“Kinda hard to be mad when they’re in a better place now.”
“Your feelings are still valid, Renner. This morning, when I found out my dad was having a baby—” I stop myself. Technically it wasn’t this morning. “This is so weird. Anyway, I knew I should be happy for him. And I still felt . . . sad? I knew it was selfish. But I think it’s still fair to let yourself have your feels for a little while. You only just found out.”
“Thanks, Char.” He pauses, lips twitching in a devious smile. “Hey, we just got through our first fight.”
I level him with a look. “Our first fight? Try our millionth fight.”
“True. But our first fight as a couple,” he points out.
“Well, hopefully it’ll be our last.”
He turns toward the doorway. “Let’s hope. I’ll let you get some sleep. Night, fiancée.”
“We’re not a couple,” I remind him. “We’re trauma bonded.”
He dips his chin in agreement. “Fair.”
“Have a good sleep. We need to be well rested for tomorrow,” I advise.
“What’s tomorrow?”
“The day we go back to 2024,” I say with faux confidence. “We’re gonna work together and get back to our normal lives. Whatever it takes.”
“Deal. Operation Back to Seventeen commences.”
EIGHTEEN
So . . . are you, uh, gonna climb up?” Renner’s baritone voice echoes around the gym.
We got here bright and early before any of the prom decorators arrived to do finishing touches, thanking our lucky stars the doors were unlocked.
“When I get to the top, I just . . . jump off?” I ask, white-knuckling the ladder, hands shaking.
“Yeah, exactly like last time. No big deal.” He’s trying his best to sound casual, like hurling one’s self from the top of a ladder is a perfectly normal thing to do. But by the tightness of his jaw, I can tell he’s nervous too.
We’ve propped the ladder against the same wall, in the same position, slightly to the right of the basketball net. Though it somehow looks higher than before. But I suppose from the view of someone who may be about to plunge to their death, the perspective changes.
Renner gestures to the ladder, stepping forward to stabilize it. I’m hesitant until his chest inadvertently grazes my back, which sets me off like a “Go” button.
When I reach the top, my stomach lurches. I train my eyes to the mats we set up around the ladder, just in case. Not that they’ll do much to break my fall if this doesn’t work.
If this doesn’t work. I wince. The possibility is too depressing to comprehend. Mind you, we probably should have more than one viable plan for Operation Back to Seventeen. At least a measly backup plan. But we haven’t quite gotten there yet.
Just as I psych myself up for the fall, Renner calls up, “You better hurry. Students are gonna start coming in soon.”
“Please don’t rush me,” I snap, my full body shaking. “I’d like to see you voluntarily hurl yourself off the top of this ladder.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would love to see that.” He pauses, bottling his attitude. “And don’t hurl yourself off. Just kind of, let yourself glide down gently.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been doing during science class, but gravity does not work that way.”
He pokes me in the calf. “Hey, we agreed we aren’t arguing anymore, remember? We need to work together to get out of this. Bickering isn’t gonna help.”
I hesitate. Bickering is simply our natural state. But he’s right. We have no hope in hell of getting out of here if we spend the entire time fighting. “True.” I hold my breath and stare down at him. It’s now or never. The sooner I jump, the sooner I’ll be back in my regular life, seventeen again, and not engaged to Renner.
One . . .
Two . . .
Three . . .
When I force my eyes open, I’m straddling Renner, legs splayed like a frog on either side of his body.
I blink a couple times, slowly taking in the surroundings. We’re in the gym, on the dusty, narrow plank wood floor. Good news, we didn’t hurtle ourselves into some other alternate dimension.
Bad news, when the wiry hair of Renner’s beard tickles my forehead, I know I’m still thirty, C cups and all. Ugh.
At least I’m not in as much pain as I was when I woke up yesterday morning.
Apparently, I’ve uttered that thought out loud, because Renner lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah, I broke your fall with my body.”
This alerts me to the fact that I’m on top of Renner, pressed into him like a panini. He grips both sides of my waist, gentler than I thought him capable. Our eyes snag for a second before he lets out a deep groan that jolts me with a fleeting spark of electricity. In my defense, this is just a normal biological reaction to having your entire body pressed into someone else’s. These feelings are perfectly normal, right?
“You’re still crushing me,” he says with another low groan.
Our lingering eye contact is replaced with mutual ick before I roll off him. I make quick work to get back on my feet. “Let’s try again.”
Five ladder falls later, we’re no closer to going back in time.
Laden with disappointment, and bruises, we find our way into the student council room down the hall. It feels more familiar than going to our offices. We’ve spent countless hours parked at the table, poring over lists, invoices, and logistics. It also happens to be where Renner and I have had some of our most dramatic arguments, like the homecoming-float debacle.
Renner flings himself onto the worn couch (the same lumpy orange couch we had in 2024), long legs dangling over the end. “Now what?”
“We brainstorm how to get out of here,” I say, whipping out a spare notepad from the bookshelf, which contains MHS yearbooks dating back to the 1960s. “Let’s separately brainstorm a list of ideas. Then we’ll evaluate options and choose the best course of action.”
He smirks. “How did I know you were gonna suggest a list?”
I rip off a piece of lined paper from the pad and toss it into his lap. “When in doubt, make a list.”
“Do you keep lists for everything?”
“Absolutely everything. Including your hostile acts of aggression toward me.”
His laughter echoes throughout the room. “Care to share what’s on this list?”
“Stealing the presidency from me, for one.”
“Okay, Donald Trump.”
I clasp my chest. “Wow. I pride myself on my golden, non-orange skin tone, thank you very much.”
He lets out another laugh. “Sorry. That was a terrible joke.”
“Anyways, you did steal the presidency from me. You knew it was my dream. Everyone did. I’d been working for it every year leading up to twelfth grade. And you just swooped in without a platform and snatched it.”
“Not everything is about you, Char.” His mouth tugs up on one side.
“But I needed it. For college.”
“I wanted it too. For scholarships.”
My stomach dips. Mostly because I’d assumed he did it purely in jest. “Really? You’re going to college on scholarship?”
“Yup.” He nods. “My mom hasn’t worked in years. My parents aren’t the best at saving money. They didn’t tell me I’d need to fund my own way until eleventh grade. And by September, it was too late to join any of the “smart” clubs, and I knew student council would be a shoo-in.”
I lower my chin. Had I known Renner needed it on his résumé for college too, would I have taken the loss so badly? It’s hard to say. But it does lessen my grudge, if only slightly. “Well, for the record, you were right. You were a shoo-in. Everyone loves you and you don’t even have to try. You could walk up to someone and punch them in the gut and they’d still adore you. Do you know how annoying that is?”