I was a huge jerk. And probably deserved to have her tell everyone I’d been making out with Mitch.
Except that I hadn’t made out with Mitch. Yet. Had I?
“Hello in there?” Sarah waved a slender hand in front of my face as she knelt down beside me on the pool deck. “Can you hear me? You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m just . . .”
I’m just in the middle of an internal debate on the possibility of time travel and think I might be totally out of my mind. Or maybe concussed. Or maybe dead.
“I felt a little dizzy.”
She nodded, her eyebrows drawing together as she reached out to rub my back in slow, comforting circles. “I was standing by the window and saw you fall down. I was worried.”
“Is that all you saw?” I realized how weird I sounded and hurried on. “I mean, did something . . . hit me on the head . . . or something?”
“Not that I saw.”
“And there was no one else out here?”
“Um . . . no.” She narrowed her eyes, and the hand on my back moved to point accusingly at my face. “Have you been drinking?”
Had I? Had I had a drink yet? I smacked my lips, not tasting any rum on my tongue. “No. I haven’t. I’m just . . . it was a big night. I’m a little overwhelmed.”
And the award for understatement of the year goes to . . . Katie Mottola!
Sarah smiled, thankfully buying my load of crap. “I heard you were great. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there tonight. I really wanted to see you do Emily. I bet everyone cried at the end when you died! Tell all, was the mascara running all over the place?”
I laughed in spite of myself. Sarah was shy with new people, but she was a talker once she got going. “Some people did cry. My mom cried.”
“Oh, good! I love making people cry.” She laughed with me, a sound of such pure joy it made me look at her more closely. She was really happy, happier than I’d seen her in . . . ever.
“What’s up with you?”
“What’s up with me?” She grinned a grin full of secrets. Something was definitely up. “Nothing. You’re the one who fainted.”
“I didn’t faint. I had a dizzy spell.”
“Oh, a dizzy spell?” she asked, mimicking my twang. “You’re so cute when you get all southern.”
“You’re as southern as I am.”
“But I don’t sound it.” Sarah settled beside me, stretching her legs out, leaning back on her hands. “I have mastered the art of speaking in Standard American English.”
“You have.” I was a little surprised, but it was true. She’d been working on getting rid of her accent for years. Now she’d finally done it, sometime during the months that I’d had my head up my butt being a very bad friend. “But now what will you learn at acting school? You might have to pick another major at Julliard.”
“I might not get accepted. I haven’t auditioned yet.”
“You’ll get accepted. You’re great,” I said, meaning every word. She was a great actress. That’s why she was in the young artists’ acting academy at Nashville Rep. She was amazing, too good to even bother auditioning for our school plays.
“Even if I do get in, I might not go.”
“What? But you’ve always wanted to—”
“I might just start working. I got my Equity card last week,” she said, her excitement at spilling the news catching, making my breath come faster. “They cast me in the Nashville Rep’s production of Romeo and Juliet.”
“You’re kidding! Which part?” Like I had to ask. I knew it had to be a lead role for her to qualify for her actors’ union card, so it had to be—
“Juliet!”
I grabbed her hands and much excited squee-ing ensued. We were loud, really loud, I guess, because Mitch stuck his head out the back door a second later.
My heart lurched and my smile slipped as my eyes met his—the memory of his kiss making my lips burn. But then . . . it wasn’t a memory anymore. Was it? It was something that hadn’t happened, that would never happen. I could tell by the look in his eyes that we hadn’t kissed.
Now we never would. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
“There you are,” he said, spotting me on the ground. “I lost you.”
“I was getting some air.”
“Cool. So, is this an all-girl squeal fest or can anyone join?”
“You can join,” Sarah said, motioning him over.
“Oh, goodie!” Mitch squealed in true girlie fashion and pranced over to join us, doing an excellent impression of a four-year-old girl who had just found out there were pink ponies at her birthday party.
