Gimme a Call (7 page)

I look down at the fading brownish spot on my carpet. “The proof is in the nail polish, no? And I tried to test it,” I remind her. “I told you not to go to the party.”

“Well, I need to know for sure this is real before I start messing with my life. Maybe I should do something and you can tell me what I did. Because you’d see it. In real time. Or you would see it if you were really me in the future.”

“Like what?”

She giggles. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

I’m not sure how I feel about surprises. “Let’s just make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Like cut my hair,” Freshman Me says. “Or pierce my belly button.”

“No amateur haircuts,” I say quickly. “Remember the bangs disaster? And anyway, hair will grow back in three and a half years. And I’d really rather not get hepatitis.”

“What if I carve something into the wall?” she asks.

Now we’re talking. “Go for it. But just use a Sharpie. You don’t want to slice off a finger. And do it somewhere Mom can’t see.”

“Like where?”

I scan my room for an appropriate spot. My desk, my mirror, my closet … “Behind the dresser?”

“That’ll work,” she says.

“But don’t topple it,” I warn. “We don’t want Dad running out naked.”

We both giggle.

I hear grunting and then “Okay, I’ve moved the dresser. Now I’m writing something. Can you see? Can you see?”

“Hold on! I’m not there yet.” I jump off my bed, run over to the wall, and pull out the dresser. I hope it’s there. It has to be there. Is it going to be there? I look up and down the wall. I don’t see it. Why don’t I see it? Wait! I see it! Written on the wall are the words
Place Desk Here!
My brain goes all fizzy, like I drank too much soda. “‘Place Desk Here’! I see it! I see it!” Hah! She’s funny! I’m funny!

“No way!” she screams. “No way!”

I jump up and down. “Way! It’s there! I see it! I told you! You’re really me!”

“So … whatever I do in my life will change
your
life?” she asks. “Which, um, is really
my
life, just not yet?”

“Yes!” The possibilities are endless.

“Wait a sec,” Freshman Me says. “Do you remember writing on the wall?”

Huh. I close my eyes and rack my brain. I try to remember holding up the Sharpie or writing on my wall. But I got nada. Nothing. Zilch. I wonder what that means. “Nope,” I say. “But obviously I did it. It’s right in front of me.”

“But do you remember being me? I mean, do you remember being me and talking to yourself as a senior?”

“No. I remember being in freshman year, but I never spoke to me. At least, I don’t remember speaking to me.” I rub my temples. So that means that my reality changes, but my memories don’t. I think. “This is giving me brain freeze.”

“I know! Me too!”

“Write something else,” I order.

“Okay. What should I say?”

“Surprise me again.” I stare at the wall.

“Whoops,” she says.

“What happened?”

“I wrote on my thumb,” she whimpers. “With the permanent marker.”

I lift up my mark-free hand. “Not that permanent.”

“Good. ’kay, hold on.”

At first the space next to
Place Desk Here
is blank, but then suddenly it says
This is weird
. “This is weird! I see that!”

“You do? How do you see that? I’ve only written ‘this.’ I didn’t get to ‘is weird’ yet.”

“Really?” I say. “Now that
is
weird.”

“I wonder why,” she says, sounding doubtful again. I don’t want her going doubtful on me. I don’t want her questioning it all over again.

“Maybe my present changes as soon as you go in a new direction in the past. You were sure you were going to write ‘This is weird,’ so it did it for you.”

“But what if I change my mind and write something else instead? Which will you see?”

“Well … try, I guess.”

“Tell me as soon as you see anything,” she says.

As I stare at the wall, the letters change. They don’t shake or morph or do anything gradual. They just change, like a flipped channel on the TV.
Is weird
suddenly says
is cool. This is cool
. “I see it! I see it!” So much for permanent marker.

“Already? But I only wrote the ‘c’! Wait a sec. Now what do you see?”

Cool
changes to
cat
. “‘This is cat’?” I laugh. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know! But I already wrote the ‘c,’ so I had to use it.”

