrow.
"A snow globe?"
"I knew you'd like it," April said as an impish grin swept over her face. "You've always wanted to shake up Manhattan, and now you can!"
Brian spit out his milk and laughed. He wiped his mouth and turned to the comic.
"Will you stop it? I'm trying to finish my lunch."
"I'm sorry, Brian," April said, lifting her nose. "But today is an important milestone in the life of Irene. She's turning eighteen and I need to set the proper mood."
Brian smiled and shook his head. He downed what remained in his half-pint carton of milk, grabbed a plastic bag off the ground, and placed it atop the table, one of ten in a courtyard on the sunny backside of Unionville High School. He pulled a thick book out of the bag and pushed it toward the brunette in the tight designer jeans and pink blouse.
"I got you something too," he said. "Happy birthday, Shelly."
Shelly picked up the book, a hardbound edition of Writer's Market, and thumbed through a few of its pages before setting it to the side.
"Thank you, Brian. That was sweet."
Shelly Preston beamed as she looked at her two dearest friends.
April Burke never failed to disappoint at times like this. Smart, witty, and mischievous, she was the life of every party and the one person in the world who could pull her out of any funk. The product of an Irish father and a Native American mother, she had been a part of Shelly's life since moving to Unionville in the third grade.
Brian Johnson had been around even longer. He had been Shelly's friend since infancy. Brian was goofy, studious, and socially inept. But the lanky, bespectacled boy next door had a heart of gold and was someone she could always count on in a crunch.
"Do you have any plans for tonight?" April asked. Her grin returned. "Tonight is Ladies Night at the Full Rack. The 'Studded Tires' roll at eight."
Located ten miles from town near a freeway exit, the Full Rack served the best steak dinners in the county and offered a variety of adult entertainment.
"I would love to go," Shelly said, laughing. "We would have a freaking blast. But I could never pull that off on a school night and definitely not on my birthday – not in a million years. Nope. It will be cake and ice cream with Fred and Evelyn, like every year. If I'm lucky, my folks will let me watch Monday Night Football at Scott's."
"OK, Miss Shelly Irene. I'll take a rain check," April said. She pouted, turned her head, and smiled again. "Maybe I can take Brian. He needs a little excitement."
"Why would I want to see naked men?"
Both girls laughed.
"Come now, Brian. Live a little!" Shelly said. "What else do you have to do?"
"I have to work, remember?"
"Oh, that's right."
Shelly had forgotten that she had switched shifts with Brian to free up her birthday night, just in case something better than cake and ice cream came along. Each worked three evenings a week at Holiday Lanes, a bowling alley on the west end of town, where they operated
the cash register, checked out shoes, and manned the concession stand when the regular took a break.
The birthday girl smiled softly at Brian.
"Don't be so glum. You'll probably have more fun than I do tonight."
"I doubt it, but I'll try," Brian said. He grabbed his milk carton and a crumpled brown paper bag, threw them in a nearby trashcan, and stood up. "See you around, ladies. I have a science project to work on."
"See you, Brian. Thanks again for the book."
"Don't mention it," he said as he walked away.
"I should probably go too." April brushed crumbs off the table and loaded two books in a bag. "I want to soak up more of this sun, but I've got work of my own to complete."
Shelly lifted her head as April stood up and stepped behind the bench she had shared with Brian. She grabbed her friend's hand and smiled.
"Thanks for the snow globe. You're the best."
"You are too," April said. "Happy birthday, Shelly. I'll call you tonight."
Shelly watched her classmate disappear into the school building and then turned to a tuna sandwich she had barely touched. She popped the top of a can of cola, took a sip, and stared past the edge of the courtyard to the student parking lot, near the river, where a boy she knew climbed into a Plymouth Barracuda and drove off. She did not notice a woman staring at her.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" Michelle Jennings asked.
"Not at all," Shelly said. "I should probably be heading to class."
"You can stay if you'd like. I don't mind."
Shelly shrugged.
"OK."
Michelle put an orange tray bearing a hot lunch on top of the table and took a seat. Once settled, she grabbed a fork and tore into the chef's surprise, an unfortunate union of ground beef, tomatoes, and macaroni that was probably the rage in Eastern Europe.
"It's nice out here," Michelle said. "This courtyard's perfect."
"Better than the faculty lounge?"
"Better than the faculty lounge."
Shelly studied the newcomer for a few seconds and chuckled.
"Do you know you look just like my mother?"
"I do?"
"You could be twins," Shelly said. "She wears her hair differently and puts on more makeup, but that's about it. You look just like her. You even have the same last name, or what used to be her last name."
"Is that so? She sounds like someone I should meet."
"Oh, you'll meet her sooner or later. She runs the PTA and just about everything else in this town. She'll probably stop in later this week to make sure you're doing your job correctly."
Michelle laughed.
"She can't be that bad."
"She's not, most of the time. But she likes to micromanage as a hobby."
Shelly took a bite of her sandwich and washed it down with a swig of cola. She looked at the woman who looked like her mother and smiled.
"Thanks for what you did the other day. That was so cool."
"Don't mention it."
"Won't you get in trouble doing stuff like that?"
"Probably. But that's OK. I think young people deserve a break once in a while."
Michelle picked up the snow globe, held it up to the light, and then returned it to the table.
"Looks like it's snowing in New York."
"It's a present from my friend April. It's my birthday today."
"What a coincidence," Michelle said. "I turned forty-nine today."
