Memories from a Different Future: Jump When Ready, Book 2 Page 3

  “Rapids,” Henry said. “We went tubing.”

  Naomi wore baking mitts, ready at the oven door. “That’s super dangerous.”

  A silent moment followed since no one wanted to hurt her feelings. Then Naomi giggled. “Scary, I mean.”

  “Definitely,” Henry said. “If I could have died, I would have at least three times.”

  Nikki laughed. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

  “Yeah, it kind of was,” Jamie said, still trying to straighten his spikes.

  “What have you two been up to?” Nikki said, wondering how long it would be before Naomi’s cookies were ready. They smelled fantastic. Naomi was a natural at baking—almost as if she could somehow infuse a child’s expectations into the flavors she created. Could she?

  “Not much,” Simon said, “Just hanging out.”

  Nikki thought she caught a reluctant tone, as if he might be leaving something out.

  “Simon’s in trouble,” Naomi said softly.

  “I’m not in trouble,” Simon said. “I just had a little talk with Martha, is all.”

  Nikki could guess where this was going—Simon had been doing a little wing-stretching again. Not that she blamed him. They’d all been through the same steps.

  “Sweet. What did you do this time?” Jamie peered into the oven. Apparently, he felt the same way about Naomi’s baking.

  “Nothing much, really. Just sort of popped up on a few computers for the fun of it.” Simon shrugged and turned to Naomi. “How many more minutes on those?”

  Henry wandered over to the oven too, where he stood hovering. “Okay, sure. Nothing you haven’t done before.”

  “Right, exactly,” Simon said.

  Nikki knew Simon well enough to suspect something more must have happened. “How many computers?”

  Simon didn’t meet her gaze. “Hard to say, exactly.”

  “Simon, just tell them,” Naomi said. “Jeez, don’t be so evaded. No, that’s not it. What’s that word—”

  “Evasive,” Nikki said. She returned her attention to Simon. “Why is it hard to say, exactly?”

  “Look, I’m not particularly familiar with that YouTube thing but I guess the numbers keep changing as more people look at it.”

  “You got on freaking YouTube?” Henry looked both horrified and gleeful.

  Simon turned to face the guys. Of course, Nikki thought, since they found nothing more amusing than their own immaturity. “Yep. Not on purpose, of course. I’m not a grand-standing kind of bloke, after all.”

  “Of course not,” Nikki said. “Total wallflower.”

  Simon pretended not to hear her and grinned at the guys. “See, the thing is I may have overdid it a little to see how people would react. Who knew people could film their computer screens and show them on the internet?”

  “Pretty much everyone,” Henry said.

  “I didn’t,” Naomi said, finally opening the oven door.

  “See, there you go. Thank you, Naomi,” Simon said. “By the way, those biscuits look super!”

  “Cookies,” Henry said.

  “Biscuits. Cookies. Same thing,” Simon said.

  “Well, ‘biscuits’ also means those salty, little…” Henry sighed. “Never mind.”

  “Can’t imagine why Martha might object,” Nikki said.

  “How’s that any different from Naomi manifesting a bunch of sparrows?” Simon followed Naomi over to the counter where she set the hot tray down on a towel.

  “You can manifest birds now?” Jamie said.

  Naomi shrugged and slipped off her baking mitts. “Just little birds so far. I can’t quite get the hang of anything bigger.”

  “Hey, that’s really cool, Naomi.” Henry said. “Martha didn’t mind?”

  Naomi picked up a spatula and started placing cookies onto cooling racks. “Not really. She just suggested that maybe I don’t overdo it.”

  “How’s that any different from YouTube?” Simon reached for a cookie and Naomi batted his hand away.

  Nikki and Jamie both said, “Shut up, Simon,” at the same time.

  Henry laughed. Nikki suspected one of these days he’d have the same knee-jerk response to Simon’s continued idiocy. Which she well knew was a total act—Simon just liked to play stupid to get your goat.

  Simon waited for Nikki to say something since she was almost always the one to lay things out for him—something of a tradition by now. Nikki supposed he enjoyed the attention. “Well, it’s kind of like this, Simon. Someone sees some sparrows flying by and they think, ‘How pretty. Nice little birdies.’ On the other hand, someone sees a freaky, greased-back English teenager staring back at them through their computer monitor and they think, ‘What the hell is that!’ Provided they don’t have a heart attack, of course.”

