Chapter 6
6
A s the screen lit up, she let her body lean against the wall. Electric guitar gave way to drums as The Darkness’s “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” began. She and Damon had scream-sang these lyrics so many times on their daily drive to school. It was a song about falling head over heels for someone, and just pure fun, as if Damon had carefully curated this knowing what her future self wanted. She let out a relieved sigh and closed her eyes but, as she did, a whoosh of air surrounded her. She was suddenly weightless and then dropped—the same feeling as being at the top of a roller coaster and taking the plunge down. She wanted to scream but found herself unable to. Eventually, the fake ride stopped, and she opened her eyes just as a loud bell sounded nearby.
Her shoulder landed against a row of metal lockers as she hurriedly pushed herself to standing.
She stared down the length of a sanitized hallway and realized she was back at the scene of the crime: high school. But instead of being outside in the parking lot, it was daytime, and light streamed through the windows highlighting a school banner that proudly celebrated a 2007 basketball victory for the Tybee Typhoons. Once again, Sam was no longer at home, but seeing some other version of her life. She forced herself to breathe and quickly removed the headphones just as The Darkness began to sing about wanting to kiss every minute and hour of the day.
Maybe she was having another lucid dream. Or her CD player was a portal to a different dimension. Either way, she bit her tongue to stop from screaming.
She’d been in terrifying scenarios while flying, and there were three things she always told herself to get through those: Stay calm. Don’t panic. There’s a way out of this.
But when she eventually stopped biting her tongue, the words, “No, no, no, no, no,” kept coming.
Whatever was happening couldn’t be good. No one would believe her if she said that every time she listened to her old CD player, she found herself back in high school. Hell, even she didn’t fully buy that, and she was living it. Her hands fumbled as she tucked the headphones around her neck.
The classroom doors flung open and teenagers began to flood the hallway like a plague of locusts. She grimaced at the sight of JanSport backpacks covered in iron-on patches. There were denim miniskirts, Ugg booties, super low-rise jeans, newsboy caps, shrugs that tied in the front, spaghetti strap tank tops worn over T-shirts, Von Dutch hats and the unmistakable scent of Axe body spray.
She watched the parade of clothing nostalgia march by and pressed herself against a locker. What would happen if she touched or bumped into someone? Would she be a phantom they could walk through? She reached a hand out and gasped when her fingers vanished into a passing girl’s bubble-hem tube-top dress. She pulled her hand back, still perfectly intact, and gaped at it. But while she was in the middle of a brain melt, no one even seemed to notice she was there.
Why was she here in this moment? She glanced around and, as if timed, Alt-Sam—Teen Sam—walked out of a classroom about a head taller than most of the students. Her hair was in a ponytail with two thick strands pulled out, framing her face, classic aughts style. A pair of headphones covered her ears, and her furrowed brows made her look less than friendly.
Alt-Sam came to the locker directly next to Sam and deftly input her code. The music playing through Alt-Sam’s headphones was the exact same song from The Darkness. Sam moved out of the way right before Alt-Sam accidentally flung the locker door open and whacked her in the face. Taped up to the wall of her locker was a Twilight book cover surrounded by glow-in-the-dark vampire fangs.
Alt-Sam opened her backpack, took out a heavy textbook—chemistry, woof—and swapped it with another one. She also grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper that rested on top of her books and slammed the door shut.
“Geez, let’s take it easy now,” Sam jokingly said, but of course wasn’t heard. Something flashed across Alt-Sam’s face as she opened the notebook in her hands, dark and dreary, like a cloud settling. Sam glanced at the page and saw the angry scribbles she’d doodled.
Those doodles were as familiar to her as a first language. Sam was a straight-A student, but once her mom left she’d also found it hard to concentrate. Almost like the teacher’s voice sounded under water instead of right in front of her. And the only real thing that kept her focused was the doodling—her control issues needed an outlet, after all.
Damon came next to Alt-Sam, a backpack slung over his gray hoodie, and his bare chest visible under a blue-and-black-striped tee. His hair was gelled, except for his straightened bangs. He was all emo punk perfection.
