by Lydia Sharp
And that can’t happen if I don’t get myself together and get moving.
My eyes aren’t dry and burning this time. She likes when I wear contacts. Yes, I can do that for her. One of my eyes is discolored and bloodshot, but it’s the thought that counts, right? I step into the hall to cross from my room to the bathroom, and Shayla bumps into me.
Let me guess, she wants to dance?
“Look at you all fancy!” she squeals, but then she sees my face and it’s like watching someone receive news that their dog died. “What happened—”
“Nothing, it’s fine.”
“Then let’s dance.” She grabs my hands.
I indulge her because I made her mad last time and I haven’t done anything real with her in days, even if in her mind she just saw me this afternoon—but only for a moment. I have to get out of here. Melody and Lucy are both counting on me, though they don’t know it yet. Satisfied with our impromptu hallway dance, Shayla thunders off again, a human tornado on a mission to who knows what. Okay, what was I doing?
Contacts, in. Eye drops, in. I’m dressed. Lucy has the tickets. What’s left? Keys.
After I run into my room to grab them and turn to leave again, Mom stops me at the doorway. “Let me dab that stain a little.” She sprays. She dabs. She grunts. “Maybe just keep your jacket on.”
“Will do. Gotta run.” I kiss the top of her head.
And then Mama shows up with her phone held high. “Can I get a picture before you— What happened to your eye?”
Sigh. I’d better get used to this question tonight. “Nothing to worry about. It doesn’t even hurt.” And I’ve lived this twice before now; you’d think I would remember her photo shoot was coming.
“Okay.” Mama frowns at her phone. “Oh, I already have some pictures. Never mind.”
Huh. That’s new …
Mom peeks at the phone. “Ooh, those are nice! Looks like you had a fun photo shoot without me.” She pouts at me, then looks at the phone again. “Wait … your eye looks normal in these? When did you … ?”
I stare back and forth between them, trying to think on my feet. That’s what I do. That’s what I’m good at—improvising, going with the flow. Making things work when the unexpected happens. But right now, absolutely no plausible explanation I can offer, real or fake, is coming to mind. Everything is supposed to reset, not carry over from night to night. And those pictures aren’t even from last night; she took them on the first night, the original night. Same with the Taco Bell stain. So … some of this stuff is sticking—which is strange enough by itself—but not every time?
And I won’t know what will stick or not stick until it either happens or doesn’t happen. This could get interesting.
“Go on, JJ,” Mama says. “Don’t keep Lucy waiting. You know how she is.”
“Yeah, I know how she …” Wait, this is backward. I said You know how she is the last two times—I think?—and then they said—Stop, it doesn’t matter who said what. I need to go. Things will be different this time. It’ll be better. I’m making sure of it.
I can still have a fun senior prom, even with a black eye and a stained tux. I can still have the night of my life.
Mom opens her mouth to add something, but I say it before she can, spouting off all the “going out” rules as I rush down the hall and downstairs.
“Remember to get a picture of you and Lucy together!” she shouts after me.
Oh, right, I did forget to do that yesterday—the second today? I’ve got to start keeping track of these, and numbers will be the easiest way. Numbers are always logical and make sense. Numbers will keep me focused in all this. So tonight is number three. And as Mama likes to say, third time’s a charm.
My third approach toward Dead Man’s Curve on the third attempt of the same night, I turn onto Huffman Road after letting a cream-colored black-top convertible Volkswagen Beetle pass at the intersection. That’s Melody. I got here early. She’s driving a little over the speed limit, and I keep a few car lengths between us because I know she’s about to have an incident. Even at this distance, I can see her head bebopping to whatever’s playing on her radio. She has no idea what’s coming.
Her brake lights glow red as she approaches the curve, and even though I know she isn’t going to crash or get hurt, I squeeze my steering wheel and wring my hands over it, wishing I was blissfully ignorant of the next few seconds. My heart beats faster, harder.
