Pulled Under (Sixteenth Summer) (25 page)

J
ason seems wholesome and pure. And a little clueless, apparently. Not the kind of guy who would play a joke on anyone, especially a girl he just met, a girl who just awoke from a seizure. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Why would I be? We really do close later on Saturdays.” He shakes his head. He didn’t understand that I meant closed
permanently
. “Do you have somewhere you need to be? You lost track of time or something?”

I take my wet hair and twist it nervously. “Are you sure this place isn’t closed to the public? Like, open only for private parties? Because I was told . . .” I pause, then let out a heavy sigh. What I was told makes no sense right now.

His mouth is slightly parted, and he seems to be trying to understand this strange language called English that I’m speaking. “Miss, I don’t know what you’re talking about. First, let me find your parents or where you’re supposed to be staying.” He stands up and brushes the sand off his legs. “What loop are you in?”

“Twenty-one hundred.” I remember that from when my dad was driving around, trying to find our cabin.

Again, he shakes his head, then looks at me, disappointed. “Our loops aren’t numbered. Little Bear Path, Bobcat Bend . . . any of those sound familiar?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll let you use the courtesy phone to call your trailer. You just press star nine then your trailer number.”

“I’m not staying in a trailer. I’m staying in a cabin. It’s twenty-one hundred loop. I remember it clearly.”

“Miss . . .” He stands there with his hands on his hips. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s like you just got left behind along with E.T. We don’t have cabins in Fort Wilderness. I think you got your campgrounds crossed. Let me guess, you don’t know what
E.T.
is either.”

“Of course I know what
E.T
. is!” I place my hands at my hips to appear more sure of myself. “My dad only made me watch the twentieth-anniversary edition like fifty times when I was little.”

He smirks. “The movie
I’m
talking about just came out last month. Steven Spielberg?” He shrugs, walking away from me in a hurry.

I scramble to my feet and start following him. He may be cute, but he can’t tell me that
E.T.
came out last month. I know when
E.T.
came out, and it wasn’t June, wasn’t this year, and definitely wasn’t while I’ve been alive. It was a long-ass time ago, so he’d just better lose the attitude, or else I’m going to have to . . .

Wait a minute. He’s really leaving
. “Jason, hold up!”

There’s a family just arriving and settling into the picnic table that was next to us a moment ago. The father’s hair is layered, and he wears a beige suit that looks like it’s made from terry cloth. The older boy has white socks all the way to his knees. Hot! And the younger boy has on these big headphones wired to a small yellow box in his hand. Is that . . . ?

“Hey, man, neat Walkman. Is that waterproof?” Jason asks, passing him by.

“Thanks. Yeah, it is. I just got it today!” The boy smiles at him, then at his dad, and then the whole family looks at me funny as I try to keep up with Jason.

“Jason, hold on. Wait. Can you wait, please?”

He stops, puts his hands on his hips, and sighs. “What is it? Look, first you make fun of my dolphin shorts when yours look like a shipwreck. Then you try telling me that there’re cabins when I’ve known this place for eleven years, and what we have are
trailers
. You won’t tell me what that device is you got there, and now you’re questioning my knowledge of new movies?” He huffs. “I just used up my entire break trying to help you. You’re free to use the courtesy phone. The medics should be here any moment. But I need to get back to work.”

“Just . . . Can you just answer one question for me, please? One question, and then I’ll leave you alone. I promise.” He keeps walking, and I have to run ahead of him, then turn around to get him to stop. My feet start burning on the hot sidewalk. “Where do you work?”

“Towel rental booth. Your one question is up.”

“No. No, no, no, that wasn’t it. Okay, look, please don’t think I’m crazy—”

“Too late.” He crosses his arms. I’m trying really, really hard not to notice his tanned biceps when he does that. I don’t remember any Disney cast members being this friggin’ cute any other time I’ve stayed here.

I point at him. “That’s . . . that’s very funny. And entirely understandable.” I take a step closer to him. I honestly don’t want anyone overhearing what I’m about to ask. He seems taken aback by my closing in on him. “Okay, here goes. Ready?” I let the words float out of my mouth as sensibly as possible. “What . . . year is it?”

He gets that look again, where he’s trying to understand my language, read my face, my thoughts, analyzing everything. He’s killing me here with this nonresponse thing of his. Then what does he do? He laughs. “Whoa, that is just radical, man. I can’t believe I fell for that.” He brushes past me.

“What? I’m serious. That’s my question for real, Jason.
What year is it?
”

He turns around, and it’s as if he suddenly remembers his Disney cast member manners. “Miss, it’s July first, 1982.” He smiles a big Disney smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

A lightning bolt shoots out of the sky and splits me in two as I stand there looking at him. At least it feels that way. Nineteen eighty-two? As in 19 . . . 82?

As in my mom and dad were . . . fifteen and sixteen?

