The Future of Us

43://Josh

I TURN THE DIAL to Hot and water sprays into the washing machine, sending up waves of steam. After pouring a circle of blue detergent over the dirty clothes, I shut the lid. It’s been a while since I’ve been inspired to clean my room, but last night I scooped all my clothes into a big heap and shoved two years’ worth of Thrasher magazine into the closet. There’s no way to predict when Sydney will first come up to my room, so I want to be ready.

I pass the table where my parents are eating breakfast. Dad is crunching on buttered toast while Mom sips her coffee.

I grab the Lucky Charms in the pantry and linger there for a moment, trying to figure out what I’m going to say to them. My parents got home late last night, and everyone was too tired to discuss what had happened in Dad’s office.

“You’re doing laundry before school?” Mom says. “That’s unusual.”

“I cleaned my room,” I say from the pantry.

“Even more unusual,” Dad says.

They used to bug me about straightening my room, but eventually they gave up. If they want to view this as my way of apologizing for yesterday, that’s fine.

“I’ll be vacuuming this weekend,” Dad says. “I’ll run it over your carpet now that there’s a floor again.”

I head to the table. “I’ll take care of it,” I say, shaking the cereal into a bowl. “It’ll be a nice break from homework. They’re piling it on before finals.”

“We noticed you were in your room all evening,” Mom says. “It’s good to see that your studies haven’t been forgotten.”

I’m late for school one time, by just a few minutes, and now they’re concerned about my homework. If they knew I become a successful graphic designer with a huge house on the lake, they’d stop stressing over one little tardy.

“I haven’t fallen behind all year,” I say, pouring milk over my cereal.

Mom leans across the table and touches my hand. “I didn’t mean to imply that you had.”

“We know we’re lucky,” Dad adds. “We don’t take it for granted that, other than this one time, you’ve been very responsible about getting yourself to school.”

“After you left, we polled a few of our colleagues,” Mom says, “and some of their children are late to school way more often than they’re on time.”

One reason my parents feel overbearing is their need to discuss everything. That was probably why David moved across the country. He wasn’t comfortable with them knowing every part of his life.

I definitely can’t tell Mom and Dad that Emma kissed me. She lives right next door! They’d be nervous wrecks every time I’m home alone. Tyson would listen, but it’s not fair to drag him into this when he sees Emma every day.

Mom drops another sugar cube into her coffee. “We want you to know that we don’t have a problem if you get rides to school with Emma.”

I bring a heaping spoonful of Lucky Charms to my mouth.

“We love Emma,” Dad says. “But getting yourself to school on time is nonnegotiable.”

“Okay,” I say, a line of milk dribbling from my lips. I wipe my chin with a napkin.

Outside, Emma’s car door slams shut. I glance up at the clock. If she’s leaving this early, that means she’s intentionally avoiding me.

We are now officially not speaking to each other.

44://Emma

I ADJUST MY REARVIEW MIRROR when I reach the end of the block. If Josh expects me to apologize for kissing him, he can keep waiting. Maybe I screwed up, but the way he went off on me was hurtful. I stayed in my room for the rest of the evening, coming downstairs only for dinner. I tried practicing my sax, which usually relaxes me, but I couldn’t hold any notes.

I turn left at the intersection. I need to call my dad tonight to tell him I’m sorry. It was generous of him to buy me a computer. I just don’t understand why he didn’t pick up the phone when I called him back last night. I tried his number twice, and both times it went to the answering machine.

“This is the Nelson household,” Cynthia’s voice said. “Sorry we missed your call. Please leave a message after the beep.”

We used to be the Nelson household.

I couldn’t bring myself to leave a message.

I STEER INTO the drive-thru at Sunshine Donuts.

“What’ll it be?” comes a woman’s voice through the speaker-box.

I lean out my window. “One cinnamon donut. That’s all.”

There are three cars in front of me at the pickup window. To pass the time, I study the poster for Sunshine Donuts. The O is bright yellow with long rainbow-colored sun-rays. A beaming woman holding a tray of glazed donuts exclaims, “Have a Sunshine day!”

My day felt awful the moment I woke up, and it’s all because of what Josh said. I was not jerking him around. Josh is my best friend. I wouldn’t manipulate him like that.

By the time I get to the pickup window, my donut craving is gone.

The woman has puffy golden hair bridled beneath a net. She holds out a white paper bag. “Cinnamon?”

“I think I changed my mind. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“You don’t want it?” she asks, jostling the bag.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

I leave the parking lot and merge back onto the road.

THERE ARE TWO WEEKS until finals, and teachers are starting to put on the pressure. During the history final, we’ll have to compose three long essays. For the English final, we have to be prepared to analyze any of the books we read this year. In band, our overall grade will be heavily affected by our performance in this weekend’s Memorial Day parade.

