The First Last Day (11 page)

Mom once told me about this thing called the self-fulfilling prophecy, how sometimes if you think the worst is going to happen, it will—because you end up making it happen. Had I always drifted apart from my friends because I expected to? Was I the one who was really pulling away because I was afraid they'd do it first? Had I even done it with Abbey?

At that moment, I wanted more than ever for time to move forward. I
had
to find out who gave me the yellow box. I looked at Kevin's hurt face. “I know it wasn't you . . . maybe it was someone at mini golf.”

“But you had the backpack with you the whole time.”

“No! No, I didn't. You don't remember, but on that first day, the rickshaw driver swerved and knocked you down. I didn't get there in time to pull you out of the way, like I did today. He took me by surprise the first time, and when I ran to help you, I left my backpack on a bench at the last hole.”

“It's weird I can't remember that,” Kevin said. “Did I get hurt?”

“You skinned your knee.”

“Why were you able to pull me away in time? But we can't save G-Mags?”

“I wondered that for a long time, but . . .” I looked away and rocked faster in the chair. “I think some things are just meant to be.”

Kevin was quiet for a while, and I wasn't sure what to say. Finally, he looked up and drew a green star next to mini golf. Then he added, “We can cross out Number Ten. There was no one at dinner but all of us. And your backpack was here the whole time.”

“So what do we have?”

Kevin followed the numbers with his index finger. “It could be Serena. Or Mr. Sidhu. Or someone on the
beach or at mini golf. Or . . . your parents?” He looked up at me for approval.

I nodded. “Go on.”

“Still . . . I bet it's either that guy in the restaurant or Marty.”

“Okay, how do we figure out who it is?”

“We have to ask them all,” Kevin said. “We don't have any choice.”

“You said, ‘we.' You still want to help?”

Kevin nodded.

“Even if it means something bad might happen to G-Mags?”

Kevin's eyes welled up. “I believe you'd do anything to save G-Mags, just like I would.”

I looked away. “You understand that tomorrow morning you will have forgotten all of this?”

“It's hard to believe, but . . .”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What do you think I should say tomorrow morning to convince you I'm telling the truth?”

Kevin kicked a rock off the porch. “Tell me about
G-Mags again. After a while, just like today, I'll realize you'd never joke about something like that.”

“Is that it? That'll make you want to help me?”

“Tell me about your mom being pregnant right away. I know how much you've always wanted a brother or sister. And tell me about how I'll never see Michael again.”

I put the paints in my backpack. “Are you sure that'll be enough? I'll need you to believe that we already filmed the day and figured out who the suspects are.”

Kevin thought for a minute. “I've got it! I'll tell you something that only Michael and I know, something we've kept a secret forever.”

“What is it?”

Kevin leaned all the way across the table and whispered, “Once, when I was little, I took out one of Michael's baseballs and started throwing it in the air and catching it. The ball hit a glass clown that my mother loved, and I ran crying to Michael. He found some Krazy Glue and glued the clown's hat back on so I wouldn't get in trouble. Then the next day, he used his allowance to buy another clown. But he made me promise to never play ball in the house again—and to pay him back one day.”

“Did you?”

Kevin nodded.

“So, if I tell you this secret, you'll believe everything else?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. That's what I'll tell you.”

T
he next morning, I rewrote the names and places, adding the stars and color-coding. And as soon as I got to Annie's, I texted Kevin and ordered breakfast for both of us.

Once he arrived, I waited until he finished his egg and sausage bagel before reciting the story of the time loop, saving his secret for last.

He looked at me, wide-eyed, then put his face in his hands. Finally, he raised his head. “There's no way you'd know that secret if I hadn't told you.”

“That's what you said yesterday.” I slid the paper I'd worked on across the table. “These are the suspects.”

“This doesn't look familiar at all,” he said.

“We worked on it together.”

