Summer of Yesterday (13 page)

“Well, not
supposed
to. But I'm hoping you will, because it's true.”

“Why were you in River Country after closing hours?”

“Because I was trying to find my way home.”

I can see a multitude of emotions finding their way through his eyes, his face, his tense body. “You were going to leave without saying good-bye to me?”

“I . . .”
Is that his worry?
“I wasn't sure it would work. I honestly have no idea how I got here. I was experimenting, trying to see if I would go back to my time. Or maybe I didn't want it to work, I don't know. All I know is that I set out to find a way to get back, but the more I've gotten to know you and this whole place and time, the more . . . I don't want to go home.”

His eyelids blink heavily, but his silence hurts more than any words could. This is it. I need to swim over to River Country right now, like I did that night, and just pray that I get the hell out of here. I've ruined everything. Of course I did. It was bound to happen. Who would ever believe such craziness?

“You think I'm nuts, don't you?” I ask, sitting up straight. “Just tell me; I can take it.”

“I don't know what to think, Haley.”

“I know; I understand. Look, if you get my phone to turn on, I'll show you things you wouldn't believe. Maybe that'll help. Or ask me questions, and I'll do my best to answer them.”

“Are there flying cars?”

“No, no flying cars. But we do have some that run without gas.”

“Is there World War III?”

“What? No. Well, our troops are out right now in Afghanistan, but—”

“Afghanistan? What about the Soviet Union?”

“What is . . . you mean Russia? No. There's no war there.”

“Nuclear warheads?”

“Nobody's using them. That I know of.”

He seems relieved. “Does anything hit our planet, any asteroids . . . what about aliens?”

“No, none of that, Jason. Most everything is still the same. I mean, we know a lot more, I think, about what's in space, and we've sent out a lot of space shuttles, but I think most of the changes have been to technology. And people. People are way different. Take my mom. My mother has an envelope
full
of love notes from my dad. Yet nobody writes love letters anymore. Stuff like that.”

He watches me fixedly, judging.

“It's an attitude thing. I can't explain it. It's almost like you guys all seem so innocent, but that's actually a good thing. I sort of wish my life were as pure and simple. Everything always seems so friggin' complicated, starting with my parents' divorce.”

“Your parents are divorced?” He seems genuinely affected. Seriously, like the first person who actually blinks when I say that. “I am so sorry about that. That must be tough.”

“It is. I think it hurt me more than I'd like to admit.” I'm surprised by how close I am to crying right now. I swallow hard. I know divorce is a very common occurrence in my time, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Finally, someone isn't trying to tell me,
You'll be fine, You'll get used to it,
or
You'll have two sets of presents at Christmas.

Jason reaches forward and takes my hand. I fight back the urge to cry. His hand feels nice in mine. Wide, boy hands.

“So you don't think I'm crazy or making this up?”

“I don't think you're making it up on purpose. I'm just wondering how your seizure might have affected your brain, your ability to reason.”

“Wait, you think I'm
imagining
all this? How can I think to imagine things I've never seen before, Jason? Those arcade video games in the pizza parlor? I'd never seen those in my life! Except for maybe Pac-Man, 'cause I mean, who doesn't know Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man?”

His face lights up again, the way he usually does when I'm not breaking his heart. “You've played Ms. Pac-Man? It just came out! I'm dying to try it! I keep asking them over at the pizza place to get one, but they said it'll be a while. How is it? Is it good?”

“It's . . . it's great!” I say. I don't think I've ever played it, but he doesn't have to know that. Overhead, the fireworks are starting. The booms fill the night as the colorful sparkles light up the sky. As beautiful as they are, it's noisy out here. “Do you want to talk about this somewhere a little quieter?”

He shrugs. “I'm fine here. I'm waiting for my brother to get back. He went out to buy a five-volt power supply and some wire for me.”

“For what?”

He watches the fireworks as if in a trance. “For hot-wiring your phone.”

Oh, wow. This is going to be awesome. If it works, I'm going to have a ton of stuff to show him! We can't do it in front of people, though. It'll draw a crowd, and the last thing I need is more attention.

