I recoil before he pokes my eye out. “Yeah. I’m great. Never better,” I say sarcastically, batting his limp, outstretched hand away to pull myself up.
Renner remains kneeled over me, stupid seventeen-year-old face backlit by the fluorescent gym light like a tacky, yet annoyingly handsome, angel. A supercut of memories floats through my mind. Walking into the school with him. Being surrounded by friends and family at our bachelor/bachelorette party. Ripping through town playing car hide-and-seek. His chest against mine as we danced to “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” while chaperoning prom. Clutching my stomach with laughter in the thrift store dressing room. The sweet taste of candy on his lips. The feeling of his chin on my head as we hid from the rain.
I’m half tempted to pull his face to mine and see if Real Teen Renner kisses like Adult Renner before logic takes over again. This is the real Renner, after all. The one who insults me whenever possible. The one who delights in all my failings. And the one who lives to make my life a living hell. How could I possibly conjure up anything different?
“I’m . . . I’m gonna go get the nurse,” he says, standing.
“N-No,” I stammer. “I said I’m fine.”
He gives me an as if look. “You’re not. You can barely get up.”
It’s natural instinct to prove him wrong. And I try to, at least. I start pulling myself up, but he presses my shoulders down, anchoring me in place. “Jesus, will you just listen to me for once in your life and stay there? You could have a concussion.” His tone takes me aback. It’s strict, but has an edge of warmth. Not unlike how he addressed his students in phys ed class. When we were thirty.
“Okay. Fine.”
About ten minutes later, he returns with Nurse Ryerson. It’s a running joke that anyone attracted to women will make an excuse to see Nurse Ryerson. She’s admittedly hot for forty.
She performs a quick assessment and badgers us about safety.
“How in the world did you manage to fall off the ladder?” she asks, almost as if it’s my fault.
Renner’s eyes flicker to mine, daring me to blame it on him. Before he can conjure up some lie to get me in trouble, I steel my spine.
“I fell trying to take a roll of streamers from Renner. He was holding it too far away on purpose, and I guess my weight tipped the ladder off balance,” I tell her.
Renner grimaces. “Are you really accusing me of making you fall on purpose? How was I supposed to know that ladder wasn’t stable?”
“Well, you two better get your story straight. I’ll need to write an incident report for Principal Proulx. And Charlotte, I’m calling your mom to pick you up. You’ll need to go to the ER as a precaution.”
The ER is the stuff of nightmares. Waiting rooms are always anarchy, full of people on their worst days, germs floating about. It’s extra stressful for Mom, given our shoddy health insurance.
Luckily, all my scans come back clear. The doctor says I likely have a minor concussion, so I should take the rest of the day to rest, with limited screen time. Mom cackled the entire drive home, my phone in her clutches.
I’ll admit, a whole day of forced rest with no electronics is actually more peaceful than I would have imagined. It also gives me time alone with my thoughts.
Only, the moment my head hits the pillow, I sleep straight into Thursday morning.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Two days until prom
Renner has outright ignored my entire existence all morning. It’s the norm for him to grind my gears, but snubbing me like I’m a ghost has never been one of his tactics.
Exhibit A: He didn’t even bother to race me to our lockers before first period. In fact, he just stood aside, eyes locked to his phone. He let me grab my books without a hassle.
Exhibit B: During homeroom, everyone crowded into the student council lounge to retrieve the new yearbooks. Almost the entire senior class has signed mine, except Renner. There was a lingering moment when our eyes snagged. We could have passed each other our yearbooks, but we didn’t.
Exhibit C: He’s barely spoken two words in our career-planning class. Even Mr. Kingsley called him out for being uncharacteristically quiet.
I should be working on my time capsule letter to myself, but instead, I stare out the window, brainstorming a list of potential reasons for his behavior. Maybe his ego is hurt after I told him I’d never marry him in the event of a zombie apocalypse before falling off the ladder. Nah, not likely. He views my insults as badges of honor. At least, I think he does. Maybe he’s been body snatched by an alien and replaced with a silent version of himself.
I consider what Adult Renner told me—yesterday was the anniversary of his sister’s death. Maybe that’s the reason for his sullen mood. A quick Google search of her name pulls up an old obituary from the Maplewood Monitor. Date of death is exactly seven years ago yesterday—exactly as Adult Renner said. I consider the possibility that it wasn’t just a dream. But what’s more likely? Subconsciously remembering the anniversary of his little sister’s death? Or him slipping into some strange wormhole with me?
Besides, if we had time traveled, he would have mentioned it the moment we woke up in the gym. He’s a blabbermouth. I know this from four years of him purposely revealing the ends of movies and TV series. I still haven’t forgiven him for spoiling the Euphoria season two finale. It’s simply not in his nature to withhold information, especially information of this magnitude.
Still, as I stare at Renner’s profile two desks up, I find myself appraising him with a strange affection I never had before. It’s a feeling I can’t quite place. It’s like I’m looking at an ex-boyfriend or something, probably because I can’t tamp down the memories, especially from the rain. I had such strong feelings for him. And yet, it wasn’t a surprise feeling. It was a feeling that crept up on me slowly, so naturally that it felt like coming home.
When I look at him now, I’m not immediately filled with anger and annoyance. I see the kindhearted, stupidly charming Adult Renner. The one who’s desperate to make people like him. Who makes me late-night mac ’n’ cheese after a gigantic fight.
Maybe I’m just tired. Cranky. Disoriented. I am concussed, after all. Maybe I need to go back to the ER. Surely I’ll feel back to normal once I’m fully recovered.
At lunch, I find out why Kassie and Ollie didn’t show up to help decorate the gym yesterday.
Kassie stomps into the cafeteria in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, hair in its natural wave. It’s similar to Adult Yoga Kassie’s natural hair. Her mouth is set in a stoic line when she sits across from me, gripping her lunch tray. I’m tempted to inquire about her hair when she slams her reusable straw into her water bottle.
“What’s wrong? Allergic to the goat?” I ask. Yes, there is a goat at MHS today. You know you’ve done senior prank week right when there’s livestock in the halls, eating people’s homework.
Our class is really committing to prank week. Aside from the goat, we’ve TP’d the gym, poured bubbles in the vents, and set off confetti bombs in the lockers.
“It’s nothing,” she grumbles.
By the way she says nothing and slams her elbows on the table, I know it is, in fact, something. And while I hate that she’s upset, part of me is also just thankful we’re still best friends.
“Ollie is just being . . . annoying,” she finally says.
She and Ollie never fight, especially in public. They’re that sickeningly-in-love couple who feeds each other in the cafeteria.
It’s an effort not to gasp. I can’t help but connect the future, where Kassie and Ollie are history, to the sour face she’s making right now as she says his name. My stomach pretzels into a knot, and I place my hand over hers and squeeze. “How is he being annoying?”
“We’ve been fighting all week. It started Tuesday night,” she says with a frown.