I’m not in the mood for studying, but I also can’t screw anything up. I need a good grade point average to take that college biology class, which leads me into marine biology someday. If my future is bad, I can’t blame it all on Kevin Storm. It’s my responsibility, too.

Even so, everything is getting under my skin. The ticking clocks in every classroom, the halls that reek of fruity perfume, Anna Bloom’s giggle in the library. I’d never paid much attention to Anna before, but after I saw her flirting with Josh yesterday, I’ve been seeing her everywhere. And everyone I pass is buzzing about tomorrow’s Senior Skip Day and Rick’s bonfire.

Between third and fourth periods, I spot Josh ahead of me. I dart into the bathroom and stay there until the bell rings.

“I LOVE FRIES,” Kellan says as we push our trays through the lunch line. “They energize me.”

I eye the wilted salad-bar lettuce and the puddles of grease on the pizza. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to leave home before Josh, I wouldn’t have forgotten my lunch on the kitchen counter.

“When we register for the college class,” Kellan says, “remind me to take you to the student café. They make the best curly fries.”

As I reach for a peach yogurt, I think about what I’ve seen of Kellan’s future. I couldn’t tell much about her career, just that she lives in Philadelphia and works for a sign language school. She doesn’t become the doctor or scientist she always talks about, but unlike me, she sounds happy.

After paying for our food, we head to the ketchup pump.

“Will you grab me some napkins?” Kellan asks. “Get some for Tyson, too. That boy never wipes his hands, which is just plain nasty.”

Something’s definitely up with her and Tyson. Back when they were a couple, Tyson occupied all her thoughts. She doted on him, bringing him cookies and cough drops and packs of spearmint gum.

Kellan nods toward the door. “Ready?”

I don’t move. “Can we eat inside today?”

She looks at the door, then back at me. “What about Tyson and Josh?”

I don’t know how to answer.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“I could use a little space from Josh right now.”

Kellan walks to the nearest open table. “Does this have anything to do with Skanky Mills getting him out of class today?”

My stomach tightens. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” Kellan says, “but when I was dropping off an attendance sheet in the front office, Her Royal Highness was there. I overheard her asking the Student Council advisor for permission to excuse Josh for the rest of the afternoon. She said it was for Student Council business.”

I stare at my pale orange yogurt. Whatever “business” Sydney has in mind, Josh is well-prepared with his studly new boxers.

Kellan grins mischievously, leans in close, and whispers, “I’m sure she’ll be so impressed when he whips out his wallet and produces that antique condom.”

45://Josh

“BOMBS AWAY!”

A sandwich drops from the sky and lands at my feet. Tyson charges toward me. I pick up the sandwich and underhand-toss it back to him. He catches it like a football, spins a full circle, and then plops down next to the lunch tree.

“You’ve been holding out,” he says. “You didn’t tell me you were driving around with Sydney Mills yesterday.”

How did he find out? I can’t imagine Emma said anything.

“Sydney-frickin’-Mills!” he adds.

“I would’ve called to tell you,” I say, “but things got crazy last night.”

Tyson’s jaw drops. For effect, he pushes his chin back in place, and then he holds up his hand for a high five. “Crazy with Sydney?”

“Not exactly,” I say.

Tyson lowers his hand and begins to unwrap his sandwich.

If Sydney had kissed me, I would’ve high-fived him back. Instead, Emma kissed me. The moment our lips touched, I was back to where I was six months ago. It was the kiss I wanted last November. It felt like everything that happened this week had finally brought us together again. We could start over.

Then I realized the truth. She wasn’t kissing me because of who I am. She had that chance last fall. Emma just needed something that would create a huge ripple, and she didn’t care if it hurt my future. But more than that, she didn’t care if it hurt me.

“All morning, people have been asking about you and Sydney,” Tyson says. “Dude, how could you leave me hanging like that?” He takes a large bite of his sandwich.

“How did everyone find out?”

“Her convertible is hard to miss,” he says. “No offense, but what were you doing in her passenger seat?”

This must be what it’s like to live in Sydney’s orbit. People notice everything you do and then gossip about what they saw. Even though it’s happening to me now, it’s not about me. I’m just a tiny satellite getting pulled in by Sydney’s gravity.

I look across the length of the empty football field. If Emma was coming, she would’ve been here by now.

AFTER LUNCH, I have Word Processing I with Mr. Elliott. The class has three long tables, all lined with desktop computers. I press the green power button on my computer and then lean back in my chair while it boots up.

Two scenarios play out in my mind. One is that Emma didn’t come to the tree for lunch because she’s still too mad or embarrassed. The other scenario is that Emma left school and went home to investigate Facebook alone. But since Kellan wasn’t at lunch either, they’re probably together. As angry as Emma may be, I can’t imagine her pulling Kellan into this.

