Until We Meet Again (8 page)

Three hours of frantic research on the Internet, and this is
the answer I have come up with. The idea that a small event
can cause big ripples over time. Lawrence choosing to meet
me instead of his friend led to Billy Howard’s car accident and
death, which in turn eliminated the entire genealogical line he
would have created, which means that as of yesterday, Travis
Howard ceased to exist. He’s not dead. He never lived in the
first place. Either way, he’s gone.

And it’s my fault. Lawrence should have been with Billy. Billy
should have lived, married, and had kids who had kids, who
gave birth to Travis Howard.

I should have thought of this before. I’ve seen enough sci-fi
movies to know there are ramifications when you mess with
time. The time-space continuum is a fragile thing. There are
consequences to even the smallest unplanned shift.

I lie on my bed, but sleep won’t come. It’s not possible with
the chaos in my brain. I even snuck one of my mom’s Xanax
because I was afraid I was having a nervous breakdown. But the
medicine has only slowed my pulse, not my mind.

Turning over, I stare at the red numbers of my alarm clock,
glowing in the darkness like eyes—2:48. I roll to my back
again. The ceiling is less-stressful to look at. I try to clear my
head and relax. But my thoughts are impossible to hide from.
They march though my brain, an unrelenting army.

The tears return. It’s been like that on and off all night. Tears
of mourning for Travis. I never got to know him all that well,
but I liked him. And to me, it’s like he’s dead. Which isn’t far
from reality. In a lot of ways, Travis was sitting in that car with
Billy Howard as it careened off the cliff.

I smudge the tears away with my pajama sleeve, sniffling. It’s
not all for Travis. I’m also crying for myself. Because this turn
of events has surfaced a fear that I’ve tried to bury thus far.

It’s not safe to know Lawrence. It’s not normal. It’s not natural. As this case proves, interacting with him can have serious,
even deadly repercussions.

He comes up to me with a smile that kicks me right in the
chest. “I was hoping you’d be here already,” he says. “Have you
been waiting long?”

I shake my head. Words aren’t possible yet. All I can do it
stare at him.
“I brought your surprise,” he says, patting his jacket pocket.
“I wrote you a poem. Nothing Byron-esque, mind you. Just a
few words on paper. But I thought you might like it.”
Longing twists my throat. He wrote me a poem. In a moment
of supreme foolishness, I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with
him. It’s pathetic, I know. But I’m about to lose it all. Might as
well drag myself as low as possible.
I squeeze my eyes shut. No, you have to do this. If I’m going
to follow through with what I know is right, I can’t delay a
minute longer. Time to rip off the Band-Aid.
“Come sit by me,” Lawrence says. “I’ll read it to you.”
I grab his arm to stop him from sitting. “Wait.”
His deep brown eyes search mine, and they’re so beautiful
that I almost cave again. “We need to talk.”
“All right,” he says hesitantly, still searching my face. “Is
everything okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m not okay.” The tightness in my throat winds into a knot.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“It’s more something that didn’t happen.”
“Not sure I understand.”
“It’s Billy Howard.”
Lawrence frowns. “What about him?”
“He wasn’t supposed to die.”
“What?”
“I knew someone related to him. In my time. And yesterday,
he just…ceased to exist.”
He studies me, thoughts flickering behind his eyes. “What
do you mean?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me. One