"No way."
"Yes way."
Shelly swallowed another bite of tuna and rye and scrutinized the woman in the blue dress.
Let me get this straight, lady. You look like my mom, you're the same age as my mom, you have her maiden name, and now you have my birthday?
Shelly scanned the faces of twenty or so students and faculty who sat at other tables, but she didn't see any telltale smiles. If this were a joke or a new episode of Candid Camera, the clues were not obvious. Still, this encounter was beginning to get weird.
She finished her sandwich, took another sip, and started to gather her things when she noticed that she could not find the card from April. She flipped through the pages of Writers Market but found nothing but listings of agents and publishers.
"Looking for this?" Michelle asked. "I found it on the ground. It must have fallen to the side when I plopped my lunch on the table."
Michelle handed Shelly the envelope containing the card and returned to her meal.
"Thanks," Shelly said.
"Who's Irene?" Michelle asked.
My evil twin.
"That would be me," Shelly said. She tucked the envelope inside the book. "Irene is my middle name. I loathe it and April knows it. She calls me Irene to get under my skin."
"That's what friends are for," Michelle said cheerily. "I'm sure she means well. And Irene's not such a bad name. I'm sure it will grow on you."
"Speak for yourself. It makes me think of old ladies with thick ankles who sell cosmetics door to door."
Michelle laughed.
Shelly smiled at the sight. Perhaps this wasn't so weird, after all.
"I guess it's not that bad," Shelly said. She got up from the table and picked up her belongings. "But I do wish my parents had been more creative. Anyway, I should probably get going or I'll be late for class. It was nice seeing you again, Miss Jennings."
"You too."
Shelly began to walk away. But she stopped when the principal approached the table from the other side and addressed the attendance secretary by name.
"Hello, Michelle. I've been looking for you," Wayne Dennison said. "There's a project that needs your attention and I want you to start on it as soon as possible. We have to get a couple of hundred letters in the mail before the end of the day. We have a chance to raise some funds for the speech and debate teams. Marsha can fill you in."
"I'll get right on it," she said. "I'm just finishing up."
"Wonderful. I'll see you back at the office."
Dennison did not acknowledge Shelly. He instead spun around and walked out of the courtyard the way he came in, stopping only to greet a social studies teacher on his way out.
Shelly turned to face her new acquaintance. She watched her take another bite of Hungarian goulash, or whatever occupied her plate, and put her silverware and glass on her tray before she stepped away from the table and glanced in her direction.
"You're still here?" Miss Jennings asked. "I thought you went to class."
Shelly stared at the woman as if in a daze and addressed her in a barely audible voice.
"Your name is Michelle?"
Michelle smiled and nodded.
CHAPTER 13: MICHELLE
Tuesday, September 18, 1979
Michelle watched raindrops collect on a window in the faculty lounge as she pondered eight days of silence. Shelly Preston had not said a single word to her since their enlightening lunch the previous week. She had not even said hello. She clearly wanted nothing to do with the lady who looked like her mom and had cornered the market on family names and birthdays and Michelle just as clearly knew why. She had overstepped her bounds.
She had replayed the encounter several times in her head over the past week and had itemized her mistakes. She should have exercised patience and tact and let things develop naturally. She should have offered information in drops and not buckets. She should have considered another meeting venue. She should have let the poor girl enjoy the start of her senior year.
The time traveler wanted nothing more than to make amends or at least share her frustration with someone who would listen and not report her to men in white coats. But who could possibly appreciate her situation? Allowing her mind to drift, she thought of the house on the hill and the family that had once called it home. Where was Roger Franklin at this hour? Had he found himself in the forties, just as his younger self was plowing through grade school and navigating the uncharted waters of childhood? Or had he and his family suffered a more distressing fate?
&nb
sp; Michelle did not belong here. She did not want to be here. But returning to the comfortable, familiar environs of 2010 was apparently not an option. She would have to make the best of a bad situation and hopefully not make a mess of things as she went along.
"Depressing, isn't it?"
Michelle turned away from the window and saw Robert Land stand a few feet away with a cup of coffee in his hand. Dressed in brown slacks and a rumpled short-sleeved shirt, with a pair of pens protruding from a pocket, he looked every bit the tenured math instructor.
"It's not supposed to rain like this until the end of October," he said. "Yet there it is. Practice will be fun today."
"I'll bet," Michelle said.
"Do you mind if I join you?"
"No. I'd love to have company. Take a seat."
As Robert pulled up a plastic chair, Michelle surveyed the lounge and found it surprisingly free of faculty. Except for Brenda Brown, no one else occupied the room. The young library assistant sat at a table in back, near the pop machine, where she sipped a soda and flipped through the pages of a fashion magazine.
"Shouldn't you be in class?" Michelle asked.
"Not this hour," Robert said. "Sixth period is my daily respite from lines and numbers."
Michelle laughed.
"Don't you like teaching math?"
"I love it, as a matter of fact. I enjoy working with the tried and true, and I enjoy imparting knowledge that students will use the rest of their lives. But I also like coffee breaks."
Robert stirred his drink, looked across the table, and resumed the conversation.
"What about you? Do you like working in a school?"
Michelle smiled as she thought of the many answers to that question.
"I love being around kids. I never had any of my own, so this is a real rush."
Robert nodded and returned to his coffee. He glanced at the floor and then the window. Rain struck the glass like busy fingers tapping on a table.
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