The Future of Us (14 page)

I PRESS JOSH’S DOORBELL for the third time and peer through the window. His backpack is on the side table, which means he hasn’t left for school yet. I look behind a potted plant, relieved to see they haven’t moved the emergency key. Balancing my waffle plate in one hand, I let myself in.

There’s loud music coming from Josh’s room.

“Josh?” I call from the bottom of the stairs.

No answer.

I haven’t been in this house since December. It was a few weeks after Josh tried to kiss me, and we were barely talking. When my mom said she and Martin were going next door for dinner and television, I invited myself along in the hopes of getting a few minutes to speak with Josh. But he inhaled his food in three minutes, and then disappeared up to his room.

The entire wall next to the staircase is filled with pictures of Josh and David at every stage of development, every class picture, every bad haircut. They even have clay impressions of their handprints next to framed locks of their baby curls.

I take a bite of my waffle and then knock on Josh’s door. Inside, he’s blasting the song “Walking on Sunshine.”

Through the door, I can hear Josh sing,
“And don’t it feel GOOD!
”

I turn the knob, open the door, and—

He’s doing sit-ups in his tighty-whities! His chest looks toned, but . . .
tighty-whities
?

“Emma!”

I laugh as Josh rips the sheet off his bed and wraps it around his waist.

His face is instantly red. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

“I did knock,” I say, bobbing my head to the beat. “But the bigger question is, haven’t
you
heard of boxers?”

Josh reaches for a pair of pants and pulls them on under the sheet.

I take another bite of waffle and look around his room. It looks the same as before, with clothes on the floor, a Tony Hawk poster above his dresser, and Cindy Crawford above his bed. There’s a can of markers for his art, and some old skateboard wheels on the floor. The only thing different are Josh’s free weights. They were hand-me-downs from his brother, but ever since David left, they’ve been stashed in Josh’s closet. Now they’re in the middle of his floor.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, slipping his arms into a T-shirt.

“I need you to come over so we can go on Facebook,” I say. “I can’t stop thinking about Kevin Storm. And I saw a baby picture of myself last night that looks so much like—”

“Sure,” Josh says. “Go ahead.”

“Without you? You’re not worried I’ll ruin your future?”

“Just don’t call Jordan Jones again, and don’t try to find Kevin Storm’s number. I’ll come over when I finish up here.”

I notice the phone on his floor, surrounded by the only patch of carpet without clothes or magazines. I wonder if Sydney’s called him yet.

When I click on his name, nothing happens. I try again.
Nothing!
Kevin’s name isn’t highlighted blue, so I’m guessing he doesn’t have a Facebook page of his own.

I look down on the screen to see what I’ve written in this future.

I have no idea what I’m talking about, but if Netflix plus Glee equals my life, I’m hoping those are good things. I keep scrolling down.

Boys
? I told Josh we shouldn’t get too attached to our future children, but it’s hard to believe I’ll never see Olivia’s plump cheeks again.

Six people have commented, everything from “Congrats, Luke!” to “I dunno . . . maybe a dollar?” But it’s the last comment that stands out.

I’m tempted to click on Kellan’s name, but I promised Josh I would only look up Kevin Storm, so I force myself to stay on my own page. Mostly, I talk about my boys and Netflix, which seems to be a new way to watch movies.

I have a computer in my
car
? Josh is going to freak out when he hears this. And if Kevin saved a life, maybe he’s a doctor. Or a paramedic. Or a fireman! That’d be cool because firemen have great bodies.

I read through the comments of various people congratulating Kevin. The man in the eighth photo has graying hair and . . .
it’s my dad!

My eyes sting with tears. Seeing my dad’s name makes me miss him so much more right now.

I have no idea what a
text
is, but I can’t help smiling. The other times we looked at Facebook, Josh’s name was always in my Friends category, but we weren’t talking back and forth like this.

Then my mind catches something I missed earlier. I scroll up to the comment Kellan left about the Tooth Fairy, and lean in to get a closer look at her picture. She has the same long black hair and the same devilish smile. She’s wearing a black shirt and dangly silver earrings. Josh isn’t here, but this is too big to ignore. I need to look at Kellan’s webpage.

I click on her photo.