minute I knew him. Everyone around me knew him. I had
pictures of him on my phone. And then after yesterday, it’s like
he’d never was. Not even his best friend knew who I was talking about when I mentioned his name. The pictures are gone.
He’s gone.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Billy Howard wasn’t supposed to die. You were supposed to
be with him, but you weren’t because of me. And as a result,
Travis Howard is essentially dead as well. Don’t you get it? You
and I have messed with time. We’ve changed things that weren’t
supposed to be changed, just by knowing each other.”
Lawrence shakes his head. “But how could that be possible?
You haven’t come into my time, nor I into yours. How could
we have changed a thing?”
“Because you’re in the past. You’re not supposed to even know
I exist. Look, I think we can both agree that the simple fact we
can see each other is a freak of nature. Right?”
“Yes. But what does that matter?”
“This proves why it matters! Because people are vanishing,
Lawrence. Because of us. Because we’re playing with something
you just don’t mess with. I mean, for all we know, this conversation could be altering history as we speak. I could walk back
into my house and find out that Hitler the Fifth has just been
reelected Global Chancellor!”
Lawrence sets a hand on my shoulder. His brow is furrowed
with concern. “Cassandra, you’re very worked up.”
I back away from his touch. “Don’t tell me I’m crazy. You
need to accept it.”
“Accept what? I’m still not sure I understand what’s going on.
What are you suggesting we do about this?”
Now we come to it. I turn my face away from him, focusing
instead on the shimmering curl of waves.
“We have to say good-bye.”
Lawrence’s silence cuts into me, but I push forward with
what must be said. “You have to forget that you ever met me.
And I will forget that I met you. We have to leave this beach
and never come back again.”
“You can’t mean that,” he says.
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
“How are you so sure it does?”
“Lawrence—”
“This whole business with Billy Howard could be a coincidence. A misunderstanding—”
I smash my fingers to my temples. “People don’t just disappear, Lawrence! We can’t fight it. We have to move forward
with our lives as if none of this ever happened.”
“You think I can do that? Can you?”
“I can, and I will.”
His eyes intense, he pulls the folded sheet of paper from his
coat pocket and presses it in my hand. “Read this first.”
“No.”
“Please, Cassandra.”
“You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.” I pull
away from him, my heart pounding. “Look, it’s been really
amazing getting to know you. But this is where it ends, okay?”
He shakes his head. As I hand him back the poem, you’d
think I was slapping him across the face, “I wish it could work,
Lawrence. I mean that.”
“I’ll wait for you,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll come out every
day and night, and wait on this beach.”
“Please don’t.”
“I will.”
“I have to go.” Band-Aid, Cass. The faster the better. I turn
away. “Good-bye, Lawrence.”
And then, all at once, he catches me in his arms. For an electric moment, he holds me, staring into my eyes with a power
that could light up half the Eastern Seaboard. Then he presses
his lips to my cheek.
“I will wait for you,” he whispers into my ear, sending a shiver
over my entire body.
Grasping for composure, I back away. I can feel my pulse
beating from my scalp all the way down to my toes. This is
when I was supposed to say my poignant, preplanned words
of farewell. Instead, I turn away in a daze and run off without
another word.

