Gimme a Call

by Sarah Mlynowski

  “Hey!”

  “Hi! I heard a certain someone asked for your number,” she sings. “Tell me everything! Has he called yet? Did he ask you out?”

  “He did!” I exclaim. He really did! He likes me! “How did you know?”

  “He called Joelle when we were still in the car. I called you two seconds later but I left a voice mail. I thought you would call me as soon as you spoke to him.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t hear it. And then, after I got off the phone, I was”—too busy drawing on my wall to amuse my future self—“tired.”

  “So how excited are you?” she squeals.

  “So excited,” I say. “Except I can’t go.” Boo.

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because …” Because my future self won’t let me go out with him. That probably sounds a bit on the crazy side. “I just …” Don’t want to go out with a no-good cheater? “I just don’t think I’m up for it tonight. I’m not feeling well.”

  “Oh, no! What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sick. Really sick. I think it’s the flu.”

  “Well. You don’t want to sneeze all over him. Grossness.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I guess that means you can’t come with me to the mall tomorrow?”

  “Oh, um …” Boooooooo. “Guess not.”

  “Yeah, you should probably rest up,” she says.

  As we hang up, I wonder why I just lied to Karin. Is this how the friend breakup starts? With a lie? Is this why we’re no longer friends? Not that I had a choice.

  I take a deep breath. Next, Bryan. I don’t want to call him. Maybe I should just text him instead. Yes! Then I don’t have to talk to him.

  Hi Bryan! So sorry! Can’t make it tonight. I’m sick. Really sorry. I’ll see you at school! Devi

  Done.

  I try calling my number to see if this magic cell phone thing works both ways, but it just goes straight to my voice mail. My freshman voice mail.

  Guess not.

  I leave my cell on my desk and head downstairs to get a glass of juice. Maybe the vitamin C will improve my spirits in addition to my fake cold. I don’t know why I feel sad. Bryan hasn’t cheated on me yet. I barely even know him.

  But now I never will.

  chapter nine

  Saturday, May 24 Senior Year

  “So what’s going to happen with prom?” Mom asks me from her seat on the couch.

  My back tenses as I open the cupboard. “I’m not going.”

  She pauses Best Chef and turns to look at me. “At all?”

  “At all,” I say. Instead of looking at her, I take down a glass.

  “But what about your dress?” she asks.

  A short red prom dress is hanging in my closet. Bryan loved me in red. He thought it made me look sexy. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll return it.”

  “You can’t return special-occasion dresses,” she says. “Is Bryan still going?”

  “He better not be. He wanted us to go as friends but he can forget it. He doesn’t get to rip my heart into a trillion pieces and then pop the champagne with me. Let him sit home and be miserable. Like me.”

  She makes a sad face and then lifts her arms in the air, wanting to give me a hug. “Oh, honey.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom.” Or I would be if Freshman Me would just do what she’s supposed to.

  “It’s still two weeks away. Can you go with someone else? Or maybe with some girlfriends?”

  If only I had someone else to go with. If only I had other friends. Although, if I did have other friends, then I’d be with them right now instead of hanging with my mom. “Not a big deal.” I turn on the faucet.

  And that’s when it happens.

  The heart bracelet on my arm disappears. One second it’s resting comfortably on my wrist, and the next second it’s … gone.

  “My bracelet!” I shriek.

  “What bracelet?” my mom asks.

  “The one that Bryan got me!” Did it just fall down the drain? I turn the water off and try to spot it.

  “Bryan who?” she asks.

  “Bryan-Bryan,” I say, sticking my fingers inside.

  Mom comes over to me. “Who’s Bryan? Have I met him?”

  My fingers freeze. Huh? My mom doesn’t know who Bryan is?

  Wait. The bracelet he got me is gone. My mom seems to have forgotten he exists. Does this mean what I think it means? I look up at my mom. “You really don’t know who Bryan is?”

  She scrunches her forehead. “Not that I can remember. Is he a friend of yours?”

