THE MIDDLE

 

 

“Are you ready to talk to us yet?” Tap-tap-tap. Fingernails drumming on laptop keys without typing anything. A bright smile.

“What do you expect me to talk about?”

“Where you came from, for starters. Then you could tell me when – and how – you got here.”

“Is that all?” I nodded. “Uhhh, no.”

Sigh. “Look, you aren’t going anywhere until you talk to us.”

“I’m not going anywhere if I do – we both know that. Besides, if my ears aren’t deceiving me, we’re talking right now.”

“About your origins. We need to talk about your origins.”

“Do we frighten you that much?” I loved being in control, even if it only extended to the conversation and nothing else.

“Honestly? Yes.”

I smiled back. “Good. You’re being honest. It’s about time, too.”

“Does that mean you’ll answer the questions? That you’ll tell me what we want to know? It would help everything get resolved, Tosca. Please.”

I raised an eyebrow – my mother told me the ability to do that was genetic. Amazing how a hair-and-skin-covered muscle can say more than words.

“And who gave you that name? Does it mean something?”

The brow shot higher. “Mean…what? My parents were into opera, that’s all. Guess they liked the name.”

“Opera! They have opera where you’re from?”

I laughed. “And where do you think I’m from?”

“Not here, certainly!”

Yes, here – kind of – but not now – later, I told her with my mind. She couldn’t hear me, of course. In my own time, yes, but not in this one. I could have said that out loud, but then I would have had to explain how in the time-loop, I was redoing a part of my life, but in a different past and a shifted universe. My personal past would be her general future, but because of The Shift, we could choose a past that predated our own without affecting our current existence, and one that had nothing to do with the reality of our location. How to tell her all that without having to watch her brain implode? So I shrugged. Another gesture that could say everything and nothing.

The tapping stopped. “Okay. I give up. For today, that is. We’ll see if you feel any different about his tomorrow.” Scrape of metal chair legs against whatever synthetic material was under them. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hope not.”

No reply. The door locks clicked, the door opened, and she was gone – I didn’t have to look or listen. The air had become lighter, her absence making more room within which to breathe. But then…

“Time to go, Tosca.”

I stood and faced the large man who had taken the woman’s place, his presence displacing more of the air than she had. “Sure.” I held out my wrists so he could circle them with the latest in prison fashion-statement accessories. Too tight, but whatever. All I wanted to was to get back to my cell so I could continue working on my ROE.

I frowned, unsure for a moment if I’d chosen the right way to begin. The Record Of Events needed to be accurate, precise, not too wordy, yet cover everything. No fun, but it wasn’t meant to be fun. Still, I was almost sure I was doing this right even if it wasn’t usual. Nonetheless, I needed to insert the correct opening protocol.

The cell was decent – clean, dry, with a sink, a bed with soft linens and a blanket, a small table. Enough for my needs. I sat on the bed, my back against the gray block wall, and closed my eyes. Using the mental prompts that activated my recording implants, I accessed the new record log and began with the insert.

 

 

SHIFT DATES: August 3, 3019/August 3, 2018

My name is Tosca Blane. I was one hundred and thirty-six years old and diagnosed terminal, the disease one of the new ones, a mutation of what was once called the Spanish Flu, the deadliest form of Influenza in its time. When offered the choice to Shift, I took it and chose to re-explore my life beginning at age 16. The choice of year was based on my interest in the history of America during the first two decades of the 21st Century.

 

I was joined by two others, men who I met for the first time at the Shift Center, and who, like me, were experiencing terminal illnesses. Both are the same age, and both had opted for their later teen years for re-exploration.

 

Shadow Calaban (who refused to explain the origins of his name) Shifted into his seventeenth year, Niam Collins into his sixteenth. We agreed on New York State, choosing a small town not far from Manhattan as the place to reconstitute. The Shift went well, and none of us experienced any ill effects. Here is the record of what we have been doing thus far, and what has happened recently to prompt this new ROE. I’ve erased the previous one as too didactic to properly convey our situation, and have begun recording the new one in story form. I believe this will translate much better, and to this end, started with a kind of prologue that addresses my current setting. And now to continue by going back to our first day.

DAY ONE: Arrival

 

 

All indicators told us the building would be unoccupied at the moment of our arrival. It was. It was also locked, I soon discovered. No one would be getting either in or out, it seemed. I groped about in the near-dark for the device they used back then to activate their form of inside illumination – a light switch, it was called, and I’d seen enough pictures of the numerous types during our briefing to know what to find. A moment later, I was staring with appreciation at the two men who had come with me.

“Shadow, yes?” I pointed at the swarthy teenager with gold streaks in his hair. At his real age, those streaks had been white among the silver. He wouldn’t say why he hadn’t opted to darken it.

“Woah, Tosca! Looking good!” His smile was simpler than the older version.

“Hmm. And Niam, I never would have taken you for the dark, brooding type.” I grinned, admiring the black hair, startling blue eyes, and pale, smooth skin of the true Irishman. “Not too many pure-breds left.” At his real age, the hair had been lightened, his illness clouding the eyes and turning his skin more gray.

“In this time, I’m told,” said Shadow, pacing around as his gaze darted to one thing, then another in the deserted office space, “nationalities were still distinguishable in most of the population.”