“It’s okay, Mel. You’re gonna be fine.” I already called AAA right before leaving my house. The tow is on its way. She’s gonna be fine.
She dips out of view on the downward curve, so I don’t see what happens next. I hear it.
BOOM. Like a bomb going off. And then immediately after, tires screeching to a halt.
When I get to the bottom of the curve, she’s lifting up the hood. Smoke billows out, but the breeze quickly clears it. I pull up alongside her car and open my passenger-side window.
“You okay? That sounded like an explosion.”
“I’m fine,” she says without looking at me. “Thanks for checking, but I got this.”
“If your engine blew, you’re gonna need a tow.”
“Might not be that serious …” She starts tinkering with stuff under the hood, then goes to the trunk and pulls out an armful of random objects, including a yellow plastic funnel. “I can handle this,” she says, passing me on her way back to the front of her car. “You can go now.”
“Would you mind if I waited until you’re all set? Just in case you might need something. I’ll stay in my car. Okay?”
“That isn’t necessary,” she says.
“It’s also not a problem,” I counter.
She sighs, still focused under the hood. “Fine, if you’ve got time to waste. Do whatever.”
That’s as close to a yes as I’m going to get from her. I pull my car alongside the ditch to park in front of her, and my phone chimes with a text.
Lucy: On your way yet?
I tell her yes, I’ll just be a little late. Emphasis on little. Then I text Jenna and kindly suggest she get a ride from Autumn Mitchell because I heard she rented a limo—have fun with that and I’ll see you there!
Jenna: Okie dokie
Am I forgetting anything? I check on Melody through my rearview mirror. Her Creamsicle dress billows in my side vision, and I turn my head to see her crossing the road, chasing the funnel. Everything is happening the same way so far, nothing’s changed. My tow will be here in a few minutes and then the night can move on as planned.
I’ve got this figured out now. I’m not going to miss my prom again.
Melody sits in her car. She leaves the driver’s side door open and sits with her legs hanging out. She’s texting someone. Probably to tell them she’s running late. She did the same thing on night one, while we were sitting in my car together, getting to know each other. Discussing her theories on the nonexistence of time. The back of my throat tightens. Am I ever going to have that version of her again?
It’s only been a couple of minutes, but I’m starting to doze off. I just realized—I haven’t actually slept in three days? But they weren’t full days, so … I don’t know … maybe a day and … a half …
Flashing amber lights jolt me awake. The tow truck. I straighten and stretch, as well as a six-foot person can inside a Honda Civic, and blink a few times rapidly, letting my contacts readjust. My eyes are drying out already, so I press them closed for a second. When I open them again, the service woman exits the truck and approaches my car, so I get out.
“Someone call for a tow?” she says.
“Yeah, over here,” Melody says, but then she looks confused. “You’re not from the place I called.”
“I called this tow,” I tell her, “but that was for you. I knew they’d come quicker than anyone else. Don’t worry about paying, either, it’s fine. On my parents’ account. They don’t mind me helping people. They actually encourage it.” I’m rambling—because I’m worried. What i
f tonight doesn’t go as well with her simply because everything was handled quickly? What if we don’t become friends simply because we didn’t have time to form a connection?
“Oh.” She smiles slightly, then shrugs even slighter. “Thanks.”
“It’s JJ.”
“Okay. Thanks, JJ.” She starts talking to the service woman, leading her to her car.
She thinks I’m a stranger. Why do I have to give up the good I had with Melody to make sure nothing bad happens to Lucy? Why is Melody’s friendship the price I have to pay for keeping Lucy in my life? How is that fair to any of us?
They finish with her car and I watch it get hooked up behind the tow. It’s just starting to get dark now, and the sunset … whoa. The sunset has looked different every night. The same mix of colors with the same intense vibrancy, but strewn across the sky in a slightly different array. Does that mean the days are actually different, even though they’re not? So far I’d only been thinking about how this time loop has affected me personally, but now my astronomy brain can’t help but wonder how it’s affecting the solar system. The sun, the way the world spins to create night and day in the first place. The whole universe.
