by Gwen Hayes
Paul and Kevin were already at a table with a mountain of books between them. I curled my lip and schlepped over—my day just didn’t know when to stop getting better and better. A mountain of research didn’t sound nearly as good a megadose of caffeine at the arcade—where everybody else was going without me.
Kevin stood up and pulled out the chair next to him for me. “Say, is your dad a mechanic?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get such a finely tuned body?”
Without a word, or even looking up, Paul handed me the ruler he’d been using to graph with, and I smacked Kevin with it before handing it back to Paul.
“Ouch. Sorry! I’m practicing.”
I sat in the offered chair. “Kevin, those lines don’t work on any girl in any decade. Just be yourself.” I took a good look at Paul. “Where’s your headgear?”
He shrugged. “I can’t think with it on.”
Okay, then. “So, what is going on with the paradox?”
“We should wait for Nate.”
“Oh? I wasn’t sure he was joining us.” Gulp. With as much time as I’d spent in front of the mirror that day, you would think I’d have been more confident about my hair. I was getting good with that crimper. I wondered if I had enough time to go check it again.
“Hey guys.” Nate joined us, pulling a chair from end of the table and sitting on it backward.
I nibbled on my lower lip while I worked on the courage to meet his gaze. I knew he was looking at me. The prickles of heat don’t lie. I shot for nonchalance, but I doubt I pulled it off, so finally, I glanced up.
Oh, hello super-cute nerd with whom I publicly displayed affection earlier.
He sent me a lopsided grin and looked down quickly at the table in front of him, studying the fascinating whorls in the fake wood surface. Which, in turn, made me smile and trace the whorls in front of me with my finger.
Paul cleared his throat. Subtle, buddy. “I’ve been graphing.”
“I see that,” Nate answered.
“Shall we begin?” Paul asked. Then, without waiting for us to answer, he began his speech. And by speech, I mean he tilted his chin up a notch, focused his eyes on a point across the room, and began speaking as if were on a stage. “Paradox. What is a paradox?”
The three of us exchanged confused glances. Were we supposed to answer him?
“A paradox,” he continued, completely monotone, “self-contradictory, but actually expresses a truth that is possible.”
Kevin waved his hand in front of Paul’s eyes. “Why are you being such a douche?”
“That’s mature, Kevin.”
“This isn’t a public speaking engagement. We’re sitting at a table together. Why can’t you just talk like a normal person?”
“This is a very high concept. I’ve prepared a speech in which to convey ideas that…”
While Paul and Kevin argued, Nate slid the index cards out from under Paul’s palm. We scooted our chairs together and began reading them.
Grandfather Paradox: backward time travel is impossible (insert some French dude’s name I couldn’t pronounce and the date of a book). If time traveler goes back in time and kills grandfather before he met grandmother, traveler could never have been conceived. Which means traveler could not have traveled back in time. Which means grandfather is still alive.
“Why would I kill my grandfather?”
Paul realized we were reading his cards. “You wouldn’t necessarily have to kill your grandfather; this just illustrates the quandary. Same as if you traveled further back and killed yourself as an infant.”
“Oh my God. Why would I do that?”
“You wouldn’t. It’s a theory.” Paul’s leg started shaking and he drummed his fingers on the table. “It doesn’t apply anyway. You are obviously here.”
Nate asked, “So does this mean that if she prevented her mother from meeting her father and she were never born then she couldn’t be here?”
My temples throbbed. “But I am here, so what would happen then? And let’s say I don’t prevent my own birth. Would there be two of me? Could I end up babysitting myself?”
“Uh, guys?” Kevin interrupted. He gestured to an obviously rattled Paul. “Maybe we should just let him present it his way. He’s about to go completely mental.”
And he was. His whole body jiggled like he’d consumed his daily caffeine allowance…times ten. And he hummed. Not a song, really. More like the annoying buzz of fluorescent lighting. I think it was his sinuses.
“It’s most likely that history protects itself,” Paul said while tugging at his ear. “The Novikov self-consistency principle is able to circumvent most paradox theories. It asserts that Carrington could maybe affect the past but not change it.”
“They talk about me?” I asked.
“Not specifically,” he answered.
“But you just said my name—” I stopped when Kevin used his hands to make slashing gestures at his throat. He was right; Paul was rocking in his seat. “Never mind. I’m listening.”
“Basically, it states that even if you tried to prevent or change history, the timeline would fix itself. If you tried to stop an event, you might end up being the catalyst. Sort of predestination.”
So much for my plans for the Macarena.
“That also assumes there is only one timeline. There are other theories such as parallel universes or multiple timelines. Quantum mechanics suggests that timelines branch consistently.”
My head hurt.
Nate asked, “So, how do we know which theory is right?”
Paul and Kevin exchanged a glance before Kevin took over. “We don’t. Since time travel doesn’t really exist—”
“Hello, sitting right here.” I said.
“What I meant is that these are all theories. And most of them are science fiction theories. Nothing has been scientifically proven.”