I nodded, saying nothing. I’d found a mirror. How long since I’d seen that version of me? Ninety-five years? I’d almost forgotten my teen features. Like most of my generation, I was a smooth blend of nearly every ethnicity on the planet – my height was a seamless mix of Germanic and African; my eyes, large yet distinctly almond-shaped, defined a combination of the Asian peoples and the Celts; the slight olive cast of my otherwise rosy complexion a Middle Eastern-Latin hybrid. At six-foot-one, I was going to be taller than most of the sixteen-year-olds I’d be meeting in my revisited life, but because of the true-age factor, I’d have far more poise. I smiled, happy to see dimples instead of the deeper lines that had begun to manifest in my eightieth year.

“Guess we’d better get changed.” Liam held up the pack containing our early-twenty-first-century outfits.

We changed out of our travel suits and into items that made us laugh at ourselves. Mine was a pair of denim pants they had called “skinny jeans” at the time; a long, flowy white sleeveless top with thin straps at the shoulders; and a short, black, leather-like, form-fitting jacket.

“If you weren’t so beautiful, I’d think you were a boy.” Shadow, who had come to stand behind me, put one hand on my shoulder, ruffling my short, wavy hair with the other.

“Wow. Thanks.” I shrugged him off with a laugh and smoothed the spikes his silliness had caused. My hair was an auburn that tended more toward red, and didn’t need much attention – I’d never worn it long for that reason.

He stepped away, taking me by the arm and turning me to face him. “What do you think?” He spread his arms wide and did a 360° turn.

Tight jeans, white tee-shirt, hip-length black leather jacket, and long silver chains hanging from the front pants pocket, looping to the back where they were clipped to the back pocket by a complex-looking hook.

I took a step back, crossing my arms. “Sexy.”

“Well, I feel like an idiot.” Niam, who had been standing near one of the windows, joined us. He glared at his reflection, shaking his head. “That’s the last time I let some feckin’ historian choose clothes for me.”

“You planning on Shifting more than once?” Some people did – it was a serious question.

“Depends.” He pointed at the mirror. “What’s the reason for all the rips in my pants? Am I supposed to be poor?”

“No, I’m about positive they came off the rack like that. The tears are too symmetrical, too consistent. I like your shirt.”

“Why? It’s a badly-done drawing of people with rotting skin. And what’s the meaning of the words under it? ‘The Apocalypse Is Upon Us’?” He ran a hand through his hair, which was longer than it had been, but looked like someone had hacked it into sharp points with a razor.

“Maybe if you put these on, it’ll all come together.” Shadow held out his hand, displaying a mismatched set of earrings: a skull dangling from two short chains, and a hoop with spikes.

Glaring, Niam snatched the jewelry, got closer to the mirror, and shoved them into the holes that had been provided by one of the medics right before the Shift. “I’m mortified.”

“I thought you read everything about this era before agreeing to it.”

“I skimmed it. Look, Tosca, no matter what time I’d chosen, I would have had to face a different me in strange clothes and an environment I couldn’t understand. I’m an artist, and have spent nearly every moment of my one hundred and thirty-six years immersed in color, shape, dreams. Never did well in school, never cared. Just wanted to explore every medium and produce the closest a human could get to what nature hands us without a blink.”

Shadow gave me a weird look, shaking his head. “Whatever. You’ll get used to this – you don’t have a choice right now. So let’s figure out how to escape from this building and get started in our renewed lives, shall we?”

I was about to agree with him, but before I could speak, an alarm went off over our heads, its volume paralyzing. A second later, the main double doors to the space in which we stood crashed open, followed by the coordinated noise of a number of things making a solid clicking sound.

We unfroze at the same time, and turned toward the doors, only to find ourselves looking at the barrels of seven or eight rifles…pointing directly at our heads.

DAY ONE: First Encounter

 

 

Any ideas? I thought at Shadow – Niam looked like he was about to explode, and was probably too “freaked out,” to use a term I’d learned was common to this time and place, to hear anything, much less come up with a solution.

Maybe…I’m going to try something – play along.

I saw Niam nod, and guessed Shadow had relayed the same thought to him. At least the Irishman was listening.

Shadow took a step toward the closest rifle-pointer, hands up, palms outward.

“Don’t move!” shouted someone at the back of the firing line.

“Dude! I just wanted to thank you! Chill!”

Shadow had studied the material well, I realized. I forced a smile and stepped up next to him. “Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have any weapons, and we haven’t done anything wrong.”

“What are you doing here, then? This is a private building, it’s the middle of the night, and you’re here for some reason – robbery, maybe?” This from someone else, a man who had approached from behind a rifleman on our left. The speaker’s arms were crossed and he was glowering.

“That’s just it,” said Shadow. “We have no idea what we’re doing here, or even where we are. We woke up on the floor near the windows about five, ten minutes ago, and after we found the lights, we realized we were locked in.”

“You seriously expect me to believe that crap?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I tilted my head to one side, going for “confused.”

“Because it doesn’t make sense. Are you saying someone knocked out the three of you, dragged you into a closed and locked building without being detected by the security cameras, hauled you up to the third floor, unlocked a secure room, dumped you all by the windows, and then left, locking up again and getting out, undetected yet again?”

I nodded. “Pretty much. Yeah.”

The man used a crass term of utter disbelief. “We have people checking the security feed as we speak, and since I’m about positive we’ll see you breaking in, you have one more chance to tell me what really happened before I arrest you.”

I almost smiled. That security feed, the continuous loop of live footage, would show nothing. No one coming into the building, no one going out. All they might get is some strange video of three humans appearing out of nowhere in the large room we were in, and us changing into our time-and-age-appropriate clothing. At worst we’d look like exhibitionists, since in our time, we no longer have a problem with nudity. I expected whoever was watching this “feed” would get a pleasant eyeful, but nothing incriminating.