“You giving her a ride home?” the service woman asks me. “Or … where are you two going, anyway?”
“Prom,” I say at the same time Melody says, “Nowhere together. I don’t know him.”
“I can give you a ride, it’s not a problem. I’m already on my way to pick up my friend for our prom.” I pull out my phone and flash her a few pictures of me and Lucy. “We can get her and then drop you off at your prom—I assume that’s where you’re going, but I’ve never seen you at my school before—then we’ll never have to see or hear from each other again. If that’s what you want. Totally up to you. But it’s gotta be better than riding in a tow truck, right?” I shoot the service woman an apologetic glance. “No offense.”
Melody looks away from both of us, staring quietly at her car, hitched up and useless, her brows pinched in a way that clearly indicates her mind is loud with thought even if her mouth is shut. And so is mine. There are so many things I want to say to her that I can’t.
At our continued silence, the service woman hops up into her truck. “Let me know when you two got this sorted out.”
“Do you believe in fate?” I say, and Melody snaps her face toward me.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Because fate means everything happens for a reason. And I think us meeting like this falls under everything. Don’t you?”
Finally—finally—she gives me her thousand-watt grin that lights up the night.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Lucy says after we drop off Melody at the Frost Center for Fine Entertaining. We passed the mermaid fountain and kept on going. She goes to a swanky art school, but even their fancy school gym wasn’t fancy enough to hold their prom. Lucy and I are on our way to Beaver Creek High now, where we’ll have a decidedly unswanky prom in an unfancy rural high school gym.
It may not be a fantasy world, but it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. And that’s why I can’t stop smiling.
Melody is where she should be—she even exchanged numbers with me again—and I’m where I should be—with Lucy. Let her be mad I showed up with a black eye and a mystery girl. She has no idea how much worse this could have gone. How much worse it has already gone before.
“We’re late,” she continues, “and your eye looks awful. That’s nothing to smile about. How are we going to get pictures like this? Papà wanted pictures and we had to rush out. We can’t afford the photographer here.”
Oh. That. Why do I keep forgetting? I turn into the school parking lot. It’s so full we have to go all the way back by the football stadium to find an empty spot. We never have to park here on school days because Lucy always makes sure we’re here on time, and her definition of on time is the rest of the world’s definition of early.
“This’ll be gone by tomorrow,” I tell her once we’re parked. “Like it was never there.” Because tomorrow will be a new version of today, completely reset. Mostly … I tug my jacket closed, covering the leftover Taco Bell stain from night one. Thankfully, Lucy hasn’t noticed it yet. Probably because this rancid black eye keeps pulling her attention to my face.
“First of all,” she says, “nothing heals that fast. Second of all, we need it to be gone tonight, not tomorrow. Right now. And third of all, who’s going to take the shots for us?”
“Chaz will do it.”
“He’s a terrible cell phone photographer. You’ve seen his Instagram.”
I have, and she’s right. But what she’s wrong about is assuming any of this matters. We’re here—together—that’s all that matters. “It’ll be fine,” I assure her. “And we’ll just edit out my eye problem.”
I wish I could edit it out right now, like Lucy wants. Get it off my face. But it’s a small price to pay for everything going smoothly for once. Even if Lucy is being … very Lucy at the moment.
She sighs and unbuckles her seat belt. “All right, come on. We already missed dinner. Let’s hope they haven’t put all the food away yet.” She reaches for her door handle and I touch her elbow, snatching her attention.
“Lucy, listen to me for a sec.” Big smile, even bigger than before. “It’s going to be okay. We made it. We’re a little late—”
“And hungry.”
“Very hungry,” I agree. “But we’re here. This is prom! All we have to do for the rest of the night? Is have fun. So let’s just have fun, okay?”
She stares at me for what feels like an hour before one side of her mouth ticks up and she says, “I know, I know—this is your big night.”