  Oh. My. God. Freshman Me did it. She canceled her plans with Bryan. They’re not going out tonight. They never go out. We never go out. There is no bracelet. My mom doesn’t know who Bryan is. “You’ve really never met him?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” she says, frowning.

  Holy time warp. “I need to make a call.” I hurry up to my room to call Freshman Me. “You did it!” I tell her as soon as she answers. “You rock! My bracelet is gone! And Mom has no memory of Bryan. None. Isn’t that crazy? I still remember him, but she has no idea!” I twirl in place, around and around and around. I stop only when I spot the photo. The Halloween picture. Or what was previously the Halloween picture and is now a close-up of Karin, Tash, Joelle, and me—with braces—laughing. We’re standing in a driveway. Joelle’s arms are outstretched, like she took the shot herself. “The last picture of Bryan is gone too! I think the one here now is of you guys last night at Celia’s! It worked. You got rid of him!”

  “So that’s it?” she asks softly.

  I examine the picture to make sure. “Yes. Well done. I’m so proud of you. Of us. We did it! We got rid of Bryan forever!”

  “That sounds kind of long.”

  No Bryan. No Bryan. I shiver. Who am I without Bryan? “Oh, no,” I say, seeing the wall in front of my bed. My bare wall. Bare arm and bare wall.

  “What?” she asks with a twinge of hope in her voice. “He’s still there?”

  “No, it’s not that,” I say. “It’s my TV. It’s gone too.”

  “What TV? The one in the living room?”

  “No, the TV in my room.” TV—gone. Bryan—gone.

  “When did we get a TV in our room?”

  “Forget it.” I shake away the weird Bryan-is-gone twinges. “Not important. What’s important is that we got rid of Bryan.” I glance back at the picture. “A little piece of advice for the notebook? In the future, you should not wear that lipstick with your braces. It looks ridiculous. In fact, you probably shouldn’t wear any lipstick. I’d focus on eyeliner if I were you. Which I am.”

  “I thought it looked good,” she squeaks.

  “Well, it doesn’t. Sorry, Freshman Me.”

  “Don’t call me Freshman Me. It’s confusing. Call me Devi.”

  “That’s confusing,” I tell her. “I’m Devi. Why don’t I call you Devorah and I can be Devi?”

  “No way,” she says. “I don’t want to be Devorah. That’s what Mom and Dad call us when they’re mad.”

  “Then I’ll be Senior and you can be—”

  “Junior?”

  “I was going to say Frosh.”

  “Frosh,” she repeats. “I like it. I don’t like Senior, though.”

  “Seniorita?”

  “No.”

  “Elder?”

  She laughs. “No.”

  “Genius?” I ask, smiling. “Oh, I know! I’ll be Ivy.”

  “I want to be Ivy too!” she says jealously. “I love the name Ivy!”

  “So do I. But we can’t both be Ivy. That’s the whole point. And I called it first.” Technically, I get everything first. And I know everything first. I know everything that is going to happen to her for the next three and a half years.

  I know everything that will happen to everyone for the next three and a half years.

  Or everything that was supposed to happen. Until I intervened.

  Oh. My. God. If I can stop Bryan and me from
dating, I can stop other bad things from happening too. I can fix the entire world. I need to think. To brainstorm. I need a list. “Frosh, I need to call you back,” I tell her.

  As soon as I hang up, I pull the tattered green notebook out of the drawer, my heart pounding. Frosh’s list doesn’t have to just be about Bryan and my lost retainer. I can tell Frosh all the bad things that have happened in the world since I was a freshman, and she can stop them from taking place. She can fix them. I’m a modern superhero, rushing over to save the day! I’m Future Girl! All I need is a cape.

  I flip to the last page of the notebook and try to think of some of the bad stuff that’s gone down in the last three and a half years. I should start with big things. Like wars and famines and hurricanes. And then I’ll move on to more specific bad stuff. Like last year when Janice Michael’s little brother ate a peanut remnant and had an allergic reaction and fell into a coma. Or last summer when that guy a year ahead of me, Kyle Borster, got drunk, got behind the wheel of his car, and hit a bus, sending three people to the hospital. When Joelle left the water running in the bathtub and flooded her basement. When Karin stopped eating.

