A Year Without Autumn (17 page)

“That’s right!” she calls after me. “Just walk away from me. Can’t take it, can you? Can’t deal with the facts, with
me.
Well, you’re doing me a favor! I don’t want you hanging around me anymore. It’s finished, Jenni. Our friendship. Over, OK? Can you get that into your thick head? I don’t want to hang out with you anymore. Ever!”

“Fine!” I yell back, my patience running out at last. “You want to cut me out of your life? Go ahead. Think I care? Well, I don’t!” I know I don’t mean it, and I wish I could snatch the words back — but my voice is tied up in knots, somewhere deep inside my chest.

Autumn looks at me, her face still and hard. “Well, that’s settled, then,” she says calmly. “Have a nice life.” She follows me to the door and slams it shut behind me.

As soon as I’ve left, I burst into tears. I can’t help it. I just can’t believe how awful things have turned out. I thought it was bad enough the first time I went forward. This is getting worse and worse.

I head for the elevator. I need to get back to the present day. I’ve got to get out of this nightmare. I know that all that’s waiting for me is another nightmare, but at least it’s one that doesn’t have years of history I don’t know about heaped on top of it.

I climb the stairs up to the third floor so I can get the elevator back down. But I stop at the top of the stairs.

If I go back, I’ll
never
know how things turn out. All I’ll be able to do is watch these horrible events unfold, day by day. I can’t help wondering where all of this is going to end up. Will I ruin my life like Mrs. Smith did? I feel in my pocket for her letter — a reminder of how badly my life could go wrong if I don’t do something about it, and a reminder that I’ve promised myself I want to somehow find a way to help her, too.

What’s to become of all of this? All of us? I’m about to take the letter out of my pocket and read it, when I have a better idea. The letter can wait a bit longer.

There were four floors in the building. I’ve only been to two so far.

I’ve got one more chance to find out how the future’s going to turn out. One more chance to convince myself it’ll all be OK in the end.

I have to know.

I gasp out loud when I see the elevator. It’s been cordoned off, sealed with layers of yellow tape, crisscrossing all the way from the floor to the ceiling. I came out in such a hurry earlier, I didn’t even turn around to look at it.
When did they do that?

I quickly look over my shoulder. There’s no one around. My heart’s trying to leap out of my chest. I’ve
got
to find out. I’ve got to know it’s all going to be all right at some point.

But what if it isn’t?
a nagging voice in my head asks.
What if my life just gets worse and worse and worse?

Either way, isn’t it better to know? At least I can prepare myself if I know what’s coming.

Another quick look around, and then I tear at the tape, pulling and ripping it off just enough so I can get at the door and press the up button.

Nothing happens. Silence. I rest my head against the door.
Please work, please work.
I bang my fist on the door out of frustration.
What am I going to do?

And then: a clunking noise, from deep inside the building, cranking upward, whirring slowly toward me. I jump backward as the noise comes closer, and then I pull open the door and drag the gate across.

With the briefest of pauses, I nod to myself.
Come on.
I shut both doors and eye the buttons, staring at them as though they’re the enemy.

And then I press
4.
The elevator seems to take forever to go up one floor. Scraping and squeaking, it grinds slowly upward, jumping to a stop with a thud that makes my teeth rattle. How much more of this will it let me do? It seems to be falling apart more and more every time I use it.

The moment I step out of the elevator, there’s a crashing noise behind me. It sounds like a clap of thunder or a collapsing building. Instinctively, I hurl myself against the opposite wall, crouching into a tight ball.

But when I open my eyes, there’s nothing. Silence. No sign of destruction or yellow tape or anything.
What on earth . . . ?

It can’t be! The elevator — it’s disappeared!

I scramble back to where it should be. It’s completely gone! Now there’s just a blank white wall in place of the old steel doors.

I scratch at the wall, pummeling it with my fists.
What am I going to do?
There’s no elevator. I’ll be trapped here forever!

How could I have been so stupid? So determined to find things out that I didn’t need to know. How could I have thought this would make things any better? Why did I throw away my chance simply to go back and get on with things?

I’ve lost three years of my life now, and I’ll
never
get them back.

I
stumble out of the building and glance around. Everything looks different yet again.

Was that shed always there? Did it used to be painted white? Has the hotel always had that extension? Did that lamppost always exist? Suddenly I’m doubting
everything:
everything I can see as well as everything that’s happened to me since we got here. I feel as if I’ve just gotten off a merry-go-round that’s been spinning too fast.

I look along the row of first-floor condos. At least they look the same. Before I realize it, I’m standing outside Autumn’s condo, trying to gather my nerve. I need to see her. Whether I’m ever going to get back the years I’ve lost or not, the only thing I know is that I have to make things right with Autumn.

I keep lifting my hand to knock on the door, then thinking of a hundred reasons why it might not be a good idea. Will she even want to see me? Did we make up last year or have we argued again since then?

There’s only one way to find out.

I step closer to the condo. I’m about to knock when the door is thrown open — and Autumn is in front of me. Another year older, different again. Her hair looks more like the old Autumn’s, a bit more lively, but her face is harder somehow, more set.

For a second, we stare at each other in silence. She’s the first to speak. “What are you doing here?” she says, looking at me as though I’ve just landed from Mars.

I open my mouth to reply.

“Who you talking to, Autumn?” Another voice comes from the hall before I have a chance to answer. A smiling face follows the voice, peeking around the door. “You!” the voice says. It’s Christine! A fifteen-year-old version of the girl Autumn always called Barbie One. What’s Autumn doing with
her
?

“What are you doing here?” Christine asks, in an echo of Autumn’s still-unanswered question. Why are they both so shocked to see me at my best friend’s apartment?
Surely
we made up after that awful fight. Could it really have been so bad that I walked out of here and didn’t come back till now? A year without Autumn? It’s unthinkable.

