When You Reach Me (7 page)

The Monday after Thanksgiving we were stuck in the school cafeteria for lunch. The naked guy was back, running down Broadway, and they wouldn’t let any kids out of the building.

“Kind of cold out to be running around in your birthday suit!” Colin called over to us on his way to a table of boys. Annemarie giggled. I could see Sal over there. He’d glanced toward us once, but acted like he didn’t see me.

I watched the boys for a few seconds, all of them trying to talk louder than the other ones. Sal was doing it, too—every once in a while I could hear his voice on top, and it reminded me of this game we used to play on the crosstown bus on our way to the city pool. Sal would be holding on to the silver bus pole, and I would grab the pole right above his hand. Then he’d move his hand so it was right above mine, and I’d put mine on top of his, until we were on our tiptoes, holding on to the pole near the very top, and usually some grown-up would say to stop fooling around, couldn’t we see the bus was crowded and one of us was going to fall and knock somebody over.

Annemarie picked at her food. The worst part of being stuck inside for lunch was that we had to get school lunch, which was gross.

“I wonder if Jimmy will count the bread order himself,” I said. “I bet he won’t. I think he just likes to make me do it.”

She nodded. “To give you something to do.”

“Gee, thanks.” I threw my milk straw at her.

“Hey! I didn’t mean—”

“Sure you didn’t!”

Then her smile faded. She was still looking at me, but something had changed, like a switch had been flicked inside her. Like she was still there but was doing something else in her head.

“Annemarie?”

“Don’t.” Julia was standing behind me with a carton of milk in her hand. Before I could say anything, she slid onto the bench next to me, still looking right at Annemarie. “She’ll be fine in a minute.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Just wait.” Julia hadn’t even glanced at me. Her eyes never left Annemarie’s face.

Annemarie moved her head a little. She put her arm down on the table, blinked, and said, “What?” as if she had maybe missed something I’d just said.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Julia hit my knee with hers under the table. “Don’t ask her questions,” she hissed.

Annemarie noticed her just then. “Hi, Julia,” she said, and a smile came over her face.

Julia smiled back. “Hi.” Then she turned to me. “So, Miranda, how’s the playground going? For Main Street, I mean.”

She wanted to talk about Main Street? Now?

Her eyes held mine. “I heard your proposal was approved. Congratulations.”

Congratulations?
“Uh, thanks.”

“Will there be swings? How are you going to make them?”

It was dawning on me that Julia was showing me something, teaching me how to help Annemarie.

“Paper clips,” I told Julia. “I’m using paper clips to make the chains for the swings, and I’m going to cut pieces of rubber tire for the seats.”

Julia was nodding. “That sounds great,” she said. I could almost imagine us being friends, having this conversation for real.

“What else?” she asked.

“What?”

She looked annoyed. I wasn’t catching on fast enough. “For the playground. What else?”

“Oh—well, seesaws. Definitely seesaws.”

Then Annemarie spoke. “You know, balsa wood would be perfect for the seesaws—it’s really easy to cut. I think my dad might even have some.”

“Really?” I said. “That would be great. We could paint them orange, just like the ones in Riverside Park.”

“Yes!” Annemarie said. “We can start them at my house—maybe even today if you want.” She looked at Julia. “Want to come? And start Miranda’s seesaws?”

Before Julia could answer, I said “There’s no rush. I just got the plans approved. We can start next week. Anyway, Annemarie, you were coming to my house today, remember?”

I felt Julia pulling away. “See you guys,” she said, and stood up.

“Bye!” I said.

Annemarie looked up at her. “Bye, Julia.”

A few minutes later, the PA system crackled to life and Annemarie was called to the nurse’s office.

Annemarie shrugged, smiled, and walked away, saying, “See you in a minute.”

But she didn’t come back.

Outside our classroom, Julia waited for me with her hands on her hips. “God, you’re an idiot. You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“
I’m
an idiot?”

“She’s been eating all that bread at that stupid job you got her. She’s not supposed to eat any of that stuff. Idiot.”

“I didn’t get her the stupid … I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

“It’s her epilepsy, idiot. You total idiot. Her dad has her on this special diet. He makes her special food. She’s not supposed to eat bread, or drink soda.”

“She’s not?”

“No, she’s not. Idiot. And by the way, what’s your problem with me, anyway? I’d really like to know.”

“What?”

“Your problem. With me. What is it?”

“Besides the fact that you’ve called me an idiot six times in the last minute? Besides the fact that you shot a rubber band at my
head?”

She waved all that away as if I had mentioned some silly detail. “I’m talking about way before that. You’ve hated me forever. You’ve been giving me dirty looks since like third grade! Are you going to pretend you haven’t?”