  Or when my dad got laid off from his job and we lost our health insurance. Maya had to get a job to pay for school because her scholarship wasn’t enough, and I got a summer job at Bella, and Mom had to get a job at Intralearn.

  It’s going to be a long list. But maybe I should leave off the one about Dad. For now, at least. Why should she worry when there’s nothing she can do? How could she stop it? Tell Dad not to go to work on firing day?

  I spend the rest of the day hunched over the notebook, writing. I can’t believe how many sucky things have happened over the last three and a half years. I keep at it until my stomach starts to grumble and I notice that it’s gotten dark outside. I stretch my arms in front of me.

  Twinkle.

  Huh? I grab hold of my arm and stare. The gold bracelet is back on my wrist. What the heck?

  I push my chair back and grab the picture frame. The bad lipstick with braces—gone. Which would be good, except that Tash, Karin, and Joelle are also gone. Bryan and I are back in our Halloween costumes, fangs glistening at the camera.

  chapter ten

  Saturday, September 10 Freshman Year

  Through the peephole, I see Bryan in faded jeans and an untucked green shirt, standing at my front door, holding a container of … soup.

  My heart flips. Omigod. He’s here. To see me. With soup. Is that not the sweetest thing ever? What should I do? I know that Senior Me—er, Ivy—would want me to send him away, but … how can I possibly turn away a guy who brings me soup? A hot guy who brings me hot soup.

  I pull open the door. “Hi!”

  “Hey,” he says, the tips of his cheeks turning red. “How are you feeling?”

  Right. I cough. Twice. “I’m okay. Come in!” He follows me inside and sits down beside me on the couch. “I brought you chicken soup.” He holds up the plastic container. “Dorky, I know, but I need you feeling better for next weekend.”

  “That is so nice,” I say. He could not be any cuter. I mean, really. He hands me the container. I’m not sure what to do, so I take it and place it on a magazine on the coffee table.

  “So can we do something next weekend? See a movie maybe?”

  Yes! I mean, no. “Yes,” I say. Definitely yes. I can’t turn Bryan down. I just can’t. I don’t want to.

  He gives me a big dimpled smile. “Superb.”

  My cell begins to ring from my bedroom. I ignore it. “So how’s your weekend going?” I ask.

  “Uneventful. Played some ball today.”

  The cell rings again. And again. La, la, la, I can’t hear it. When it finally stops, I unclench my shoulders.

  Then I hear, “Hello, Devi’s phone.”

  Omigod. My mom just answered my cell. My mother. Just answered. My cell. “Mom, don’t!” I scream, but of course it’s too late. What does it mean that she answered? Did she recognize my older voice?

  “Devi,” my mom says, coming down the stairs holding up my phone, a puzzled look in her eye. “It’s someone named … Ivy? Or Ivan maybe? I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. But she—or he—says it’s urgent. Asked if you were talking to a boy, but I told her you weren’t. Oh.” She comes to a halt behind the couch when she spots Bryan. “I didn’t know you had a friend over.”

  I grab the phone from her hand and hold it behind my back. “Mom, this is my friend Bryan.”

  Bryan stands up and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Banks.”

  Mom smiles and shakes his hand. “Can I get you something to drink or eat? I just made apple brownies.”

  “That sounds delicious. Thank you.”

  Mom disappears into the kitchen and I pick up the phone and press it to my ear. “Can you call back later?” I ask. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

  “You don’t say,” she growls. “The bracelet is back on my wrist. The picture is back in its frame. You screwed everything up!”

  “But I—I—”

  “Tell Bryan to get lost!”

  “But I don’t want to.” I want him to stay. I want to go out with him. I want to see a movie with him!

  “Tell him he’s a jerk!” she screams in my ear.

  I turn around so my back is to him. “He brought me chicken soup,” I whisper.

  “Spill it over his head!” she yells.

  I press the phone more tightly against my ear so that he won’t hear. “I don’t want to. I want to go out with him,” I whisper again.