I shake my head. “But now ‘This is cat’ is written on our bedroom wall. Forever.”

“Er. It is? Until I change it again, you mean.”

Whoa, that is too much power for Freshman Me. “From now on, you’re not allowed to do anything before discussing it with me.”

She giggles. “Yeah, right.”

I so wasn’t kidding.

“Okay, I believe it now,” she says breathlessly. “And I want to know everything. How’s Mom? And Dad? And Maya? And Karin?”

I sit down on my carpet and stretch out my legs. “I forgot about Karin.”

“How did you forget about Karin? Aren’t we still best friends?”

“Not so much.” I lie down on my back and look up at the ceiling.

“What happened? Is she okay?”

“She’s all right,” I say quickly. Then I add, “Actually, I heard she has some major eating issues.”

“What? That’s terrible! But she’s so healthy! She’s trying out for the gymnastics team and everything.”

“Yeah, well, supposedly the coach is a nutcase and tells all the girls on the team that they have to weigh ninety pounds.”

“Couldn’t you help her? Tell her the coach was crazy?”

Um, no. “It didn’t happen while we were still friends.”

“But why aren’t you still friends?” she asks, sounding crushed.

“It’s a long story.” You’ll see, I almost add. Sometimes things change. Whether you want them to or not.

“I can’t believe it,” she says. “That is so sad. What about Joelle and Tash? Am I still friends with them?”

“Not exactly,” I admit. I run my fingers up and down the carpet.

“So who are my friends?” she asks, clearly confused. “Do I have a boyfriend? Omigod—is it
Bryan
?”

My stomach twists. “Don’t you want to know about what’s going on in the world and stuff?”

“Yes! Of course!” she squeals. “Are there talking robots? Have we gone to Mars?”

Hah. How cool would that be? “Uh, no. I’m only three and a half years ahead. Actually, not much has changed. We still have the same president. We still have global warming. Your boobs grew.”

“They did?”

“Yeah, 34C. Plus your skin is really good.”

“No more pimples?”

“Only when you have your period. The Scarlet T is gone.” I giggle again.

“What’s the Scarlet T?” she asks.

“Oh, come on! We named it that! It’s the line of red pimples on your nose and forehead.”

“I do not know what you’re talking about. I mean, I know the pimples, unfortunately, just not the name.”

“Maybe I haven’t named it that yet then.”

“I like it,” she says. “I think I’ll use it.”

“What’s mine is yours,” I say generously.

“What about my braces?” she asks. “They do come off, right?”

“Beginning of sophomore year.”

“A whole year of these things? I hate them,” she whines.

“I know, but it’s worth it,” I promise. I peer into my full-length mirror and smile at my perfect teeth. “Trust me. Oh! But do
not
put your retainer in a napkin in the caf next year, ’kay?”

“A napkin? Everyone knows you’re not supposed to do that.”

Thanks, know-it-all. “Just don’t.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” I insist. “Unless you remember not to.”

“So I’ll remember not to.”

“You don’t have the best memory,” I say. “Maybe you should keep a list. In a notebook. Otherwise you’ll end up writing stuff on scrap pieces of paper and you’ll find them years later in your jacket pockets. Or, I guess, I’ll find them in my jacket pockets.” Still, this is going to be amazing. That mental list of things I was making this afternoon? About things I would change if I could talk to my past self? Now I can do it! Too bad I missed the boat on the bang-trimming and the marshmallow fire, though.

“Good point,” she says. “I think I have an extra one somewhere around here.”

“Check your shelf,” I tell her. “That’s where you keep them.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says with a giggle.

I wait for her to tell me she’s ready as she rumbles around.

“Got it. Page one. Sophomore year: don’t put retainer in a napkin.”

“Good. I think I lose it some other time too. But I forget where. Don’t worry. It’ll come to me. Where are you going to keep the notebook when you’re not using it? We don’t want anyone else to see it.”

“Desk drawer?”

