CHAPTER 12
“Uh-oh!” were the first words Young Julian heard upon waking, which is rarely the ideal way to greet the day.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, hopping down.
“I’m really low on charge. Really low—what the smart folks call ‘critically.’ If we don’t figure this out by tomorrow...”
“What?”
“We’ll be fighting over the top bunk for a long time.”
“Not to mention, sooner or later future Mom and Dad are going to start worrying about you.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Grown-up Julian said.
“We...you need to tell Dad.”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll be grounded. Forever.”
“You’re twenty years old. That’s, like, an adult. Almost. Sort of. They can’t ground you.”
“You do realize you’re talking about our mom.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“There’s got to be a way.”
Young Julian stuck out his tongue a little, just off to the right, and bit it slightly, which he always did when thinking deeply—what the smart folks call “pondering.” He looked up. Grown-up Julian was doing the same.
“Some things never change,” he said.
“What?” said Grown-up Julian.
Young Julian copied—what the smart folks call “mimicked”—the thinking-tongue gesture. Both laughed.
“I guess maybe my future won’t be so bad after all,” Young Julian said. “After all, you’re not so bad.”
“Actually, it will be pretty good. You’ll see. And thanks.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Tell you what. I think I have enough charge to last until tomorrow. If we figure it out by...dinnertime, then we’re all set.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then, after dinner—and dessert—we go to Dad. Deal?”
“Deal. And today, try to stay off my bed while I’m gone.”
“How did you know?”
“I have my ways,” Young Julian said, pointing emphatically at the dreaded sub-bunk.
“Killjoy.”
At school, with the morning’s successful eTab-assisted end around on Biff and the inane pickle-cucumber conversation that preceded it now in all versions of the past, Julian settled in. As best as he could, all things considered. Because, really, now it was all downhill, since all he had to do was help his 20-year-old-self go back in time and undo a mistake that quite likely would pollute the natural timeline, rewrite history, and change the world as we know it.
At least.
What could go wrong?
The first period dragged. The second slogged. But then in the third…
Mrs. Stern had just begun her lesson.
“The Battle of Gettysburg was fought over three days, beginning on July 1st, 1863...”
Oh, that’s funny—what the smart folks call “coincidental,” thought Julian.
An on-and-off buzzing caught his attention. He leaned over, just a little so as not to draw the attention of Mrs. Stern, who almost never fell asleep while talking. He peeked into his backpack. Inside a faint green glow pulsed in sync with the buzz. He carefully placed two fingers into the rolled up eTab and spread them slightly, unrolling it just a bit.
“Julian? It’s me. Can you hear me?”
He stiffened and looked around. It didn’t seem as though anyone else had heard the inappropriately timed call.
Julian considered his options.
Quickly.
There was no way he could converse with himself in the classroom. A dash out the door would certainly lead to consequences. He needed an excuse.
He began coughing.
Cough, cough.
First just a little. Then louder and worse.
“Are you all right Julian?” Mrs. Stern asked.
“I just swallowed wrong. Can I go get a drink of water?”
“Of course. Come.”
Slipping the eTab into his back pocket, Julian walked up to the front of the room, still coughing. She handed him a pass, his ticket out to the hall.
Julian ran over to the janitor’s closet, which he knew was always unlocked, and slipped in.
He unrolled the eTab and swiped. Grown-up Julian’s face appeared on the screen.
“Hi, Julian,” he said gleefully.
“What are you doing? I’m kind of in class right now. What do you want?”
“I figured it out. I figured out the power source.”
“You did!” Young Julian did his best to scream for joy. Silently. “What is it?”
“It’s—Ooh! First, I need to tell you something really important.”
“What could be more important than the power source?”
“It’s about our future. Something you need to know.”
“No way.” Young Julian reached over and turned on a faucet. The rush of water saved him from hearing Grown-up Julian say, “Forget the Star Wars LEGO sets. Buy two or three of every Abnormal Adolescent Samurai Salamander kit which comes out. And don’t open the boxes. Ever. Put them away. In a safe place. Definitely keep them away from Dylan. And Dad. With what those things are going for on eBay, you’ll be able to buy a house. A big house.”