The most recent thing she wrote was back in February.

Fifteen years from now, Kellan is a single mother with a
fourteen-year-old daughter
. That means—

There’s a loud knock at my door. I back-click until I return to my page.

Josh grins as he strolls in. “That was called
knocking
. And not that it’s any of your business, but you’ll be happy to know I’m wearing boxers now.”

I smile weakly. All I can think about is whether to tell Josh about Kellan. I should, but I don’t want to create any more ripples that could ruin either one of our futures.

Josh leans over my shoulder and looks at the screen. “How are things this morning?”

“Now, or in fifteen years?”

“Fifteen years,” he says. “How are the Storms?”

“We’re fine,” I say.

Josh points to the screen. “Look! I’m talking to your dad! And now I have twins again?”

I get out of my chair. “You can click over to your page if you want. I have to finish getting ready for school.”

Josh sits at my computer, and I walk into my mom’s room. I close the door and sink onto the foot of her bed. If Lindsay is fourteen, and Facebook is fifteen years from now, then Kellan must become pregnant in the next few months
.

Unless she already is.

I JUMP OUT OF EMMA’S CHAIR and slide open her window. A van drives up the street, the high-pitched drone of its engine growing louder until it eventually shifts gears. At Wagner Park, someone tosses a glass bottle into a garbage bin. It clanks, but doesn’t shatter.

Perfect!
If my home phone rings, I shouldn’t have trouble hearing it.

I return to Emma’s computer and look again at the most important bit of information.

I click where it says Photos. Emma and I need to leave for school soon, so rather than reading through dozens of short statements that hardly make sense, I want to see what my future
looks
like.

The first square is labeled:

When I open the album, twelve new squares slowly load. The first one is only half filled-in, but I already love what it shows. The house is literally on the shore of Crown Lake. According to Mom and Dad, that’s the most expensive location in town. The rest of the photo appears, revealing a wraparound porch leading to a long wooden dock. Either Sydney inherited a fortune, or my graphic design business is booming!

In the second picture, I’m laying on a hammock with identical red-headed boys. I don’t think we have twins anywhere in my family, but for Sydney and me to have twins in two of my futures is a bizarre coincidence.

In the next picture I’m standing in front of the house waving at the camera. My other arm is around . . . is that David? I click to enlarge the photo.

David is standing with one arm around me and his other arm around a guy with short brown hair and sunglasses. We’re all smiling. Beneath the picture, it says:

So he goes by Dave in the future. Sorry, bro, but I’m still calling you David. When I scroll the arrow over his name, it turns into a hand. I glance at the door. Emma’s still not back. Anyway, she wouldn’t care if I checked on David. He’s family.

David’s page says he now lives in Bellingham, Washington, and works as a computer engineer.

Then I notice something else.

Okay, that’s . . . um . . . I don’t . . .

Emma walks in and plops on her bed. “Anything interesting?”

“Nope!”

I click the red
X
in the corner. Facebook disappears, and AOL says, “
Goodbye
!”

“Sorry,” I say quickly. I’m a little shaken by what I just saw. “Do you want me to sign back on?”

Emma tilts her head and smirks at me. “Tell me truthfully, did you change your underwear because I made fun of you?”

“No,” I say. But the answer is yes. Emma walking in on me was embarrassing enough. But there’s no telling when a girl I actually have a chance with might get a glimpse of my underwear. I don’t want her first thought to be
Haven’t you heard of boxers?

After Emma left my house, I took a shower and swiped some boxers from my dad’s drawer. They were in an unopened pack, and they’re a little loose, but they work. I’m planning to buy a few pairs of my own after school.

“Remember, I can tell when you’re lying,” Emma says. “And if you did that for Sydney’s sake, it’s kind of sad. Because if you think about it, you don’t even know her.”

“I don’t know her
yet
,” I say. “But it’s going to happen.”

“Oh, really? Did she call you last night?”

That is the question I was hoping to avoid.

“Because if she didn’t,” Emma continues, “maybe she’s having second thoughts.”

I don’t say anything. What if Emma’s right? Sydney and I really
don’t
know each other. Maybe she noticed me in Peer Issues sooner than she was supposed to, and now everything’s rippling in ways that will push us apart.