Mr. Elliott walks up to my computer and drops a blue slip onto my keyboard. “You need to head to the front office.”

Again? But why this time? The slip has my name written just above the secretary’s signature. The last few class periods of the day are all circled in dark black ink.

Paranoia hits me. What if Mr. Elliott has been monitoring Emma’s computer and he knows what we’ve been doing? A computer geek might know how to do that. Maybe that’s why Emma never made it to lunch. Maybe they nabbed her, but she wouldn’t give up my location!

As calmly as possible, I ask, “Do you know what this is about?”

“All I know,” Mr. Elliott says, scratching a flaky patch on the side of his head, “is you can take your stuff with you because you won’t be coming back.”

I CAN ALREADY VISUALIZE my parents—brows furrowed and arms crossed—waiting for me in the principal’s office. The school psychologist will be there, and maybe a physics or history teacher to share their perspectives. Emma and her mom will be sitting in chairs, and Martin too, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Playing with your futures,” the principal will say, shaking his head with disapproval. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

The teachers will lecture us about the potential repercussions, not only to us, but to the entire future of mankind.

“There you are!”

Sydney is standing outside the front office, grinning excitedly. She’s wearing a light pink button-down shirt, jeans, and sandals. She rises onto her toes and offers a flippy little wave.

I can’t help smiling back. “What are you doing here?”

Sydney points to the blue slip in my hand. “How do you like your get-out-of-jail-free card?”

“This was you?”

She winks at me. “You’re welcome,” she says, then takes the paper from my hand and opens the office door.

Mrs. Bender, the secretary, greets us from behind the counter. “All I need are your blue slips and you’re good to go.”

Sydney reaches across the counter, and her jeans pull tight around her perfectly shaped body. “Here they are, Mrs. B.” Then she turns toward me, loops her arm into mine, and leads us out into the hallway.

“Got everything you need?” she asks. “We’ll be gone until the end of school.”

I’m having a hard time focusing with her body so close to mine. Also, the top two buttons on her shirt are undone.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Errands!”

My textbooks for tonight’s homework are in my backpack. I’m not sure about reading assignments for my afternoon classes, but I can call people for those. I still don’t know why we’re being allowed to go, so I want to get out of here before anyone realizes there’s been a mistake.

While leaving the main building, Sydney explains our mission. As president of Student Council, she has to pick up items for several year-end events. The vice-president was set to run the errands with her, but he sprained his ankle in gym and had to back out. To fill his spot, Sydney chose… me!

“I didn’t know Student Council had this much power,” I say. “Can you get out of class whenever you want?”

“You have to be careful. But if the school views it as a learning experience, they’ll approve it,” she says. “We have a lot of errands to run today, so I drove this bad boy.” She taps the rear bumper of a black Jeep Cherokee SUV.

“Is this yours?” I ask. Yesterday’s convertible seemed more her style.

“It’s my sister’s,” she says. “But she and her fiancé swapped with me for the day. They live down the street from us, so it’s no big deal. We do it all the time.”

I walk to the passenger side and climb in. On the seat between us is a clipboard with a to-do list.

“Buckle up,” she says, starting the engine. “For the next few hours, your muscles are mine.”

I PICK UP a silver and black business card tucked into the drink holder. “Electra Design?”

“That’s one of my dad’s companies,” Sydney says. “They do graphic design work.”

Electra Design.

“He’s always starting new businesses,” Sydney adds. “My mom tells him he’s a workaholic and that he needs to hire more people to help him.”

He’s going to hire me. Someday, I’m going to work at Electra Design… for her dad.

We pull into the same shopping center as GoodTimez Pizza, but drive across to the opposite end. Sydney backs into a parking spot in front of Trophy Town and then cuts the engine. We hop out and I help her raise the rear window and lower the tailgate. She leans in to smooth out a blue tarp in back, and I can’t help catching a glimpse down her shirt. She’s wearing a pale pink bra, almost the same color as her shirt. And Tyson would be happy to know that her breasts look mind-bogglingly real.

“Next Tuesday night is the sports banquet,” Sydney says as we walk into the trophy shop. “We have to pick up a bunch of awards here. The weird part is, I already know I’m getting a trophy for tennis. But I’ll just stash it in my closet with the others. It feels so egotistical to put trophies all over your room.”

I don’t tell her I kept my T-ball and soccer trophies up for years after I stopped playing.

In the middle of the store is a three-tiered trophy display. There are different colored columns to choose from in varying heights and configurations. Each trophy is topped with a gold sports figurine: baseball, basketball, bowling, even darts.

