SIX
I ’m a bit of a mess the next morning. And it’s no wonder. In the space of a few days, I lost my closest friend, moved to a new dorm room, and fell for an epic prank that I still can’t imagine the purpose of. I cannot believe I actually thought that I was talking through time to Jay Hoque, a guy who’s been missing for months. Maybe I should take Kegan’s advice and make use of the campus mental health resources.
I consider taking the screenshots of my conversations with “Jay” straight to campus police, but in the end, I decide not to. Mostly because I don’t want anyone to know that I fell for it. If Mia or Lance is behind this, they’re probably laughing their asses off at me right now. And if I report them, they’d claim it was just a harmless joke. A group of white kids could probably convince people that they’re harmless better than I—a weird Brown girl with no friends—could.
Best thing to do is put it out of my mind. Thankfully, when I wake up, ResConnect shows me as the only occupant of room 225. Jay’s name isn’t there. So clearly the person who hacked in has removed themselves.
I have a busy day, which distracts me from this whole mess. After my last class, I head home to do some online research on my media project. If Sarah wants to see a draft next week, I need to hustle to get it done. But my mind keeps wandering. Weirdly, researching this hundred-year-old mystery keeps reminding me of Jay. How did I not notice the similarities between the two cases? Both were known players with several girlfriends. Both disappeared with no trace. In the old case, money seemed to be the main motive. I don’t know the motive in Jay’s case, but it wouldn’t surprise me if money were involved too. Love and money—the two motives for almost all crimes. Yesterday Jay said he wanted to bet on sports. Maybe he had a gambling problem?
But wait. Jay didn’t say that yesterday. I was scammed. It wasn’t actually him texting me. I exhale and pick up my phone. I still have ResConnect notifications silenced, so if whoever is messaging me again, I won’t see it unless I open the app. Against my better judgment, I open it.
There are four messages from Jay. All sent in the last hour.
Jay: I can see you on ResConnect again, so I’ll tell you what I said last night. The Celtics got a three pointer with thirty seconds left of the game. The Raptors lost 137 to 136. So you were wrong about the score.
Jay: But if it weren’t for the last thirty seconds of the game, you’d be exactly right. That can’t be random.
Jay: I did some calculations on the rest of the scores you sent me, and they are 85 percent right. It’s not 100 percent accuracy, but those odds are higher than random. Like way, way higher.
Jay: The probability of you randomly giving me eleven sports scores and being 85 percent correct is pretty much zero. I promise ... I swear on my mother’s life, I am not pranking you. This is real, Roomie.
Shit. I don’t even know what to say. Or think. I stare at the messages. I’m no math major, but even I know that it would be virtually impossible for me to tell him sports scores from the future that are 85 percent correct unless something is going on. But if this is real, then why aren’t the scores 100 percent correct?
Aleeza: Why aren’t the scores completely right, then?
Jay: Ever hear of the Butterfly effect?
Aleeza: Isn’t that an Ashton Kutcher movie?
Jay: Yeah, about time travel. Basically, every little thing that he did could change the outcome in the future. Time isn’t linear. There are an infinite number of parallel universes branching off each other.
Aleeza: Like Everything Everywhere all at Once.
Jay: Yeah, and Multiverse of Madness.
Aleeza: Are we only going to use movies to understand what’s going on?
Jay: Everything I know about temporal physics is from Hollywood.
Aleeza: I don’t know if I should believe you.
Jay: We’re roommates. If you can’t trust your roommate, who can you trust?
I exhale. The irony is I left Mia’s room because I couldn’t trust her. But maybe Jay’s right. Maybe I should trust this ... because clearly something is happening. All the evidence I’ve seen is pointing that way.
Aleeza: Okay, why wasn’t your name on ResConnect when I woke up this morning?
Jay: I left the room at six for water polo practice. I think it has something to do with us being physically in the room.
That could be it. Yesterday after I left the room for dinner, all our conversations disappeared.
Aleeza: Let’s try something. I’ll walk out, you stay there. Let’s see if we can still chat.
