Chapter 4 Cool Cool Cool #2
She sits up warily, and I settle into the twin bed beside her. Either she’s too hungover to joke about my outfit or she’s used to seeing me dress like a walking pile of Fruity Pebbles. So much for my days as a disgruntled Ann Taylor employee.
She takes the bag from me and moans, “Why am I the only one feeling like a corpse?”
I pat her leg. “Because I drank a pot of coffee. And napped. And it’s noon.”
Oh, and discovering that you’re stuck inside a game that you played almost two decades ago will leave you pretty alert.
Bridget doesn’t bother with bagel toppings, chomping right into an asiago situation when she turns and says, “So. An alternate universe, huh?”
It’s unclear whether she’s already on board or if she’s too feeble to muster opposition.
“I’ll explain,” I promise. “But first: Did you show me an old MASH game last night?”
Mid-chew, she snorts. “You mean my best surprise ever?”
“Not sure about that, but yeah. Where is it?”
“You told me to confiscate it.”
My legs go numb. That game is my only escape strategy.
Surely it must contain a clue. All I can think to do is get ahold of that cursed slip of paper.
Pray to it. Eat it. Whatever it takes to get out of here and return to real life.
I have a new job to find. And several Pilates classes for which I’ve already paid.
“Where’d you throw it away? Let’s go back. We—”
“Luckily,” Bridget interrupts, “I’m quite practiced at ignoring your shortsighted requests.” She points across the room. “Gold fanny pack. Inner pocket.”
I hug her tightly, deeply grateful for her inability to let go of a damn thing.
Bridget’s floor is littered with clothes. As I rummage through wayward sundresses, looking for her purse, I grill her on last night’s events. “What time did we leave Curly’s?”
She arches an eyebrow. “We stayed at Madre’s.”
That’s where we ate dinner last night. And apparently, in this world, where Ryan works. “We didn’t go to Curly’s at all?”
“No.” She takes a long sip of coffee. “You didn’t want to see Penn. You were rather insistent that you only wanted to celebrate with us.”
Funny, because that’s how I felt in the real world, too, but I never said so aloud, determined to be a good sport.
Bridget’s head bobs to one side. “You seriously don’t remember all that?”
“Different dimension,” I remind her, and she straightens, finally conscious enough to be concerned. As if the words alternate universe only just dawned on her as a shade off.
“You did hit your head during Truth or Dare. Sorry. I never should’ve let you attempt a walking handstand. Have you been dizzy?”
“Very,” I admit. Then I spot the bag. “Bingo.”
Her fanny pack has seen better days, its edges scratched from many a night being crushed beneath barstools. Sure enough, the game is wadded into its pocket.
I carry the wrinkled page to Bridget’s bed and sit at her feet, wondering how she hasn’t already put two and two together. “B, don’t you realize?” I wave the paper like it’s a pom-pom. “This MASH game came true. I’m living it. Right down to the thirteen pet fish.”
She glances at the game, then at me, blank-faced. I brace myself for worry. Doubt. The same Code Red alarm that all my “dream” talk set off in Penn. But she bursts out laughing.
“I’m serious.” I gesture wildly between us. “The game? This is it.”
Bridget sighs. “No shit, pal. That’s why I wanted you to see it.”
My eyes might pop out of their sockets. “You don’t think it’s a little weird that everything here aligns with a game we played at a random sleepover years ago? That I live in a mansion? While running a roller-rink restaurant called The Disco Diner?”
The name’s not bad. But it’s not great, either.
Bridget’s eyebrows lift the way they always do when she politely allows me to talk through a thought spiral. Evenly, she says, “Do I think it’s weird that you—a September Virgo, runner-up to valedictorian—made your wildest teenage dreams come true? No.”
“These weren’t my dreams, though. They were silly, random choices in a game.”
“But you made them happen. You went to Berkeley, just like you always hoped, and then you took every kind of job until—”
“I went to Berkeley?”
She nods, and the nausea sets in again. Nobody in the real world even knows I got into Berkeley. I told them I didn’t. I went to the University of Illinois with Ryan instead.
“Bridget,” I start slowly. “There’s another, different world out there. One where I’m an accountant, and I don’t have a Lakeville mansion. I’ve been living in the city with Connor.”
Her nose scrunches. “Connor who?”
It’s uncanny, staring my puzzled friend in the face and giving her the name of the man whose birth chart she’s memorized.
“Connor Reynolds. He went to Lakeville East?” As she stares off, trying to remember him, I explain, “We’ve been together for a little over four years.
Well, we were together. We broke up last night. ”
Despite hearing of our relationship seconds ago, she’s appalled. “On your birthday?”
“He told me he’s moving to New York. For a job. Out of nowhere.”
Bridget clicks her tongue, shaking her head in disapproval. “Rough.”
“Not great,” I agree.
Giddiness creeps into her voice. “Who am I in this other world?”
“You teach kindergarten,” I tell her, and after learning about Ryan’s MASH life, I’m half expecting Bridget to tell me she’s joined the circus.
“Wait,” she gripes. “I’m the same? How does that work?”
“I don’t know, but I need your help to figure it out. I need to get back to my real life. Where I have real problems to solve.”
Bridget scans the paper. Her eyes flash to me.
I swallow hard. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
Her features soften. She looks out at the tree house her parents can’t bring themselves to take down, then turns back wearing the same small smile she wore when I told her I was going to summer school.
For fun. “No, Ruby,” she says. “Not in the least. But on the off chance that you really are stuck inside a game—which sounds pretty sick, if you ask me—and you want to get out for some reason, then, yeah.” She shrugs. “I’ll help you.”
Tears sting at my eyes. Our friendship has always been the unconditional kind, and it turns out we’re all-in across universes, too.