Memories from a Different Future: Jump When Ready, Book 2 Read online

  Memories From A Different Future

  (Jump When Ready, Book 2)

  David Pandolfe

  PRAISE FOR JUMP WHEN READY

  “Whether you’re 14 or 24, this book is a fun read with endearing characters and a quick-moving plot. Jump When Ready is not a book to miss.” -Portland Book Review

  "An engaging, poignant book that stayed with me long after I read the last word." - Tracy E. Banghart, author of Rebel Wing

  “JUMP WHEN READY combines charm and suspense in a sweet way that leaves the reader completely believing this imagined in-between world.” -Indie Reader

  “The combination of coming-of-age, philosophical and thriller story comes together to make a fascinating and engaging book.” - The Real Bookshelves of Room 918

  “It impacted my thoughts in a serious way, and I will most likely spend the next few days going over it, and over it, in my head.” - Bound by Words

  “There are few books out there that have characters that make you wish you had friends like them.” - Book Nerds

  “This was a great story. I personally have never read anything like it.” - Reading is Better than Real Life

  “I loved this book and am looking forward to seeing what the author will come up with next!” - A Little Shelf of Heaven

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  1

  A Voice from the Other Side

  Nights like these were one of the things Ian loved most about being in college, walking through the streets of Seattle with his friends and knowing that the future remained wide open. Limitless possibilities awaited while the present offered the comfort of what had now become familiar. Sure, there was the looming pressure of next week’s remaining finals but tonight had been about blowing off some steam, hitting a party and reveling in the fact that the winter break was just days away. The only downside was knowing Lisa would be flying off to Denver soon.

  As if she read his thoughts, Lisa hooked her arm through Ian’s and drew him closer. “Okay, it’s cold,” she said.

  Ian chuckled. “Isn’t it like twenty degrees colder in Colorado?”

  Lisa shuddered and leaned into him. “Don’t remind me.”

  Still, she was right. For Seattle, it was cold. Snow flurries drifted through the air when normally it would have been drizzling rain. Ian couldn’t help feel excited at the prospect of some snow accumulating on the ground. What could be better than that just as the holidays approached?

  “Hey, love birds. Put it on hold,” Brent said, catching up to them. “You’re going to have to wait. You promised beer.”

  Peter, a little more heavy and slow, huffed up alongside them. “You spoke of a magical twelve pack. I definitely heard it.”

  “I think you’ve already passed the state of magical,” Brent said.

  “I deserve magical,” Peter said. “I aced my freaking engineering exam. I plan to get even more magical!”

  Ian laughed but felt like kicking himself for mentioning the twelver he’d managed to score. If he hadn’t divulged that information, Brent and Peter probably would have wandered off looking for another party—one where the keg hadn’t been tapped dry. So much for some time alone with Lisa. Still, even that couldn’t ruin his good mood as they continued to walk past the bars, closed shops and bookstores of the U District. Of the four of them, he was the only one actually from Seattle but he enjoyed living there just as much. Maybe more. Ian never quite understood why everyone else he knew seemed to have only disdain for their home town. He’d never once wanted to leave Seattle, at least not for good. The fact was, he’d always felt incredibly lucky to live in a city so culturally diverse and creative, with a family he felt deeply connected to. Sure it wasn’t typical but it wasn’t like Ian had any issues with being atypical, not if that resulted from being happy. He never apologized for that one.

  What made this year even better was that now, in his third year, he’d finally managed to convince his parents he’d be okay living in an apartment rather than a dorm. They’d originally argued that he’d be safer on campus and, for the first year, Ian had taken comfort in being insulated within campus boundaries. In fact, he hadn’t really been particularly worried about it for the first half of the second year either. But it was kind of lame to still be squeezed into a dorm by year three and thankfully his parents had relented. After all, he’d remained living in the same city. They’d agreed that it was probably time for a little more freedom.

  The apartment itself was fairly shabby, a small two-bedroom within an old, brick slab of a building, All the same, for Ian and Brent it was the first significant step into the adult world and they were proud of living there. They had made it their own by tacking up reproductions of vintage Arcade Fire and Muse posters alongside posters Brent nabbed each year after the UW Foreign Film Festival. Peter hung out there as often as possible on weekends since he didn’t like his roommates all that much. He was a good guy but Ian was glad that, during the week, Peter usually hunkered down at his own place to study. It was already difficult finding some time alone with Lisa. Two roommates would have made that pretty much impossible.

  As soon as they were inside, the four of them peeled off coats and tossed them onto chairs in the kitchen while Brent grabbed beers from the fridge. He passed off cans to the others and turned to Ian. “So, Sharon was working the register at Safeway today?”

  “Yep,” Ian said, high-fiving Brent. A tradition based on the only Safeway clerk nearby that consistently failed to ask for ID.

  “Sweet,” Brent said, “although it does beg the question why you’d opt for Bud Light. Just saying.”

  Ian cracked his beer. “You spot Sharon, you make your move. You know the drill. Bud Light was the closest. If you don’t want that, just—”

  Brent stepped back, holding his beer near his chest. “Nope, I’m good.”