I take screenshots of our conversations in case they disappear again. Then we do a series of little experiments, each coming in and out of the room. It seems our link only works while we’re both in 225. If either of us steps out, even just to the hallway, the link is gone, and the chat logs disappear. There is no way to leave messages for each other.
Jay: This is wild. I have a million questions for you. So, the Indian food place finally does open in Central dining hall?
Aleeza: Yes, a month ago. It’s delicious.
Jay: I can’t wait to try it. I’m going to push them to open a shawarma stand next. Hey, you need to find future me and get him to tell me what’s on my civil engineering exam.
I can’t do that because that Jay is gone. He didn’t even take his exams in December. I don’t know what to say. I do believe what’s happening—that we’re in different times, despite how implausible it sounds. We are living the impossible. Or at least I am right now living the impossible. Jay was living the impossible five months ago. But I have no idea if present-day Jay is even living at all.
It’s a lot to wrap my head around. If there is an infinite number of parallel timelines, then it’s possible that the Jay I’m chatting with will be fine and won’t ever disappear. And it’s possible that the Aleeza in his timeline won’t have a best-friend breakup with her oldest friend and will stay in the West Hall dorm room all year like she’s supposed to.
Aleeza: How do we figure how similar our timelines are?
Jay: You can send me more sports scores. But I think we can assume that we are at 85 percent similarity. That’s why the note I left you wasn’t there.
Aleeza: What did the note say? In case I find it somewhere else.
Jay: JAY IS HERE. ALEEZA WILL BE HERE. 100458008.
Aleeza: What do those numbers mean?
Jay: Don’t worry about it. Send me some sports scores for tonight.
I send ten scores for games on October 20. I’m really hoping that none of the sports predictions come true. Or at least, fewer than 85 percent. Because that would mean the guy I’m chatting with lives in a parallel universe not like this one, and he won’t go missing. It’s funny—before this, when he disappeared, I think I felt terrible for him only because it hit close to home to have a student in my own university be all over the news. But Jay Hoque’s disappearance was abstract to me. I may have seen him around campus, but I didn’t know him. He was just a guy with a bit of a bad reputation who probably did something to upset someone and found out that karma could be a bitch.
But now, now I know Jay. And he doesn’t seem to be that bad of a person. He clearly loves movies, like me. He likes Indian food and shawarma. He’s smart enough to be able to talk to about this mindfuck of a situation. He trusts me. He doesn’t deserve whatever bad thing is going to happen to him, and I want him to be okay.
Aleeza: I guess it’s possible that the version of you in my time didn’t have this conversation five months ago.
Jay: Yeah, maybe if you find me, don’t mention it. There’s no reason to freak the hell out of two Jay Hoques, right?
Aleeza: No, I suppose not.
Jay: I don’t know much about temporal anomalies. I should ask my physics teacher about this—hey, are we keeping this between the two of us?
That’s an excellent question. I have no idea ... On one hand, yeah, we discovered something amazing here. Science should be shared, right? But also, who would believe us? And if they did, would that mean that the researchers would take over the room? Would we have to leave? Where would I go? Not back to Mia. Also, the fact that in my timeline Jay is gone complicates things. Would people think I manufactured all this because I’m obsessed with him like Gracie seems to think I am? Would telling people somehow make things worse for Jay?
Aleeza: Maybe let’s not. We have no idea if this will keep happening.
Jay: It has happened for the last three days, so why wouldn’t it?
Aleeza: If it doesn’t then we’ll look like idiots when we tell everyone about it.
Jay: I’m used to looking like an idiot, but okay. It’s our secret, Roomie.
I smile at the nickname.
Aleeza: So now you’re okay with me living in this room?
Jay: Yeah, it’s all good. I get the good parts of having a roommate and none of the bad. I don’t have to deal with your shit everywhere but have a friend to talk to when I don’t want to talk to myself anymore. I can even tell you that I smoke weed in the room, and you can’t get me in trouble for it because I don’t even live there anymore. And you can talk to me instead of to an octopus.
