yet then.”
“I like it,” she says. “I think I’ll use it.”
“What’s mine is yours,” I say generously.
“What about my braces?” she asks. “They do come off, right?”
“Beginning of sophomore year.”
“A whole year of these things? I hate them,” she whines.
“I know, but it’s worth it,” I promise. I peer into my full-length mirror and smile at my perfect teeth. “Trust me. Oh! But do not put your retainer in a napkin in the caf next year, ’kay?”
“A napkin? Everyone knows you’re not supposed to do that.”
Thanks, know-it-all. “Just don’t.”
“I won’t.”
“You will,” I insist. “Unless you remember not to.”
“So I’ll remember not to.”
“You don’t have the best memory,” I say. “Maybe you should keep a list. In a notebook. Otherwise you’ll end up writing stuff on scrap pieces of paper and you’ll find them years later in your jacket pockets. Or, I guess, I’ll find them in my jacket pockets.” Still, this is going to be amazing. That mental list of things I was making this afternoon? About things I would change if I could talk to my past self? Now I can do it! Too bad I missed the boat on the bang-trimming and the marshmallow fire, though.
“Good point,” she says. “I think I have an extra one somewhere around here.”
“Check your shelf,” I tell her. “That’s where you keep them.”
“Yeah, I know,” she says with a giggle.
I wait for her to tell me she’s ready as she rumbles around.
“Got it. Page one. Sophomore year: don’t put retainer in a napkin.”
“Good. I think I lose it some other time too. But I forget where. Don’t worry. It’ll come to me. Where are you going to keep the notebook when you’re not using it? We don’t want anyone else to see it.”
“Desk drawer?”
I open my desk drawer and spot a green spiral notebook. I flip it open to the first page and read the only thing currently written on it: Sophomore year: don’t put retainer in a napkin . “Perfect.”
“Super. Now that we’ve solved the number one problem in my future—the loss of my retainer—can you tell me about other stuff? Like why I’m not friends with Karin, Tash, and Joelle anymore?”
I rub my temples. “You’re just not.”
“So who are my friends?”
“You don’t really have any girlfriends.”
“What does that mean? How can I not have any friends?”
“You … Karin’s not the only one with issues.”
“Me?” she asks, sounding panicked. “I have issues? What are they? What happens? You have to tell me!”
I’m not sure what I should reveal. It’s my job to be the responsible one here. I don’t want to break some sort of time-travel law by spilling the sad beans. And I don’t want to mess this up. I’m lucky enough to get a second chance. I’m not going to get a third one.
“You have to tell me! Omigod. Am I dead? Do I die?”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t die, silly.”
“If I’m silly, then so are you. Just promise I’m not dead.”
I slap my palm against my forehead. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“Are you an angel? Are you speaking to me from the grave?” She gasps. “Do I get a terminal disease?”
“You do not get sick. There is nothing wrong with you. Except being annoying.”
“What about Maya? And Mom? And—”
“Everyone’s fine.” I open my door and look out into the hall. I can see the faint light of TVs coming from my parents’ room and from the home office. “Mom’s watching the Food Network right now. As usual. The TV is on whenever she’s not at Intralearn.”
“What’s Intralearn?”
“Where Mom works.”
“Mom has a job? Really? That’s great! How come she finally decided to go back to work?”
“Oh, um …” Craptastic. Do I tell her the truth? “It’s because Dad …”
“Dad what? Oh, God, is Dad okay? Tell me he’s okay!”
“You have to calm down,” I say. “I can’t tell you things if you’re going to freak out at all the
“I like it,” she says. “I think I’ll use it.”
“What’s mine is yours,” I say generously.
“What about my braces?” she asks. “They do come off, right?”
“Beginning of sophomore year.”
“A whole year of these things? I hate them,” she whines.
“I know, but it’s worth it,” I promise. I peer into my full-length mirror and smile at my perfect teeth. “Trust me. Oh! But do not put your retainer in a napkin in the caf next year, ’kay?”
“A napkin? Everyone knows you’re not supposed to do that.”
Thanks, know-it-all. “Just don’t.”
“I won’t.”
“You will,” I insist. “Unless you remember not to.”
“So I’ll remember not to.”
“You don’t have the best memory,” I say. “Maybe you should keep a list. In a notebook. Otherwise you’ll end up writing stuff on scrap pieces of paper and you’ll find them years later in your jacket pockets. Or, I guess, I’ll find them in my jacket pockets.” Still, this is going to be amazing. That mental list of things I was making this afternoon? About things I would change if I could talk to my past self? Now I can do it! Too bad I missed the boat on the bang-trimming and the marshmallow fire, though.
“Good point,” she says. “I think I have an extra one somewhere around here.”
“Check your shelf,” I tell her. “That’s where you keep them.”
“Yeah, I know,” she says with a giggle.
I wait for her to tell me she’s ready as she rumbles around.
“Got it. Page one. Sophomore year: don’t put retainer in a napkin.”
“Good. I think I lose it some other time too. But I forget where. Don’t worry. It’ll come to me. Where are you going to keep the notebook when you’re not using it? We don’t want anyone else to see it.”
“Desk drawer?”
I open my desk drawer and spot a green spiral notebook. I flip it open to the first page and read the only thing currently written on it: Sophomore year: don’t put retainer in a napkin . “Perfect.”
“Super. Now that we’ve solved the number one problem in my future—the loss of my retainer—can you tell me about other stuff? Like why I’m not friends with Karin, Tash, and Joelle anymore?”
I rub my temples. “You’re just not.”
“So who are my friends?”
“You don’t really have any girlfriends.”
“What does that mean? How can I not have any friends?”
“You … Karin’s not the only one with issues.”
“Me?” she asks, sounding panicked. “I have issues? What are they? What happens? You have to tell me!”
I’m not sure what I should reveal. It’s my job to be the responsible one here. I don’t want to break some sort of time-travel law by spilling the sad beans. And I don’t want to mess this up. I’m lucky enough to get a second chance. I’m not going to get a third one.
“You have to tell me! Omigod. Am I dead? Do I die?”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t die, silly.”
“If I’m silly, then so are you. Just promise I’m not dead.”
I slap my palm against my forehead. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“Are you an angel? Are you speaking to me from the grave?” She gasps. “Do I get a terminal disease?”
“You do not get sick. There is nothing wrong with you. Except being annoying.”
“What about Maya? And Mom? And—”
“Everyone’s fine.” I open my door and look out into the hall. I can see the faint light of TVs coming from my parents’ room and from the home office. “Mom’s watching the Food Network right now. As usual. The TV is on whenever she’s not at Intralearn.”
“What’s Intralearn?”
“Where Mom works.”
“Mom has a job? Really? That’s great! How come she finally decided to go back to work?”
“Oh, um …” Craptastic. Do I tell her the truth? “It’s because Dad …”
“Dad what? Oh, God, is Dad okay? Tell me he’s okay!”
“You have to calm down,” I say. “I can’t tell you things if you’re going to freak out at all the
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