Sarah and I laughed and made room for him between us. This was the real Mitch, my friend Mitch who I’d thought I’d lost forever. But there was no tension between us now, no secrets, no shame. It was . . . amazing. Impossible. Wonderful.
I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt by the time Sarah finished telling Mitch about her starring roll, her Equity card, and the really cool girl who would be playing Romeo.
“So they’re having Romeo and Juliet be gay? Edgy.” Mitchell nodded approvingly.
“Interracial, too. Even edgier,” Sarah said. “I’m really excited about it. It’s something my mom and dad have had to deal with ever since—”
“Being gay?” Mitch asked, going for the joke.
Sarah slapped his arm. “No, doofus. Being interracial.”
“I hear you,” Mitch said, suddenly serious. And a little . . . sad, if I was reading him correctly. “My mom wasn’t Jewish. It’s not the same thing, but it was a big deal for my dad’s family.”
Over the years, Mitch had come to be able to talk about his mom without getting down, but I knew it still made him sad to think about her. Right now he reminded me of the lost little boy I’d met when my family first moved into the neighborhood. He’d been six and his mom had died about a year before. He’d been devastated, and his dad not much better off.
If it hadn’t been for my mom, I don’t know that Mitch would have had supper on the table every night, let alone a healthy, homemade supper. It had taken his dad a couple of years to pull it together. In the meantime, my family had been happy to pick up the slack. We’d all loved Mitch from the first time we met him. He was just that type of person, the kind who made everyone feel comfortable.
“My mom and dad’s families never made a big deal out of it.” Sarah shrugged. “But my dad’s the whitest black man in the world. He’s from Connecticut. I don’t think he even realizes Brantley Hills is a weird place.”
Mitch laughed. “Doesn’t he wonder why our basketball teams always lose?”
Sarah snorted. “Um, it is a total stereotype that black people are better at basketball,” she said, waving an accusing finger in his face.
“A true stereotype.” Mitch laughed again as he lay back on the concrete, stretching out like he was basking in sunshine, not moonlight. There was something sensual in the movement, something that made me look away. Quickly. “Isaac’s the only one on the team who has a chance at a scholarship.”
“Isaac’s amazing,” Sarah said, a sincerity in her tone that tripped something inside me. She sounded so in awe, so . . . crushy, almost. Did she have a thing for Isaac? Was that why she’d told her big-mouthed little brother about what she’d seen?
For a second the thought made me angry. How dare she? I was her friend, her best friend. Or at least I had been for years.
“You and Isaac are the cutest couple, Katie.” She sighed, innocently, and I felt awful. “You’re so lucky.”
“Thanks,” I said, pushing away my anger. There was nothing to be angry about. Sarah hadn’t done anything, and . . . neither had I.
God, this was confusing. Mind melting.
But if it was really two weeks ago . . . then Isaac was at home in his basement, where he’d fallen asleep on the couch. If I hurried, maybe I could make it over to his house in time to see him, to talk to him face-to-face and find out for sure if I’d really rewound the clock.
If Isaac still loved me, then this had to be real.
He might still love me! I might really have a second chance to keep everything Isaac and I had built and dreamed about from being destroyed. The possibility left me breathless.
“Hey, do either of you know what time it is?” I asked.
Sarah pulled her cell from her pocket and flipped it open, casting her face in a light blue glow for a second before she snapped it shut. “It’s almost midnight. Why? Do you have a curfew? You never have a curfew!”
“No, no curfew.”
Sarah sighed again. “Your mom and dad are so cool. Can I have them? I was supposed to be home half an hour ago. I’m going to tell my parents that you felt sick and I had to drive you home, okay?”
“Yeah, no problem.” I wiped my hands on my jeans and stood up. “I should really get going, though, I—”
“It’s too late to go hunt down Isaac,” Mitch said from his place on the ground. “His dad will kill you if you show up after midnight. Isaac has to get his super-athlete sleep.”
