So Totally (3 page)

We arrived at the beach in one piece. The fire was going and the keg already attracted a crowd holding red plastic cups. The salty air and the familiar sights soothed me. Some things in life were constant. Red cups and beer kegs didn’t change.

Mom—er, Heather—opened up her trunk and pulled out a couple two-liter bottles of orange wine cooler. Well, like I said, some things were constant. My mother and wine apparently. I’d never seen it come in a two-liter plastic bottle, though. It looked like Tang.

The jelly shoes and beach sand were bad partners, so I removed them and sat on a log in front of the fire, declining offers of alcohol. No beer buzz necessary. I already didn’t know what year it was.

“You look cold.”

Over my shoulder, a boy my age (ha) offered me a blanket.

“Thanks.”

He smiled and sat next to me. Totally cute. “I’m Otto. Otto Wickman.”

I smiled. “Carrington.”

Fantastic. The
mayor
was about to flirt with me. And he was thirty-one flavors of hotness and I was going to have to pass.

We kept the convo light. Boys, even the ones decades older than me, flirted the same way. I kept steering the topic back to him, laughed at his jokes, but didn’t return the subtle lean when he pushed closer. He smiled, moved back to starting position, and scanned the crowd for his next mark while remaining polite and charming. Total politician, but overall nice guy.

He moved on, eventually, assuring me I could return his blanket on Monday. Two seconds later, Heather took his spot.

“Ohmygod. You move fast. Did he ask you out?” She offered me a drink.

I shook my head. “No and no,” I answered. “We just talked.”

“Otto is an awesome kisser.” She smiled, and I almost gagged. I didn’t want to imagine that, thanks. Heather was young and skinny, but she was still my mother.

“Are you guys…a thing?” She had neglected to tell me, in all her stories of yore, that she’d kissed the mayor of Serendipity Falls when they were in school.

“No, not anymore. But it’s no big. You can totally have him.”

Oh joy. I can have my mom’s cast-offs?

Focus, Carrington
. “No. Really. He’s not my type anyway.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear. It reminded me of how she always did that to mine. It used to drive me crazy, and the minute she turned her back, I used to shake it back out.

“He’s not your type?”

I shook my head.

“I see. Which part of cute-smart-rich-nice don’t you like?”

I laughed. So, finally I found the source of my own sarcasm. “The part where I’m the new girl and I need to get settled before I make out with a random guy at a kegger.”

“Totally good plan. But I’ll watch out for you and make sure you don’t make out with anyone undignified.”

Oddly, that made me feel better.

“So you haven’t been drinking. Are you totally straight or just straight tonight?”

My first instinct was “totally straight,” but then I realized she wasn’t asking if I was a lesbian, she wanted to know if I partied—’80s term. “Kind of just tonight,” I assured her. “Nerves and booze are a bad combination.”

“How do you feel about nerves and pizza?”

“Something about gooey cheese totally relaxes my nerves.”

She handed me her keys. “I’m taking advantage of you being new and sober.”

“Cool.”

“We can crash at my house and watch videos on MTV.”

“MTV plays videos?” Huh.

“You’re kind of a strange girl, Carrington.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

And then I went to my first slumber party at my grandma’s house.

I
COULDN’T sleep. Heather (Mom), Sissy, and Jennifer fell asleep during
Sixteen Candles
, which we watched on a videotape with bad tracking. I was surprised that she conked out. In the twenty-first century, I believe she’d classify that as the ultimate insult to all things Molly Ringwald.

Too restless to watch any more videos, I wandered down the hall and sat on the familiar stairs overlooking the living room. Grandpa snored in his recliner in front of the television, and the sound and sight of him brought tears to my eyes. He looked so young.

When I was little, my parents would bring me to this house on
date night
. Grandma and Grandpa would take me out for cheeseburgers and then we’d come back and watch a movie. Grandma would tuck me in my mom’s old bed, and I’d lie there sleepless for hours until I finally couldn’t stand the dark anymore. I’d amble down the hallway and settle on the stairs to watch Grandpa snooze.

I remembered the smell of the paint on the banister rails, the feel of my footie jammies pulling on me when they were too small, the heaviness of my eyelids when sleep finally came for me. Grandpa usually woke up at some point, and he’d pick me up and carry me back to bed, tucking me in and patting my head. The next morning, Grandma always made pancakes, and while we ate, Mom and Dad showed up to take me home.

Sitting on the stairs this time claimed my heart in a really achy way. I longed for the ease of childhood—but if I had to face this strange experience, at least I had my family. Kind of.

The next morning, I knew I had to come up with a plan. At the very least, a story. I had forty dollars in my pocket, but I couldn’t spend it for another twenty years according to the print date. I was going to need food, shelter, and probably psychiatric counseling—none of which I wanted to think about while eating Grandma’s pancakes in the kitchen that hadn’t changed much since the ‘80s. Funny how I’d never noticed the sameness of it while growing up.

Jennifer and Sissy went home, leaving me alone with Heather finally. We sat on her bed reading magazines. The styles had changed a lot, but other than the pictures, I don’t think the magazines were all that different. The articles still preached “be your own person” and “make your own style” while they printed a hundred glossy pages showing you how to be like everyone else.

It was hard to focus because I felt guilty for still being there. It would have been best to leave. I kept thinking I could screw up history and the future and God knew what else. But then again, Heather and the grandparents were my blood. Just because they didn’t actually know me didn’t mean they wouldn’t love me, right? Where else could I go?

“Earth to Carrington.” She waved her hand in front of my face.

I meant to say something light, laugh off my spaciness. Instead, our eyes met and I said, “Heather, I’m in big trouble.”