“I already told you,” Shadow was saying. “Look, we’re really sorry, but it looks like we’re the victims here. Someone played a nasty practical joke on us, and we’re probably going to get in all kinds of trouble because of it.”

Sounds reasonable so far, Shadow, but what happens when we have to give them names, or worse – tell them where we live and who our parents are? After all, we’re minors now. I chewed on my bottom lip, giving him a sidelong glance.

We have the manufactured family and their names – what are you talking about?

“…and entering is a felony! How old are you?” The man I assumed was the officer in charge nodded at me.

“Sixteen. And before you ask, my name is Tosca Blane.”

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Great, a minor. You sure don’t look sixteen – how tall are you?”

“Six-one.”

“You play basketball?”

Understanding the correlation but finding it irrelevant in our situation, I told him no, I didn’t play any kind of sports.

He shook his head and looked up at Shadow. “What about you?”

“Six-five. Shadow Calaban. No basketball, but I do like to watch football. And I’m seventeen.”

“And who would you be?” Niam, whose sudden entrance into the discussion was like the unexpected intrusion of a ghost, gave the officer a look of open belligerence.

“Officer Warren Gentry. You?” The words word polite, the twisted smile following them anything but.

“Niam Collins. Sixteen. Need my height and weight, too?”

Dial it back, Niam. We don’t want to anger this guy. I had to wonder why he was being so obnoxious – still unhappy about his outfit? How lame.

Officer Gentry was giving Niam’s six-foot-two, lanky form a slow up-and-down, his look sour. “You’re in no position to give me grief, kid.”

I stifled an urge to giggle. We were all more than twice this man’s age – or our memories were. Still…

The doors were still open behind the line of officers – who hadn’t lowered their weapons this entire time – and we saw a man in a dark coat enter, carrying an object I recognized from the historical records as a file folder, an object in which a small number of papers could be kept in order. Paper. Huh. So rare in our time.

“We got the results from their security cameras,” he said, holding the folder up and approaching Gentry at a slow trot.

“And?” Taking the file from the man, Gentry opened it, peering at whatever was on the top sheet.

“As you can see, sir, nothing. No one entered the building after it was closed for the night, and no one left. And the camera in this room doesn’t cover all of it, especially over there – “ He pointed toward the windows. “So I don’t know what could have happened. There’s no evidence of anyone coming in here, and the room seems to have been empty almost the entire time. Well, until a few seconds before the silent alarm was tripped. These three walked into view of the camera, and according to our guy, they were looking around like they were surprised to be here. And then they changed their clothes. Don’t get that.”

Gentry’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “Convenient. They said they were near the damn windows when they supposably woke up.”

“Supposedly,” I corrected him without thinking.

His head jerked up and his jaw tightened. “Wise ass. What’s this about you changing your clothes?”

“We were wearing these crazy overalls that weren’t ours,” I said, referring to the generic outfit all Shifters wore when making the journey. In this case, it was the perfect foil for our predicament.

One of the men with a rifle cleared his throat. “Sir?”

“What is it?”

“May we stand down, sir?”

Gentry swept us with another of his angry glares, thrust out his jaw, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Fine. They aren’t armed. Better check, though.” He waved the man forward.

Lowering his rifle, the soldier approached me first. “Raise your arms at your sides, please.”

I obeyed, waited as he ran his hands down my body and checked my pockets. I couldn’t understand why – the jeans were so tight, I doubt I could have hidden a microchip in them without its outline showing.

“Unless she’s hiding something in her bra, sir, she’s clean.” He moved on to Shadow and repeated the search process, then checked Niam. “All of them clean, sir.” He stepped back.

“Okay. Looks like I might have to let you go, since I have no evidence of wrongdoing – except your presence. Your explanation seems highly implausible, but I can’t prove it didn’t happen that way. I just can’t figure out how anyone got you in here without being seen.”

“The last thing I remember, Officer, is waiting at the bus stop after school.” Shadow made a scowly face, as if he was trying to remember the incident that never happened.

“We were all there since we live in the same neighborhood,” I added, as much to give myself something to do that would keep me from laughing as to help Shadow’s story.

“I’ll bet the bastards brought us up here while the building was still open!” This from Niam, surprising me. It made sense (not surprising) and was spoken with conviction (which was).

“You think you know who did this?”

“Not sure. Don’t want to say because I could be wrong, and I don’t need to be getting innocent kids in trouble.”

Well played, Niam! You, too, Tosca. We may be able to get out of this easier than I’d thought.

Thanks, Shadow. You, too. Let’s not get over-confident, though. Nothing in Niam’s expression showed that this conversation was occurring.

Gentry was speaking again. “Just great. Jeez. All rght, look. I want you three to get the hell out of this building, and don’t ever let me find you here again. If I do, I don’t care what explanation you come up with – I’m arresting your asses, and that’s it. Now go home. You live far from here?”

“Not very.” I tried to look relieved.

“We should probably drive you.”

“That’s okay, Officer.” Shadow put an arm around my shoulders. “We’re pretty good at taking care of ourselves, and I promise we won’t go anywhere else.”

“Not my business if you do, unless you decide to rob a store or something.” The man was grumbling now, as if he was disappointed that he couldn’t throw us in jail.

After being escorted down the hall, into an elevator, through the downstairs lobby, and out through a set of gigantic glass doors, we stood on the sidewalk and stared around.

We’re supposed to go east, I reminded my companions. I glanced at my watch, which had a compass feature that displayed as a low-light hologram when I thought the word “compass” at it. “This way,” I said aloud, and turned right.

When we had gone several blocks, Niam began to chuckle. “Well, now, that was exciting.”