I open my desk drawer and spot a green spiral notebook. I flip it open to the first page and read the only thing currently written on it:
Sophomore year: don’t put retainer in a napkin
. “Perfect.”

“Super. Now that we’ve solved the number one problem in my future—the loss of my retainer—can you tell me about other stuff? Like why I’m not friends with Karin, Tash, and Joelle anymore?”

I rub my temples. “You’re just not.”

“So who are my friends?”

“You don’t really have any girlfriends.”

“What does that mean? How can I not have
any
friends?”

“You … Karin’s not the only one with issues.”

“Me?” she asks, sounding panicked. “I have issues? What are they? What happens? You have to tell me!”

I’m not sure what I should reveal. It’s my job to be the responsible one here. I don’t want to break some sort of time-travel law by spilling the sad beans. And I don’t want to mess this up. I’m lucky enough to get a second chance. I’m not going to get a third one.

“You have to tell me! Omigod. Am I dead? Do I die?”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t die, silly.”

“If I’m silly, then so are you. Just promise I’m not dead.”

I slap my palm against my forehead. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Are you an angel? Are you speaking to me from the grave?” She gasps. “Do I get a terminal disease?”

“You do
not
get sick. There is nothing wrong with you. Except being annoying.”

“What about Maya? And Mom? And—”

“Everyone’s fine.” I open my door and look out into the hall. I can see the faint light of TVs coming from my parents’ room and from the home office. “Mom’s watching the Food Network right now. As usual. The TV is on whenever she’s not at Intralearn.”

“What’s Intralearn?”

“Where Mom works.”

“Mom has a job? Really? That’s great! How come she finally decided to go back to work?”

“Oh, um …” Craptastic. Do I tell her the truth? “It’s because Dad …”

“Dad what? Oh, God, is Dad okay? Tell me he’s okay!”

“You have to calm down,” I say. “I can’t tell you things if you’re going to freak out at all the bad stuff.”

“
All the bad stuff?
How much bad stuff is there?”

I probably shouldn’t tell her everything. Don’t want to overwhelm her. “Dad’s fine. Everyone’s fine,” I say. And it’s kind of the truth. Everyone
is
fine. Everyone except me. I blink a few times.

“What’s the bad stuff, then?”

I sit back down on my bed. The breakup. The breakup that breaks your heart. That’s what I want to save her from. I want to wrap her up in a fuzzy coat of denial and protect her. “You just fall in love with the wrong guy,” I say carefully.

“Who?”

“Bryan.”

“Oh.
Oh
.”

“Yeah. Write that down, then.”

“Write what?”

“Write ‘Don’t go out with Bryan Sanderson.’” Back to my plan. Take that, Bryan. You have a plan that doesn’t involve me; now I have a plan that doesn’t involve
you
. And maybe this time Freshman Me will listen to it.

“But what’s so bad about Bryan?”

“Everything!” I insist. “Trust me.”

“But I like Bryan. He’s … really nice.”

“Devi …”

“He is nice!”

“Not that nice,” I grumble.

“But how does this all work, anyway? If I don’t go out with Bryan, that means that you don’t go out with Bryan?”

“Yes. We are the same person.”

“Maybe I could go out with him now and break up with him or whatever before the bad stuff happens,” she says hopefully.

“No.” I square my shoulders. “You have to cancel.”

She sighs. “Let’s think about that one, okay?”

“No thinking. Just doing. It’s too late to phone now anyway. You can call him in the morning.”

“Fine—we’ll discuss it in the morning.”

“No, you’ll
do
it in the morning.” I clench my hands into fists. “You have to. This is the most important thing you can do. Do you understand?”

“Okay,” she says meekly.

Yeah, I’ve heard that before. “Okay, you promise?”

“I promise.” She sighs. “I’ll do it.”

chapter eight
Saturday, September 10
Freshman Year

My dreams are understandably odd tonight. I wake up at ten-thirty in the morning and check my wall to make sure that I did not, in fact, dream the entire thing.