TWELVE
B efore Nori leaves, she crafts a “foolproof” plan. Renner and I will go to school (otherwise known as work) and re-create the ladder fall in the gym in hopes of somehow propelling ourselves back to seventeen.
“Purposely chucking myself off a ladder is the opposite of foolproof,” I point out, already wincing from the phantom pain. Though ... at least it’s a plan. And it’s the only thing that remotely makes sense.
Nori ignores my reluctance. “Make sure to do it in the exact same place, exactly the same way. I bet my left boob you’ll wake up back in 2024.” She pauses, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, and if it works, you have to tell my seventeen-year-old self not to cut my own bangs before college. It wasn’t a good look.”
“And if it doesn’t work? What if we’re still stuck here in 2037?” Renner asks, a desperate look on his face.
“You have to come to your joint bachelor/bachelorette at Ollie’s tonight and pretend everything is normal until we find out what’s going on,” she says, not blinking. “I’m not letting your underdeveloped teen brains ruin your adult lives. Besides, maybe seeing more people you know will help spark your memories.”
Doubtful.
Re-creating the ladder fall sounds ridiculous, but what other option do we have? I’m willing to do anything to save my future self from making the biggest mistake of my life.
“You’re delusional if you think you’re driving,” Renner says, nudging me away from the driver’s side as I stride toward the car, fob in hand, channeling Vin Diesel in The Fast and the Furious .
“Why not? I have a license. See?” I pull my perfectly legitimate driver’s license from my bag and brandish it in his face. Believe it or not, I passed my driver’s test somewhere along the way. I truly don’t know how it happened, but I’m damn proud. Besides, if future me has a cool, sleek, futuristic car, I’m not passing up an opportunity to take it for a joyride. There have to be some perks for being robbed of my youth and forced to marry Renner.
He leans in, scrutinizing it like an eighty-five-year-old with cataracts. “Char, you’re a liability on the road.”
I shove the ID back in my purse but keep the fob tight. “I am not. You can’t hold one tiny incident against me. Lots of people fail their driver’s test. You’re unfairly targeting me because I’m an Asian woman.” Yes, I’m aware I’ve perpetuated the ridiculous stereotype that Asian women can’t drive. I’m not proud of it.
He levels me with his look, running a hand through his hair, exasperated. “First, this has nothing to do with stereotypes. I’m going by the facts. It wasn’t just one incident, it was multiple. We were in the same driver’s ed class. And if I remember correctly, you almost backed over a pregnant woman.”
“You’re being so dramatic. I merely tapped her. She walked away without a scratch. And maybe she should look where she’s going before she walks into a car.”
He tosses his hands in the air and heads for the passenger side. “Fine. Drive. Maybe you’ll kill us and put us out of our misery,” he adds.
To be fair, our “relationship” is flat-out insufferable. Not that I expected anything less. I’ve tried to give him some grace after his parents’ divorce bomb. But it’s proving a herculean task. We’ve been bickering all morning, ever since he used all the hot water, claiming he needed extra time to wash his beard. He also ate the last piece of bread in our pantry without even asking if I wanted half. If my future entails living with a man with the emotional intelligence of a ten-year-old, I don’t want any part of it.
I attempt to open the car door, but there’s no handle. Instead, there’s a little sliver of chrome. After much inspection, I realize the chrome rectangle is a button, which opens the door.
The interior of the car is about as familiar as an intergalactic spaceship. There are no buttons or dials. Instead, there’s a massive, shiny touchscreen down the middle of the console.
Renner clears his throat. “Um, are we going? Or are we just gonna sit in the driveway all day?”
“Relax, Renner. I’m just taking it all in.” Frankly, I have no idea how to start the car. But I’m certainly not about to admit that.
As if he can read my mind, he leans over and presses a button near the triangular-shaped steering wheel, which starts the engine. It’s impossibly quiet as it purrs to a start, just like the car that nearly crushed me this morning. A backup camera pops up at the bottom of the screen. Unlike Mom’s sedan, it’s not grainy and covered in dirt. It’s clear as day, like an HD movie.
When I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, a pleasant voice filters through the speakers. “Good morning. Are you on your way to work?”
Renner and I stare at each other, startled. “Uh, yes?” I squeak. “Are you ... a person?”
“I am Raina. Your vehicle’s software. Would you like to drive yourself today?”