Sydney scrolls down her clipboard with a pencil. “Did you ever play a sport?”

“Baseball and soccer when I was younger,” I say. “In middle school, I got really into skating. What about you? Other than tennis, of course.”

“I play soccer in the fall.”

“Are you any good?” I ask, but I know she is. Several times each season, she makes it onto the front page of the Lake Forest Tribune’s sports section. She’s either stealing the ball, kicking a goal, or running with her hands in the air.

“I’m not bad,” she says. “But I’m not a crazy jock like my sisters.”

A short man with glasses and receding hair asks if we’re from the high school. Sydney signs an invoice, and he helps us load three boxes of plaques and trophies into the back of the SUV. Then we’re off to order flower arrangements.

“My sisters played tennis in high school,” Sydney says. “For a while, they were ranked first and second in the county.”

“At the same time?”

“They’re ridiculously competitive with each other,” she says, slowing at a light. “They’re identical twins, but they argue all the time.”

Identical twins?

“The crazy thing is,” she continues, “they’re both engaged to law school students, and they’re both planning to get married next summer.”

The first time I saw my future, I had a son and two identical twin daughters. The girls looked just like Sydney. Later, we had twin boys who looked like me.

“Identical twins run in my family,” she says. “My mom’s a twin, too.”

I don’t respond. What can I say? Guess what! We used to have twin girls, but then we lost them. Why? Because Emma didn’t like her husband, and apparently you can’t change one thing about the future without changing everything else. But now it seems we have twin boys. Or at least we did yesterday.

“You’re being kind of quiet,” Sydney says.

She’s right. I should be talking. If I want things to happen between us, I can’t sit here thinking about the future. I need to stay focused on the present. Even though we’re going to get married one day, I know so little about her. I have no idea what her favorite movie is or where she likes to hang out. I don’t even know what makes her laugh.

“Do you want kids someday?” I ask. If Tyson were sitting behind me, he’d smack the back of my head.

Sydney smiles as she flips on the turn signal. “That’s a funny question to ask on a first date.”

I know she’s joking about these errands being a first date, but for those words to even pop into her mind means, on some level, she considers this the beginning of a relationship. And it is!

After we drive a few blocks in silence, I ask, “What are you up to this weekend?”

“I’m playing tennis with my mom and sisters on Saturday,” she says. “And then the whole family, including my dad and the fiancés, are helping out with a picnic at the prison on Sunday.”

There’s a prison about halfway between Lake Forest and Pittsburgh, but I’ve never been out there. “They have picnics?”

“Every Memorial Day,” Sydney says. “It’s volunteer work. At last year’s picnic I made the mistake of bringing Jeremy with me. Do you know Jeremy Watts?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He graduated last year,” she says. “He’s a decent guy, but he can be a little insensitive. The whole time we were there, he pretended to be an inmate and he kept whispering things to me like, ‘Can you pass the macaroni salad? I’d get it myself, but I have handcuffs on.’”

I look out the window so she can’t tell I’m holding back a smile.

“They weren’t even wearing handcuffs,” she adds.

I can imagine Emma and me in that same situation. If I made that handcuff joke, she’d punch me in the arm and tell me to behave, but her eyes would give her away. She’d be on the verge of laughing, too.

I point up the road to Sunshine Donuts. “Want to stop? I’ll buy.”

Sydney looks where I’m pointing and then crinkles her nose. “Maybe later.”

We drive past, and I watch the brightly colored sign recede in the side-view mirror.

46://Emma

I HAVE TWENTY MINUTES until I need to be at track, so I’m studying in the library. There’s hardly anyone in here, just two freshman boys on a computer and Ms. Nesbit quietly shelving books. The pink streak in her hair is pinned back with an intricate series of barrettes.

Everything in my life feels like it’s going downhill. Everything except Cody. We smiled at each other twice in the halls today, and all I could think was he’s still single in fifteen years. Single and hot and working as an architect in Denver. While that’s not near the ocean, I could learn to love the mountains.

“How did it go with the phone books?” Ms. Nesbit asks, approaching my table. “Were they at the public library?”

“They were… thanks.” I wish I could’ve stayed in my Denver fantasy a few more minutes.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“What?” I ask.

“The resources we have available today,” she says. “You’re a junior, right? So you’ve probably been researching colleges, but you can also look for summer jobs, camps, even internships at a library. You can plan your whole future right here.”

I smile weakly. Yes, it feels great to plan your life when you believe everything can turn out fine. But what about when you’re shown, again and again, how little control you have over anything? No matter what I do to try to fix my future, it doesn’t work.

After Ms. Nesbit returns to her books, I watch the freshmen laugh at something on the computer, and it occurs to me that I’ve been using Facebook the wrong way. It’s not about automatically having control. It’s about taking control with the resources you have.

