>Jamie is seriously pissed! She ignored me in Spanish (notes say she has all week), then came over after school for a borrowed clothes swap like we were breaking up. Barely spoke to me, then ripped the BFF poster in half!! I feel bad but this is crazy.
Bright side:
Luke and I have a date on Sat. night!! Unfortunately, we didn’t talk much in study hall today. He was sketching a giant ear (?) most of the time and then he had to go help his mom at lunch. Think he was about to kiss me before he left! Maybe Sat.
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“Have I ever changed something that was supposed to happen?” I ask my mom as we pull into the parking lot before school. My head is heavy and it’s only 7:24 in the morning.
“What do you mean?”
“The future,” I say, wishing for one second she could read my mind so that I didn’t have to explain it. “My memories. Have I ever changed a memory?”
“Hmm, let me think,” she says, pondering the thought a little too long. Finally, she’s got something. “You skipped Jamie’s thirteenth birthday party.”
“Why?”
“You remembered that you were going to break your nose,” she says with a chuckle. Not funny, I think, but I stay quiet and listen. “It was a pool party at the rec center, out on the deck. There were sliding glass doors and you remembered running full force into one of them. So you skipped the party.”
“And what happened?” I ask.
“You missed out on the fun and you broke your nose later that year when you tripped over a stray dog that you brought home.”
We’re idle in the drop-off area, and I need to get out now. She looks over and touches the tip of a nose that looked perfectly fine to me in the mirror this morning.
“So, really, I didn’t change anything?” I ask, part dejected and part annoyed. Frankly, I’m having a hard time not asking her why she’s been lying to me all my life, as this morning’s notes reported.
“I guess not,” my mom says. When I exhale loudly, she adds, “That’s not to say that you couldn’t, you know. Maybe you just didn’t in that situation. What’s wrong, London?”
“I just feel sick,” I say, because right now, I really do.
Another parent gives her car horn a gentle tap to politely ask us to move along. My mom glances in the rearview mirror, then looks at me earnestly.
“You know, London, the thing is, unless you told me about it or wrote it down, you wouldn’t really know that you were making changes to your future, even if you were. Does that make sense?”
I take a moment to consider her statement. Say that right now, I remember that tomorrow I’ll be hit by a bus. I don’t tell my mom about it or write it down tonight, so tomorrow morning that knowledge is lost completely. But tomorrow, I take a different route to school and unknowingly avoid the bus-hitting incident. Then, I’ve changed my future without knowing it.
I genuinely smile for the first time this morning.
“It makes perfect sense,” I say as I release my seat belt and open the door. I wave good-bye, rush inside, and head to my first class.
Barely inside the locker room, I’m accosted by Page Thomas.
“Have you asked him yet?” she says, standing awkwardly in her baggy sportswear.
I can see a costume in Page’s locker instead of street clothes. I’m dressed in a black crewneck sweater, a black denim skirt, and orange and black striped tights that I found in my dresser. Not a costume, but festive just the same.
Page stares at me, arms crossed, as if it’s my duty to seal her romantic fate. For a glimmer of a second, I consider telling her the truth. But then, I think of Brad Thomas and what he’ll do to her. I think of her public rejection. I think of the sadness in her when it happens.
And then I think of myself.
Underneath it all, I can’t deny that I want to try to change something small to find out whether I might be able to change something big.
With all this in mind, rather than telling Page Thomas the truth—that I never actually spoke to Brad—I turn to face the girl in the baggy sportswear and spew a lie right to her face.
“Page,” I say, feigning sympathy. “I’m so sorry, but apparently Brad Thomas is gay.”
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