“Okay, but I watched this show on TV the other day where a bunch of things they invented on Star Trek actually were possible and some were even invented after the show.” I should mention that by this point, all the guys were leaning way in like my words were magnets. The magic words: Star and Trek. “So, I’m willing to take some conjecture from the sci-fi…community.”
“The thing is,” Kevin countered, “there are so many possibilities. We haven’t even gotten into the Ontological paradox…”
“Or Temporal,” Paul added.
“String theory.”
“Wormholes.”
I held my hands up. “Okay, I get it. Did any of your theories shed a glimmer on how I ended up here?”
Paul held up his graph. The page was filled with diagrams and mathematical equations. I had to look away.
“Nate? What about what you were saying last night? About paranormal stuff.”
“I was thinking about the Falls.”
Okay, so our town, Serendipity Falls, is named for what we locals have always just called “the Falls.” According to urban legend and every pamphlet the tourist bureau has ever published, the Falls are magical. You know…the home of happy little water nymphs and a liquid pool revered for potions…blah, blah, blah. Also, supposedly, if you want to be alone (by yourself or with someone special if you know what I mean), nobody else will intrude on your time there. Like you are literally in your own little world. This made it the premiere make-out spot in the area.
“You seriously think my time surfing has something to do with a tourist myth?”
“You don’t believe in magic, Carrington?”
His playful tone paired with those intense eyes made me believe I was melting from the inside out, but that wasn’t what he asked, was it?
“I wasn’t at the Falls when I arrived here. I was in the bathroom. Is the restroom a hotspot too?”
He leaned in closer, providing me with a hint of his scent. My hormones did a jig in honor of his Irish Spring. “I believe in magic.”
He stared at my lips. The rhythm of my heart accelerated and po
unded in my ears so loudly I could have sustained a Native American rain dance from its beat.
I inhaled sharply and Nate chuckled before he said, “My grandmother used to tell me stories. She claims her grandmother was a witch and that the Falls are most definitely enchanted. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had something do with your time tumble.”
Paul snorted. “Fine. We’ll research lore tonight, but I for one am dubious.”
Nate and I hadn’t moved yet and continued not to as Kevin and Paul packed up. I heard bits and pieces like “tomorrow” and “after school,” but mostly I couldn’t tear my eyes of Nate not tearing his eyes off me.
They were gone when he finally spoke. “Let’s go there. Tonight.”
We were going to test that legend.
SO, how does a girl sneak out of her mother’s house when they are sharing a bedroom?
Exactly.
I had to spill the plan.
“So, Heather,” I began. “I’d like to meet Nate tonight—after hours, if you know what I’m saying.”
“Oh my God, you work fast.” She laughed and pointed to a pair of shoes in the magazine she was reading. “Aren’t these cute?”
Well, they weren’t plastic. “Yeah, cute. It isn’t what you think…I mean about Nate. He just wants to talk.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. No big thing. We’ll sneak you out and I’ll slip you a key in case the door gets locked. You’ll have to be quiet, but they sleep like the dead anyway.”
Well, well, well. Wasn’t that interesting? “Do you sneak out a lot?”
She shrugged and tore out a page with a prom dress. “Usually I tell them I’m going to Tracy’s house.”
“I don’t think I’ve met Tracy yet.”
“There is no Tracy; I made her up. That way they can’t call her parents. Do you think this color would look good on me?”
You have got to be kidding me. Mom had a “Hannah”? I almost told her about mine, but then I realized I didn’t want to ruin it for future me. If there would be a future me. “I think that color would look fabulous on you.”
She shoved the rest of the magazines off the bed and lay on her tummy, bending her elbows to prop her chin in her hands. “So, what is it about Nate? I mean you just met him last night. You haven’t given yourself an opportunity to scope out the rest of the male population yet.”
“He’s…different from other guys. Kind of intense, you know?”
“So you go for the alternative type. Skaters and anarchists?”
“Not usually. I’m generally the original white-bread girl.”
“Well, I suppose there is something to be said for varying your diet now and then.”
“And he’s not an anarchist. Though he sort of follows his own road more than some guys.”
Heather inspected her split ends. “He hangs with nerds—by association, that should make him undatable. But, you’re right; he has that intense artist thing going for him.”
I would just die if she dated him after I went back. God, was that even possible? I shook my head. Borrowing trouble again. Mom used to say I worried like it was my second job.
“Heather?”
“Hmm?”
“I just wanted to say, well, thanks for everything. You haven’t asked me about my…strange family stuff…and I know it must be killing you. So thanks. If I could tell you more, you know I would.”
“I know you would. I just want you to be safe. You bring out my protective instincts for some reason. You know what we need?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Ice cream. Let’s get some, and then we need to pick out an outfit for your big night out. You naughty girl.”
Nate picked me up a block away from my grandparents’ house.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” he said as I buckled my seatbelt.
“According to my mother, sneaking out is easy.”
He curled his lip and made a face as he pulled away from the curb. “I hadn’t really thought of how hard it must be to hang out with one of your parents. Does she like…ask you stuff?”