WHEN I GET TO TRACK, I explain to the coach that I had to miss the past two practices because of female problems. It’s not a total lie. I was married to a jerk and had to get rid of him, and then I found out Kellan is about to get pregnant.

We start practice on the field with the whole team standing in a wide circle doing stretches. With my hands on my hips, I lean back and hold it for five seconds. Next to me, Ruby Jenkins is bent forward with her forehead touching her knees. She’s telling me how she’s going to skip school tomorrow even though she’s not a senior. I’m only partially listening because, across the circle, Cody is smiling at me.

When we stop stretching and head toward the track, Cody jogs up beside me.

“You weren’t at practice yesterday,” he says.

He was looking for me?

“I was with a friend,” I say, vaguely enough to let him wonder if that friend was a boy.

I look down at the ground, noticing how our legs are perfectly in sync.

Now, Emma Nelson, it’s time to use your resources.

“We drove into Pittsburgh to check out some buildings,” I say. “I’m fascinated by the architecture there.”

“I’m thinking about taking an architecture class at Duke next year,” he says.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out more from his Facebook page. “I’m interested in wind and solar energy and how they can relate to architecture.”

The second I say it, it feels like I’ve gone too far. But then Cody squints up at the sun and says, “I never thought about that.”

I exhale. “You should. It’s the wave of the future.”

Cody stops and reaches into a pocket on his shorts. “I found something near the locker-room water fountains, and I thought it might be yours.”

When he opens his fingers, he’s holding my gold necklace with the tiny E pendant. I touch my hand to my collarbone. I’ve worn that necklace every day for eight years. I can’t believe it fell off and I didn’t notice.

Cody spills the necklace into my hand. As I watch him jog away, I remember what Josh said yesterday, about how I dumped Graham and now I’m moving on to Cody. What Josh doesn’t understand is that Cody isn’t just some guy I suddenly noticed. I’ve had a crush on him for a long time. I’d be crazy not to respond when I have his attention.

DRIVING HOME, I think about what happened yesterday on Facebook. By insisting I would never live in Ohio, my future shifted to London. Just thinking differently can change everything.

I’m obviously not happy with Kevin. But instead of tracking him down like I did with Jordan, maybe I can promise myself that one day when I meet Kevin Storm, I won’t marry him.

I slow at a light and glance around to make sure no one is watching.

“One day,” I say quietly, “I’m going to meet Kevin Storm, but I will not marry him.”

The light turns green and I step on the gas.

I say it again, louder this time, and then add, “No matter what!”

47://Josh

WE’RE IN THE PARKING LOT of Sam’s Club, a discount superstore ten miles outside of town. I lower the tailgate of Sydney’s Jeep Cherokee and hoist myself in. The back is already crowded with supplies, and I have to duck forward to keep from banging my head.

“Ready?” she asks.

I hold out my hands and she lifts a bulk-size bag of Cheetos out of the shopping cart. She tosses it to me. Then she passes me two bags of pretzels, followed by Doritos. While she sets cases of soda onto the tailgate, I shift around the rest of the cargo to make room.

“What banquet’s this for?” I ask.

Sydney lifts up a twelve-pack of Mountain Dew and holds it out for me. “These aren’t for school.”

I slide the soda to the back of the bed. She hands me another twelve-pack and I fit it tight against the first one, then pull at a corner of the blue tarp that’s bunched underneath.

“Usually the Student Council errands take longer,” she says, “but we plowed through them so fast I figured we had time for an extracurricular run.”

All afternoon, I’ve been pushing carts, lifting boxes, and loading things into the Cherokee. And that’s fine. I won’t complain about spending time with Sydney Mills. I don’t even mind assisting her on a personal errand, but it would have been nice to know when we made that switch.

I hop onto the pavement. “Is this for that prison party?”

“Prison picnic,” she says, closing the tailgate. “But no. It’s for my friend’s bonfire tomorrow night.”

I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and climb into my seat. When she starts the engine, I lower my window halfway down.

“You can’t just have alcohol at a party, or people get too drunk,” Sydney explains. “You need something for them to snack on.”

All week, people have been buzzing about this bonfire. Tyson is using his dad’s pickup to help some senior skaters haul firewood out to the lake.

“Also, if the cops bust the party, you want to have soda around,” Sydney says. “Hide the beer, grab a Coke!”

I haven’t put much thought into going to the bonfire because my mind’s been on other things. Mainly, it’s been on Sydney.

“Rick left a message on my cell phone earlier,” she says, “asking if I could pick up some things for him. I was going to do it tomorrow, but since we had time this afternoon, I figured why not. Plus, I have the Cherokee today.”