Suddenly, from the path leading here from the marina, I see a vision. A beautiful, sexy young girl in a white gauzy beach shirt, and underneath her see-through shirt, a shapely body highlighted by a black-and-white monokini. Her lips are cherry red, and her hair is feathered with white earrings underneath. She's an eighties dream girl, flanked by Lizzie, who I can tell is proud to be escorting her.

I'm not the only one who sees her. Half the bonfire crowd quiets down when they do, before resuming their talk again when they see she's a little on the young side.

“I know that girl,” Jason says. “I've seen her around River Country. I think she spends the summer here. She's always where she shouldn't be.”

I watch my brooding father until the very moment when his eyes fall on her, capture her, and follow her every movement. From the time she strides by him, giving him a light flip of her hair, to the moment when a couple of guys come up to her and Lizzie to say hi, my dad's reaction is priceless. He's a cat, watching and waiting, until she finally breaks away to sit apart with Lizzie. And that's when my dad, heart taken aback, Red Bikini Girl long forgotten, makes his move. He comes up to them and crouches in the sand.

Hi.
I can see his mouth forming the words.
I'm Oscar.

Hi,
she replies.
Jenni.

My heart feels lighter than air, and I don't think I've ever been happier than I am right now. There it is—the magic moment they were missing. No matter what happens with Jason, at least I know I might've had a hand in Mom and Dad staying together.

“Haley Petersen?”

I whip my head around, and standing there are two men I've never seen before in my life. Jason and I exchange looks.

The shorter of the two speaks again. “Would you come with us, please?”

seventeen

I
never dreamed the Mickey Police could really arrest anyone. After getting escorted off the beach by these guys, who are dressed like any other guests, except for their Wilderness Explorer badges, I turn and see Jason standing there, powerless to help me. “Just go. I'll find you,” he says.

Then I'm being whisked away in a truck to, I can only assume, the Fort Wilderness main offices.

“Am I in some kind of trouble?” I ask from the backseat of the pickup.

I see my captor's eyes in the rearview mirror. They remind me of my dad's in our car when I thought being taken on vacation with family was torture. When I was young and stupid, almost three forever days ago.

“That depends, Miss Petersen, on your responses to some questions.”

What are they going to ask? My stomach tightens; my heart pounds. I try to relax.
It's going to be fine. Just be honest. Stay calm.
Though I don't see how honesty will get me out of this. In this case, it'll make it worse.

We wind through the roads, and I wait for their questions, but the two guys only mumble things to each other. “They ready for her?” and, “Yep, they told us to bring her in.”

When we get there, they open the truck door for me, and I don't see the registration building that's there in the future. In fact, the few cars coming in pull up to ticket windows and check in right from their vehicles. Instead, there's a big trailer off to one side, which is where we are apparently headed.

I totally understand why cops flank people when they're bringing them in, because all I want to do is run away, but Officers Chip and Dale are on either side of me, ready in case I do. “Miss Petersen, do you have any belongings in your possession—keys, wallet, money?”

“No.” I left the trailer key underneath the mat again when I went there to change, I have no wallet, and my only worldly possession is my phone, which Jake confiscated. “Just some change in my pocket.”

“Great, would you come this way, please?” They're all smiles, probably to ease any fears I might have and not because they know the torture that awaits me. Inside, I'm taken to a small room, where two older men are waiting, both of them laughing about something totally unrelated to me, which is a relief. “Have a seat, Miss Petersen,” Officer Chip says.

One of the other two men, holding a mug in his hand and wearing a beige shirt with the Fort Wilderness logo of Mickey in a coonskin cap, sees me and smiles. “Ah! Miss Petersen. Fred, coffee?”

So Fred is Chip's real name. He waves his hand and closes the door behind us. “Oh, no thanks. If I do, I won't catch one wink tonight.”

The one seemingly in charge folds his hands on the desk in front of him. He's older than my dad, maybe sixty or so, gray hair at the temples and a really red face. “Miss Petersen, how are you this evening?”

“Fine, thanks. You?”

They all chuckle. “Just fine, thank you for asking,” he says, still smiling. “Do you know why you're here?”

“No.”