“I’ve heard of worse happening on Shifts.” I covered a yawn with one hand.

“As have I,” said Shadow. “In any event, we have to find the house they set up for us. And if I’m not mistaken, it’s another two blocks away in that neighborhood.” He pointed to his left.

Thanks to the pinkish glow of tall streetlights, we could see the entrance to a housing area (I think the word they used then was “subdivision”), as well as several large homes lining the street visible beyond the brick-wall-flanked gates. In fancy metallic script, the word “Wanderleigh” had been attached to the bricks.

We crossed the street, approached the wrought-iron gates, and found them locked.

“Hold on.” I took out my dataslip, a transparent, flexible rectangle that fit in my palm, and thought, gate code. Numbers flashed green on the surface of the ‘slip. “Got it.” I went to a device protruding from a stanchion on the side of the road into the subdivision, and pressed in the numbers on its pad. The gates swung open.

We had decided before leaving our own time that we would use verbal communication most of the time, since the people here, if they caught on that we were talking to each other in what they termed “telepathy,” would probably get upset. To this end, Shadow continued the conversation out loud. “I believe it’s on the next…block? Well, we need to go past these houses and cross that road up there.”

“How do we get in?” asked Niam, staring around. “I doubt they have palm-pads.”

“There will be a metal object called a key under something in front of the door – the mat,” I told him.

“Here it is!” Shadow had stopped in front of a huge home, its color an uncertain blue in the dark, the trim white. It appeared to have two floors, large windows that ran in a long bank of paned glass along the entire front and on either side of a white door, stairs leading up to this. He pointed at something covering the top step. “Is that the mat?”

“I think so.”

He leaned down, lifted it, and smiled. “The key!” He straightened, holding aloft a small object that gleamed yellow-silver in the streetlamp’s glow. He looked at the door, studying it for a few seconds, then with a soft exclamation, nodded and stuck the key into something. A moment later, he pushed the door open. “Here we go!”

We were to live in the same place, but list our addresses as different when registering at school, getting driver’s licenses, and for all things that required our personal information. That way, we could keep things simple on a physical level, and easy to remember until we’d aged enough to strike out on our own as autonomous adults.

Once again, I found the light switch, and to our mutual delight, discovered our new home to be a lovely place, furnished with taste and style, and with enough room to keep us from being unintended annoyances to one another. Similar to the houses of our own time, this one had a kitchen, dining room, living room, a large, less formal space for relaxing (a family room, I was told), four large bedrooms, three bathrooms, a garage that could house two vehicles, an attic and a basement for storage. I was pleased.

We chose our bedrooms, and after a brief discussion about what we would do the next day, said our good-nights. My room was a restful gray-blue with cream moldings, its own bathroom, two huge windows that looked out over whatever was behind the house, and a big, cozy-looking bed with four posts draped in pink gauze. A thick quilt with blue and red roses among dark green leaves, and fluffy pillows in complementary colors five-deep by the headboard, made it most inviting. I stripped, took a long, hot shower, and after drying off, slid in under the quilt. The bed was as comfy as it had looked, and before I could review the events of the day, I was asleep.

All of which would have been great, had I not gotten woken up far too early the next morning by something large, heavy, whimpering, and smelly landing with a grunt on my stomach and going, “WOOF!!!”

DAY TWO: Registration

 

 

By the time I was born, there were no more countries. Everything was referred to only by its continental designation, so I grew up on Continent America. That included everything that had been divided as South, Central, and North America, as well as what at one time was called Canada. All of this was divided into states, but these were far fewer in number than what had originally existed. My home state was called Colonia, so designated because it encompassed all thirteen of the original colonies during the settlement of the eastern seaboard by Great Britain. Boring, yes? You who are hearing or reading this record know all of that, but in case at a future time someone unfamiliar with world history finds it, I thought I’d throw that tidbit in before continuing. I also mention it because the place where we had chosen to grow up again was the State of New York, as I may have mentioned before, in a small town located in one of the wealthy counties (they had an awful lot of divisions back then, eh?) north of what was once Manhattan. So…here we go.

 

 

I was being smothered. By a tongue. My chest felt like it was about to collapse. Great way to start the day. After considerable struggling and some giggling I couldn’t control, I got the beast off me and rolled out of bed.

“WOOF!!”

“You’re very loud, aren’t you?” I patted the gigantic head that I thought might belong to a Great Dane, but because it was too shaggy to fit the breed as I knew it, I wasn’t sure what it was. I noticed something shiny dangling on its chest, realized it was a tag, and that somewhere under all that fur was a collar. At great risk of getting my face slobbered on again, I crouched in front of the creature and squinted at the tag. Thor. The thing’s name was Thor. Good grief. I stood and waved at it to follow as I headed for the door.

“Hey, you met our pet!” Niam, who was sitting at the kitchen table, stood up when I walked in, Thor at my heels. He was grinning (Niam, that is), looking stupid happy, and for an instant, I found myself wishing the hairy monster was the actual god for which it was named.

It seemed to like me, and had I asked it to zap Niam with a bolt of lightning, it probably would have done so with glee. “No,” I told my toothsome roommate, “I was pounced on by our pet. Why do we have a pet in the first place? There was nothing in the brief about this – whose idea was it?”

“Mine.” Niam came forward and scratched the dog’s ears. “I thought we’d fit in better if we had a dog.”

“A dog. This is not a dog, Niam. This is a small dinosaur. With fur. And a tongue the width of my face.” I glared.

Thor wagged its tail, nearly knocking me down with it. Great. It didn’t help one bit that Shadow, who was busy doing something at the stove, was laughing. Or sobbing. I wasn’t sure at first; all I could see with his back to me was that his shoulders were shaking. “What are you doing, Shadow?”