For the past three hours, Sydney and I have been driving around town together. At first I couldn’t believe she picked me. Every time our elbows bumped or fingers touched, I felt electricity in my whole body. But after a while, things calmed down. Maybe I was expecting an instant connection. Although we do end up together, right now we barely know each other. I’m just the guy who spoke up in class when her ex was acting like a dick.

“If you don’t mind,” Sydney says, “can we drop off the bonfire stuff before I take you home? It’s on the way.”

“That’s fine.”

“Have you ever been to Rick’s?”

“Rick who?” I ask. And then I realize who she’s been talking about. “Rick Rolland?”

“His house is beautiful,” she says. “It’s right by the lake.”

“Are you talking about that guy from Mr. Fritz’s Peer Issues class?”

“That’s right! His parents already left for the long weekend, so he’s throwing the… oh… right.” Sydney turns toward me with an apologetic look. “Rick and I used to go out, but that’s totally in the past.”

“That’s… no… it’s fine.”

“I know he can seem like a jerk,” she says, “but he’s actually a decent friend.”

As Sydney merges onto the highway, I lower my window the rest of the way.

SYDNEY TAKES THE TURNOFF for Crown Lake, and then a quick left on a hard-packed dirt road. As we circle the lake, I watch for the house she and I one day live in, but I don’t see anything that resembles the photos on Facebook. Maybe our home hasn’t even been built yet.

We turn onto Rick’s gravel driveway, stopping in front of a redbrick house with a dense forest of pine trees behind it. Sydney honks her horn twice and then shuts off the engine.

“We can wait out here,” she says.

When Rick doesn’t come out, Sydney pulls her cell phone from her purse and hits a few buttons.

I hope Rick’s family moves away by the time Sydney and I buy our house.

“No answer,” Sydney says. She sets her phone on the dashboard. “I’ll be right back.”

She runs up the brick walkway, turns the doorknob, and lets herself in. As she disappears into the house, I stare at the closed door.

I can’t imagine casually walking into the house of someone I used to date. I try to picture the look on Rebecca Alvarez’s face if I walked in her front door without knocking. I guess people in Sydney’s orbit operate differently. For them, it’s not weird to go out with someone, break up, and then help them throw a party.

Sydney comes out first, leaving the door open behind her. Rick emerges a moment later and looks directly at me. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt and shorts and even from here I can tell his calves are three times as big as mine. When he gives me a nod, there’s no hint of jealousy or cockiness, or even that he recognizes me from Peer Issues the other day.

I open the passenger door and step outside. Standing on the driveway with Sydney and Rick, I feel like the skinny little brother who tagged along for the ride.

“Syd tells me you helped her with the Sam’s Club run,” Rick says. “That’s cool.”

He calls her Syd.

“No problem,” I say.

Rick turns away and I know exactly what he’s thinking. This guy’s not a threat. Or maybe that’s unfair. Maybe he doesn’t look threatened because there really is nothing left between him and Sydney.

I grab two twelve-packs of soda and carry them into Rick’s house. I set them just inside the front door, next to five kegs of beer. Sydney brings in the chips, and Rick carries six cases of soda as if the cans were empty. When we return to the Cherokee, he gives me a low five while Sydney closes up the tailgate.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she tells me. “Rick needs to find his wallet.”

Sydney and Rick walk away together. I climb into my seat and shut the door. For the next couple of minutes, I try not to think about Sydney being in Rick’s house. I know they’re not making out in there. I’m sure of it! But I’m still not used to their world and its relationship rules.

I touch Sydney’s cell phone on the dashboard. I’ve never used a cell phone before, but I wish I could call my brother right now. Just tell me what to do because I have no idea.

When Sydney hops back in, she greets me with a smile.

“Rick’s cool,” she says, removing a pair of sunglasses from the visor. “I’m glad we’re friends again.”

With her sunglasses on and her hair spilling around her shoulders, Sydney looks content with whatever life tosses her way. It’s the exact opposite of how I feel. I know that someday she and I will own a house out here and go on fancy vacations. But something amazing must happen between now and then because, at this moment, we don’t feel right for each other. If we started dating now, I can’t imagine things lasting through the summer.

48://Emma

I SHUT MY BEDROOM DOOR and dial my dad’s number.

“This is the Nelson household,” Cynthia’s voice says. “Sorry we missed your call. Please leave a message after the beep.”

There’s a low tone, followed by two short beeps.

“Hey, Dad… it’s Emma.” I pause and close my eyes. You need to do this. “Maybe you’re busy with the baby, but I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, and for not thanking you yet. I really do like the computer. I’ve just been…” I can’t wimp out and leave this on his machine. I need to speak with him live. “Can you please call me back?”