  “Yeah, thought so,” Ian said, walking toward the living room where Lisa had already chosen music and settled onto their faded plaid sofa. Brent claimed the battered chaise-lounger they’d discovered at a yard sale, leaving the weather-beaten Adirondack for Peter (another yard sale score). Ian sank into his spot next to Lisa.

  Brent sighed and stared off across the room. “It seems weird not to be going home next week.”

  “You’re staying here?” Peter said. “What’s up with that?”

  “Just the way it worked out. My parents invited me skiing, which sounded great. Except, I kind of hate skiing. Besides, I haven’t gotten all of my shifts covered. What about you?”

  “Flying out Christmas Eve,” Peter said. “My parents said it was cheaper. Seriously? Your boss would fire you for not covering your shifts?”

  “Yep. Not that I couldn’t find another job waiting tables but I don’t really feel like it. Anyway, whatever. At least there’s an upside. I don’t have to go back to LA. That town is seriously depressing.”

  Lisa laughed. “Come on, you’re a film major. Isn’t it kind of the objective to live in LA?”

  Brent sucked back some beer, burped, then said, “No, the objective is roaming the world, making cool movies and having people in LA agree to distribute them.”

  “By cool movies, do you mean documentaries?”

  “Exactly, films that will expand minds and broaden our culture.”

  “No one watches documentaries,” Lisa said. �
�So, how much broadening is going to happen?”

  Peter’s Adirondack creaked as he shifted toward Lisa. “I like documentaries. Okay, not really. But not everyone is a Doctor Who fangirl. How freaking long has that show been running, anyway?”

  “Over seventy years,” Lisa said. “And for your information, Doctor Who has done more to break down stereotypes and broaden culture than all the documentaries put together. Hey, Brent, maybe you should get a job for the BBC.”

  “England’s too freaking cold. I guess LA will have to do.” Brent turned to Ian. “You, my brother, get to remain right here in this very awesome town. With your very cool parents. What kind of karma delivered this to you?”

  It wasn’t the first time one of Ian’s friends had expressed a little envy at Ian’s relationship with his parents. Even during his teenage years—when almost all of his friends seemed to hate their parents—Ian had continued to get along well with his. The fact was, he just had cool parents. At least, that’s how he saw it.

  Ian’s father, Josh, was an art teacher—had been for almost twenty years—but he earned more than his salary from the graphic novels and comics he published and sold online. Ian’s mother, Clara, expressed herself in a more introverted manner as a site designer and copywriter. Ironically, while she often had meetings with clients throughout Seattle, she’d always refused to get her driver’s license. She claimed it was both environmentally responsible and enjoyable to ride the bus but Ian had always suspected she was just afraid to drive. Ultimately, Ian didn’t know what made his parents remain easy to relate to. Maybe it was because they were both a little quirky. Or maybe it was because they both had careers they enjoyed. Probably both. Either way, he couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t seemed happy together and still excited to see each other at the end of the day.

  “Just lucky, I guess,” Ian said. Which, after all, was true. He couldn’t see any reason not to acknowledge that fact.

  “There I was thinking you might have done something right in a past life or something,” Brent said.

  Brent might have been only half-joking. Maybe it had something to do with growing up in California but he remained open to ideas not exactly viewed as mainstream. His artistic nature and open-mindedness had been a large part of why he and Ian had formed a friendship so easily.

  Peter slouched back in his chair. “Okay, I guess I’m officially batfaced. Which, by the way, helps when people start talking about past lives having something to do with cool parents. The whole deal is random, that’s my opinion. As in, why would I be a Packers fan when my father loves the Steelers? Add to that, we’re from Ohio.”

  “Deep,” Brent said.

  “Peter, seriously, these two have a woo-woo side,” Lisa said. “Did they not tell you?”

  Peter shook his head and took a pull off his beer. “Please inform me.”

  Lisa turned to Brent. “You totally have a Ouija board in your bedroom.”

  Brent leveled her with a stare. “Sorry about this, Ian, but it would seem that your girlfriend has been snooping in my bedroom.”

  Lisa smiled but flipped him off. “I’m hoping that fantasy self-destructs after thirty seconds. I didn’t have to go into your bedroom. Okay, sure, I did look into you bedroom. At the bookshelf, where I saw some games? Then I got curious? Look, no judgment on why you’d go off to college with Battleship and Adventure Time Monopoly. But, okay, the Ouija board kind of caught my eye.”

  Brent shrugged. “Didn’t I see Frozen sisters plushies at your place? I’m not going to lie. I have a sentimental side about my childhood. Obviously, you do too. Whatever. Besides, board games are fun.”

  Peter hunched forward, the old Adirondack creaking again. He stared at Brent. “Seriously, dude, you have a Ouija board? I’ve never gone near one of those things.”

  Lisa cocked her head at Peter. “Do I hear fear in your voice?”

  Brent turned his way too. “Oh, come on. Didn’t you ever tell ghost stories, then break out the Ouija board?”

  Peter sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope. No way. Too scary.”