He snorted. Yup. Laughing. Wonderful.

“It’s a good thing that whatever you’re making smells so good. I find none of this funny.”

Shadow turned, his face contorted into that strange configuration of features one displays when trying harder than is almost humanly possible not to laugh out loud.

“Fine. Laugh.” I threw myself into one of the chairs at the table.

He did. Loud, doubled over, then started to gasp, eventually sobering enough to say, “I’m sorry – I couldn’t resist.”

“Resist?”

“Yeah – I opened your door so Thor would go in and wake you up.”

I believe I began looking around for a convenient butcher knife. “Did you. I see. Well. I’m going to go take a shower now and wash dog spit off my face. With any luck, I won’t have too many bruises on my boobs and stomach. You’re a great guy, Shadow.”

As I was going back upstairs, I could hear the guys guffawing, what sounded like someone slapping the table as their hysterics got wilder, and hoped Thor would think they were dangerous and eat them both. What the heck.

When the meal was over, Thor having licked all the plates clean (yuck), Shadow took a map from one of the drawers and spread it out on the table.

“Okay – this is us.” He pointed to a spot circled in red. “The school is here – “ another circle, this one green, “ – so it looks like the easiest and fastest route on foot would be to take this road, cross here, turn this way, and go straight for what looks like about an eighth of a mile, and it’s on the left.” He’d been running a finger along the route as he was speaking.

“Shouldn’t take us more than fifteen, twenty minutes to get there.” I stood. “Are we ready for this?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“Yes, Niam. No one knows we’re here, so it isn’t like someone is going to send out the Truancy Patrol to come get us. We could hang out here all day. However.” I started to leave the kitchen.

“However what?”

“However,” Shadow said, continuing my thought, “we need to get this done and over. Our papers are in our bedrooms, along with the pack things they used to carry books in. Check your closet – should be on the floor.”

“Books! Real books!”

“Yup.” I thought Niam looked way too happy about it. “Although I would certainly prefer not to have to haul them around, but that’s all they have here – and some electronic versions, but not many schools used that.”

“Have you ever smelled a real book, Tosca?” Niam got to his feet, eyes going distant.

“Apparently you have, but no. Seen one, never smelled it. Why would I do that?”

He shrugged. “Never mind. You’ll find out.”

“Cryptic bugger,” I muttered, following him out of the room.

When we reached the school, we stood at the entrance and stared. The building was a four-story structure of white cement, its windows large and framed in the same material but painted turquoise. It reminded me of some of the constructs designed by an early twentieth century architect – Frank Lloyd Wright, I think his name was.

Interesting place, Shadow. I stared around at the students, curious.

You got that right. Huh. Are we ready?

I am – Niam?

Ready. Let’s go.

Walking side-by-side, we entered the school grounds. A second later, we found ourselves the subject of multiple stares as the teens around us began to notice our arrival. It occurred to me that as tall as we all were, and the way we were walking together, we were probably an impressive, maybe even scary, sight. None of the kids said anything to us, but I could feel them continuing to stare as we passed through the crowd and entered the school.

A few steps inside, an older individual saw us, did a double-take, and stepped in front of us. “Hold on,” he said, frowning.

We stopped.

“Who are you, and what do you want here?”

We exchanged glances and shrugs. “What do you mean?” asked Niam.

“This is a high school and I know you aren’t among the student population.”

“Not yet.” Shadow smiled and put out a hand. “I’m Shadow Calaban – these are my friends, Tosca Blane and Niam Collins. We’re here to enroll in classes. Just moved here from out of town. Could you tell us where we can do this?”

The man shook Shadow’s hand but his body language shouted uncertainty. “Mr. Corso. I’m the Vice Principal. Why don’t you follow me – I’ll take you to the Registrar’s office.”

Along the hallways through which we passed, the stares continued, many accompanied by frowns and scowls. I couldn’t understand that second one – why would anybody be upset with us?

“Here we go. This is Mrs. Jarvis, our Registrar. She’ll get you sorted out – welcome to Dickinson High School.” He flashed a brief smile and went out, leaving us to the mercies of this Registrar person.

She gave us a long, narrow-eyed stare, this woman who may have been anywhere between forty and eighty years old, and whose features made me think she ate raw lemons for a living. When she spoke, her pursed lips relaxed only a little. “Do you have your transcripts? And where are your parents?”

I hope we don’t have to deal with her a lot, I thought at Shadow.

Reminds me of an animated prune.

Shut up, Niam – don’t make me laugh. Shadow cleared his throat and dug deeper into the thing we were told was called a backpack.

Mrs. Jarvis took our paperwork, placed what I recognized as a sight-improvement device called eyeglasses on her nose, and began reading. She nodded now and again, but said nothing until she’d gone over the last sheet.

As she was doing this, I reflected on the unusual sensation of paper between my fingers, aware that for this woman it was a familiar feeling, one she must never even think about.

“Well! Seems everything is in order. But I’d like to meet your parents. Why aren’t they here?”

“Work,” I said.

“Away on a business trip,” Shadow said.

“Couldn’t be bothered,” Niam said.

“I see. No matter. I’m sure they’ll show up if there’s ever a problem.” Her mouth twisted and I decided I didn’t like her one bit. She shuffled the papers together, tapped the bottom edge on her desk, and placed them in a drawer. From another drawer she took out three sheets of the same size, and a larger one that she unfolded and turned around to face us.

It was a map of the school’s interior.

