way that’s effortlessly sexy. I swallow hard.
I’ve been so preoccupied thinking about this whole 1920s
thing that I can tell I’m not being myself.
“So,” I say, going for casual banter. “You write poetry, huh?”
“I suppose. A few scribbles. I’m not too swell at it.”
“You’re pretty swell. I mean, you’re no Whitman, but I liked
what I heard.”
“Well, thank you. Like I said, my old man thinks it’s a waste
of time. He says I should focus on preparing for college and
then law school.”
“A five year plan, eh? Sounds familiar.”
“Something like that.” There’s an edge of sadness to his voice.
“It’s not that I don’t want to go, necessarily. I just…I never
had the choice, you see. My path has been laid out for me
since I was born. Harvard, like my father. Law school, like my
father. Work in corporate law, like my father. Marry a society
girl my father approves of. Have sons. Throw polite parties at
my summer home on the North Shore.”
“What if you just tell him you don’t want to do all that? Tell
him you want to find your own way.”
“If only it were that easy,” he says, shoving his hands in his
pockets.
“He can’t force you.”
“You don’t know my father. He’s a powerful man. Ever since
my mother died last year, it’s like I’ve become his employee,
rather than his son.”
I’m starting to see why Lawrence was brooding on the beach
that first night. “I’m so sorry,” I say softly. “I can’t imagine what
it must be like to lose a parent.”
He concentrates on the ground as we walk. “I don’t mean to
bring the mood down.”
“After what you’ve gone through, I’d say you have every right.”
“I’m fine. I just wish I could talk to him, you know? And that
he’d actually listen to what I want. Of course, you understand
having little choice in life. Being a woman.”
I feel a twinge of guilt at moping over my First World
Problems. “Actually, things are pretty equal between men and
women in the future. I can do anything I want.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“I guess. Sometimes I think that’s part of the problem. Too
many choices.”
“I wish I had your problems.”
“Yeah, well, part of me wishes I had yours. I wish someone
would just tell me what I’m good at and what I should be.”
“You’re good at painting,” he offers.
“Am I? You’ve never even seen my stuff.”
“I want to see it. I’m sure you’re excellent.”
“That’s sweet, but for all you know, I royally suck.” I kick at
a pebble in front of me. “Maybe if I knew where I truly had
talent, I’d know what I wanted to do with my life.”
“It’s official then,” Lawrence says. “If we find a way to travel
into each other’s time, we’ll swap places.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We shake on it. Then Lawrence points to the sandy path
ahead. “Here’s our chance. There’s the trail.” His hand extends
for mine. “Shall we?”
I pause at the foot of the dirt path, then set my hand in his.
“Let’s do this.”
A few steps on the trail, and nothing has changed. Our
eyes meet.
“This is scary,” I whisper.
Lawrence smiles. “Well, you’re still here.”
A few more steps. Still a solid entity.
“Dude,” I say, eyes wide. “It’s working.”
His face bright with excitement, Lawrence breaks into a
run down the path, pulling me along behind him. But before
we’ve gone six feet, a fuzzy shimmer falls over him. His grip
goes soft. We run a little farther, and the effect intensifies.
Lawrence meets my gaze, crestfallen, and then disappears.
Though the first test of his theory failed, Lawrence is determined to test every angle. We even walk out to the tip of the point, but it doesn’t change the outcome. We make our way
over to the other point too. I don’t think it will be any different,