I stared at her. Some feeling had started in my stomach and was traveling up to my face, and I knew that when it got there I would turn bright red and hear the ocean, which is what happens when I get put on the spot. If I don’t cry, I turn red and hear the ocean. It’s a lose-lose situation.

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“I have no idea,” she said. “I really don’t. But a person knows when someone hates her—at least, I do!” She flung her arm down and her little silver watch flew off her wrist and hit the floor with a crack. A very sharp, final-sounding sort of crack.

Her precious watch. I’m not proud of this now, but that sound, which echoed in the tiled hallway, made me really happy. I sucked my bottom lip so that I wouldn’t smile.

Julia bent down to pick up the watch. I thought she would start to screech, but she just flipped it over in her hand and looked at it. A web of tiny cracks covered the face like a cobweb.

“Oh, great.” She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “This whole day just stinks,” she said, and she walked away.

On the way home I found myself walking half a block behind Sal again. I’d learned not to run and catch up to him—he would only look at his sneakers and not talk. So I watched him bobbing along in his navy blue knit hat, his head going from side to side a little, like it always does when he walks. I think he thought that hat looked tough the way he had it pulled down to his eyebrows.

Then Marcus came out of his dented front door next to the garage, wearing that green army coat he always wore. He started walking down the block—toward Sal.

Even half a block behind him, I could see Sal’s body hunch and slow down. I knew what he was doing. He was looking for a way out. Should he pretend he needed to cross the street all of a sudden? That he had just remembered something he needed to buy at Belle’s? But it was a little late for that—Marcus was almost in front of him.

I could have called out to Sal at that moment. It would have been easy. He would have had an excuse to turn around and start walking away from Marcus. And then Marcus might have stopped to talk to me for a minute, and Sal would have seen that it was all okay. He could have dropped his fear of Marcus right then and there. I’ve thought about this a lot, because I realize it would have changed everything that happened later.

Instead I watched. And what Sal did was squat down and pretend to tie his shoe. It was a plea for mercy. Dropping to tie your shoe was an I-can’t-fight, I-can’t-run, I-bow-down-before-you sort of a move. Plus, just in case some hitting did occur, it protected important body parts. I kept walking while Sal crouched there on the sidewalk and Marcus walked right by without even noticing him. And then Marcus walked right by me.

“Guess what?” Annemarie said when I called her at home that night to see if she was okay. “Someone left a rose on our doormat.”

“For you?”

“I don’t know… maybe.” Of course it was for her. Who else would it be for?

“Was there anything with it? A card?”

“No. Just the rose.” Her voice sounded all thin and excited. “Weird, huh? I wonder—”

“Hey, can I ask you something? Are you not supposed to eat bread?”

She was quiet.

“It’s not a big deal, just that Julia said—”

“No,” she interrupted. “It
is
sort of a big deal. I should have told you. I have epilepsy—”

“Oh.”

“—and I’m not supposed to eat bread or starches. It’s this crazy diet my dad read about, but it actually works. I’m usually fine. People don’t even really know I have it, because for years I’ve hardly had any seizures at all.”

“Is that what happened today?

“Yeah. I sort of took a break from my diet. It’s been nice, working at Jimmy’s with you guys, eating whatever I want and not having anyone look at me funny or lecture me.”

Someone had lectured her, though. Julia had.

“You can still work at Jimmy’s,” I said. “Just don’t eat his crummy food.”

She laughed. “I know. Actually, my dad makes me a lunch every day. I’ve been throwing it in the garbage on the way to school. He’s pretty mad.”

That was hard to imagine.

“Anyway, my mother found this rose on our doormat when she got home from work. It’s like this really perfect-looking rose. Weird, huh?”

I let her talk about it a little more, about who might have left it, and why. I knew she wanted me to say that Colin probably did it, but I just couldn’t make myself say the words.

The next morning was the first really cold day of December.

“You need the jacket with the hood,” Mom rasped from her bed. Her voice never sounded normal until after coffee. “Look in the front closet.” She seemed to think that it was really helpful to lie in bed, listening to the radio and calling out weather reports. I couldn’t help thinking about how, in my book, Meg’s mother had French toast waiting for Meg in the morning. She was a single mom too, with Meg’s dad being held prisoner halfway across the universe.

I found the coat, still streaked with gray from last year’s dirty snow, and put it on. A little stiff, but it seemed to fit okay.

“Where are my gloves?” I called.

“No idea. Sorry.”

“Can I take some money?”

“Coat pocket.”

I felt around in her coat and found a five-dollar bill and three singles in one pocket and her striped scarf rolled up in the other. I grabbed the singles and the scarf.

“Bye!”