“Hey.” Damon’s voice cracked, not from pubescent growth but, it seemed, from nerves. He gave a shy grin as Alt-Sam pulled her headphones off. Her whole face lit up.
Well, well, well . Their make-out session must have been better than good to elicit that kind of a smile.
Damon reached for Alt-Sam’s hand, but she pulled away.
“Oh, sorry.” Her teen self scratched at a spot on her forehead. “You think I’d be used to that by now.”
“Is it okay though?” Damon cautiously reextended his hand and Alt-Sam glanced at it.
“Yeah...” She trailed off, maybe hesitant, but laced her hand into his just the same.
“Woah, look, the freaks are mating!” A guy in a soccer uniform hooted as he pointed at them.
Alt-Sam tried to pull her hand back, but Damon held on tighter.
“Show us your fangs!” the jock called out pointedly to Alt-Sam.
Sam’s jaw dropped as she realized the jock was Myles. Her tongue traced a line across her teeth. She had perfectly average canines, but the dig was most certainly about the Twilight obsession. “For the record, there’s nothing wrong with being a freak. In twenty years, that freak will own his own bar, and the other freakishly tall one will be a top international pilot. One of a handful in the country. And you’ll still be laaaaame . Am I right?” Sam held her hand up for a high five, but none came.
She high-fived herself.
The jock was tugged down the hallway by a teammate, but still managed to laugh as he walked off.
“Yeah, that’s right! Keep walking!” Sam shouted.
“It’s always been us versus them.” Damon leaned in close to Alt-Sam. “Ya know, you could be my girlfriend now.”
“Girlfriend?” both Sams said at the same time.
Damon flicked the thick bangs out of his eyes, and Alt-Sam’s lashes fluttered as she stretched up toward him. They kissed. Nothing extravagant, but even Sam could feel the pull they had on each other.
“You look good as a couple, I have to admit.” Sam held up her hands in surrender. “Aside from the straightened bangs, Damon, I’m happy for you both.”
Damon and Alt-Sam pulled apart but stayed locked on each other. Hell, maybe having Damon as her boyfriend would’ve made high school slightly more tolerable. Sure, she’d hated Tybee High and practically fled after getting her diploma, but maybe Alt-Sam could make it through each day without wanting to pull her arm hairs out one by one.
Damon gave Alt-Sam a sweet kiss on the forehead as the warning bell sounded for them to get to their next class. He walked off, and Alt-Sam watched him move away through the crowd. A hopeful smile played on her lips, so different from the somber expression she’d had minutes earlier.
“Don’t let Myles get to you,” a small girl in a cheerleading uniform said to Alt-Sam. “Hold on to that one.”
The girl looked familiar—gorgeous dark hair, thick lashes, petite and peppy...
Marissa.
As soon as the thought came, everything around Sam went black. There was another fast and unexpected whoosh as she fell forward and away from the high school hallway. She blinked in the faint glow of her purple lava lamp and realized that the vision had ended. She was back on her bedroom floor, just where she’d left off.
She eyed the CD player in her hands. No matter how much she tried to calm herself down, her breaths came out like she’d run a marathon. She carefully placed the player on the floor, tucked her knees into her chest and stared at it.
Something very strange was happening. It was possible she’d fallen asleep again but...what was this? And for reasons she didn’t understand, Sam was seeing a life beyond her actual memories, a world where she’d kissed Damon, and her high school self was different as a result.
Perhaps the easiest solution was not to put the damn headphones on again. That way, whatever was going on would stop. The whole thing would be a nonissue, so long as she didn’t engage. Sam unwrapped her arms from the pretzel she’d knotted her body into and reached for the player. She flipped it over, opened the battery lid and removed the batteries. Sam closed the battery chamber with a satisfying click.
There. Done. Nothing bad would happen.
Only, when she flipped the Walkman over, the screen lit up. The next song was queued and ready to be played, with or without the batteries.