Renner runs his hand over the dash, eyes sparkling like he’s discovered a pile of gold. “Holy crap, it’s a self-driving car. This is so freakin’ cool. This makes the DILF Mobile look like a steaming pile of junk.”
I death-grip the steering wheel. “No. Give me the mom-van over this any day. This is terrifying,” I whisper. “Drive myself,” I yell, panicked at handing my life over to a robot. I once watched a YouTube documentary about artificial intelligence taking over the world. I’ve been haunted ever since.
Renner pouts. “You’re such a killjoy. It’s probably a hundred times safer to have the robot drive.”
I ignore him, trying to figure out how to adjust all the mirrors and the seat. After ten minutes of scrolling, we realize the car has two profiles, mine and Renner’s, which automatically adjust to our customized settings. Satisfied and comfortable behind the wheel, I tap the button to put the car into reverse.
As we roll out of the driveway, Renner lets out a shriek. “Stop.”
I brake, and we come to a grinding halt as a tomato-red car whizzes by behind us.
“You almost T-boned that car! Even with a huge backup camera,” he says, gesturing to the massive screen.
“I’m sorry! I’m not used to this!” I shriek, heart hammering. “There are so many things to look at and—”
He unfastens his seat belt and opens his door. “Nope. Nope. Nope. I decided I don’t wanna die today. Get out, I’m driving.”
We manage to get to the school in one piece, thanks to Renner. He handles the new car like a boss, managing the interior lights, the AC, and the music while driving. The music is difficult to digest. I barely recognize anything other than a Justin Bieber song on a “throwback hits” playlist. Disturbing, to say the least.
Maplewood High looks exactly the same. Unlike the rest of Maplewood’s charming historical aesthetic, the high school is drab. There are few distinguishing features, unless you count the spray-paint graffiti along the front wall that magically changes every few months. No one knows who the culprit is.
I’m halfway out of the car when I notice that Renner’s hands are still locked on the wheel.
“You coming?” I ask.
His lip twitches and he fumbles to unfasten his seat belt. “I, uh ... we work here. And we have no idea what we’re doing.” His face is all red, and I’m fairly certain there’s a bead of sweat on his forehead. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Renner flustered before. He’s usually maddeningly calm in every situation.
“Look. Maybe we won’t have to see anyone. School doesn’t start for half an hour. All we need to do is get to the gym before anyone sees us. Nori’s plan will work,” I say. It has to.
He nods silently and gets out of the car like he’s heading down death row. But his mood lifts when we pass the marquee sign that reads:
C ONGRATULATIONS GRADUATING CLASS OF ’37.
ANAL EXAMS—J UNE 1–5
Renner can’t help but snicker at the typo and missing letters. Of course he does. He can’t resist a butt joke.
“I can’t believe you work here. In a position of authority,” I mutter, entering ahead of him.
“Only the best of minds for the next generation,” he says, whistling. Nothing like teenage humor to shift his dour mood.
As the heavy doors close behind us, a mixture of antiseptic, rubber erasers, and BO hits my nostrils. At least it smells exactly the same.
Thankfully, the hallway is empty as we creep toward the gym like the Grinch who stole Christmas. Halfway down the corridor, Renner stops to look at a wall of large framed graduation composites. I follow his line of vision. The Class of 2024.
My grad photo is just cruel. I don’t know who selected it, but they obviously had a grudge against me. I’m stiff and awkward. One eye is wonky, nearly half-closed in a blink. Renner’s photo makes me seethe. His should be used as the stock photo for the photography company’s advertisements. He’s got that effortless sideways grin that never fails to charm.
I peruse the rest of my classmates’ eager smiles, wondering what’s become of them in this strange future. Have they stayed in Maplewood? Are they living fabulous lives in the city? Are any of them wealthy tech billionaires in Silicon Valley?
“Hey, there’s that plug Garrett you used to date,” Renner says, pointing to Garrett’s photo.
Garrett Hogan and I dated for a hot second last year. Nori planted the seed that we were soulmates because we’re both list-obsessed type As. As it turns out, dating another version of me, someone who second-guesses everything and overplans every meticulous detail (including how we were going to lose our virginities) was painful. Spending forty-five minutes in the contraceptive aisle at the pharmacy where Mom works, weighing the pros and cons of ribbed vs. smooth vs. sensation condoms, really put a damper on what was supposed to be the most romantic moment of my life. 0/10 do not recommend.