“His dad won’t kill me,” I said, though the thought of knocking on the Taytes’ door this late at night didn’t seem like a good idea. His mom might answer and it would be fine—she loved me and wouldn’t care if I showed up at four o’clock in the morning—but Mr. Tayte . . . He really was crazy when it came to Isaac getting his rest, especially during basketball season.
“Let me drive you home and you can go yell at him tomorrow,” Mitch said.
“I’m not going to yell at him.”
“You should yell at him. He shouldn’t have missed the play. Or the party.”
“It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.” My voice was harsher than I intended, but I couldn’t help myself. I kept remembering the way this conversation had played out the first time.
“Okay. Fine.” Mitch shrugged, but I could tell I’d hurt his feelings. When he stood, he let his hair flop forward, hiding his face. “You’re right. It’s not a big deal. So, do you want a ride home or not? I’m heading out.”
My eyes fell on the deck chair. The deck chair, the one from the first time I’d lived this night. Not a good idea to be alone with Mitch. Not a good idea at all. “No, I’ve got my car here, so—”
He brushed his hair from his face and cocked his head. “No you don’t, your parents dropped you off. Remember?”
“No they didn’t.”
“Um . . . Katie . . . they did.” He looked concerned. “Remember, I talked to them in the driveway. I told them I’d make sure you got home safe since you left your cell at home.”
“Oh. Right.” Was that right? I had no idea. It hadn’t been right the first time around, but maybe now . . .
But why would things be different? Hadn’t the play happened the same way?
I was so confused, overwhelmed by the immensity of it all. This still seemed impossible, but there was no doubt that it was really happening. No dream could ever be so real. I’d actually traveled back in time. The locket had brought me back here for a second chance. A chance to make sure this mistake wasn’t meant to last.
“So . . . are we going or not?” Mitch asked, his tone leading me to believe I’d been quiet longer than I thought.
“Yeah, I just . . . could you help me with something first, Sarah?” I pulled my hair over one shoulder, grateful that it was too dark for Mitch and Sarah to see my new scar. “I’ve been trying to get this locket off all night, but I can’t get the clasp to work.”
“Sure.” She hopped to her feet and reached for the clasp. I felt her cool fingers on my skin, then the trembling of her muscles. Once, twice, three times. She sighed. “Sorry, I can’t get it. It must be stuck or something.”
“That’s okay. No biggie,” I said, but it was a biggie. Why couldn’t I get it off?
My head spun again. Going home suddenly seemed like a very good idea. Home, where things were familiar and safe, and nothing had changed in the past two years, let alone the past two weeks. Home, where I could find Gran’s phone number in Dad’s BlackBerry and hopefully get some answers. She was still in Singapore—at the end of the “Asian tour” she’d completed just before coming to our house—but she always left Dad a number where he could reach her.
Maybe she knew that the locket had power . . . magic.
“Let’s go,” I said. “See you Monday. Congratulations.” I gave Sarah a quick hug and turned back to Mitch. “You ready?”
“Ready.” While we circled the house and walked down the crowded drive to Mitch’s family van, I did my best to talk myself back from the brink of a crippling anxiety attack.
This was crazy, but it could also be that miracle I’d been praying for. I settled into the passenger seat of Mitch’s car and buckled in. As we pulled away into the darkness, I let my fingertips brush against my new scar. It wasn’t that big, or that noticeable, and it would be a small price to pay for a second chance.
Mitch and I didn’t say a word in the ten minutes it took to cross town, but that was fine. The silence between us was comfortable again. Easy. At least until we pulled into my driveway.
“See you Monday.”
“Yep. Monday,” he said. “It was fun hanging out with you tonight.”
“You too.” I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. He looked sad again, sadder than I’d seen him in years.
I knew a good friend would ask him what was wrong and ask him if he wanted to talk. Mitch wasn’t like Isaac; he liked to talk through things that were bothering him.
But unfortunately, I had too much of my own angst to deal with.
“Let’s do it again soon?” I asked, promising myself I’d make time for Mitch as soon as I figured out what was going on in my own crazy life.