I hang up and try to imagine who will hear my message first. I hope it’s not Cynthia. She’s always been nice, but I want to keep some things personal between my dad and me.

“Dale,” I imagine her saying as she rocks the baby on her shoulder. “Your daughter left you a message.”

Or maybe she’ll say your other daughter. I hope not. I hope she just calls me Emma.

THE FIRST THING I CHECK on Facebook is the status of my relationship. I’m no longer married to Kevin Storm, and my new husband’s name is Isaac Rawlings. I work for the University of South Carolina. It doesn’t say what my job is, but there’s a link to something called Marine and Coastal Services. My picture has me nuzzling my cheek against a golden retriever, and my hair is long and curly.

Then I read my first entry.

I lower my head and rub my eyes. It’s been less than a week since Josh gave me that CD-ROM, but have I done anything good with it? Maybe Josh was right and I shouldn’t have gotten rid of Jordan Jones so quickly. Or maybe I should’ve stuck it out with Kevin. It wasn’t perfect, but every couple has hard times. Now I’m married to Isaac Rawlings, and we’re already getting divorced.

Even if I could reverse everything, I don’t know which life I’d want to go back to. And I’ve caused so many ripples by now, there’s no way to recover any of the exact same futures. If I go to Tampa State, where I was supposed to meet Jordan, I’ll never feel comfortable around him knowing how things once turned out.

I don’t even want to know where I meet Isaac Rawlings. Once I make up my mind not to marry him, I’ll just wind up in another bad marriage.

I glance at my Friends category. This time, I only have one hundred and fourteen friends. I scroll down to the Js, but there’s still no Josh.

I’m scrolling back up through my friends when I see the name Cody Grainger. My heart starts racing. Something did change between us today! In his photo, he’s wearing a sports jacket and tie and his hair is brushed neatly to one side. I click on his name and—

I read through his last several statements. Cody now lives in Arizona. He’s a professor of architecture, specializing in wind and solar energy. He speaks all over the world. Two weeks ago, he visited the White House and spoke before Congress. And best of all, he’s still single.

In Cody’s last future, he merely worked in this field. Now he’s a leading expert. And it’s because of me! What I told him about architecture today must have jump-started his career. That is too bizarre to even think about.

Cody doesn’t have any other photos, but on his information page he has a list of random things he likes.

I wonder if I should add Duke to my list of college choices. That would be cool.

I can’t believe Cody likes Wayne’s World so much. I went to see that movie with Josh and Tyson a few years ago. Tyson was howling the whole time, popping Junior Mints and shouting at the screen. Josh and I couldn’t believe how stupid it was. We kept ourselves entertained mainly by watching Tyson.

But if Cody can quote Wayne’s World fifteen years from now, and if I want to move things along with him, I need to get my hands on that movie as soon as possible.

“Wayne’s World?” asks the woman in the video store. “I just reshelved that ten minutes ago.”

She points me toward the comedy section. I quickly locate the movie, return to the counter, and hand her my video card.

“‘It will be mine,’” she says, grinning as she types in my name. “‘Oh yes. It will be mine.’”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Excuse me?” The woman tips her head. “You haven’t seen Wayne’s World before?”

“I saw it in the theater, but I didn’t—” Then I get what she’s doing. “You’re quoting from the movie! Was that Wayne or Garth?”

“Wayne, I think. My boyfriend says it all the time.”

“He does? So people think that line’s funny?”

She stares at me like I’m insane. “It’s due back in two days.”

I thank her and hurry out the door.

49://Josh

IN THE SMALL employee break room, Tyson’s dad brings in two paper plates, each with a slice of pepperoni pizza.

“I know you said you weren’t hungry,” he says, setting a plate next to my history textbook, “but everyone has room for one slice.”

I like Tyson’s dad. Maybe it’s because he raised Tyson by himself, but he’s more approachable than most fathers. When I showed up an hour ago claiming to need a place to study, he didn’t question me even though no one comes to GoodTimez for peace and quiet. He simply cleared the newspapers from the back table and asked if I wanted anything to eat.

“Will the TV bother you?” he asks, sitting in a folding chair across from me.

“No, that’s fine.” I flip a page in my textbook and take a bite of pizza.

Tyson’s dad leans forward and presses the power button on the TV. Two men appear on CNN, arguing about President Clinton and sex.

“Weren’t they talking about this the last time I came back here?” Tyson’s dad asks.

I smile. “I’m sure they’re almost done.”

After Sydney dropped me off, I tried studying in my living room so I could keep an eye on Emma’s driveway. I don’t want to spend another day getting ignored by her. It’s not fair for either of us. We need to talk about what happened yesterday.

But then, when Emma did get home from track, I sat frozen on my couch as she walked inside. A short while later, she got back in her car and sped off again. That’s when I grabbed my backpack and skateboard and headed to GoodTimez.

