Chapter 8
H e’s noticed me. His form becomes noticeably worse with the last five push-ups, likely because he keeps looking over in my direction after each bicep extension rather than keeping his eyes on the floor. He can’t get through each set without pulling a face of disgust, so I give a friendly wave the next time he looks in my direction.
I wait until the class ends and run over to him before he can escape to the men’s locker room.
“Ben! I need to speak with you,” I say with a hopeful smile. Please let him be disturbed about something other than my presence. I’m holding out my last hope for him to be the Ben that knows Agent Suarez, not this eighties version everyone claims is avoiding me.
“Come with me.” The tone of Ben’s voice is short.
He walks through the bulky gym doors and leads me to the vending machines by the rounded lounge chairs just outside the gym. I follow behind, observing his quick pace and familiar build—same wide shoulders and defined muscle, noticeably younger though and not quite as filled out as the last time I’d seen him in uniform. He stops and pulls his college tee out from its untucked position as if it’s uncomfortable and wants to take revenge on its placement, then puts a few spare coins from his pocket into one of the soda machines and hands me the second soda that drops from the vending machine.
“Here, this is for you. You can take it as a parting gift and continue to stay away from me.” He shoves the can into my palm.
“Wait. I…,” I start, unsure of how to proceed. I was betting everything on him ever since Diana showed up, thinking he might be the answer to finding my way back to the future. Now the sounding alarm in my head is telling me I’ve got to shoot my shot before Eighties Ben actually avoids me forever. I tell myself there’s a chance his current bad mood is due to confusion. Maybe he feels out of place in this weird world too.
“Do you remember my Pops’ closet, Marigold, the video?” I say. He stares blankly at me as if I’m speaking Korean and he’s never heard a word of the language in his life. He turns away, shaking his head in the process, and walks off toward the gym.
“What about the phone and the fireworks?” I run after him in desperation. An uncomfortable laugh emerges from him and he looks outright surprised.
“Seriously Atta, what are you playing at?” He looks like he wants to plead with me. “You said you wouldn’t bring up the phone incident again with me.” His beautiful brown eyes fill with apprehension.
“You say ‘phone incident’ like it was a bad thing for you and not the both of us. I don’t understand. We can talk about it and figure out a way back together. If it’s just you and me no one here would even know,” I push.
“You sound crazy, you know. I’ve got to go.” I drag my hand over my forehead in frustration as he proceeds down the hallway, gaining an even greater distance from me. It’s inevitable, his strides laugh at mine—full-on tongue-out-taunting from his soles looking back at mine.
He didn’t smile once during our interaction, and I realize I miss his dimple that pokes through his smooth cheek whenever he’s mildly entertained.
“There he is! Looks like you found him.” Tyler appears before us. He catches up to me as Ben stops a few feet ahead at the sound of Tyler’s voice. Ben’s back remains turned away from Ty and I and he looks like he might bolt.
“Ben, I need a favor. Let’s race after school. K?”
“That’s gunna be a no from me. Not today Tyler. I kicked your trash last time anyway, remember?”
Ben, who resembles a defeated boxer, sweaty from gym class and clearly worn from the toll both Tyler and I are putting on him at this moment, turns around to face Tyler.
“That’s why we’ve got to do a rematch.”
“No, Ty. Really.”
“You know you owe me right? I’ve already spread it around school. Harper St. behind the school again. That or we can fight. Put on a show for everyone, you know since I’ve already put the word out.” Tyler’s prancing around Ben like a kid begging for candy. “Come on, it'll be fun. Plus, if I lose I won’t ask Bennette to the movies.” Ben perks up in defense a little and then resolves to let his comment slide a few seconds later, knowing all too well Tyler’s just trying to be provoking.
“She’s already with me you punk.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with some healthy competition.” Tyler laughs. “Or she could find out what you did with Corky.” Ben looks from me to Tyler and back this time. By the look in his eyes, it looks like this threat worked.
“No fight. Just a race. Let’s make it quick. I have to be somewhere at five. Oh and prepare to get your trash kicked,” Ben says, his eyes are harsh and piercing.
Diana and I find ourselves migrating with the crowd toward the track and field. The afternoon sun burns bright in the sky and I feel quite warm even without a jacket. Colorado weather remains unpredictable but I have a feeling it’s going to be another warm February.
Diana leads me with the pull of her arm. She’s curious about the ant hill of people marching together like a bunch of camp followers, and I know she doesn’t have a clue that they are going to watch the race between Tyler and her brother, just like she had no clue I spent the rest of the class periods in the lounge next to the soda machines, doodling on the back of Evan’s note.
“Where is everyone heading?” she asks, dragging me with her as she picks up her pace.