“No?” His eyes widen, bemused by my adolescent rebellion. Already! After less than a minute. “Well, Miss Petersen, I will help you. You are here because you have been wandering the campground for a few days now, though neither you nor any family members seem to be registered guests. You've been seen trespassing in the water park after hours. Several employees have described you, and you even fled our medical clinic. Some say you're from Atlanta; some say you're from Jupiter.”

One of the officers chuckles. “Jupiter.”

This man in charge continues. “Nurse Thomas was so very worried about you.”

“I left because I wasn't feeling sick anymore.”

“Oh, I can tell, I can tell. So we need to know if there is anyone at this facility that you are staying with, so that we may inform them, since you are a minor. Are you not, Miss Petersen?”

If I say I'm a minor, then I have to tell them who I'm staying with. But if I tell them I'm an adult, then I'll get arrested for trespassing on the spot.
What to do?

“Miss Petersen?” He waits. They all wait. I don't know what to say. I feel fused to my chair. “Okay, then, do you have any identification? Anything?”

I have nothing.

“Miss Petersen? You're going to have to cooperate if you want us to help you.”

Help me? If they wanted to help me, they would release me and let me try finding my way home without interfering. “I . . .” What do I do? “I had a seizure, and uh . . . when I woke up, I wasn't sure where I was nor who my family is. For all I know, I am staying with someone, but I can't remember who they are.”

Yes, buy time. Excellent bullshit.

At this, his eyebrows rise in surprise. This is something he didn't expect to hear. “Well, then, if your memory seems to be the problem, then we're going to have to call in the Orange County Police. Unless there's
something else
you want to tell us. Because I'm afraid it's out of our hands at this point.”

Okay, that did not work as I'd hoped.

I squirm on the edge of my seat. If I maintain this as my story, what happens next? Will I have to wait in this little room until the police arrive? Do I tell them my time-travel story? They'll call the police regardless of what I say. I'm what some like to call—
fucked
.

“I, uh . . .”

Four faces stare at me.

There's only one thing to do. The only thing I've ever known how to do, sadly. Manipulate—charm—control. God, I am a terrible human being. But I need to. “Did you know that the
Titanic
is recovered just a few years from now?” Their faces all soften into confusion, and they exchange looks. “By a crew of sea explorers. It's sitting two miles down at the bottom of the North Atlantic in two huge pieces.”

“I beg your—”

“And did you know that in 2001, there's going to be an attack on the World Trade Center, and the twin towers are going to fall?”

“Two thousand one? What kind of nonsense is she talking?” says Officer Fred to the room before frowning at me. “What are you saying?”

“I'm telling you about the future.”

“That's it. Get Orange County on the line, will you?” insists the guy in charge.

“Just listen.” I interrupt with a hand. “And did you know that EPCOT is going to be a huge success, mostly because of the country pavilions and Food and Wine Festival, and a fast ride called Test Track?”

“How do you know about these things?” In-Charge demands, turning to the other guy who was drinking coffee with him before I arrived, but he just shrugs. “Find out who she's been talking to, would you?”

I go on. “And that
Tron
is going to become a cult classic, 'cause my dad really likes that movie, even though it flops at the box office, you'll see. Oh, and we're going to have a black president in, like, thirty years.”

“What in tarnation is this child saying?”

I hold up my hand to quiet him. “Wait,
and
the space shuttles will explode, and the Miami Heat will win the NBA championships.”

“Miami gets a basketball team?” Officer Dale, who was quiet until now, looks super upset at this. I nod at him, and he puts his hand at his forehead in disgust.

“Phifer, would you shut it?” In-Charge practically cracks a whip at him to come back to his senses. “Miss, I don't know what on Earth you are talking about, but if this is some sort of smoke-and-mirrors attempt to distract us from the real matters at hand, you're going to—”

“Oh, and Disney is going to have two more theme parks soon—Hollywood Studios and Animal Kingdom—plus two new water parks, and . . .” Do I say it? They're already hanging off my every word. All I have is what I know. I need to use it. “River Country will be closed in 2001.”

“What?” Gasps all around.

“Why are you saying all this? Who've you been talking to?” In-Charge's forehead looks like a road map from all the crisscrossing lines.

“Nobody.”