“What’s going on?” Someone else comes into the hallway, peering over Autumn’s shoulder, before I manage to answer. It’s Sally. Barbie Two. They’re both plastered in bright eye shadow, hair tied into ridiculous shapes on top of their heads, and wearing designer clothes. What is Autumn
doing
with them? Half of me wants to laugh. The other half of me is staring at three cold faces waiting for me to explain myself.

“I’m here to see Autumn,” I say firmly. I’m not going to let them see that I’m nervous. I have nothing to lose anymore. I’ve already lost three years of my life. Nothing they can do can hurt me — and I’m
not
going to lose Autumn. I won’t let that happen. If I have to stay in this awful reality for the rest of my life, then the least I can do is get my best friend back to share it with.

Autumn’s eyes open wide. “What for?” she asks, staring at me in confusion.

“What for?” I repeat. “I didn’t know I had to have a reason.”

Autumn opens her mouth to speak, then glances at Sally before replying. I’m sure I see Sally give her a quick nod. Since when did Autumn need
Sally’s
permission to speak?

Sally decides to speak for her, anyway. “Well, I think you do, actually,” she says, “after everything you’ve done.”

“Everything I’ve — Autumn, can I speak to you on your own?”

Autumn glances at Sally again. “You can say what you have to say in front of my friends,” she says, as though she’s incapable of talking to me without their approval. “And make it quick,” she adds. “We’re headed out.”

Christine folds her arms, standing possessively behind Autumn. “This should be good,” she says.

For a second, I can feel the nerves flutter in my stomach, but I mentally bat them away. I’m not going to let anyone get in the way of my friendship with Autumn — certainly not the Barbies!

I clear my throat. “Look, I don’t know why you’re so mad at me,” I begin.

Sally laughs out loud. “She doesn’t know why we’re mad. She’s even stupider than she looks.”

Autumn doesn’t say anything. She’s looking at me, waiting for me to continue. Her eyes are heavy and sad. She doesn’t look angry at all. In fact, she looks like someone I hardly know — someone who gives up, someone who lets other people talk for her, who doesn’t have the energy to fight her own battles, who doesn’t have any energy at all. That’s not Autumn. Not the Autumn I know, anyway.

“I don’t know what I’ve done,” I say. I think about what happened only minutes ago. It was the worst argument we’ve ever had. But that was a year ago in Autumn’s life! She can’t still be angry over that, can she?

This time Christine speaks. “Oh, so she thinks not being there for someone for a year and then turning up on their doorstep is normal behavior, does she?”

So it’s true? We haven’t spoken for a year? I can hardly believe it — but I need to take control of the situation, for Autumn’s sake as much as mine. As if her life wasn’t bad enough before, now she seems to have this pair of numskulls permanently fixed to her sides!

And I wish they’d stop referring to me as “she,” as though I’m not here. Why do they keep talking for Autumn, anyway?

“I don’t care how long it’s been,” I say. “I’m here now, and that’s what matters.” I look Autumn in the eyes and make myself speak as calmly as I can. “Autumn, if I have let you down, if I haven’t been there for you, if I’ve been a bad friend — I’m here to say I’m sorry. I want to start again.”

Autumn holds my eyes for ages. It seems the rest of us are all holding our breath while we wait for her response.

“We don’t need to listen to this,” Christine says eventually. Then she turns to Autumn. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Autumn, what do
you
think?” I insist. “You haven’t even answered me.” But she won’t meet my eyes.

“Where are you going?” I ask as they push past me.

“Down to this cool place by the river,” Christine says casually.

They mean our place! Mine and Autumn’s.
I barge down the path after them. “Autumn, that’s
our
place!” I shout.

“Ahh, she thinks it’s their place,” Sally says with a smirk. “How childish.” She stops and looks back at me. “Almost as childish as those ridiculous clothes she’s wearing.”

I look down at myself. My top that was perfectly acceptable this morning is stretched across a body that’s three years older than I feel. My arms are bare from the elbows downward and my jeans that were huge when I put them on now look like capris. All my newfound confidence disappears as I realize I probably look like an extra from the cast of
Oliver.

Christine and Sally are marching ahead with Autumn in between them. They’re talking over her to each other. It’s as though she’s an object that they’ve been given the responsibility of looking after — not a person whom they care about.

I run to catch up with them. I don’t care what they say or how I look; they can’t shake me off like a piece of unwanted trash.

“Autumn, let’s make up,” I say, desperately trying to think of a way to end this nightmare. I can’t bear the thought of being stuck in this awful world and not having Autumn by my side. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything I said, everything I did. Please.”

Autumn throws a quick look at me as Christine links her arm and practically pulls her down the road. For a moment, Autumn’s face softens. She looks as though she might accept my apology. She opens her mouth to speak. Just then, Sally grabs Autumn’s other arm, and they march on together. Autumn looks as though she’s being carted off by a couple of police officers.

“She doesn’t need to be dragged along by the pair of you. She can walk on her own, you know!” I shout.

Autumn stops in her tracks and turns around. “Don’t tell Christine and Sally what to do,” she says, a flash of anger creeping into her sad eyes. “They’re just looking out for me. They’re my friends, OK?”

I sigh as she looks away from me again and follow behind them like a stray dog following a stranger in the hope of finding a friend.

As we approach the bridge, a couple of older boys are walking toward us. Christine and Sally nudge each other and flick their hair. “Hi, Darren. Hi, Paul,” they say in unison.

“Hi, girls,” one of the boys says. He’s tall and lanky with floppy blond hair and bright green eyes. The other one smiles at them. Both of them completely ignore Autumn and me.