  Finally, Naomi started setting the cookies onto a plate. Jamie had already retrieved milk from the refrigerator (Nikki prayed he hadn’t been drinking directly from the bottle recently).

  “Nobody had a heart attack,” Simon said. “Jeez, give me some credit. Most people just said they thought it was some sort of attack thingy. What do they call that again?”

  “Hacking?” Henry suggested.

  “Yes, precisely!” Simon said.

  “How do you know what people were saying?” Henry said.

  Simon shrugged again. “It kind of made the news. Like on TV and stuff.”

  Nikki, Henry and Jamie stared at him, stunned.

  “Anyone want a cookie?” Naomi said.

  ~~~

  After devouring Naomi’s cookies, Simon wandered off saying something about maybe going to the library. Since he’d never invited anyone there, Nikki had never seen Simon’s library. She wasn’t sure if it might even mean he was planning to visit an actual library somewhere in Northampton where he’d gown up (or, at least, almost grown up) since in the past he’d mentioned one there that he’d liked to frequent during his last life. If so, Nikki hoped he’d stay out of people’s phones and computers for a while and just look at books. Not that she cared all that much about what Simon did but Nikki couldn’t help feel sorry for Martha having to put up with their antics.

  Naomi didn’t linger either. After they helped her clean up, she hung her apron on a hook by the back door and said she was going to take a nap. Naomi had always been an early riser.

  “Anyone in the mood for a movie?” Jamie said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Henry said. “I’m kind of in a Jim Carrey mood.”

  “That could work,” Jamie said. “Although, I was maybe thinking about some sci-fi.”

  Henry put the milk back into the refrigerator. “Sure. I’m okay with that too.”

  “I guess that leaves the deciding vote with Nikki,” Jamie said. “What are you into, Nikki?”

  Nikki folded a dishtowel and hung it on the oven handle. She turned to Jamie and her breath caught in her throat. She stared past him at the person who couldn’t possibly be there. Curtis stood in the kitchen doorway, silently staring back at her. A moment later, he disappeared.

  Jamie checked to see what was behind him. “What’s up?”

  Curtis couldn’t have been there. Maybe it was just her conscience bothering her a little. After all, Simon wasn’t the only one who’d been misbehaving. Nikki just hoped Martha hadn’t somehow caught wind of it.

  “Um, nothing. Just kind of spaced out there for a moment.”

  “So, the movie?” Jamie raised his eyebrows. “What’s your vote?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Nikki said.

  “To which?” Henry said. “Comedy or sci-fi?”

  “I’m thinking maybe some comedy would be good,” Nikki said. “Living here is already weirder than sci-fi most of the time.”

  4

  Somebody He Used to Know

  Nikki. Nikki. Nikki. The name kept going through Ian’s mind but he couldn’t imagine why. He reminded himself that the whole thing was ridiculous. They’d gone to a keg party and caught a buzz. Then, they’d gone back to the apa
rtment and messed around with some old board game Brent kept around for sentimental purposes. The planchette, their fingers upon it, the questions. All of it, just a joke.

  But he’d woken from a dream that same night that both scared the hell out of him and rushed him with a sense of incredible peace at the same time. Two times falling through the air. One time hitting the ground as people screamed. A moment of unimaginable blackness. Then falling again, that time like plunging into a pool feet first. Then, for some even weirder reason, a mobile spinning above a baby’s crib. As if he was the baby looking up as a man and woman peered down at him.

  Even now, as Ian sat in the library trying to study, he couldn’t quite put those images—and that name, Nikki—out of his thoughts.

  Sup loser?

  Something about the phrasing, the familiarity, kept resonating. The baiting tone, like a vaguely remembered antagonism. Like an old friend. Or enemy. Or frenemy. Who the hell was Nikki?

  Ian closed out of his Europe in Renaissance text, giving up at least for the moment. Thankfully, he’d paid attention and taken notes during all of Professor Russell’s lectures throughout the semester. He’d also done well on most of her tests and quizzes. Ian figured he was about as ready as he’d ever be for the final.

  As he walked downstairs, Ian’s flexlet buzzed and he fished it out of his pocket. He pressed its surface, expanding the screen to phone size. A text from Lisa said, Trabant? Their favorite place for coffee. Ian texted back, Perfect timing. A Trabant “Mexican Mocha” sounded great, actually. Not to mention a little more time with Lisa.

  Ian opened the door to the world outside as fellow students also passed through, talking and laughing. Someone said, “Cool, it’s snowing!”

  True enough, snowflakes drifted through the air again. Nothing had accumulated on the ground yet but it looked like that might happen. As a kid who grew up in Seattle, Ian knew that serious snowfall had once been more rare—something that might happen only once or twice a year, maybe not at all—but typically it snowed pretty hard these days. Usually, in January and February—sometimes even March and April. Other years, it just rained like it always had here. They’d once called it “Climate Change” but now it was just the climate. You just never knew what was coming.

  Ian strolled University Way toward 45th alongside other students all buoyant at the prospect of the upcoming break. An infectious excitement, definitely. He’d also worked hard this semester and couldn’t wait to just hang out and watch old movies. As if it wasn’t a few miles away—rather than a few hundred, or thousand—Ian smiled at the thought of soon spending a few nights at home. There would be the lights on the tree, the decorations, the gifts. And, of course, tons of homemade food. Independence had its disadvantages, among them cheap fast food and his own less than stellar cooking.

  As he passed one of a hundred U District telephone poles smattered with stapled fliers, for some reason one of them caught his eye. The color, probably. Ian had always liked purple. He slowed to read it. Psychic Readings by Julie, the bottom cut into tear-off tabs with a telephone number. Next to that one, another offering moving services. Next to that, another promoting a new club. Ian kept walking.

  Then, he slowed his pace again as he considered going back. Seriously, first Ouija boards and now supposed psychics? Not doing this, Ian thought. All the same, he found himself walking back toward that same telephone pole. He took a moment, pretending to read about the new club opening in January, then quickly tore off one of the tabs on the adjacent flier and started walking again.