“Tyler challenged your brother to a race,” I say as we head out the doors following the trail of students.
“They’re doing it behind the baseball fields this time? Tyler must be worried about what that new officer said to them the other day.”
“What did he say?” I ask as we reach the long dirt road that runs a direct line behind the school baseball field. A closed road barrier marks the end of the road a quarter mile down, next to a run-down gas station. Traffic hardly touches the road, making it the adopted school event parking and the perfect spot for Tyler to force Ben into racing their dirt bikes between two fields of dry countryside.
“Last weekend a police officer on a motorcycle, who we’ve never seen before, stopped Tyler and Ben at the foot of the mountain. He told them to stay out of the mountains, without an explanation. Rumor has it he’s taken a few girls up there and is cheating on his wife and it’s like he wants the mountain all to himself. I guess Ben and Ty are going to race at the usual fight spot instead.”
“Yikes,” I say, wondering how many Golden police officers ride around on motorcycles in this town. I’ve been here for a day and I’ve already managed to ask one of them for a ride. “Did they get the police officer’s name?”
“Officer Berrett, I believe,” she says.
I almost stumble over my feet when the attractive officer with the shaggy mullet’s name badge comes to mind. When I thanked him for the ride I said his name out loud and he blushed before giving me a weird salute wave. That guy’s the cop preventing them from racing their dirt bikes in the mountains? My grandparents’ neighbor?
I become weary of the thought that he may have subtly hit on me when I approached him. But I was law enforcement. As long as he knew that he wouldn’t be creepy toward me, right?
“I can’t believe they’re doing this again. Tyler’s even upgraded his bike,” Diana says as we wiggle our way to the front of the small crowd watching Ben straddling an old red dirt bike.
Tyler’s next to him, shirtless and proud, straddling a yellow bike, noticeably cleaner than Ben’s. Diana folds her arms in annoyance. She’s dangerously contemplating Tyler’s tactics and I witness her eye twitch with vehemence at him.
Tyler rushes over to Diana and me with the white tee he’s abandoned for the cause. One look at Diana and he knows to ask me and not her to wave them off.
I unenthusiastically accept and Ben starts his engine over the loud herd of students while Tyler drums his chest like a bongo walking back to his bike. Tacky, but the swarm of mostly feathery-haired girls in more acid-wash denim seem to love it.
“This is the last time we race. You know, if we get caught out here riding and your dad finds out, I’m going to be more screwed than you.” I overhear Ben say to Tyler as I walk between the two bikes.
Ben meets my gaze and his eyes harden. He’s not happy I’m here to wield the makeshift t-shirt flag bestowed upon us by an inevitable birdwatcher. Someone else should be handling this assignment.
“I know. He won’t find out. Lighten up. They love it when we compete.” Tyler points his head to the mass of graphic tees and various-sized striped-shirt-wearing students surrounding them, which now includes Erica, more cheerleaders, and a group of what I presume are senior boys.
“Atta, we’re ready,” Tyler shouts. I’m not sure what fashion of wave he’s wanting, but I stand a few feet in front of them and brandish his shirt around like it’s one of those checkered race car flags.
They’re off with the flick of my wrist and I feel my adrenaline spike as they whiz past me on both sides. My neck receives a cold whip as my hair’s swept up into my face.
As far as anyone can tell, they seem to be matching speed. The people around me are half-engaged, mostly occupied with their friends around them and my thoughts drift to Tyler and Ben’s earlier conversation where Tyler blackmailed Ben with his secret to get here.
That secret, whatever it is, is critical enough to get him to agree to race with about the same swiftness as his dirt bike had taking off from the yellowing grass marker. He made it sound like Ben did something with Corky without his girlfriend knowing. Ben had many girlfriends in the years I’d known him, but I guess this time it was a girl named Bennette?
“Hey Diana, is Corky or Bennette around here?” I ask, curious to know what these two people look like.
“Yeah, didn’t you see them? Over there by Erica. Corky’s wearing the same slouchy boots as me today.” She points to a tall girl dressed in pastel with choppy layered blonde waves, symmetrical eyes, and a cute button nose. A girl standing a few inches shorter with jet black waves, beautiful smooth eyes that lift like the brush movement of Chinese calligraphy, wearing three bangles on each wrist, holds the blonde’s arm as they stand amongst a group of guys. She must be Bennette, Ben’s girlfriend, and the subject of his secret must be her best friend, Corky.
Hollers from the basketball boys erupt as Ben shows off, lifting his front tire into the air so that he’s riding on one wheel. This Ben clearly has no recollection of the future. His biggest concern is landing his wheelie, not time travel, not Marigold, and not his friendship with me. Instead, he has the race in the bag and he knows it.