I exhale. He wants to be friends, but I’m keeping something from him. Something huge . And also? Me and Jay Hoque, friends? I’m the dork who just lost her only friend and now has no one else. And Jay Hoque is cool. A real city guy. One who smokes weed and dates lots of girls and has people obsessed with him. Jay Hoque and I don’t belong in the same orbit. Also, he might be dead.
I feel awkward, so I do what I always do when I feel like that. Plan an escape.
Aleeza: I’m going to go. I have to work on my media project. And get dinner.
Jay: Yeah, no worries. Hey, how did you end up in this room, anyway? March is a weird time to move into a new room.
Aleeza: I had a falling out with my roommate.
Jay: Are y ou a bad roommate or something? You should probably tell me. But I mean, I won’t know if you leave a mess.
Aleeza: No, I’m not messy. My roommate was my old friend, and we were supposed to make this video series together for my media class. But she changed the topic and added her boyfriend’s sister without asking me.
Jay: Ugh. That sucks. That’s not a good friend. One more question, how do you pronounce your name? I want to make sure I say it right in my head.
This is weird.
Aleeza: It’s said just like it’s spelled. A-lee-za Kass-um.
Jay: Nice to meet you, Aleeza. I’m Jay Hoque. Pronounced like two birds. I should probably do my homework too. Chat later, Roomie.
Aleeza: One last thing, in case we don’t talk again, if you can, stay away from the dorm on November 6.
Jay: Why, does East House flood or something?
Aleeza: Yeah, something like that. Good night.
There. Hopefully that advice saves him from disappearing that day. The chat is silent for the rest of the night.
I do some more research on my media project that night—but my mind wanders again. I resist the urge to read everything I can about temporal physics to figure out what’s going on. It’s possible the ResConnect chat won’t even work tomorrow, and if it doesn’t, then there isn’t anything we can do about it. It could have been either a tech glitch or some sort of unexplainable magic far out of my scope. I’m not exactly skilled at complex physics, or technology, for that matter. Maybe Mia could do something with her Ouija board or crystals, but I doubt that would help me figure this out either. At least I warned him about the day he disappears. Maybe I saved him. Or maybe I made things worse—I could be messing up his timeline.
I exhale. This is all ridiculous. I should focus on my schoolwork.
In the morning when I check the app, Jay Hoque isn’t showing as my roommate anymore, and the chat log is gone. And I have no way of knowing if it will be back.
When I leave class before lunch, my friend Amber stops me. Well, friend is a bit of an overstatement. She’s an acquaintance—and the biggest gossip in West Hall.
“Did you hear about Mia’s Skintimately Yours YouTube series?”
I frown. “She’s already got it up?”
“Just a teaser. She’s interviewing a Korean skincare expert—”
“Amber, why are you telling me this?”
Amber is totally the type to rub someone’s misfortune in their face. That’s why we’re not really friends.
She gives me a smug smile. “Because I know she was supposed to do a series with you. How are you getting back at her?”
“I’m not getting back at her. I’m happy for her,” I say, trying to get away from Amber, but she doesn’t let me go.
“I heard you moved to the murder room,” Amber says.
“What?”
“I heard you moved to the dead guy’s room.”
I shake my head. “Jay’s missing. Not dead.” At least ... I assume. I feel nausea take hold in the pit of my stomach. “Is there ... new news about him?” My voice cracks. I should have told him more last night.
“What? No.” She looks around as if to check if anyone is listening to us. “I mean, the guy was a total ass. I heard there’s a whole, like, underground club of girls he fucked and ghosted. One of them did something to him, for sure. It’s sad, though. He was a douche, but he was a person , you know?”
“There isn’t seriously an organized club of girls who hated him, is there?”
Amber nods. “Yup. Haven’t you heard of Birdwatchers?”
Again with Birdwatchers. I frown. “Do you know these people?”
Amber looks at me blankly, then shrugs.
I slide my laptop in my bag. “I didn’t know the guy. I’m just in his old room. That’s it.”
“I couldn’t live there.” She shudders. “It’s got bad mojo or something. You should have the room cleansed. Get his ghost out of there.”
“I gotta go, Amber.” I put my backpack on. I never liked that girl.