“Sylvie, come on!” Beverly Fox tugged at Sylvie’s jean jacket sleeve and ran.
Sylvie followed with startled eyes that widened as she came to. The velvet black sky stretched above her, adorned with a sea of stars. The frosty night air slapped her fiery cheeks. Behind her, there was a line of cars haphazardly parked, one with its doors open, blasting Depeche Mode.
Teenagers surrounded the area, drinking beer in red Solo cups and smoking pot under trees and in cars with the windows up tight.
Sylvie stopped running, turned around, taking it all in. The bonfire crackled and spit flames as if it was the only witness to what had just occurred.
Sylvie looked down at her clothes. Jean jacket, acid-washed jeans tightly rolled at the ankle, showing off low-top sneakers and pink pom-pom socks.
This was not the outfit she’d been wearing earlier. Where was her Guns N’ Roses t-shirt and her black stretch pants and Nike sweatshirt? And why was she here at a party—a high school party? One of the parties she always wished to be invited to but never was? And with Beverly Fox, the most popular girl in her grade, who was next in line for queen bee status after June graduated?
Sylvie looked down at her watch. The last thing she remembered were the hands spinning and Dad on the other side of the force field. She remembered pounding the invisible blockage with her fists, trying to get to him. She thought of the cold, abandoned feeling she’d felt inside, lost, and angry that Dad didn’t see her, hear her, or even know she was there.
“What day is it?” Sylvie asked, looking at Beverly who’d stopped running, too. Sylvie noticed Beverly had on too much blue eye shadow and smelled like a bottle of cheap perfume. Sylvie sneezed.
“What, are you high?” Beverly laughed. “It’s Saturday.”
“What year?”
“Oh no! You are stoned. I know your sister was murdered, Sylvie, but maybe lay off the pot and the booze.”
“I mean it, what year—”
“It’s 1987, geez!” Beverly laughed and swayed. It was clear Beverly was wasted, stoned, or both.
Sylvie stepped back, trying to understand. It was Saturday, 1987. She repeated it in her brain to process. Was it the same day it had been before when she was with Sebastian and Jodi? It must be, she thought, but didn’t ask because she didn’t need any more attention. She had to get out of here.
She pushed past Beverly, rushing through the crowd of drunk teenagers. What had happened? Why hadn’t she traveled back to Sebastian and Jodi, and why were things different? Her clothes were different, the fact that she was talking to Beverly Fox was different and being at this party was different. Sylvie didn’t go to parties, mostly because she found them lame. As for Beverly, she’d been friends with her in what felt like a century ago—fifth and sixth grades. That was back when they’d bonded over Judy Blume books and had Friday night sleepovers dancing to Madonna while eating too many Chips Ahoy cookies. Then Beverly got popular, and Sylvie had decided she liked hard rock more than pop. She’d started wearing black eyeliner she snuck into school each day in seventh grade, washing it off on the bus with a baby wipe before she got home so her parents didn’t see.
But now, here she was, dressed like June, at the high school party, hanging out with Beverly. June had never liked Beverly much. She’d always figured she was after her crown.
The truth hit Sylvie. I time traveled willingly this time. I saw Dad. Now, things have changed. Had things changed before when she’d bleeped in and out in small intervals of time? Small things she didn’t notice? Or was this time different because she’d gone further back by choice?
What else has changed? Beverly said she knew my sister was murdered, so June is still gone. Sylvie glared at Beverly now, rethinking how she’d said murder so casually. Beverly didn’t notice her stare; she was too busy throwing up. Sylvie decided fighting with Beverly wasn’t worth it, anyway. She’d already changed things by the sole act of time traveling. She didn’t need to do any other damage. What she needed was to leave, get home, and find Sebastian and Jodi.
Sylvie scanned the scene once more as she came up with a plan. She’d use her watch to travel back. She knew it was a risk because traveling changed random things from what she’d observed. Still, it was better than her interacting with too many people. She’d try to go back to Sebastian and Jodi at the pawnshop. She’d tell them about everything, about Dad, how she’d ended up here, the changes she’d seen. They’d write it down, start figuring out the rules. Like, why had she seen Dad at Nonna’s in a time she had no memory of?
I need to find a quiet place where I can disappear. She spotted a spot in the woods ahead. She’d go there, hide behind a tree. As she moved towards it, she realized Beverly was heading there too.
And Beverly wasn’t alone. Bruce Martin had his arms draped around her, leading her in a drunken swagger.
Gross. It hadn’t even been two weeks since June was killed, and he was already scoping out another girl to wear on his shoulder like an accessory. And Beverly, had she no shame?
“Hey, watch out!” A group of boys fumbled into Sylvie, spilling booze on her jacket.
“You watch it!” she snarled. She spun around, searching for a place to hide. She pushed through the crowd, walking and looking this way and that to find any place where she could be alone.
Sylvie spotted the dirt road. As she walked towards it, she noticed flashing lights heading her way.
Police sirens screeched as two cruisers made their way down the road.
“Cops!” a group of kids yelled in unison. Kids everywhere started running, jumping into cars, escaping in their vehicles on the flattened cornfield path away from the scene. Others ran into the woods.
Sylvie ran, too. Come on, come on. Go to Sebastian and Jodi. Back to the pawnshop. She repeated it over and over as she ran, not even caring if she disappeared in front of everyone. She realized they were too drunk to notice, and she could slip away in the commotion. Come on! She tapped her watch. Pawnshop. Six p.m., today, the day I left.
Around her, the bonfire, the kegs, the teenagers escaping… it all blurred, fading together in a mesh of color. The sound of car doors slamming, cop car sirens wailing. Sylvie ran but tripped on a rock jutting out of the soil. She tried to stand, but a bright light shining into her eyes blinded her, snapping her to attention.
“Sylvie?” Officer Snyder—Cousin Joe—asked, peering down at her with his flashlight. “Does your mother know where you are?”
Sylvie stood up and wiped the dirt from her jeans. “No, Sir.”
Cousin Joe stared down at her, then reached out his hand. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”