Diana and I call out as he crosses the end-of-road barrier ahead of Tyler. It’s obvious, Diana’s cheering for Tyler’s grand loss more than she is about her brother’s win.
His win is a good thing for me. Ben’s cold mood is temporarily erased by his victory over Tyler and the missing dimple finally makes an appearance with his full-lipped smile. A small reminder of his warm and high-spirited nature comes back.
Ben’s even found his laugh making his way off the bike, giving Tyler a shoulder squeeze before performing celebratory dance moves in front of the crowd. He takes a step to each side and leans back to an inaudible beat, then rolls his hands like he’s tossing dough and mixes in some kneading motions here and there, flashing a slinky smile.
Tyler looks grateful for the race, and if he’s disappointed at the loss he’s hiding it well.
“Well, looks like even your new bike is no match for old red,” Evan says, wrapping his sweatshirt sleeve around the stray curls poking out from Tyler’s neck. I scoot behind Diana, hoping he doesn’t spot me. We’re far enough away that I might have a chance, but if he finds me he’s going to expect me to hand over the folded piece of paper with an answer about our date.
Instead, I’d be handing over a game theory graph filled with Marigold doodles—the symbol on the cult-like members’ jackets from the USB video that I couldn’t get out of my head.
With Diana blocking me from Evan’s sight, my view is limited to the right-side crowd, a view constrained to dry grass and boys in mesh basketball jerseys. I spot Corky and Bennette again and almost choke on my spit when I catch Erica giving vertical mouth to mouth to a man with a dust broom coffee-colored mustache. This must be her boyfriend Greg—the one that pulled up at the house in his truck the other day. My mom decided not to date after my Spanish father passed when I was young so watching her kiss someone was just so strange, something I’d never seen before.
“Diana, I’ve been looking for you and Ben everywhere around the school. I need you to help me pick out a present for Mom’s birthday.”
Diana and I turn at the sound of her mother, Robyn, approaching. She steps between Diana and I, blocking Evan completely from my lane. I let out a sigh of relief, but it’s cut short when I realize Mama Robyn looks years younger. She’s wearing a CNA tag with her name clipped to the v-neckline of her unflattering scrubs and her character is much more apprehensive than I remember. She looks like an innocent young nurse-trainee who might take four pokes to stick your IV.
But she also looks lighter, not just skinnier, like she’s Diana’s sister, not her mother. Non-80s-Land Robyn, the Mama Robyn I grew up with, lost her husband in 2010 to an untreated illness after he played ten seasons with the Denver Nuggets. It was a weight she shouldered bravely, always trying to make her kid’s lives as normal as possible. It’s clear this 1987 Robyn isn’t carrying the weight of losing a husband.
Ben’s grandma in Non-80s-Land, Harriet, the one who gifted Ben and Diana the old transparent phones, had once told me Mama Robyn’s whole demeanor had changed since their father passed. That was Grandma Harriet’s response when I had asked her how long she planned to stay with her grandkids.
Grandma Harriet ended up moving in with Mama Robyn, Ben, and Diana our junior year of high school. She’d said she wouldn’t have her daughter raise her kids alone, especially not when her daughter seemed to be dipping further and further into depression. So she stayed with Mama Robyn to support her and comfort her while I spent that year comforting Diana. Even up until a week ago, in Non-80s-Land, if I needed to get a hold of Mama Robyn, all I needed to do was call Grandma Harriet.
The picture of a young, bright Mama Robyn in front of me is so baffling that I only gulp in response when she gives me a small wave.
“What are you doing here, sis?” Ben says behind her. Mama Robyn turns to face him, leaving me exposed to the crowd that’s left in the road.
Diana mentioned something about a “sister” and now it’s adding up as both of our mothers stand within feet of us, in an arched line of students not appearing or acting a day older than the rest of them.
I think I understand the dynamic of this alternate universe now. The freaky gathering before me holds no generational gap between my childhood friends and our parents.
Ben and Diana’s grandma, Harriet—the mom Robyn was referring to—is Ben and Diana’s mom in this alternate universe and Mama Robyn is their sister, the same way Erica, my mother, has become my sister. It’s just that. We’ve been mushed in with them as if time wanted to hold on to us but chose to drop us off where time was reversed. Everything about it makes my head hurt.
“Atta, you should come too. You’re usually over at our place anyway after school,” Robyn says. I smile and tell her I will after getting a confirmation nod from Diana, when I hear another voice calling my name.
“Hey, Atta!” Evan meets my gaze. He’s spotted me and he’s headed this way, expecting my answer.