“This is where you are,” she said, tapping a red x-mark, unaware that she was imitating Shadow’s words and actions of less than an hour before. “You need to go here – “ she took a pen and made a squiggle on another part of the map, “ – to find out what classes are available and then take a brief entrance exam.” She handed us the three sheets. “Here’s a smaller version of this. Once you’ve been assigned to your classes, you can use these to locate them. You’ll also need this.” She opened the center drawer and removed a small yellow slip, on which she wrote our names into a blank spot near the top. Have a great day.”

“You, too.” Shadow smiled at her, even though she hadn’t.

Piece of work, that one.

Niam, be nice. I smacked his arm.

We went out and followed the route she’d shown us, eventually reaching another office in an adjacent hallway. The halls were deserted by this point, which I suspected had something to do with the loud bell that had gone off while we were waiting for Lady Lemonface to finish reading our transcripts.

The person we met next was pleasant – how refreshing! Her name was Cindy Messing, and she was in charge of class assignments or something. I wasn’t paying attention any more. All I wanted was to get the legalities out of the way and start meeting our new classmates. It had occurred to me that as much as human nature tended to remain the same from one generation to the next, there would be fascinating differences on other levels based on environment and social climate.

I would soon find out how right I was.

DAY TWO: Class

 

 

After passing with great ease the simplistic placement tests, we were assigned to our first class. Miss Messing (she said she’d had as much fun ridiculing her name as everyone else) put the three of us in the same algebra class, which was the first one we’d join, but couldn’t get us all into the same ones for the other subjects. Shadow would take all but one of them by himself, Niam joining him in Physical Education, and I would share social studies and life sciences with Niam, but for the rest I’d be on my own. That was fine with me.

Since algebra was already begun, we were directed to the room on the third floor where it was being held, given admission slips, and sent on our way with a cheerful “Have fun, you guys!” from Cindy. Honestly, it took a serious effort on my part to remember not to call her by her first name. In her eyes, I was only sixteen, and had no business being familiar with her like that.

Our teacher, a small man with hair so black it had to be either dyed or a wig, stared up at us when we entered his room, his stare becoming a gape as we fanned out in front of his desk. We gave him our slips of paper (I was enjoying how it felt, which surprised me, making me reluctant to hand it over).

He gazed at them, looking lost for a few seconds, and then cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Just find a desk. I don’t have assigned seating. Er, welcome to Algebra II.” He smiled, but I thought it looked phony.

Great. We terrify him, Shadow broadcasted, echoing my own suspicion. He was walking down an aisle to my right, and lowered himself into a desk near the end of the row.

These things were not made for someone his size, and I almost burst out laughing at the way he had to scrunch himself up to fit. I agree. By the way, you look hilarious – like a vulture in a canary cage!

Tosca, don’t. If I start laughing –

Snort! That was Niam, his inner reaction nearly setting me and Shadow off.

Niam! Shut up! I found a seat, and discovered it was almost as difficult for me to get comfortable as it had been for Shadow. The predicament sobered me up, enabling me to ignore the Irishman’s muffled chuckles as he sat down next to me in the aisle on my right. From the corner of my eye, I could see he was sitting sideways, his long legs crossed at the ankles in the aisle, one elbow on the desk, head propped in his hand.

“…for the sake of our newest class members,” the teacher was saying, “so please bear with me.” He turned back to the whiteboard and began rattling off formulae and how to use them.

Yawn. I’d forgotten more about algebra than this man would ever know. In our time, students were studying quantum mechanics by the age of twelve, non-Euclydian geometry and speculative physics in our equivalent of high school. So algebra? That was for babies. Double-yawn.

“Any questions?” Mr. Timmons – Cindy had given us his name, but I hadn’t been paying attention, so the name plate on his desk was all I had to go on – shifted his gaze from Niam, to me, to Shadow.

I shook my head and smiled.

“Excellent! We’ll be having a quiz on Thursday, a kind of review before we move on to the more complex equations.”

Around us we could hear whispered complaints and a few groans, but Mr. Timmons either didn’t, or didn’t care. He grinned and told us to read the algebraic sentences on page eighty-four in the text book.

I didn’t have the text book. Neither did Niam or Shadow, of course. We raised our collective brows at Timmons.

“Ah, yes. You wouldn’t have the book. So sorry – can you maybe look on with one of your neighbors? Guys? Help them out, please.”

We looked around, but none of the students closest seemed inclined to slide their desks over. I suppose we were somewhat intimidating, but come on! It wasn’t like we were sporting fangs or anything. I turned to the girl at the desk to my left and waved her toward me. “I swear I won’t hurt you,” I said, my grin small, contained.

She blushed (what?!) and scraped her desk across the aisle until its edge touched the edge of mine. “Who are you?” she hissed.

I shrugged. “Students. Why?”

“You – wow. Okay.”

“You have a name?”

“Aisha. Phillips.” Blush.

I raised a brow. “Okay – I’m Tosca.”

“Great name!”

“Ee-yeah. All right. Let’s get started with this before the teacher has an aneurysm.” I had noticed him watching our exchange, frowning.

I’m being mobbed by girls. Not good.

Raising my eyes from the page, I gave Shadow a confused look, simultaneously trying not to laugh. The girls on both sides of his desk had slid theirs over to him and were alternately staring at him with adoration, and each other with what I could have sworn was open hatred. Good lord. And that’s bad why?

Why? You mean the fact that I suddenly have this highly hormonal, strong, youthful male body that’s reacting in a most inappropriate way to their attention isn’t bad? I may not be able to stand up by the end of class!

