“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.”
THIRTEEN
Future me is a lovesick fool.
Cluttering my desk in the guidance center are seven framed photos of Renner and me. There’s another 8 x 10 of us cheesing on the beach affixed to the wall next to my master’s in counseling diploma. There’s even a Valentine’s Day card from 2036 with a cartoon illustration of a single macaroni noodle holding hands with a triangular piece of cheese that reads, You are the cheese to my macaroni. The inside of the card is even worse:
Happy Valentine’s Day, Char. Every year gets better and better with you. I am so thankful to have you in my life. Thanks for putting up with me. Love, J. T.
This is just obnoxiously extra. What exactly am I trying to prove by displaying all these love tokens in my professional work space?
I pile the particularly nauseating photos into a random drawer in my desk, catching a glimpse of my ring sparkling in the sunlight. I thought about not wearing the ring out of protest today. But it is stunning. I’ve never owned a piece of jewelry like this—neither has Mom—so I’m wearing the crap out of it, regardless of what it symbolizes.
While I shudder for turning into that girl, the one who takes kissing photos and brags about how great her relationship is, at least I have good taste in snacks. I’m about to gorge a Halloween-size Snickers bar and scroll through the unhelpful results of my Google search, Help I’ve fallen into a wormhole and can’t get out, when Leigh, the student administrative assistant, pokes her head in. We met when I needed help signing into my computer. Apparently, future computers rely on iris recognition.
“Ms. Wu? Your nine o’clock appointment is here.” She sounds like a Pixar character, not a high school student volunteering for community service hours.
I cough, swallowing a hunk of stale chocolate. “My what?”
“Your nine o’clock appointment,” Leigh says sheepishly, adjusting her plaid headband.
Appointment? Shoot. There goes my plan to barricade my office door, hide under my desk all day, and self soothe by eating my way through my stockpile of snacks.
“Uh, sure. Send them in,” I say, nervously straightening a pile of papers next to the computer.
Before I have the chance to confess that I’m a fraud, a dude wearing frayed denim shorts and a T-shirt three sizes too large with a photo of his own face across the belly collapses into the chair opposite my desk. “Hi, Ms. Wu.”
Kyle, my nine o’clock, tells me his name about five times before I remember it. Just like the hedgehog-loving teacher, he asks if I’m okay. He seems like a nice guy, despite his questionable fashion sense and the fact that he smells like he bathed in Axe body spray. Boys of the future still haven’t learned.
Turns out, he needs help planning his class schedule for his sophomore year. I have no idea how to pull up the list of potential classes. But Leigh saves the day, working her magic to project Kyle’s schedule on the wall.
Luckily, the curriculum is essentially the same. Kyle says he wants to be a welder when he grows up, so I convince him to take all the shop classes he can, as well as math. He leaves the appointment hopeful and optimistic about next year, which makes me feel marginally better about my general ignorance. Maybe I am good at my job, after all.
My eleven o’clock appointment never shows, which gives me ample time to root through my phone. It’s full of unanswered texts and emails from wedding vendors. I really should have invested in a wedding planner. Then again, I’m not surprised my adult self doesn’t trust anyone else with the logistics.
One text from yesterday catches my eye. It’s from Alexandra, Dad’s girlfriend.
Alexandra: Hi Charlotte. I just wanted to let you know we won’t be able to join you for your party tomorrow night. Both Marianne and Lily caught a nasty bug that’s going around at school. We’re recovering, but not fully healed. I’m really sorry. We really wanted to be there. But can’t wait to see photos and will see you on the wedding day.
I’m shocked. Dad is still with Alexandra after all these years? After his second marriage imploded, I pegged him as a noncommittal guy. But what’s even more shocking is that I have sisters. Two, from the sounds of it. And while I knew Alexandra was pregnant, seeing their names in text is entirely different. They’re real. They’re living, breathing humans.