The laughing man was still asleep with his head under the mailbox. He had found some cardboard to put underneath him. Still, he must have been freezing. Some mornings, I’d seen kids banging on the mailbox and yelling, “Wake up, Kicker!” I hoped no one would do that today.

I watched my breath billowing in front of me and racewalked toward school. The sun was out but had no warmth yet. I shoved my hands in my pockets and felt a bunch of old tissues. Yuck. And the three dollars. And something else, a little piece of paper, folded in half.

I pulled it out.

I recognized your tiny handwriting right away, all wobbly and with those weird loops you put on top of your “t’s” and “l’s.”

You will want proof.

3 p.m. today: Colin’s knapsack.

Christmas Day: Tesser well.

April 27th: Studio TV-15.

P.S. Yawns do serve a purpose. They cool the brain by bringing air high into the nasal passage, which has the effect of increasing alertness.

The note was on the same dried-up paper as the first two.

3 p.m. today: Colin’s knapsack
. I had absolutely no idea what that could mean, or how you knew Colin.

Christmas Day: Tesser well
. This one had something to do with my book. To tesser meant to travel, through space or time or both. It was how Meg got to Camazotz, the planet where her father was held prisoner. But it had nothing to do with Christmas, as far as I knew.

April 27th: Studio TV-15
. April 27 was Richard’s birthday. But of course back in December I had never heard of Studio TV-15, since Mom didn’t get her postcard from
The $20,000 Pyramid
until a couple of weeks ago.

I think it was the “P.S.” that freaked me out most. I thought of the day Sal got punched, when I had carried my
Mysteries of Science
poster home.

I read the note over and over, until my hands were frozen and I was forced to put them back in my pockets. It made no sense. The only thing it really helped me understand was that you were watching me. And I had no idea who you were. Or what you wanted.

I was almost to the garage when Marcus came out of his door right in front of me. He had on his regular green army jacket, but he was wearing gloves and had a hat pulled down over his ears. I expected him to ignore me like he always did, but instead he waved and started walking along next to me.

Marcus and I got to Broadway without saying anything. I was thinking.

“I thought of a question for you,” I said finally.

“Okay.”

“Let’s say I build a time machine.” I waited to see if he would laugh at this, but he just nodded and looked thoughtful. “And let’s say I decide I want to go back to last Wednesday. Let’s say I want to go to the movies while the other me is still in school.”

“Okay.”

I exhaled a big white cloud. “I won’t
get
to last Wednesday until after I leave, right? I mean, I won’t know if I’m really going to get there until I actually
get
there.”

“Right. In
your
experience, you won’t know if you’re going to get there until after you leave. I mean, unless you remember seeing yourself, on the street or something. Or we could ask the ticket guy at the theater.” He was serious.

“What?”

“At the movie theater. Which one are you planning to go to? Because we could ask the ticket guy if you were there. Then we’ll know whether or not you’re going to get there.”

“But I haven’t left yet! I haven’t even built the time machine.”

“So? It doesn’t matter when you
leave
. It’s just whether or not you
get there
that matters. Wait, I take that back. It does matter when you leave. Because if you don’t leave for fifty years, even if you
were
there, the ticket guy probably won’t recognize you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, let’s say you finish your time machine in fifty years. You’d be—”

“Sixty-two,” I said. We were across the street from school, waiting for the green light. I could see kids coming from every direction, all bundled up in hats and scarves.

“Okay, so let’s say you’re sixty-two, and you climb into your machine and go back to last Wednesday, December whatever, 1978. You go to the movie theater. The ticket guy would see a sixty-two-year-old woman, right?”

“Right,” I said. So far everything made sense.

“So if we went over to the theater today and asked him whether he saw you there last Wednesday, he’d say no. Because his common sense would tell him that you can’t be that sixty-two-year-old woman, and she can’t be you. Get it?”

I shook my head. “If we asked
today
, he couldn’t have seen me anyway. I wouldn’t have been there yet. Because I haven’t
gone back
yet.”

“Duh,”
said a voice behind us. “It’s really not all that complicated.”

I whirled around and saw Julia in a long coat. She was standing right behind us waiting for the light.

Marcus ignored her and looked at me. “Are you still worrying about that book? About the kids, and seeing themselves land in the broccoli?”

I said nothing. I wasn’t going to have Julia hear any more of this conversation.

“Think of it like this,” Marcus said, oblivious to the look she was giving us. “Time isn’t a line stretching out in front of us, going in one direction. It’s—well, time is just a construct, actually—”

“Look,” Julia said, cutting him off. “If you really need to know what he means,
I’ll
explain it to you.”

This should be good, I thought. Julia is going to explain the nature of time.

I turned around and looked at her. “Fine. Go ahead.”