I weep for you, Shadow. Lips compressed on a self-propelled grin, I lowered my gaze to the book once more. I had no idea what Niam was dealing with, and didn’t want to find out.

“Do you understand this one?” Aisha pointed to the third equation.

“Yeah. It’s simple.” I told her the answer and how I got it.

“You’re so smart!”

I chewed the side of my lower lip – this was weird. Did she think I was a guy or something? Or maybe she liked girls. Huh. “Thanks. I like math.”

“Could – could you, um, like, maybe help me some time? Like after school?”

Uh-oh. “Maybe. I said I like math, not that I’m good at explaining it.”

“I bet you’re great!”

Aw, hell. Crush. Damn. I shrugged and said nothing for the remainder of the class.

Niam and I had to go to Shadow’s desk when the bell rang. He was talking to one of the girls – not one of the ones who had shared their books with him – but wasn’t getting out of the desk.

“Stuck?” Niam put out a hand. “Let me help you.”

“Niam, I’m bigger than you. Remember that.”

“There are so many things I could say to that,” I told them, turning away.

Watch it, Tosca.

Or what? Put your backpack over your crotch and get up. Stop flirting or you’ll never calm down.

Wait – Niam’s rapid steps sounded behind me as I reached the door. Is he having a full-on-

Don’t say it, and yes. “Where’s your next class?”

“Ha! This is too funny!” He glanced over his shoulder, going out into the hall with me. “Looks like he took your suggestion, though.”

I sighed. “This is so bizarre. Hey, I gotta go back downstairs. You?”

“No, my class is a few doors that way.” He pointed to his left. “Guess I’ll see you later.”

We gave each other nods, leaving Shadow to sort out his dilemma himself, and went to our next classes.

My being alone as I looked from the map to the doors on the lower floor might have been what encouraged an athletic-looking blonde to step in front of me, blocking my progress. With her were four other girls, all of them close to attractive like the blonde, all them wearing beautiful outfits, none of them looking friendly.

“Who are you? The Hulk’s daughter?” asked Blondie.

I grinned. “No, she’s not as thin as me.”

“Oh, how cute –you’re trying to be amusing, right?”

“And you’re trying to be clever. How amusing.”

Beside her, the other girls were looking at each other, frowning. I had to assume they weren’t used to anyone challenging their beloved…whatever she was. Ah, children.

“I suggest you stay out of my way,” Blondie was saying.

Blondie. Now I was being childish. “What’s your name?”

“What?”

“It was a simple question.”

“Bitch.”

“Your name is Bitch? It doubt that.”

“No, that’s who you are!”

“Actually, I’m Tosca. Have you remembered your name yet?”

She took a step closer, glaring up into my eyes – she was reminding me of a cat I once had that would give me that same look when I didn’t feed her on time. “My name, Bigfoot, is Nicole Brandeis – don’t forget it!”

“Why? Will there be a test?” Unable to stop myself, I burst into chuckles of disbelief, pushed past her and her sycophants, and continued on my quest for Sociology class.

And all of a sudden, it looked like growing up again was going to be flat-out awesome.

DAY TWO: Relationships

 

 

I found my Sociology class, and had no problems other than boredom with the juvenile displays of rebellion from several of my new classmates. No one bothered me, though. The teacher, Mr. Feldsohn, a youngish man who insisted on being called by his first name (Miles), was nice enough and seemed invested in the subject.

But then came lunch. Some things simply don’t change, regardless of time or place, regardless of similarities or differences. High school cafeteria politics is one of them. Like I once had in the previous version of my junior year, I stood with my tray of horrible food, staring out at the sea of tables and their occupants, wondering which one I should try and join. Regardless of my newer, more confident self, I could still fall victim to rejection; those at the table I chose might leave the moment I sat down, making clear their disapproval.

Then again, why would anyone disapprove – other than…Nicole, was it? I headed into the noisy pond, making silence ripples as I passed. A few tables ahead sat the girl who’d been crushing on me in math class, and my decision was made. I parked myself at the nearest one, refusing to look in her direction, certain she had spotted me. The kids at this table stopped talking and eating to stare at me with widened eyes.

“Hi. I’m Tosca. New here. Hope you don’t mind.” I gave them what I hoped would come across as a friendly glare. One could never show fear in these circumstances, I knew.

The young man beside me swiveled about, his gaze doing the up-and-down thing I was beginning to find more irritating than I ever had before. “You a senior?”

“Junior. Why?”

“This is a senior table.”

I nodded, glancing around. “Don’t see a beard. No sign, either.” I picked up my burger.

“Where are you from?” asked the girl sitting opposite.

“Colonia.”

Blank stares I pretended not to notice, followed a moment later by, “Is that in America?”

I nodded. My mouth was full of hamburger – better-tasting than I’d expected – and managed a crooked smile.

“You into sports?” This from the boy sitting next to the girl.

I swallowed. “You guys wanna give me your names so I don’t keep thinking of you as ‘that chick,’ ‘that dude,’ or ‘the one with the green shirt’ kind of thing?”

“Chris,” said the one beside me who was still checking out my body. The clothes I’d found in the closet that morning may have been appropriate for the time, but all of it came from the land of “daring,” leaving little to anyone’s imagination as to my endowments. I may be tall with an almost boyish figure, but my “girls” were exceptional.

“China,” said the girl, who looked more like glass – delicate, small of stature, and beautiful.

“Aramis,” said the one beside her, adding, “like the Musketeer, so yeah, no need to ask.” He grinned.

On China’s other side was a girl who looked like she might be close to my height, but was muscular in a more bulky way. I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Deanna.”