When I don’t react, he prods. “Why haven’t you dated anyone since him?”
“I’m too busy to date,” I say. He gives me his skeptical side-eye. “Senior year is a lot! AP classes. Student council. Model UN. SATs. College visits. I can’t even keep my barrel cactus, Frank, alive—and he only needs watering once a month. There’s no time left to cater to a needy boyfriend.”
“Sounds like you’re making excuses,” he says. He’s not wrong. It all sounds so trivial now ... as a thirty-year-old.
“Come on, let’s go find our bricks,” I cut in. The last thing I need is a lecture on my dating life from my alleged husband-to-be.
I’ve painted mine red with little daisies around the edges. My name is in what looks like Times New Roman font, and I’ve written initials along the bottom. I see KL for Kassie, NW for Nori, OI for Ollie, and last, JTR with a little heart.
Renner’s brick is next to mine, painted forest green. His name is in simple block letters. He has way more initials than me, which makes sense because he’s friends with the entire student body. But my initials are there too, at the end, with a matching heart.
“That’s ... interesting,” he notes, pointing to my initials.
“Yup. Very.” How could we possibly go from being enemies to immortalizing each other’s initials on our grad bricks a mere two weeks later? It doesn’t add up. “Let’s get to the gym and make this all go away.” I spin on my heel and a red-haired woman in a sky-blue sundress comes barreling around the corner. “Hey! I’ve been looking for you guys.” I don’t recognize her, but she certainly recognizes us. Her eyes are wide, bright, and full of good intention. At least, I think so.
So much for dashing in unnoticed.
“Oh, well, you’ve found us,” I say with a nervous laugh. I try leaning against the wall, but I look like I’m doing awkward wall push-ups.
“I noticed the assignment list in the teacher’s lounge,” she says.
“Assignment list?” Renner asks, not-so-casually slinging his arm over my shoulder and pulling me into his side a little too forcefully. He may smell delightful, like a Bounce dryer sheet, but I’m hella uncomfortable. When I stiffen, he gets the hint and loosens his grip.
“The one for prom. Charlotte made the list?” she says, as though we should just know .
A list. This sounds like something adult me would do. “Prom assignment list. Yes,” I repeat with fake enthusiasm.
“You assigned me for the early shift tomorrow night, but I’d need to find a sitter for Rudy until Chuck gets home. Rudy’s got a bit of a cold and it’s a whole thing. Can you switch me to the late shift?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Kids come first,” I chirp.
Her shoulders lower with relief. Seems we’ve just done her a huge solid. “Thanks for understanding. He’s been difficult lately with food. I think we need to switch his brand of kibble.”
Renner raises his brows. “Kibble?”
“The vet recommended a new brand. Said most hedgehogs thrive on this one but—”
“Rudy is a hedgehog,” I clarify, tamping down my laughter.
“Of course he is. You babysat him a couple weeks ago. Are you two okay? Pre-wedding jitters melting your brains?” she asks, eyeing us with playful suspicion.
I don’t have a chance to answer, because Renner starts asking all sorts of questions about Rudy, how old he is, his feeding schedule, and whether he can do tricks like a dog. Hedgehog Lady delights in the opportunity to discuss Rudy’s aversion to baths. I flash him a look, silently daring him to ask yet another question.
“Um, we better get going. We’re gonna be late for—um, we’re gonna be late,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and guiding me away.
The moment we turn the corner, I shrug myself out of Renner’s grip. “Please don’t touch me.”
“Sorry. But everyone thinks we’re engaged. Wouldn’t it be weird if we never touched?”
“We’re at work. We have to stay professional,” I grumble, walking ahead.
“Who was that? And why does she have a hedgehog and treat it like her child?”
“I don’t even want to know. And had we gone straight to the gym like we planned, we wouldn’t have had to deal with it,” I hiss.
He lets out a heavy sigh, fixing me with a tormented expression when we reach the gym. “You’re not blaming me for this.”
“Of course I am,” I whisper.
The gym is quiet, just as it was earlier this morning, before I fell off the ladder—thirteen years ago. Only, instead of Under the Sea decor, it’s decked out like Mardi Gras. There’s a big deck of cards illuminated on the far wall, as well as tables with royal-purple linens and large feather centerpieces filled with silver beaded necklaces. There are even gold sheets of fabric draped from the ceiling.