  “Frosh,” she says, her voice shaking, “you have to listen to me. Don’t waste three and a half years with him. You have so many more important things to do with your time. Don’t let him ruin your life.”

  “But—”

  “He breaks your heart,” Ivy continues urgently. “You have to trust me.”

  My eyes feel hot. I don’t want to send him away, but what can I do? How can I not trust my future self? “Fiiiiine,” I grumble, and then hang up the phone and drop it onto the coffee table. I turn back to Bryan.

  “I’m so sorry, Bryan.” Now what? I take a deep breath. “I’m not really sick.”

  His forehead wrinkles. “You’re not?”

  “No. It’s just that …” My future self won’t let me go out with you? Um, no. “I have a boyfriend.” Yes! I have a boyfriend. He can’t argue with that, plus it won’t hurt his feelings.

  He steps back. “I didn’t know.”

  My heart sinks. I know I shouldn’t care what he thinks or feels, but I do. I want him to smile again! I miss the dimply smile! “I should have told you. You caught me by surprise when you asked me out and … well … I’m sorry.”

  The cell rings again. I ignore it.

  He cocks his head to the side. “Does that mean you don’t want the soup? It’s not homemade or anything, but it’s still good.”

  “I’m glad it’s not homemade,” I tell him. “Then I’d feel really bad.”

  He laughs. “Store-bought, I swear.”

  “Phewf.” I smile. “I am really sorry.”

  “I get it. No problem.” Bryan starts walking to the foyer.

  Mom peeks out from the kitchen. “Leaving already? Don’t you want an apple brownie?”

  “You should have an apple brownie,” I say. It’s the least I can offer.

  “In exchange for the soup?” he asks.

  “Sure. It’s homemade,” I tell him. “My mom’s secret recipe.”

  “I’d love one, thank you. But I’m actually on my way out. I was just stopping by.” He turns to me, biting the bottom of his lower lip. “So, I’ll see you at school?”

  “Yup. Monday it is.”

  “Where are you off to?” my mom asks.

  Yeah, Bryan, where are you off to?

  “Just bowling,” he says.

  My stomach free-falls. Who’s he going bowling with? Is he cheating on me already?

  “I’ll pack you one for the road,
” my mom says, disappearing back into the kitchen.

  “I may have to share it with the guys, though,” he adds.

  Oh, good. Guys. Not that it matters.

  Mom returns with a brown paper lunch bag stuffed with goodies, hands it to him, and winks. “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure I will. Enjoy the soup,” he tells me.

  “Good night,” I say, swallowing the brownie-sized lump in my throat. As I close the door behind him, my phone immediately starts ringing again. “He’s gone, okay?” I snap.

  “I know! The picture and gold bracelet are gone too. Did you spill the soup on him?”

  “No, I did not. Mom gave him brownies.” I put the container of soup into the fridge.

  “Not her apple brownies! I loved her apple brownies. She never makes them anymore. I can’t believe she wasted her brownies on him. Have another one for me?”

  I take another brownie.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” Mom asks me.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. Then I yawn. Loudly. This whole day has exhausted me. “Ivy, do you mind if we hang up now that the Bryan issue is taken care of? I’m tired and I can’t really watch and talk at the same time.”

  “Yeah, yeah, go relax. You deserve it. Oh, and, Frosh, in the future—” She laughs. “In your future, I mean, don’t leave your phone lying around. I had to mask my voice when Mom answered or she would have known something was up for sure.”

  “Right. Sorry about that.”

  “And don’t tell Mom about me. Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” I say.

  “I think it’s better to keep it HC for now, no? Look how freaked out you got. The wish was that I could speak to you. Not to everyone in the past. I don’t want to risk messing things up.”

  “Wait—what’s HC?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Is that a new expression?”

  “It means ‘highly classified.’”

  “Oh. Cool.” Scarlet T, HC … I can start a dictionary of the future.

  “Just don’t tell anyone,” she says. “I won’t either. It’ll be our secret.”

  “Okay.” I switch the phone to my other ear. “So what happens now?”

  “What do you mean?”