  Ian laughed. “No joke? What about the Bloody Mary thing?”

  “The thing with the mirror? Totally passed on that one too.”

  “Seriously?” Ian said. “Our parents used to scare themselves with that one. It’s like a hundred years old or something.”

  “We must break out the Ouija board and conjure spirits!” Lisa said.

  Ian shook his head. “I am not opening any portals in my living room.”

  “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,” Brent said, then added, “Crap, I forgot the mirror.”

  Lisa had already scooted off down the hall.

  “You better not be in my bedroom!” Brent called after her.

  A moment later, Lisa dashed back into the room, clutching the game box to her chest. She took her seat and placed it on the wicker trunk that served as a coffee table. “Your room smells funny,” she said.

  “As in ha-ha funny? Or did you lack the needed verbal precision to tell me that my room had an unfamiliar, perhaps intriguing or even enticing scent?”

  “Oh, no. I meant precisely this.” Lisa grinned and flipped Brent off again. “Anyway, shall we scare the crap out of Peter now by calling upon our collective occult powers? By the way, note my verbal precision there. Just saying.”

  “So, I was scared when I was like seven,” Peter said.

  Lisa set the planchette onto the now unfolded game-board surface. “But are you still scared?”

  “Scared? No,” Peter said. “Only if we run out of beer.”

  Ian shot Brent a look. “He needs alcohol to numb the fear.”

  “Totally.”

  “Someone dim the lights,” Lisa said.

  No one got up.

  “Oh, hey, why don’t I dim the lights?” Lisa crossed the room and flicked the switch, leaving them in semi-darkness with just the glow cast by the streetlights outside.

  Lisa took her seat again. “Okay, so here’s how it works. At least this is how we did it when we were twelve. I’m not sure if there are any official rules. We place our hands on the planchette, ask a question of the spirits and wait for the answer to come from the other side.”

  “Other side of what?” Peter said

  “Other side of the street,” Brent said. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the other side of some cards or something.”

  “Do you see any cards?” Ian said. “How drunk are you?”

  Peter waggled his hand to indicate so-so. “Sober enough to think about going home. Too drunk to actually get up and go.”

  “He’s totally scared,” Lisa said.

  “Lilly-livered,” Ian said.

  “Okay, everyone place their hands on the thingy,” Brent said.

  “Planchette,” Lisa said.

  “That’s a girly word,” Peter said.

  “Agreed,” Brent said.

  “Place your fat, manly fingers on the freaking planchette,” Lisa said.

  Ian, Brent and Peter did as told. Lisa squeezed her fingers in between Ian’s and Peter’s.

  The four of them sat looking at each other, trying not to laugh.

  “So, what’s the question?” Peter said.

  Ian shrugged. “Good question.”

  “Oh, I know!” Brent said. “Does Lisa visit my bedroom when no one’s looking due to some hidden desire? Sorry, Ian, but you need to know.”

  Lisa shoved the planchette to the top of the board where it said “No” in bold black letters.

  “Um, I’m pretty sure that came from this side,” Peter said.

  “Okay, let’s try again,” Brent said. “Remember, keep your fingers light on the girly thing.”

  Snickers from Ian and Peter followed.

  Lisa stared at them. “Get your minds out of the gutter. Okay, I have a question. Will Brent become a successful filmmaker?”

  This time they waited and slowly the planchette drift
ed—almost on its own, it seemed—toward the word “Yes.”

  “Sweet,” Brent said.

  Lisa looked at the ceiling and whispered, “Thank you.”

  “Who are you thanking?” Peter said.

  Lisa shrugged. “Oh, you’re supposed to thank the entity or spirit.”

  “Okay, sure,” Peter said. “That makes total sense. And you’re asking if I’m drunk?”

  “I’ll ask a question,” Ian said. “Get ready to be creeped out.” He stared up at the ceiling. “Is there anyone here with us tonight?”

  They waited again, their hands resting on the planchette. Slowly, it drifted across the board, this time to individual letters one at a time.

  Ian glanced at Lisa. “You doing that?”

  Lisa shook her head.

  Ian kept his hands on the planchette, waiting. Finally, it came to rest.

  “I have no idea what that just spelled,” Brent said. “That was like eight letters, I think. S-u-p, something. What the hell?”

  A moment later, Lisa burst out laughing. “It’s two words! Get it? Sup Loser?”

  “Oh, my God, you’re right,” Brent said. “That’s freaking hilarious! Okay, my turn.” He looked up at the ceiling this time too. “Spirit, do you know Ian?”

  “Hands on the planchette,” Lisa said.

  They waited, this time watching each other to be sure. Slowly, the planchette moved across the board, coming to rest on the word at the top. “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’m scared,” Peter said. “This is getting creepy.”

  “Kind of with you on that,” Brent said. “Just saying.”

  The fact was, Ian agreed. At the same time, something was nagging at him. Even though it made no sense, he wanted to know more. So, he asked. “Who are you?”

  Again, the planchette selected individual letters to spell a word.

  “Okay, what did it spell that time?” Brent said.

  “Can you even spell?” Lisa said. “That was definitely a name.”