Chapter 30 Buffering
Must I always land on all fours like a drunk college student who just vomited in the street?
I’m on the sidewalk. And I’m sweating. I’m slick with it. Slicker than before. My freshly washed hair is stuck to my temples.
An unexpected wave of nausea roils through me, and it happens—I throw up on the concrete.
A wave of dizziness assaults my senses as I push myself to stand.
The journal’s on my right.
I am still wearing the trench, shirt, and sweatpants. Hallelujah!
I was so worried I was going to lose Reed’s clothes. Prejump I maneuvered into a slightly hunched position so I could clutch a section of each item in my fists, determined to hold on to them through the jump for dear life. It seems to have worked.
But I feel . . . sickly. My lips are cracked. And I’m outside my building, without a key.
I slip the journal into the trench coat pocket and stagger to the call box to buzz Jordyn and Micah.
“Hello?” Micah’s groggy, confused voice crackles from the speaker.
“Hi,” I croak. My throat feels like it hasn’t seen water for days. “Micah, it’s me, sorry I know it’s late. I got stuck outside without my purse. Can you buzz me in? And can I swing by for my spare key?”
I almost collapse in the stretch of hallway from Micah’s door to my own apartment.
Once I’m safely inside my (dad’s) place, I chug a Pedialyte and inhale two eggs over easy on toast. Then I drain the milk lake sitting in the tub and draw myself an actual bath. I slap my wooden bath table across the ceramic edge, toss the journal on it, and slide into the water.
Okay. I’m going to a wedding with Reed in three days.
I have to sort out the quirks of this journal before then.
Apparently two cross-country jumps in a two-hour window is killer. What would happen if I attempted a third jump right now? Would I die? If I was clutching my Away bag, would it jump with me?
I sit up, sloshing the water as I open the leather journal on the wooden table.
The print dictating the Santa Monica Pier task has gone silver, and the page across from it now reads:
Feedback?
I pull the pen from the loop in the back, twist out the ballpoint, and hover over the page.
A thread of trepidation tugs in my chest. Without the fear of (naked) discovery lancing through me or the ignorance of my blatant disbelief, writing in this is mildly scary. Interacting with any sort of sentient book was highly discouraged by the fantasy novels of my youth.
Oh well.
Thank you for choosing me! I’m excited about being granted this device, but kinda panicked about all the aspects I don’t completely understand yet. How do you come up with the tasks? That was low-key mortifying.
Can I ask, why does teleporting feel like being burned alive? Is there science behind that?
You mentioned the jump takes a heavy energy toll—would I die if I jumped again right now?
How did I qualify for this exactly? Are you from the wedding? Was it the garter thing?
Can I tell Jordyn about you if I do it via charades? Is that against the rules?
Am I correct in assuming if I’m clutching an object, it will join me on the jump as well?
I reread my entry and nod. Okay. That should give me a good foundation of information. It’s upbeat, grateful, inquisitive.
I swallow hard and flip the page.
Mortifying? You seemed to enjoy yourself.
I tip the notebook forward, frowning. What. I flip the page again, harder this time, praying there’s a more thorough response pending.
Maybe don’t dangle a teleportation device over open water, Rikki.
An offended noise slips from my mouth. I flip the page again.
3) Where would you like to go
X _____________________________
I slap the thing shut and toss it away from the tub. My phone buzzes on the tile. I lean over the ceramic edge and snatch it up.
Reed: glad I found you naked on the side of the road today. Hope you got to your cousin’s place safe. August 28
Hi Rikki,
I have some news to share tomorrow morning. Please report to my office first thing at 9 a.m.
See you bright and early!
Maya Leigh
Lifestyle Senior Editor
New York Minute
Aunt Teresa [10:57 a.m.]: of course you can stay here! I’m working the night shift tomorrow but just use the garage code
Dad [11:34 a.m.]: You didn’t respond. No parties in that apartment, Rikki. That was not part of the agreement.
Dad [11:34 a.m.]: I have someone coming in to re-tile the kitchen tomorrow
Me [11:35 a.m.]: Dad, I have an important work meeting in the morning and I’m going on a last-minute trip to California to help Mom look at wedding venues this weekend. I was just about to text you about it.
Dad [11:35 a.m.]: Fine, I’ll reschedule tiling for Monday at 8 a.m.
Me [11:36 a.m.]: Okay . . . I have a Love Today podcast recording I have to be at by 9:30 in the city on Monday. Can I leave them in the apartment?
Dad [11:36 a.m.]: Yes, be there to let them in.
Mom [1:03 p.m.]: Layla and I decided we want a dog themed wedding! It’s going to be the cutest! Can we hop on a FaceTime with you to talk decor? I was hoping you’d be able to organize florals and drink specials!
Me [1:05 p.m.]: Did you land on a date? I thought you hadn’t even chosen a venue. Did you look at the list of places I sent?
Mom [1:06 p.m.]: The park you found has an opening on New Year’s Eve due to a cancellation! I Booked It! Woooo!
Me [1:06 p.m.]: Oh my god, that’s so soon, Mom
Mom [1:07 p.m.]: That’s why we need to FaceTime asap! We’re so excited.
Me [1:08 p.m.]: we can talk while I’m cooking dinner later, I’ll FaceTime you around 7.
At 5:30, armed with electrolytes, I venture to Coney Island with a carry-on, fifty bucks in cash, and an old purse to test the journal. I take a seat with all my crap on a bench and plug in my home address.
Eat a piece of lined notebook paper. The whole piece.
That is all.
Have fun.
I eat a piece of paper via ripping it into strips and dunking it in water, and eventually make it back to the apartment.
Conclusions were fourfold:
(1.) I can bring things as long as I’m holding them in my hands.
(1.) Those things can be in a suitcase. As long as the suitcase is held, they will come.
(2.) I will always land on all fours and sweaty (unpleasant).
(3.) No one noticed me pop out of nowhere, and I was in broad daylight. I think it cloaks me for about thirty seconds post jump.
Whitney [8:37 p.m.]: Hey Rick, just confirming we still have a session during your lunch hour tomorrow right?
Me [8:38 p.m.]: Yeah—I have a busy day though so we might have to do 30 minutes. I’m heading out west this weekend for a wedding.
Whitney [8:39 p.m.]: What? Whose wedding?
Me [8:39 p.m.]: Reed invited me to plus-one for him. I was going to see if I could borrow that Sandy dance outfit? It’s a musical-themed wedding! Reed wants to do Grease, which is actually perfect because it’s your favorite, right? You have like all her outfits from Halloweens past?
Whitney [8:40 p.m.]: Are you Kidding? 98% Invited you to wedding with him?
Yes I have the Perfect exact white dress!
!!! can you wear white though? should i dye it pink?
maybe i’ll dye it light pink! When do you get in?
I also have Cha-cha’s dress! And the tight black outfit from the end! i’ll just bring you all of them.
Me [8:41 p.m.]: lol okay thank you! I’ll hopefully be at your mom’s by 9pm tomorrow night.
Whitney [8:41 p.m.]: I’ll be there.
Once I’ve tackled almost everything on the to-do list, I curl up in bed with my laptop and have a marvelous time reliving yesterday’s Reed adventure as I retell the experience in chapter form.
As if no magic were involved. As if I would ever agree to a streaking bet.
It takes me three hours, but I finally reach the end of our night.
Do people in situationships go to weddings together?
Do they take pictures on boardwalks, kissing?
Do they send heart emoticons?
I feel like we’re doing it wrong.
Situationships are supposed to stay away from the high dive.
We’re dancing on the edge of a cliff.