There's a knock at the door, and they all stop to stare at who would be so bold as to interrupt such a damning foretelling event. Officer Chip-slash-Fred cracks the blinds open. He turns back to In-Charge. “It's the kid that was with her—the RC towel kid.”

“Let him in.”

Jason?

Fred unlocks the door, ushering him in. Jason stands boldly, like a defendant in front of a judge. My heart bursts with pride. “She's staying with me, Mr. Walsh.”

“What are you doing?” I whisper at him, but he ignores me.

“What's your name again, son?”

“Jason Hewes, sir. She's a friend. She came to see me from Jupiter. My family and I are staying here during the summer. I work part-time at River Country.”
Hewes?
I didn't know his last name. Now I feel even guiltier.

“You don't have to do this,” I stage-whisper again, trying to get his attention, but his eyes are completely averted from mine.

“Well, Jason, if that's true—what loop are you staying in? I'm going to need your parents to come down and correct this situation, or else I'm forced to summon Orange County PD and press charges for her reckless behavior.”

Officer Dale takes advantage of this little chat between In-Charge and Jason and squats down next to me, hanging on to the arm of the chair I'm in. “Does the National League win the World Series for the fourth time in a row this year? The Brewers take it?” He grins and nods hopefully.

“I don't know. I . . .”

“Phifer, I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you don't—”

“I'm sorry, sir. But it's obvious she has some sort of gift. I think we should listen. It may explain a few things.”

“It explains nothing! Now go wait outside,” In-Charge barks, and Officer Dale reluctantly obeys.

A gift, huh?
Maybe people who claim to know the future and make money off it are really just time travelers who know because they've been there. They're making a living off knowing ordinary information.

Then In-Charge is yelling at all of them, and I take advantage of the momentary fight between them to look at Jason. He eyes me and whispers, “Bathroom . . . then
the
trailer.”

Got it.

“Would you excuse me?” I say aloud, and everyone stops to stare at me. “I need to go use the ladies' room.”

In-Charge's shoulder drops in annoyance. Could this meeting get any more off track for him? I shrug. “I'm sorry, but I really need to go!”

“Fred, accompany the young lady, please. And stand outside the door.”

“Yes, sir,” he says. I stand up, and Fred escorts me out into the hall, where Dale has been banished to time-out. He takes me to the end of the hall. “You're causing quite a ruckus. I've never seen him so upset. Just come clean, and everything will be fine.”

“I am coming clean,” I say, but Fred gives me a disapproving smirk. I step into the restroom and close the door. When I turn on the light, I'm immediately grateful for a fan that turns on, making a loud noise. I stop and take deep breaths.
What am I doing?

Why did Jason want me to come in here?

I lean on the sink and stare into the mirror. I almost don't even recognize myself; that's how long it's been since I've even
cared
to look in a mirror. I have to get out of here. I can't wait for the police to come, but I can't leave Jason with the wolves in that office either. With my foot, I drop the toilet seat gently to mimic ordinary restroom sounds. After a minute I flush the toilet.

The trailer,
he said. How does he expect me to get there with Fred waiting outside the bathroom door? Crap, was
bathroom
just a code word, and I was really supposed to make a run for it in the hallway? I mean, there's a small window, but I don't know if I can fit through it. And what if I get caught? How much worse can it get?

“Is everything okay in there?” Fred asks.

“Yes, I'm just feeling a little sick to my stomach. This is all so upsetting. Give me a minute.”

“Okay.”

I hop over to the window and pull on the latch, sliding the pane all the way to one side. I poke my head out to judge the height and survey the surroundings. There's a tram station and adjacent woods, but God only knows what's in there—snakes, possums, and raccoons, and not the fake kind. But what other choice do I have? Slowly, I hoist myself up to the window, which is hard to do when there's no sill, and there's nothing but aluminum siding between me and the outdoors.

With some necessary wiggling, I pull my body halfway through the window and slide gracelessly, headfirst, into the gravel below. I'm out. Quickly, I brush off my hands. All I need now is a flashlight beam on me, red and blue lights to flash, and I'm a certified criminal. But when I turn around, Jason's golf cart is right there waiting, key in the ignition and everything.