Brandon’s smile is probably supposed to come across as casually smug, though his eagerness to impress me seeps through.
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. It’s incomprehensibly lame
that I’m here. On a date with Brandon. I was perfectly happy
sitting on the couch wrapped in my bedspread, eating a tube
of processed cookie dough, and binge-watching Netflix. So,
of course, Mom had to ruin everything and make me go out.
She thinks she’s fixing the problem.

“Can’t see why there’s such a big wait,” I say, perusing the
menu.
It’s so strange to be around Brandon without Travis. Even
stranger to wrap my head around the fact that I am literally
living in an alternate reality right now. One where Brandon is
top dog in Crest Harbor, not just Travis’s wingman. Because
Travis has never existed. The difference is tangible, and
unfortunately I liked Wingman Brandon much better. There
was something almost endearing about his nervous, tryingtoo-hard-to-please manner. Confident, triumphant Brandon
makes me want to punch something.
“So,” Top Dog Brandon says, glancing down at his menu.
“What have you been doing this past week, Cass? I feel like
you disappeared.”
Because I did. Because I met someone infinitely more
interesting and charming than you. I’d be with him now, if
not for…
I close my eyes and draw in a quick breath. I need to get hold
of myself. I’m supposed to be forgetting about Lawrence. That’s
the only reason I came on this date. Anything to keep from
thinking about that beach.
“Oh, you know,” I say, shrugging. “Just the typical stuff.
Joined a street gang. Sold some crack. Killed my first man in a
switchblade fight.”
Brandon raises an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting.”
“That’s Crest Harbor for you. Little America.”
“You know, after seeing you break into your neighbor’s backyard, I’m not totally sure you’re joking right now.”
I wink at him. “A lady never tells.”
He offers a strained smile, and I realize I should probably lay
off the sarcasm a little. Jade’s always telling me I scare guys off
with it.
But Lawrence liked my sense of humor.
I clench my jaw. Stop it.
“So,” I say, trying for a light, cheerful tone. “How about you?
Do anything cool lately?”
Brandon grins. Talking about himself proves second nature
for him.
“Getting ready for the lacrosse championships. We practice a
ton, but it’s paying off. The Crest Harbor league is killer strong
this summer.”
Taking his pause as a cue, I smile and nod. “Awesome.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty sweet,” he says. “We all meet up at Hector’s
after the games, have some drinks, swim—you know, hang out.”
His left eyebrow rises suggestively. “You should come sometime.”
In a blink, I can picture what it would be like to date
Brandon. Hangouts at Hector’s. Stupid drinking games. Lots
of talk about lacrosse and other sports. A few make-outs in his
car. Perhaps one or two in the jacuzzi, while his new, alternatereality guy friends drink beer from red Solo cups and high-five
each other for their epic displays of manliness.
It would be a perfectly adequate, entertaining summer fling.
And don’t I have every right to that? I’m seventeen. It’s not like
I’m searching for my soul mate or something.
Soul mate… The words send tremors through my stomach. I
clench my teeth. Get a grip, Cass. Seriously.
“We have a game Friday night actually,” Brandon says, interrupting my thoughts. “You can sit with Sara, Jake’s girlfriend.
You met her the other night, didn’t you?”
“I think so.” I really have no idea.
“Sweet. It’s a date.” He smiles in triumph, as if simply
acknowledging that I knew someone was agreement to go out
with him.
Another date. Just what I’m in the mood for. I take another
long drink of my water, wishing it were something stronger.
Brandon goes on. “We could hang out at my place after the
game, but my mom killed that idea. She’s totally freaking out
about her lame party.”
“Another party, huh?”
“Yeah, she does it every year. Her Great Gatsby party.”
I choke a little on my water but swallow before I make too
much of a spectacle. “Great Gatsby?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a nineteen-twenties thing. Nineteentwenties costumes, nineteen-twenties music.”
This is unbelievable. In spite of my greatest efforts, I can’t
escape Lawrence. First, there was the movie on TV about the
two time-travelers who make a mess of things. Then, yesterday,
when I talked with Jade, she kept going on and on about the
surrealists living in Paris in the Twenties. And now this.
I am supposed to be forgetting Lawrence, but thus far, I’m
failing quite spectacularly.
“Sounds like a swell time,” I say, my heart aching at the phrase.
Brandon keeps talking, but my mind races away from this
conversation. Away from the clanking silverware and stuffy
food smells and buzz of a hundred conversations in this restaurant. And I let myself go to the beach, with the gentle crash
of the ocean and the soft wind and the clean sea smell. And
Lawrence standing beside me, his eyes dark and thoughtful. In
careful detail, I replay how he took me in his arms, how his lips
pressed to my cheek. I savor the memory, each moment of it.
Poor Brandon doesn’t stand a chance. I’ve just checked out of
this date entirely.
Later, after he’s dropped me off, I lie on my bed and stare at
the moon, which is framed perfectly in my window. I wonder
if Lawrence is looking at it as well. Is he really waiting on the
beach, like he said he would? The urge to find out pulls at me. I
envision myself tiptoeing down the stairs, across the lawn, and
through those bushes. It would be so simple. One quick peek.
I puff out a breath. No, Cass. Think about Travis. I can’t risk
that happening again.
It really is over. There’s just no other way. The thought unreasonably depresses me. I roll to my side, pulling my blanket over
my shoulders. I think I’ll sleep the rest of the summer. Or at
least lie here in bed feeling sorry for myself.
I wish I’d at least taken that poem. I could have had something to remember him by. I sigh deeply.
And then a thought occurs to me: what if there was another
way? Lawrence is from the past. There has to be information
about him somewhere. Surely it won’t mess with any timespace continuum to look him up. I sit up in bed, the idea lighting within me like a sudden flame.
I don’t know why I never thought of it before. But there’s got
to be some form of information out there. Maybe a class photo
from his graduating year of high school. A family picture.
Something. Anything. I feel light and tingly at the possibility.
Seeing him again, even in a grainy black-and-white photo,
would be a dream. It’s going to require all of my research-nerd
skills. No Internet search will do. This is a job for an archives
sweep. First thing in the morning, I’m heading straight to the
Crest Harbor library.
I flop back on my bed, my heart light. Tomorrow. Tomorrow,
I’ll see Lawrence again.