“I can’t believe we are supposed to chaperone this thing tomorrow. We didn’t even get to go to our own prom,” I say.
“Well, with any luck, we won’t have to chaperone. I’m gonna fetch the ladder,” he says and heads for the storage room.
Just as he turns the knob, we hear voices approaching, followed by the squeak of the door. A group of bright-eyed students funnels in, one after another.
My first thought is to dive behind Renner and hide.
“Hi, Mr.Renner.” A girl in a yellow cardigan greets him cheerfully, the glimmer in her eyes fading when she pans to me. “Ms.Wu.”
“See? Dungeon teacher,” Renner whispers before turning back to the student. “Oh, hi. What are you doing in here?” he asks, his voice comically low. He sounds like a Marvel villain.
“Decorating for prom,” Yellow Cardigan Girl says with perky confidence. I’d bet money she’s student council president.
“Right. Um, well, carry on.” Renner dips his chin and pulls me into the hallway.
“Where are we going?” I groan, clasping a hand on the doorframe. I can envision soaring off that ladder, out of this nightmare and back to my seventeen-year-old self. “We’re so close.”
“We can’t do this with a bunch of people around,” he says matter-of-factly. “We’ll have to come back after hours.”
He has a point. We certainly don’t need witnesses to our ridiculous attempt at time travel. “Fine.”
“I’m hungry. Wanna grab breakfast at the breakfast club?” he asks casually.
I use my last morsel of strength to pull myself upright, arrowing my wrath in his direction. “Seriously? That food is for kids in need. And how can you think about food at a time like this? We’re stuck here. In the future.”
For some reason, I was convinced our plan would work. I’m not sure I could eat until we’re back to normal.
“We are in need. And we haven’t eaten all morning. I’m starved.”
“Correction, I didn’t eat. You ate the last piece of bread.” I leave out the fact that he got toast crumbs all over the counter and just left them there. I’ll bank that grievance for another time.
“That hardly counts as a balanced breakfast. I won’t make it the rest of the day on toast,” he says.
“Get something from the vending machine,” I snap, brushing the dirt off my argyle tights.
He flashes me a disappointed look, then pulls his phone from the pocket of his chinos. “Just got a text from Ollie.”
“Ollie? What does it say?” I ask, leaning in.
“He’s asking what time we’re coming for our party tonight.”
“Shoot. The epic bachelor/bachelorette.” I groan, on the brink of panic. “No, no, no. We can’t go. We’re coming right back here after work today and returning to 2024.”
“Well, yeah, obviously. But if that doesn’t work, what then?” He lowers his voice as a couple more students walk toward the gym, arms laden with Mardi Gras decor.
Renner kindly holds the door for them, and I run both hands down my cheeks. Panic is setting in. “We—we keep trying. Until it works.”
He levels me with a knowing look. “The party is for us. Besides, aren’t you the tiniest bit curious to see everyone?”
I wave him off. Seeing people is dead last on my list of priorities. “We can’t go to a party as an engaged couple, Renner. We’ll just have to break up.”
His face contorts, as though I’ve suggested we commit mass murder. “You just wanna break up? A week before our wedding?”
“We’re not actually engaged!” I peer over at a student with a bowl cut coming toward the gym. Based on his skeptical look and slowing stride, he must have heard me.
Renner flashes his infectious smile. “She’s just joking,” he says, playfully swinging his arm over my shoulder. He waits for the suspicious student to disappear before whispering, “Char, we can’t bail on our own party. Everyone’s gonna be there. And remember what Nori said. We need to act as normal as possible until we figure out what’s going on. We can’t meddle with the future.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. And the last thing I want to do is disappoint Adult Ollie, who was kind enough to throw us this party. Besides, if everyone we love is in the same place, it’ll be a good opportunity to collect information. The more information we gather, the better chance we’ll have of getting out of this mess.
I emit a labored sigh. “Fine. We’ll go. We just have to get through the day,” I say, resigned. “Ask Ollie if we need to bring anything.”
“He and Lainey have all the food covered.”
“Lainey ...,” I repeat, reminded once again of how much has changed. “How are we about to be married, but Ollie and Kassie broke up?”
Renner shrugs. “Dunno. But we really are in the Upside Down.”