I nodded. “You mean, does she ask me about you?”
He shrugged. “Does she?”
“Yes. And the kiss at school that made the school newspaper by lunchtime too.”
He grinned. “What did you tell her about the kiss?”
Grateful for the cover of darkness to hide my famous blush, I answered, “I told her the truth. That you are infatuated with me and that you’ve already picked out the names of our children.”
“Anyone can see it’s completely the other way around. I mean, who traveled backwards two and a half decades just to meet me?”
“Who dreamed of me before he’d ever laid eyes on me?”
“Touché.”
We kept up the witty banter for the rest of the short drive. “We’re here.”
He got out and rounded the front end of the car, so I waited for him to open my door. How nice was that? I wondered if all ‘80s boys automatically did that, or I just happened upon a rare gentleman.
I placed my hand into his and felt it in my toes as soon as we made contact. He pushed the door closed behind me, and I leaned back into the side of the car, trapping myself between the steel and the boy. “What are we doing, Nate?”
He threaded the fingers of his free hand through my hair. “Daring fate, I guess. It doesn’t make sense, but I can’t walk away yet—even knowing that it’s probably gonna hurt a lot.”
I closed my eyes. It already hurt.
He kissed my cheek tenderly, as if I were a treasure. “Come on, spitfire. Let’s go for a walk.”
He pulled two flashlights and handed me one.
“Wow. Always prepared. I bet you were a cute Boy Scout.”
He shone the light under his chin, lighting up his face eerily. “Baby, I was never a Boy Scout.” And then he waggled his eyebrows.
I slapped his arm. “Well, now we know where Kevin learned that stupid eyebrow move.”
He grabbed my hand and led me into the woods. And yes, I am perfectly aware that every horror movie ever made has a scene similar to this in it. And yes, I was a little worried about crazy psycho killers with butcher knives and hockey masks. Not a lot worried, but it did cross my mind.
The path to the waterfall was well-worn. The frogs and crickets sang, the dewy tall grass on either side of the trail brushed against my pants, and the moon shone on us like maybe we had ordered it special. His hand felt big and warm and I wanted to stop time and just capture this moment for a while. Pretty ironic, huh?
We passed the woods and crossed the clearing, turning off our flashlights as the moon was doing a splendid job of illuminating the Falls. Even at night, I had to admit they were breathtaking. We sat cross-legged on the big rock.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
I shook my head, but he took off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders anyway. The scent of him surrounded me, the strength in his hand permeated itself into my marrow (which if taken literally would be very very gross), and I felt myself unwinding on the inside. Rubbing my back, Nate broke the silence. “What’s your favorite food in the twenty-first century?”
“Pizza, thin-crust. You?”
“Deep-dish,” he answered.
“God, we’re doomed.”
We chuckled a little at that.
“What is your second favorite?”
“McDonald’s french fries. You?”
“Ice cream. What is your favorite movie?”
“Nate, what if you’ve never heard of my favorite movie?”
“I’m sure I’ll see it someday. What is it?”
I sighed. “Grease.”
“I’ve seen that, you dork. It’s from the seventies. Mine is Star Wars.”
Color me not surprised. “In about thirteen years, they’ll release the second trilogy. Episodes I, II, and III. People like you and your brethren will camp out in front of theaters for days, wearing costumes, waiting for ticket sales and embarrassing their relat
ives.”
His spine straightened and he was on full alert. “Tell me you aren’t playing a sick game with my head.”
“The Force is no laughing matter. I’m one hundred percent on the level.”
“What is it about? Wait, no. I want to be surprised.”
He was itching for details, I could tell. But he was right—spoiler-free was the way to go these days. I still couldn’t be sure what negative reaction my actions would trigger. The best possible course for my temporary stay would be to treat the ‘80s like a campsite: take nothing out, leave nothing behind, and make sure it’s left better than the way I found it.
That probably included keeping a tight rein on my heart, though something told me it was a little late for that. I’d have to leave it behind when I left.
“What are you thinking about?” He cupped his hand under my cheek so that I looked at him. “You okay?”
“I think I should leave town.”
“What? Why?”
“We still don’t know the ramifications of me spending so much time with my mother. Or anyone, for that matter. I could accidentally give up some national security secrets to the wrong person and risk the entire twenty-first century.”
“And then there’s this,” he added, knowing that this was really what I was talking about.
“Tempting fate is a bad idea. Fate could stomp all over us and leave me a pile of emotional roadkill.”
“We don’t know that we weren’t supposed to meet. I did have that dream, after all.”
“Nate—”
He shushed me with his lips. They were firm and dry, not like some other less than stellar kissers I’d encountered in the past. He pulled back a little and looked into my eyes to make sure I was totally on board, I guess.
I was so on board.
I shifted my head to the right and he leaned farther into me. This time he took my top lip between his and my head between his hands. All my limbs turned to jelly and a host of new sensations took over—pointing south if you get my drift.