So Totally (8 page)

I burst through the door, checked for feet in the stalls, and thanked my lucky stars for a change. I grasped the sink and stared into my reflection chanting, “There’s no place like home…there’s no place like home.”

The bell rang.

“Come
on
,” I begged. “Please. I’ll be good. No more keg parties. I’ll get better grades. I’ll…I’ll watch
Steel Magnolias
with Mom however many times she want to see it. Please, come take me now. I really don’t want to go to PE.”

So, it didn’t work. I attempted to force a time travel between periods for the rest of the day, but the big shift never occurred. However, I
did
gain a reputation as “that new girl with the weak bladder.”

After last bell and one more Hail Mary in the washroom, I wandered across campus to the library. Most everything about the school was the same as I remembered it. Even the artwork in the library. Which meant that either they picked out high-quality goods when they decorated the school, or the district was too cheap to spring for new. Either way, I flip-flopped between being comforted by the sameness or being heebie-jeebied by it. You try déjà-vuing all day and see how you feel. I kept going to the wrong class and mixing my schedule up with my old one. And don’t get me started on my locker combination.

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 pounded 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.

S
O, 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?”