“I know you wouldn't lie to me. But this is so weird.” He studied the list. “So you said we've already ruled out Annie, right?” He glanced toward the counter where she was adjusting Joey's hairnet.

“It's definitely not Annie.”

“Okay, then.” He got up from the booth. “On to Serena.”

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I followed Kevin out the door. I still thought he was wrong about Serena being a suspect, but it was a good idea to ask her about the paints. She'd been an artist since she was my age, so she might recognize the box. And even if Kevin was right, and she had given me the paints, I was sure she'd done it to surprise me—not to ruin my life.

“So, let me get this straight,” Kevin said. “How will it help to find out where the paints came from?”

“I need to find the instructions. There must be some explanation about how the magic works. If I can
find that out, maybe I can reverse what's happening.” As the blazing sun beat down on us, I wanted more than ever for summer to be over.

“Okay, I get it,” Kevin said as we passed the funnel cake stand. “What's our strategy?”

The sweet smell of fried dough and sugar distracted me for a second. “I don't know. What do you think we should do?”

“Get right to the point. Pull out the paints and ask Serena if she gave them to you.”

“Really? Isn't that kind of rude? Shouldn't we talk a little like we usually do and then ask if she's ever seen the paints before? You know, ease into it before accusing her.”

Kevin looked at me with a serious expression. “We don't have time for that. Besides, there's a difference between asking and accusing. It's all in the tone.”

After arriving at Serena's spot, we watched as she drew the last red polka dot on the little girl's bow. “Now can I have an ice-cream cone?” the girl asked.

As the mother and daughter left for the frozen custard stand, Serena turned to us and sighed. “Some people really don't appreciate art.”

I nodded with sympathy, remembering how some
of my teachers would stand over me and frown when they saw me drawing in the margins of my notebook pages. But, like Kevin had said, there was no time for nice conversation. I took out the paints and shoved them in front of her.

Serena squinted up at me, startled.

“I'm sorry,” I said, giving Kevin a sideways glance. “I didn't mean to be rude. I, uh, was wondering if you've ever seen these paints before.”

She took the box and turned it over. “They look pretty old. Where did you get them?”

Was she faking innocence? “Someone gave them to me.”

“Really? Seems like a weird gift.” She shook the box. “How much do you want for them?”

“What? No. I don't want to sell them. I just want to know where they came from.”

“Why don't you ask the person who gave them to you?”

“I, um, wanted to see if I could return the paints to get something else. And . . . I don't want to hurt the person's feelings.” No matter how much I'd learned to lie all those weeks, it still felt so wrong.

Serena gave me a strange look. “I don't think you'll have much luck returning them. It seems like they might have come from a thrift shop or somewhere like that. They wouldn't be too interested in getting these paints back.”

A thrift shop! Why didn't I think of that?

She opened the box and pulled out the tube of red paint. “Looks like someone's already used them.”

As she twisted the cap off, I snatched the tube from her.

“We've got to get going now,” Kevin said. “Do you know if there's a thrift shop around here?”

I shot him a look of gratitude. I couldn't let her use that paint. Who knew what might happen? And I sure didn't wish that magic on anyone.

Serena pointed down the boardwalk. “There's one about a mile that way and a couple of blocks west.” She put her hand on the brim of her hat, right next to the grapes. “I bought this hat there.”

“It's a great hat,” I said as she handed me the paint box. Kevin and I thanked her for her help and moved on.

“I told you it wasn't Serena,” I whispered, mentally crossing her off our list.

“So what do we do now?” Kevin asked. “Try the thrift store?”

“I don't think so. It'll throw our whole schedule off. Let's do what we normally do.”

“You've got a point. We can go there later.”

Next stop was Mr. Sidhu's store. As soon as we entered, I headed for the counter and plopped my backpack on it. Startled, Mr. Sidhu almost dropped his book.

“Sorry,” I said. “I was wondering . . . does this backpack look familiar to you?”

“It is yours. Is it not?”