She nodded. “I kinda figured. Spill.”

Sure.
I’m your time-traveling daughter from the future
didn’t feel like the right approach. “I’m…in the…Witness Protection Program.” I have no idea where that came from, but her eyes widened and she leaned closer, so I fingered the rosebud quilt (that’s still on the bed in my time, by the way) and kept going. “My parents and I…um…got separated. I’m really worried.”

“Oh my God. You’re all alone?”

I nodded. “And that is all I can tell you. For your safety and mine. I’m sorry, I wish I could give you the whole story but…”

“Is it really bad? Like horrid?”

I nodded solemnly.

“You can totally stay here.”

“I…shouldn’t.” I lowered my voice and looked around the room suspiciously. “I don’t want to put your family in…
danger
.” Man, I was good.

She wouldn’t let me go on. I was staying with her until I found my parents and that was final. She’d always wanted a sister.

Heather made up a story to tell
her
parents so they would let me stay. Grandma was always soft-hearted, but it felt awfully weird when Heather told me she’d convinced Grandma into letting my stay by telling her my parents drank too much.

Okay—so food and shelter were taken care of, for a little while, and I could put off the counseling for now. But getting out of my mess meant I needed to figure out how I got into it first. That might take some doing.

Heather drove me around for a “grand tour” of the town I grew up in. Despite my obvious sarcasm, it was probably a good thing because a lot had changed. We ended up at the arcade—which in 2011 is a really lame clothes store that caters to old women who cruise. As in the seas, not the streets.

None of Heather’s crowd actually
played
video games at the arcade. A few of the boys did, but mostly it was just a good place to hang out. The snack bar sold fifteen different kinds of soda and you could get it in cups bigger than your head. There were also televisions in all the corners showing MTV videos. Not that you could hear the music over the hundred different games.

Her friends squealed a welcome when we walked in the door, and from then on they grated on my nerves. My thoughts were hyperfocused on things that seemed so much bigger than who mashed with whom last night. For one thing, I didn’t know anyone they were talking about, and for another—for crying out loud, who cares?

I inhaled deeply and tried to plug back in to the conversation—I didn’t want to be Ms. Buzzkill. Plus, I might be stuck here forever, so it was possible I might really need to know who made out with whom last night. How depressing.

Sissy and her boyfriend, Jake, were having “relationship issues.” This necessitated a lot of attention from Heather. Still, it was nice to watch Mom in friend mode. She listened intently and every time she agreed with Sissy, she nodded and her big bangs flopped around. I had to hide my smile, because I thought it was really cute.

It occurred to me that the arcade might be a good place to recruit some help. All the computer games should draw the nerds like a mall draws cheerleaders. And I needed a nerd or two with specialized knowledge. For one thing, I could use some help with the paradox issue.

Also, I needed to figure out how to hack myself into the school’s computer system so I could attend school without the benefit of previous records and parental signatures. School would have been lower on the list of things to do to straighten out my breach of the space-time continuum, but the mirror in the girls’ room was possibly my ride home, so I required an all-access pass.

I struck up a conversation with the nearest girl at the table since Heather was busy dispensing guy advice to Sissy. “Jennifer, I need help with science.”

She sipped her diet drink and looked at me over the rim. “I’m probably not the one to ask.”

“No?” Shocker. “But I bet you know who can tutor me.” Her vacant stare didn’t encourage me. I gestured to the rest of the room. “Which of those guys watches too much
Star
Trek
?” She shrugged. “Who breaks the curve in science class?” She bit her lip. “Carries around a worn out copy of
The
Hobbit
?”

“Oh!” She set down her cup and pointed to two boys playing a space game in the corner. “Those two tried to get my brother to play Dungeons & Dragons last year.”

Bingo.

“I’ll be right back.” I slid from chair and maneuvered the maze of flash and noise, completely zeroed in on my targets.

In the ‘80s, as in the future, nerds are never as exaggerated as, say, movie nerds. Regular nerds might have a feature (usually the hair) that stands out as being “different” from the teeming masses of us who would just die if we were singled out as not fitting in. A lot of times, it was just their IQ. Most are normal kids who just don’t put as much emphasis on what they look like as the rest of us.

The two in front of me were not like that.

They were movie nerds. One of them even had headgear on. He played the space game while the other watched and critiqued.

I didn’t want to wreck his high score or anything, so I waited off to the side without interrupting. I kept getting distracted by his Adam’s apple. It looked like he’d swallowed a huge jawbreaker. I tried not to stare, but it may as well have had a spotlight on it.

The other boy looked younger. He had so many freckles that they lacked definition individually. Sort of like he had freckle land masses. He stood about six inches shorter than his friend and still had the roundness of baby fat not yet lost. I sort of still had some myself, so I sympathized. And also having the fair skin and red hair—yeah, freckles can be a problem.

Finally, the sound effects of a planet dying meant he was done. I took a deep breath and bounced up to the game before they could start another. “Hi, guys.” I even broke out my chipper voice.

They stared at me and then turned to each other, then back to me. I smiled my brightest, but I think I only succeeded in making them nervous. I never really talked to nerds in my…own timeline. Plus, the Adam’s apple hypnotized me a little, so I gave up the cheery and let my posture slip back into its usual lazy position. Jaunty I was not.

“Look, I have a feeling you two are the smartest guys in the room. Am I right?”

They looked around, as if trying to find someone smarter, and then shrugged and nodded.

“Good.” I pulled a stool over from the arcade game behind me. “I need your help.”

Once again, I was met with silence.

“Not just help. Big time help. Like, help-me-Obi-Wan-Kenobi-you’re-my-only-hope kind of help.”