Slowly, a smile spreads across my face. I laugh. This is great. This is just friggin’ fantastic! I’m just going to enjoy this until I wake up, and then I’m going to write it all down as the awesomest, most vivid, wacky-packy dream I have ever had in my entire life. “No, that’s all, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. Have a magical stay here in Walt Disney World!” Jason smiles politely, then proceeds to make his way behind the help counter at the rental shop.

“Thank you!” I call out, watching him assist the next customer, a mom with a striped shirt tucked into white, elastic-banded shorts, and her little girl with pleated barrettes in her hair, carrying a Strawberry Shortcake doll. The girl has on light blue shoes that look like they’re made of jelly, and I
so
want a pair!

I love this dream!

But there’s only one way to know if it really is or not. I turn back around, open up my camera app, and start snapping off picture after picture of the famous River Country. The green lagoon ahead of me; the quiet beach area to my right, next to all the cypresses I swam through; and the blue pool to my left, where people are plunging down two slides that drop them about six feet above the water level. Those had vines all over them just yesterday, or whenever it was that I last saw them. If it’s all still on my phone when I wake up, then I wasn’t dreaming.

I smile and take in the sights and sounds. Even the smells of suntan lotion and BBQ cooking from somewhere nearby. I can’t send these photos until I have a signal, but at least I have them. And just to ensure that Dina, Rudy, and Marcus don’t think I stole these off the Internet, I turn around and snap off a few selfies with the water park in the background as well.

Say River Country!

“I see you’re feeling better,” someone says. Shielding my eyes, I find the source of the voice lying on a long towel on a lounge chair in a really cute red bikini. “I was over there when they pulled you out of the water. It was a bit scary, I gotta say. Glad you’re okay, though.”

She sort of looks like Dina in that sandy-blond-hair way, but a tad older and with feathered hair. She opens a little door in her music player, flips a cassette tape around, closes it, and presses down the play button. Then she puts big foamy headphones over her ears and closes her eyes against the sun. I take a quick pic of her, too.

I sit in the grass bordering the sandy tanning area.
Think, Haley. What do you do?
A good plan would be to Google symptoms of seizures again. Back when I had my first one in March, I read somewhere that people sometimes experience time-travel hallucinations during one. This could be one. Yet it’s all so real. These chairs, that loglike garbage can right over there, that water tower that says
RIVER COUNTRY
, the people having a good time. How can any of this be a dream? But I can’t research anything, because according to Jason, it’s 1982, so there’re no computers, that I know of, much less Google.

Next plan . . .

I watch Jason inside the rental booth. Look at him. He’s already forgotten about me as he hands out tickets and towels. Given a different haircut and a better pair of shorts, that dude would make the perfect summer fling in real time. He’s sweet, even though I exasperated the heck out of him. But there’s no point in flinging with him, because I have to find my way out of this hallucinogenic episode of
Doctor Who.

But how do I do that? Find my way back home?

Jason catches me staring at him. Embarrassed, I look away. A moment later my gaze finds its way to him again. He’s writing something on a clipboard. He turns it around, and I’m a little surprised when I see that it’s for me. In permanent marker, he wrote: “Medics on their way. Wait there.” Is that how they did it before texting? How cute!

I nod, but the thing is, I can’t wait for the medics. How will I explain where I came from?

“He’s a bit the loner type, but cute,” Red Bikini Girl says. She taps her feet to the music. “I’m partial to Jake, his older brother, but Jason’s nineteen. Perfect for you.”

“Oh, I don’t really . . .”
Whoa. Nineteen? Nice.

“Honey, girls have been swooning left and right since he started working here last month, yet he hasn’t dated a single one of them. You’ve gotten the most attention out of any girl here. That makes you the pick of the litter.”

What makes her think he’d want to date me? He can hardly stand me!

A second later a guy appears next to us, oiled and shiny, brandishing two big cups of soda—one for her, one for himself. He looks a little young for her, judging from his skinny body type, if I could only get a look at his face.

She looks up, surprised, and takes the drinks. “Oh, thanks, Oscar. You didn’t have to do that.”

Oscar?
Funny, that’s my dad’s name.

“This is my friend, uh . . .” Bikini Girl waits for me to give her my name.

“Haley.”

“Oscar, this is Haley.”

The guy sits on the lounge chair next to her, and . . . no . . . way. I see the familiar, sunny-eyed smile I’ve known all my life, minus thirty pounds, the gray hair, and, apparently, the ability to recognize me. You have
got
to be kidding me!

Deep breaths, Haley.

Dad? Paternal parental?
No way! No friggin’ way!

Immediately, I feel like he’s going to yell at me for not answering his texts. My instinct is to turn around and run. But then I remember—1982. My dad has never even seen me before! He can’t possibly know who I am.

“Hey, Haley. Nice to meet you.” As soon as I hear his voice, his identity is confirmed.
Oh my God, Dad!
He smiles a smile I adore, have always adored, and does a little
what’s up
nod.

Someone taps my shoulder lightly. “Miss, are you the one needing medical attention?” Which is great, because staring at my dad as a teen right here in front of me, I just about have another seizure.

Also by Michelle Dalton

Fifteenth Summer

Sixteenth Summer