The young man who was blocked by Chris leaned forward to stare at me. “Will you have sex with me?” He gave me a hopeful smile. “My name is Chase and I do my best to live up to that.”

I nearly choked. “Wow. Okay, no. But thanks for asking.”

Chris, who had hooted with laughter at his table-mate’s question, started pounding him on the back. “You’re sick!” He kept laughing, making it clear this was a compliment.

Unbelievable. Funny, but unbelievable. I finished my meal in silence, the grin I wore controlled but involuntary. The five friends continued their conversation, and when I got up to leave, thanked me for joining them. I had no idea why.

And then Chase stood up. He was the same height as me, maybe a half-inch taller. “I wasn’t joking,” he said, running a finger down the side of my face.

For real? I thought. “Neither was I.” I put a hand on his, and lowered it. “You’re probably very nice, but I don’t know you. I also doubt you could keep up with me.” Don’t know why I’d thrown that one out there, perhaps the hormones of youth were beginning to have a party with my flirting mechanism. Whatever. Horrified with myself and not wanting Chase to realize that, I turned away and walked off. Behind me I heard cheers and laughter, peppered with a few expletives dressed in appreciation.

And you were saying WHAT about me?

Shut up, Shadow. Where are you?

On your right, heading out the door. See me?

N…oh. There you are. Wait up.

Don’t tell me you’ve started flirting, too, Tosca!

All right, Niam. I won’t. And don’t you start, too. You guys spying on me or something? I reached Shadow, whose grin was infuriating.

“Something,” Niam said, joining us.

“Hi, Shadow.” A girl whose head was only a few inches higher than his waist gave him a smile and a blush, then a quick look of terror at me, ignored Niam, and went past us into the hall.

“Looks like you’ve been busy, too. Where are your next classes, guys?”

“I swear I didn’t do anything.” Shadow took the map from his pocket, the paper badly folded and wrinkly. “Uh…yeah.” He opened it, then pointed at a spot on the paper. “One floor up. I think Niam has the same one.” He directed a questioning look at the Irishman.

“Yup. We’d better get going. They don’t seem to give us much time in between to get places.” Niam, who had been holding his backpack in one hand, swung it up on to one shoulder. “See you later, Tosca.”

I sighed. “Later.” I had Physical Education next. Not my favorite class. At all. Ever. In any life. I was strong, yes, and did a lot of exercise, but sports? Hated them. My area of expertise being in the martial arts, I figured I would find regular gym class as big a bore as algebra.

Among the papers we’d been given, were all kinds of instructions about the social norms of the time, together with information on what was expected in school. This included protocols for Physical Education, or P.E. Even though I hadn’t known that morning what classes I’d be taking, I didn’t want to take the chance we’d have this one, and be unprepared. So after throwing on my regular outfit – what was the deal with these crazy skinny jeans? Holy cow! And the flimsy yet form-fitting tops that didn’t work well with a bra? – I had stuffed a pair of black shorts, a yellow tee-shirt, ankle socks, and a pair of athletic shoes into the backpack. Good thing.

By the time I found the locker room on the far side of the gymnasium, most of the other girls were in their P.E. wear. I was shown an unused locker, and without thinking, stripped.

The fact that I had no undergarments on didn’t mean anything to me, but it seemed to mean something to the others. I heard gasps and turned around, still stark naked. “Is there a problem?”

At first no one spoke, but then one of them, whose name I later learned was Kish, said, “Damn, girl! You are one brave bitch!” She laughed, taking the insult out of the term. “Then again, if I had a body like that, I’d probably be brave, too!”

Bemused, I gave her a lopsided grin, turned back around, and got dressed. The shorts, I discovered, were as tight as the jeans. Great. Sighing again (something I was doing a lot of that day), I ruffled my hair with one hand, tossed my clothes, shoes, and backpack into the locker, and headed out behind the rest of the class.

The P.E. teacher was a large man with a tight set of abs and a pleasant face. The minute he saw me, I knew he wanted to get to know me a whole lot better. My older self was flattered and interested. My younger self was revolted. This was going to be an interesting class, I told myself, one in which I would probably find out which of my “selves” was stronger. I returned the teacher’s smile, and told him my name.

“Welcome to Dickson, Miss Blane.” He put out a hand.

Looking directly into his eyes (we were the same height), I took it. “Thanks. And you are?”

“Oh! Sorry! George Schlicting. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too, but you should probably stop shaking my hand now. Someone might notice.”

His eyes widened and he let go, cleared his throat, and looked past me, the movement self-conscious.

Containing a laugh, I turned away and went toward the class, which had begun doing sit-ups. I had to assume this was how George – Mr. Schlicting, I corrected myself – started every class. I lay down on my back, hands behind my head, and did my own version of the same exercise. This consisted of a rapid rise-and-fall motion in which I twisted to touch my right knee with my left elbow, then the opposite. I had done about a hundred when I realized I was the only one still on the floor, and stopped.

“Impressive,” Schlicting murmured.

Standing, I shrugged. “We were pushed pretty hard at my last school. Sorry.”

“Damn.” Kish again.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry – what’s your name? I’m Tosca.”

She told me, and over the course of the class that day, we somehow became friends.

As we were leaving the gym for the locker room, Schlicting called for me to wait. He trotted up to me as the last of the other girls was leaving. “Hey, listen. About before, I don’t – ”

“I know what you want.” I had interrupted to spare him from embarrassing himself by making an ingenuous remark. “We’ll see.” A brief smile, and I left.

Behind me, utter silence. I was ever so glad my fellow Shifters had been nowhere about. For real.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.03.2015

Alle Rechte vorbehalten