“Sounds good.” He still looked like someone had killed his pet bunny, but I tried not to worry too much as I climbed out of the car and hurried up the front steps. Mitch would be fine, heck, he’d be better than fine. We were all going to be better off if tonight was real. Me, Mitch, and Isaac.
Chapter Four
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 11:32 A.M.
It was Sunday morning in Nashville but after eleven o’clock at night in Singapore and my grandmother hadn’t come back to her hotel room or checked her messages. I still couldn’t get the locket off—after trying for nearly two hours—and I was no closer to figuring out how I’d come to be two weeks in the past than I was before.
But I almost didn’t care.
I hadn’t been able to get Isaac on his cell last night, but he’d called this morning a little after seven. He’d apologized for thirty minutes and sworn he would make it up to me for missing the play. For once, he seemed to get that he’d let me down. He was going to take me somewhere special to celebrate my performance as soon as he and his family got out of church.
Squee! I couldn’t wait to see him! To hug him, and kiss him, and see his smile and know for certain that everything was really going to be all right.
Never in my life had I resented the fact that Baptists don’t have services on Saturday nights as much as I did this morning. Isaac was going to have to convert to Catholicism when we got married. Confession and occasionally creepy priests aside, being Catholic was just so much more convenient to Sunday morning relaxing.
Not that I could relax. At. All.
“You’re pacing again,” Mom shouted over the clatter of mixing dishes landing in the sink.
“Sorry.” I stopped at the edge of the counter, absently flipping through yesterday’s mail. September postmarks, all of it, including the college information I’d requested and already sorted through. Two weeks ago.
I was going to have to redo all the work I’d done, but that was fine. I was happy to do everything over, anything to have a second chance with Isaac. Of course, this time two weeks ago, I’d been moping in my room—angsting out about my infidelity and general wretchedness—so I didn’t quite know what to do with myself right now. It was making me nervous, twitchy.
“That’s okay.” Mom laughed
as she reached around me, grabbing the pot holders from their hook.
Sunday was her baking day. She made all our bread and muffins for the week from scratch. She was that mom and I loved her for it. There was nothing like the smell of fresh bread cooking. I’d always thought I’d like to do the same thing for my family when I was a mom. For the family Isaac and I would have. That we were still going to have because of the locket.
The locket. I tapped the cool metal, once, twice.
Three hours of research on the Internet hadn’t led me to any information on magic necklaces, but I was sure the locket was responsible. It had to be. There was no other explanation. I had no idea how it worked, but it hadn’t changed temperature since the do over started, which made me think that it had completed its mission. I was in the past, reliving two weeks of my life, my wish for my mistake “not to last” granted.
Still . . . I couldn’t relax. If only I’d been able to talk to Gran, to see if she knew that the locket had supernatural powers and, if so, how they worked. It would be so nice to be certain that this was real, that I wasn’t going to be hurled back to the present at any moment.
Once I saw Isaac, I would feel better. Once I saw for sure that—
“Pacing. Again.” Mom grabbed the mail from my hands and dropped it back into the mail dish. “Why don’t you go help Dad in the backyard?”
“But Isaac could be here any second.”
“Church let out less than ten minutes ago.” Mom cracked the stove, checking on her muffins, causing a burst of blueberry and sugar to waft through the kitchen. “He won’t be here for at least another ten. Go help your dad.”
“But Mom, I—”
“Go help Dad or you can vacuum the downstairs.”
I hurried to the sliding glass door and out into the cool fall day before Mom could put me to foul, vacuuming-type work. Sunday was also her cleaning day—a tradition I was not going to continue when I was grown. Cleaning the entire house, top to bottom, including baseboards and ceiling fans, every week, was excessive. Crazy, some might say.
Maybe insanity ran in my family and this time-travel-inducing jewelry episode was just a schizophrenic delusion. But then, Gran was Dad’s grandmother, not Mom’s.