In a blurry haze, I finish reading the rest of the email. And then I reread it, and read it again. Ten times.
Is this a joke? After that abysmal interview, how was I selected for the scholarship? Surely they had many more qualified applicants who didn’t ramble off topic about human rights matters.
Striking a huge goal like this off the bucket list feels beyond satisfying. I squeal into the mattress, ecstatic, already rethinking my budget for next year.
My body buzzes with frantic energy. I head back to the living room to tell Mom, but she’s hunched over her writing desk, tapping away on her keyboard. Sometimes she gets random bursts of inspiration. I’ve learned not to disrupt her in these moments.
I pull up my texts and contemplate telling Kassie and Nori ASAP. But my finger hovers over Renner’s name. And I remember his behavior at school and the anniversary of his sister’s death yesterday. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him and for his parents. Frankly, it sucked seeing him all sullen and withdrawn. So I click his name. Before I can think too hard, I send a message.
Charlotte: Hi
He responds almost immediately.
Satan : Hey
Charlotte: How are you?
Satan : This feels like a trap. You never ask how I am.
My lips tug upward into a small smile. His cheeky response feels like putting on my favorite sweatpants. They’re not the nicest pair, probably a little tattered. But they’re comfortable. They’re what you know. His text reassures me that I can forget all about the alternate universe. Life can continue on as it was. Our rivalry. My friendship with Kassie. Everything.
Charlotte: I have some news. I got the scholarship.
Satan : See!??? I knew you were overthinking it!
Charlotte: No. It was truly an awful interview. Cynthia hated me.
Satan : Nah. No one hates you.
I stare at that text, unsure where to go from here.
Charlotte: Well . . . you do.
Satan : When have I ever told you I hated you? I don’t hate anyone.
Charlotte: You hate me . . . just a tiny bit.
Satan : You can be very difficult.
Charlotte: It’s part of my charm.
Satan : I’d say. And let’s be clear. You’re the one who would rather die than marry me in an apocalypse.
Charlotte: Is it too late to change my mind?
Satan : Really?
Charlotte: I mean . . . if it’s life or death, I can’t be too picky.
Satan : Lol well thanks. You’re a real sweetheart.
Charlotte: I meant to ask, did you take care of the chaperones for tonight?
Satan : Lmao I was waiting for you to ask about that. It’s done.
THIRTY
Do you think bangs would screw up my face?” Nori asks when I slide into her mom’s Volvo, tossing my sleeping bag in the back seat. She’s giving me a ride to the Senior Sleepover since Mom had a breakthrough on her book tonight.
“What did you say?”
“Bangs. Do you think they’d look good on me?” She fiddles with her hair, pulling a thick section over her forehead to mimic blunt bangs. “Sometimes I think my forehead is too rectangular for them. Maybe I should just cut it real short, like one of those spiky pixie cuts. Thoughts?”
A coldness expands in my core as she reverses out of my driveway. I make a concerted effort to right my face, mind reeling back to Adult Nori. Tell my younger self not to get bangs, she’d requested. “Where did that come from?”
She eyes me with suspicion. “Is it really that random? Why are you looking at me like I’ve sprouted an extra boob?”
“No . . . It’s just . . .”
“You’re super pale. Is it your concussion?”
I shift toward her, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay, Nori. I’m about to tell you something bizarre. Something that’s going to make you think I’ve lost my mind.” I’ve been itching to tell her since I woke up in the gym yesterday morning. But this is the first time we’ve actually been alone.
She pulls her focus from the road and shoots me the stink eye. “Weirder than having three boobs?”
“Quite possibly. At least, on a similar level.”
“Okay. I need to pull over for this one,” she says. We’re in front of Old Lady Brown’s house with the creepy doll in the window. The giant oak tree is still standing, very much alive.
I tell her about falling off that ladder, about waking up next to Renner, about being thirty. How we were getting married the following week.
A moment passes as she takes it all in, slowly nodding. I can’t read her expression. It’s hard to say whether she’s about to burst out laughing, suggest I see a doctor again, or launch into a black site–style interrogation. Finally, she drums her fingers together and narrows her gaze. “So you’re saying I had blue hair?”
“Nori!” I give her a light smack on the shoulder. “That’s your one takeaway?!”
She checks herself out in the mirror, running a hand through her hair. “Sorry! It’s just—I sound badass, aside from the fact that I moved back to Maplewood. That’s kinda disappointing.”
“To be fair, you were badass.”
“So you think this was all in your head?”
“What else could it be?”
She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “What if it was like, one of those psychic premonitions of the future? Or—ohmigosh! You know the third Spiderman movie? With the multiverse? What if it was something like that? Wait, actually, I watched a documentary on the theory behind parallel universes. This is proof. Your brain should be studied. For science!”
I shoot her a skeptical look. “Do you really think any of that stuff is true?”
She shrugs, chewing the inside of her cheek in contemplation. “I believe there’s a lot in this world we can’t explain.”
“I don’t know. It was probably just a very vivid dream.”
She hums, grabbing a gummy bear from the bag stuffed in the cup holder. It reminds me of when Renner and I bought candy the night we kissed in the rain. “But now that you mention it, J. T. was acting weird last night when we were decorating for prom,” she notes.
“Weird how?”
“He was super quiet. Didn’t really seem up for chatting, which was fine, because I had my true crime podcast. But obviously J. T. not talking isn’t normal.”
“Did you know it was the anniversary of his little sister’s death yesterday?”
Nori lowers her head. “Oh no. I forgot about that. That would explain it.” We sit in silence for a few moments before she speaks again. “But can we please discuss the fact that you saw J. T.’s adult penis. How big are we talking? On a scale of pen-cap micro to forearm ginormous? Tell me everything,” she asks, fascinated.
I shake my head as she pulls the Volvo back onto the road. “First, there is no human penis in the world the size of a forearm. At least I hope not. Unless it’s the forearm of a baby or a very tiny person.” I shake the image out of my head. “Anyway, the point is, I kind of . . . liked it?”
She chokes. “His penis? Or him?”
I shrug. “Both?”
“I . . . yeah. That’s some weird shit. I kinda figured you’d have castrated him. But that’s growth. I’m proud of you.”
I can tell my face is turning red, so I cover it with my hands. “Never, ever bring this up ever again. You will go to your grave with this information,” I warn.
“You know I’m a vault.”
“Good, because I’m not telling anyone else about this. Not even Kassie. She’ll just tell Renner, possibly in front of everyone. Keeping secrets isn’t exactly her forte.”
“You should tell J. T.,” she decides, waving at him as we pull up into the parking lot.
He’s in one of his smedium T-shirts again, forearms on display, though less veiny than they were peeking out of his dress shirt as an adult. He gives me a salute and a half smile, which is new. Then again, since I texted about my scholarship news, we’ve been going back and forth, mostly about the Senior Sleepover logistics. But still.
I snort. “He’s the last person I’m telling.”