She pulled off one of her gloves—they were these beautiful, fuzzy, pale yellow gloves—and she yanked a ring from her finger. “I think of it like this,” she said, holding up the ring. It was gold, studded all the way around with—

“Are those
diamonds?”
I said.

“Diamond chips.” She shrugged. “Look. It’s like every moment in time is a diamond sitting on this ring. Pretend the ring is really big, with diamonds all around, and each diamond is one moment. Got it?”

Marcus was silent, just looking at her.

I laughed. “Time is a diamond ring!” I said. “That explains everything. Thanks.”

“Would you shut up and listen? If you figured out a way to bring yourself to another time, probably through some sort of teleportation—you’d be somehow
re-creating
your atoms, really, not physically moving them, I’m guessing; that would be tricky….”

“Can we not worry about that part right now?” I said. “I’m freezing.” We were still standing across the street from school, even though the light had changed once already and then gone back to red.

“Okay. Put it this way—we’re kind of jumping from diamond to diamond, like in cartoons where someone is running on a barrel, trying to stay on top. We have to keep moving—there’s no choice.”

“Now we’re in a cartoon, on a barrel?”

She sighed and shook her head. “Okay, forget that. Let’s stick with the ring.” She held it up again. “Let’s say we’re here.” She put her fingernail on one diamond chip. “And we figure out a way to jump all the way back to here.” She pointed to another one, a few chips away. “It wouldn’t matter where we came from. If we’re on that chip, we’re at that moment. It doesn’t matter whether we came from the chip behind it, or ten chips ahead of it. If we’re there, we’re there. Get it?”

“No. I don’t get it, because what you’re saying makes absolutely no—”

“I do,” Marcus said quietly. “I get it. I know what she means.”

“Thank
you!” Julia said. “I’m glad
someone
here has a brain.” And she stomped off through the red light while Marcus stared after her.

I turned to him. “So you’re saying this diamond
chip
is just sitting there minding its own business, and then suddenly a bunch of kids land in the diamond chip’s
broccoli patch—
”

Marcus’s face lit up. “Stop—I see your problem! You’re thinking that time exists on the diamonds themselves. It doesn’t. Each moment—each diamond—is like a snapshot.”

“A snapshot of what?”

“Of everything, everywhere! There’s no time in a picture, right? It’s the
jumping
, from one diamond to the next, that we call time, but like I said, time doesn’t really
exist
. Like that girl just said, a diamond is a moment, and all the diamonds on the ring are happening
at the same time
. It’s like having a drawer full of pictures.”

“On the ring,” I said.

“Yes! All the diamonds exist at once!” He looked triumphant. “So if you jump backward, you are at that moment—you are
in that picture
—and you always
were
there, you always
will be
there, even if you don’t know it yet.”

I didn’t understand a word of it. And I couldn’t feel my feet. “Forget it,” I said. “The whole thing is making me crazy.”

He nodded like he felt sorry for me and my stupid brain. “I think that’s probably because of your common sense. You can’t accept the idea of arriving before you leave, the idea that every moment is happening at the same time, that it’s
us
who are moving—”

Enough was enough. I cut him off. “Why did you hit Sal?” I asked.

“Who?” He looked completely mystified, as if I had just changed the subject from something very normal to something completely insane, instead of the other way around.

“My friend Sal. You punched him in the stomach for no reason. In front of the garage. And then you hit him in the face.”

He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That’s right. But no—there
was
a reason.”

“That’s bull. I know he never did a thing to you.” I’d started to really shiver, even with my hands stuffed in my pockets and Mom’s scarf wrapped around my head.

“I
did
hit him for a reason,” he said. “What you’re talking about is a justification. I’m not saying it was the right thing to do. I’m just saying I did it for a reason. My own stupid reason.”

I stared at him. “So what was the reason?”

He looked down and shrugged. “Same reason I do most things. I wanted to see what would happen.”

“What do you mean, ‘what would happen’? His nose started bleeding, that’s what happened! And he almost threw up.”

“Besides that, besides the ordinary things.” He tapped the toe of one shoe on the sidewalk. “It was dumb. Really, really dumb.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And
did
anything happen? Besides the ordinary things?”

He shook his head. “No—not that I could tell.”

I was going to tell him that he was wrong, that other things
had
happened, like Sal closing the door in my face that afternoon and never opening it again, but at that moment I noticed the laughing man coming down the block behind us. I’d never seen him near school before. He was bent forward, mumbling and watching his feet, with his eyes on the garbage can right next to Marcus.

The laughing man didn’t notice us standing there until he was practically on top of Marcus. When he finally looked up, he cursed, twisted away, and took off in the other direction, sprinting like he was running a race.

We watched him rush all the way back to Broadway and disappear around the corner.

“That was weird,” I said.

“Yeah,” Marcus agreed. “And it’s the second time it’s happened.”