When Grown-up Julian’s lips had stopped moving, Young Julian turned off the water.
Grown-up Julian shook his head. “I’m just trying to help, you know.”
“I know. But don’t.”
“Where were we?”
“The power source.”
“Yes, the power source. Are you ready?”
“Yes!”
“If I may boast, figuring it out was a pretty clever combination of investigative reporting and technical sleight-of-hand—what the realistic folks call ‘a lucky break.’ What I did was, I cross-referenced WikiEverything with the Dad Five-Minute Warning app, which let me read an encyclopedia of the future.”
“That’s very interesting. But I kind of snuck out of class, and right now I’m hiding in the janitor’s closet, praying there are no spills in progress that would necessitate a mop. So if you don’t mind, spill it!”
“Drum roll, please,” Grown-up Julian said proudly. “It turns out Cucumium is pickles.”
“Pickles?”
“Yes! Pickles.”
“Pickles, as in...”
“Those green food things. Slices or spears. Dill or gherkin. Pickles.”
“How can pickles be a source of energy?”
“Dad invented it.”
“Say no more. What are you waiting for? Get some from the refrigerator and load it up. Or whatever you’re supposed to do.”
“There aren’t any. Anywhere in the house. I looked.”
“Seriously? What are the odds?”
“Well, for today, one hundred percent.”
“Spare me the lesson in statisitics. Just run to the store and buy some.”
“Money.”
“What?”
“Remember, I said money is different in the future?”
“So?”
“So we don’t have it. At least in coins or paper form.”
“Did Mom leave her purse lying around? Because maybe you could find a few—”
“I thought about that. But she’s got it alarmed, remember?”
“Um, no. No, I don’t remember that.”
“Oh. Then you’ll find out the hard way. Someday.”
“What do we do?” Young Julian asked, wiping a sweaty brow with a sweaty palm, all the while standing in sweaty socks and sneakers.
“What’s for lunch today?”
“Lunch? Why?”
“Duh! I’m hungry. What’s for lunch?”
“I think it’s hamburgers.”
“Perfect!”
“Why?”
“What goes with hamburgers?”
“Pickles!”
“Exactly,” Grown-up Julian said, head turning, neck craning, eyes scanning Julian’s room in search of a clock, oblivious to the fact that his own eTab had one in the lower right corner. “What time is recess? Noon?”
“12:15.”
“How could I forget? So at lunch, get a few extra pickles. Then bring them out at recess. We can meet around the back of the building. You know, the parking lot overlooking the supermarket. In the little space between the dumpster and the wall.”
“I think I know where you’re talking about. How do you remember it?”
“Oh, you’ll remember it, too. Because in a few years, that’s the exact spot where you and Lisa Honeywell will...”
Grown-up Julian paused for effect. Or, just out of sheer cruelty.
“What!?”
“I’d better not say.”
“What!?”
“I can’t. I don’t want to be responsible for—you know what I’m going to say—polluting the natural timeline. Can’t tarnish the future now, can I?”
“Oh, come on!”
“Nope. You made your top bunk. And now you can sleep on it. In it. End of discussion.” Grown-up Julian pantomimed pulling a zipper across his lips and then, for good measure, padlocking them, throwing away the key, and applying a length of duct tape.
“No fair.”
Grown-up Julian shrugged. “Toodle-oo. See you at—”
A message scrolled across Grown-up Julian’s screen.
YOUR ETAB IS GETTING LOW ON CHARGE. PLEASE PLUG IT IN RIGHT AWAY—WHAT THE SMART FOLKS CALL ASAP. GOING INTO STANDBY MODE. LOVE, DAD.
Then the screen went dark.
“Uh-oh,” said Young Julian, now cut off from his older counterpart.
He walked slowly—what the smart folks call “trudged”—back to his classroom.
12:15 could not come soon enough.