“Our big night,” I clarify. “Together. Like we planned.”
“Okay.” Her smile broadens, bright white teeth against dark-red lips. “I’m counting on you to make this night the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
“Hey, hey, long time no see,” I say to Marcos as Lucy and I settle into the two empty chairs across from him and Chaz. Jenna is sitting with her friends at the table next to ours, and Blair is at a table on the opposite side of the dance floor—aka our gym’s basketball court. They’re both doing a very poor job of trying to look like they’re not looking at each other.
Marcos is Puerto Rican, a talented poet and playwright, and my oldest friend in our group. He’s also Chaz’s boyfriend of almost four years and they’re dressed to complement each other tonight, both wearing wine-red accents with their tuxes. Marcos draws his black brows together. “What’re you talking about, JJ, I just saw you yesterday in English class. You miss me that much?”
My throat catches as I realize my slip. For me it’s been days since we last sat together in English class, but for him it’s been a little more than twenty-four hours.
The silver glitter blush on Marcos’s light-brown cheeks twinkles in the low light as he turns toward Chaz. “Didn’t I tell you he had a crush on me? After five years of tiptoeing around the obvious, my boy’s finally coming clean.”
How has it been five years already? Marcos came out to me as pansexual in middle school when he asked me to go to the Snowball Dance with him and I apologized for being straight. Fortunately, we remained friends after that, and when he started dating Chaz freshman year, it brought Lucy and me closer together. We’d met the same night Marcos and Chaz did, at our first party as high schoolers. And we just … clicked.
Then the summer before senior year, our friendship changed into something I’d never had with anyone else before. Physical touch that had previously been reserved for highly emotional moments suddenly became “everyday” between us. Hugs, holding hands, cuddling, just being close. I assume this started because Lucy stopped dating—for a mysterious reason she claims is no big deal—and I guess she still needed someone to provide that physical comfort she was used to getting.
I never pushed her to explain, and I never minded stepping into that role. It’s become
a comfort for me, too. And we make a nice foursome with Marcos and Chaz, without Lucy’s significant-other-of-the-moment tagging along in our group, forcing me to either skip out on them, or be the fifth wheel. The spare tire that no one thinks about unless there’s a problem.
To my left, Lucy watches the caterers clear the buffet, her leg bouncing beneath the table, no doubt sending telepathic signals that they better not forget the conversation she had with them a literal minute ago that we didn’t eat yet. Gently, I rub my palm over her back, which is bare at the top in that dress, sending my own telepathic signal. Everything’s gonna be okay.
Her leg stops bouncing. She leans into my touch, and her shoulders drop as she releases a long, slow breath. All of this without a word or even looking at me. It makes me wonder what the absolute heck she was thinking on night one, when she said we’re no good for each other. That we’re better off apart. How could she really believe that?
“I’m flattered,” Marcos is saying, pulling my attention from Lucy, though my hand stays with her. “But I’m also taken.” He slides an arm across Chaz’s shoulders and kisses his cheek, and then Chaz says, “Nothing personal, bub, we’re just not into sharing.”
“You can both shut up now,” I say with a smile.
They don’t, though, and I don’t stop smiling, either. While Lucy and I are eating, Marcos and Chaz concoct stories for how I got my black eye. One of their ideas involves an alien invasion, another one involves a zombie bite, another has me in an audition to be a stuntman, but my favorite is the one where I chased Rainbow Brite onto a rainbow up into the clouds and her horse, Starlite, back-kicked me in the face. I would know better than to get that close behind a running horselike creature, but I give them points for making me laugh so hard I snort my drink.
“And why was I chasing her in the first place?” I ask after swallowing my last bite of chicken cordon bleu. Sounds like prime cuisine, but it wasn’t great. Dry and flavorless. I’ve been spoiled by the steak from last night. But actually, even Taco Bell would have been better than this. The only good thing about this dinner is that coffee is available at the drink buffet. I might get through the whole night now that I’m heavily caffeinated.