“Yes, but could you have . . . possibly placed something inside it by mistake?”

“No. I do not think so.”

“Are you sure? Maybe someone bought something, and you put it in my backpack instead of theirs.”

Mr. Sidhu put his hand to his chin. “I suppose it is possible. Did you find something in there that you did not buy?”

“Yes, yes!” At last, I was getting somewhere. My hand shook as I pulled the zipper open to reveal the yellow box.

Mr. Sidhu stared inside my backpack for a long
while. He seemed to be waiting, maybe for just the right words to tell me he was the one who gave me the paints. Maybe not even by accident.

Holding my breath, I waited for him to confess.

After a while, he began, “I am sorry but . . .”

I nearly shouted the words: “But what? What are you sorry about?”

“I do not see the book you received by mistake?”

I pulled out the paints. “It's not a book. It's this!”

He stared at the box, his bushy eyebrows coming together as one.

“Do you recognize these?” I asked, filled with anticipation.

He looked from the paints to me and shook his head.

Kevin grabbed the box from my hand and turned toward the other customers. “Has anyone ever seen paints like this before?” he shouted.

Some people glanced at him and shook their heads. Most went about their business.

Defeated, I grabbed the paints and shoved them into my backpack. We apologized to Mr. Sidhu for bothering him and left the store.

“Well,” Kevin said. “That was a bust.”

“I guess I didn't really think it was him.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “He's a nice guy, but he's not in the business of giving away stuff.”

“So, what do we do now?”

Kevin pointed straight ahead. “On to the beach!”

Once we were in the water, Kevin and I kept our eyes on our backpacks. After observing the couple next to our beach towels for a while, I whispered to Kevin, “That couple hasn't been watching our stuff at all.”

“But do you really think someone on the beach gave you the paints?”

I shrugged and kept a lookout for anyone suspicious-looking. After a while I noticed something I hadn't seen those other days. The girl with the long, dark hair, the one I saw every time I was getting the water for the stegosaurus spikes, was walking right by our stuff. She waved to her friend and then suddenly dropped to the sand. Had she lost something? I couldn't see what she was doing. I jumped up and down in the water to get a better look, but there were too many people in the way. By the time I could see her again, she'd already met her friend, and they were settling their stuff in the sand.

Could she have given me the paints? I pointed her out to Kevin.

“If she already gave you the paints, why would she be by our backpacks now?”

“Returning to the scene of the crime?”

“Why would she do that?”

“I don't know, but I've heard people do that sometimes. I've got to find out if she's the one. Keep your eye out for anyone else who goes near our stuff.”

Once I got to my backpack, I took out the yellow box and trudged over to the two girls, who were lying in the sun with their eyes closed. My feet burned as I stood next to their blanket. “Um, excuse me,” I said.

The dark-haired girl opened her eyes.

“I . . . I don't know your name, but I'm Haleigh, and . . . I found these paints on the beach, and I was wondering if they were yours.”

The girl sat up on her elbows and squinted up at me. “It's Megan.” She took the box. “Where did you find them?”

I pointed to where my stuff was. “Over there.”

She shook her head and turned toward her friend. “Hey, Kate, have you ever seen these on the beach?”

Kate looked at them and lay back down.

“You sure they don't belong to you?” I asked.

Megan shook her head, and then all of a sudden her eyes widened. “You're the girl I've seen sketching on the boardwalk sometimes.”

My feet were on fire now. She was probably thinking,
nerd alert
.

“You're good,” she said. “I wish I could draw like that.”

I almost fell down in shock. “Really?”

Just as she started to answer me, Kate sat up. “Oh yeah,” she said. “You're the one who's always hanging out with that cute boy. Is he your boyfriend?”

“Uh, no,” I said. “We're just friends.” I didn't add that we might get to be more than friends if the time loop ended. But that wasn't something I was ready to talk about—especially to a couple of girls I didn't know.