FIVE
I ’m shaking when I get back to the room, still weirded out. I immediately open ResConnect and message Jay.
Aleeza: I just finished my dinner.
Jay: And? Did you find another room to move into?
Aleeza: Can you confirm some more things for me? What’s the date today?
Jay: It’s the 19th.
I feel dread in the pit of my stomach as I ask for more details.
Aleeza: What month?
Jay: October. Why are you asking these questions like I’ve lost my mind or something?
Aleeza: Because you said you’re in room 225 right now, but I’m here right now, staring at your bed. The only thing on it is Tentacle Ted, my stuffed octopus.
Jay: Ted is a stuffed animal? I thought he was a boyfriend or something.
Aleeza: I don’t have a boyfriend. Ted is a large orange octopus. We are the only ones in the room. One more question. What’s on my Instagram story right now? My account is Aleeza_OctoGirl.
Jay: What kind of name is that? Are you an octuplet or something?
Aleeza: Just look it up—what’s on my story?
He takes a few seconds to respond. I use the time to look up my Instagram archive and find October 19. It’s the day I bought my octopus mug. Instagram stories disappear after twenty-four hours, and only I have access to my own archive. If this is a prank, the prankster would have had to hack my Instagram and hack my ResConnect, which seems too far-fetched.
Jay: It’s a picture of a girl drinking from a mug with a tentacle handle. Is this you? You’re cute.
I blow out a long puff of air. The only person who can see this picture right now is me. Which means Jay isn’t in this right now .
Aleeza: This is proof.
Jay: Proof of what? You’re not even in this room in that picture.
Aleeza: You’re right. But I am in your room right now, just like you are in your room right now. But our right nows aren’t the same. It’s March 15 for me.
Jay: You’re not making sense. Maybe you should stop hanging out with a stuffed octopus.
Aleeza: I know I’m not making sense, but it’s the only explanation. We are both in the same place, but at different times.
It’s completely preposterous, but I know it’s true. Jay Hoque and I are stuck in a weird-ass time loop. We’re five months apart.
He doesn’t respond to my message. I don’t blame him.
Aleeza: It’s been snowing for a week straight. We’re a month into second term.
Jay: You’ve completely lost your mind.
I need to figure out how to explain it to him.
Aleeza: You went to see Kegan, the housing guy, after you saw the message from me on ResConnect, and when he looked in the system, it showed that you’re the only registered resident in the room, right? I did the same thing when I saw your message. When I was in the office, Kegan looked at me funny and said he was having déjà vu. Because he was remembering having the same conversation with you five months ago.
Jay: An overworked school administrator mixed up student conversations, so clearly we’re living in a Keanu Reeves movie?
I frown.
Aleeza: Was there a time loop in The Matrix?
Jay: No, another movie. Okay, gimme a second.
Jay : Found something. There’s a basketball game on right now. Raptors versus Celtics. Look it up. Who’s going to win?
I don’t want to close ResConnect to look it up on my phone—I don’t trust this connection between us, and I don’t want the chat to disappear again. So I google October 19 Raptors game on my laptop.
Aleeza: Raptors win. Final score 136 to 134. Why are basketball scores so high?
Jay: No idea. Not a sports person. Except water sports. In about half an hour we can verify if you’re right. Should I put money on this game?
I make a face. I don’t love the idea of Jay trying to profit off this bizarre situation. Not until we have a better idea of what’s going on. Isn’t that, like, the first rule of time travel? My mom and dad are big sci-fi nerds, and I swear Star Trek had an episode about not profiting off a time glitch. Then I remember that the person I’m talking to supposedly had several girlfriends at the same time. Ethics may not be his biggest concern.
Aleeza: We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet.
Jay: Send me more sports scores. Maybe another ten. There must be more sporting events today in the whole world, right? Bigger sample size to know if this is real.
I quickly google All sporting Events October 19 and write out final scores for ten different games into the chat.
Jay: Now send me a picture of you in of the room right now to prove you’re there.
Aleeza: You can’t send pictures in the ResConnect chat. Text only.
Jay: Oh. I’ve never had a roommate, so I’ve never used it. Try texting my number. Maybe we can talk on other platforms too.
He sends me his phone number, and I text a selfie of me sitting on my bed, but the text fails to deliver. I then try calling the number, and a voice says the number is out of service.
Aleeza: It didn’t work. The number is out of service.
Jay: That’s weird. I’ve had this number for years. Does that mean I’ll change it in the next five months? If you’re in March, why aren’t I still there? This room is supposed to be mine all year.
Fuck. Of course the phone is disconnected. This guy went missing in November, and he doesn’t know it yet. I have to tell him. But ... would that be the responsible thing to do? Telling Jay about his future has to be a violation of time-travel rules. What if it causes a ... I don’t know. Time disaster. What if it makes the room implode into a black hole? Or what if it does something bad to his psyche? It would have to mess a person up to find out he’ll disappear off the face of the earth in less than a month, right? Saying something now could make this situation worse.
Aleeza: I don’t know where you are now.
That’s the truth, at least. No one knows where he is.
Jay: Maybe I got a better room instead of this shit hole. My buddy Jack was talking about renting an apartment second term. Can you find out where I am?
Aleeza: Let’s try something first. Do something in the room. Something that I can see now to prove that this conversation is real. Write your name on the wall or something.
Jay: Don’t you think the cleaners would clean that over the holiday break?
Aleeza: Hide it. In the closet or somewhere like that.
Jay: Okay give me a minute.
I can’t help but feel like I’m playing with fire here. I still believe that this is real and we’re in a time-skip or something, but I also have this weird feeling that danger is coming and I should be careful. But of course danger is coming. This guy is literally missing. There were search parties.
Jay: Okay, I wedged a note between the upper shelf and the back wall of the closet. Read it and tell me what it says.
Aleeza: How am I supposed to get it?
Jay: Use a chair! That’s how I got up there.
Aleeza: Give me time. I’m going to have to move the box from in there.
Jay: Why is your stuff still in boxes. I thought you moved in?
The box is his stuff. But I can’t tell him that.
It takes me a few minutes to empty the closet enough so I can put a chair in and get at the top shelf. My heart is racing the whole time. If I find something there, then I’m right and this is real. If there isn’t, then someone is playing the most epic prank on me, and people—presumably Mia and her new friend group—hate me even more than I thought.
I reach across the top of the shelf to where it meets the wall behind it. There is nothing there. I check the whole closet shelf, running my hand around it. Nothing.
I’m an idiot. This is a prank. And I completely fell for it.
I climb down and go back to my phone.
Aleeza: There’s nothing there. Fuck you and leave me alone—I’m reporting you to campus police.
I turn off my phone and go to bed.