“What are you studying?” Tyson’s dad asks.

“Vietnam.” I take another bite of pizza and then rub my fingers on a napkin. “There’s going to be an essay question on the final about the domino theory.”

“I remember the domino theory,” he says. He watches a few more seconds of the men arguing on TV. “If we don’t stop something bad from happening, it’ll keep spreading until it’s nearly impossible to do anything about it.”

“I think that’s it.”

“Even with our ability to look back on that war,” he says, “there’s no way to know for certain what was lost and what was saved. But that’s how it is. History’s a bitch when you’re in the middle of it.”

Tyson walks in, setting his skateboard against the wall.

“What’s up, Mr. Mills?” he says, saluting me. “Dad, did you just say ‘history’s a bitch’?”

“We were talking about Josh’s essay,” his dad says. “Speaking of homework, where the hell have you been?”

Tyson smiles mischievously. “With a friend. Since when do you track my every move?”

Tyson’s dad balls up a napkin and chucks it at him. “Just finish your homework, T-bone, and then I need you out on the floor. You can help, too, Josh. Earn your keep.”

GOODTIMEZ PIZZA has yellow booths and orange tables on one side of the restaurant and an arcade on the other. But in the very center is the reason every kid in Lake Forest wants to have a birthday party here. Three plastic tube-slides—red, blue, and green—spit the kids into a rainbow-colored pool of plastic balls.

Every few weeks, after the restaurant closes, the pit is emptied so the balls can be sanitized. Tonight, following orders, I stay to help. Tyson squeezes through a vertical strip in the netting around the ball pit and immediately sinks to his knees. He dips a white bucket into the balls and then pushes it back through the netting. I hold open a large black trash bag and Tyson overturns the bucket, letting the balls pour in.

“So nothing happened today when you were with Sydney?” Tyson asks, scooping up another bucketful of balls. “Maybe you should bring her to lunch tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do to help push things along.”

The other workers are cleaning tabletops, vacuuming, and emptying tokens from the video games. The music is pumped too high for them to overhear us, but I’m still not comfortable having this conversation.

“It’s too early,” I say quietly. “We barely know each other.”

Tyson empties another bucket into my bag. “Dude, she pulled you out of school. I think she wants to know you.”

“Maybe.” I set the full trash bag off to the side. “But maybe I’m not ready.”

Tyson opens the net just enough to ricochet a green ball off my forehead. “Then get ready! We’re talking about Sydney Mills. It’s my dream to be the guy who’s friends with the guy who’s hooking up with her.”

I shake open a new trash bag. “Wouldn’t you rather be that guy yourself?”

Tyson thinks about it. “Nope. Too many people talk about you.”

I pick up the green ball from the floor and drop it into the trash bag. “Not to mention, it looks like you and Kellan are getting back together.”

Tyson doesn’t respond.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll let Kellan tell Emma about it, if she hasn’t already. But you should be prepared. Emma’s going to want to have a long talk with you about—”

“About not hurting Kellan, I know.” Tyson leans his back against the cushioned border of the ball pit. We’ve emptied enough so that his knees stick up like two islands in front of his chest. He looks at me through the netting. “I would never want Kellan to get hurt. Last time, I just wasn’t ready.”

“But you can understand why Emma’s worried,” I say. “The last time you two broke up, Kellan flipped.”

Tyson picks up a red ball and sidearm pitches it into the blue slide. It rolls to the top, and then falls back into the pit.

“We like each other,” he finally says. “And we’ve both done a lot of thinking this year. I don’t know what else we’re supposed to do.”

There’s nothing I can tell him. Tyson is struggling with whether or not to let himself fall for someone he’s already fallen for. My situation is different. I’m supposed to be falling for Sydney, and everything appears to be lining up for that to happen. But when I think about my future, I’m not sure that’s where I want it to go.

THE PORCH LIGHT is on when I get home. I set my skateboard against the front door and reach into my pocket for the key. I can hear my parents talking to each other inside. They probably won’t say a word to me when I go in, but Dad will glance at his watch, letting me know I cut it close.

Emma’s house is mostly dark. The outside lights are off, as are the lights upstairs. From within the downstairs living room there’s a faint blue glow.

I walk across the lawn between our houses, listening to the chimes on Emma’s front porch. When Martin first hung them up, Emma complained that even his noises were infiltrating her life.

Stepping softly, I approach their living room window. In the center of the room, Emma is asleep on the couch, her head cushioned against the armrest. She’s facing the TV, but it’s angled so I can’t tell what she was watching.

I miss Emma. Even if we didn’t say anything to each other, even if she remained asleep, I wish I could be sitting on that couch with her right now.