  ~~~

  Lisa sat waiting inside Trabant reading something on her flexlet, but she looked up and smiled as he entered the café. She’d already ordered drinks—a chai for herself and a Mexican mocha for him.

  Ian joined her at the table and didn’t wait to take a sip of his mocha. Warm, chocolaty but not too sweet. Perfect after the cold walk outside. “Studying?” he said.

  “If you call reading a mystery studying,” Lisa said. “How was the library?”

  “Good. I think I’m pretty much ready for the final. I might study a little more later, just in case.”

  Lisa collapsed her flexlet and set it on the table. “I admire your work ethic. As for me, I’m burnt. I think I may coast from here.”

  The fact was, Lisa didn’t have to crack the books as much as Ian to get good grades. She was smart, for one thing. She also had an amazing memory.

  “Hungry? I’m thinking about ordering one of those pecan scones,” Lisa said. “I’m sorry. Which one were you studying for, history?”

  “Maybe a cookie.” Ian could already feel himself switching into sugar consumption mode for the holidays. “Yeah, European Renaissance.”

  “Oh, right, Professor Russell. She’s awesome.”

  Ian absolutely agreed. In fact, he’d signed up for one of Professor Russell’s courses on Lisa’s recommendation. She’d had Professor Russell the previous year. He’d immediately taken to her casual, enthusiastic approach to teaching. There was just something about her that had made Ian feel comfortable, almost like he’d known her for a while.

  Lisa glanced up at the menu board behind the baristas. “Yeah, a scone sounds good. Except it’s almost dinnertime. Anyway, I heard something kind of weird about her the other day.”

  “Bad weird?”

  “More like sad weird. I guess she was abducted when she was a teenager.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I heard two girls talking about it in my Sociology class. They said it happened where she grew up. Maryland or Virginia, someplace like that. I forget.”

  Ian tried to ignore the gruesome images that entered his mind. Those kinds of stories seemed like they were always in the news. As if each day brought someone new out there lurking to snatch a girl and do horrible things. “Wow, you’d never guess it,” he said. “You’d think something like that would totally mess you up.”

  “Yeah, you’d think,” Lisa said. “And it gets even more sad and weird.”

  Ian wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He really liked Professor Russell and felt like he was invading her privacy. At the same time, he couldn’t help being curious. “Why, what else happened?”

  Lisa shook her head just slightly, as if not sure what to think. “Well, one of them said Professor Russell claimed her dead brother had something to do with rescuing her. That he told the cops how to find her. Something like that.”

  Suddenly, a face appeared in Ian’s imagination. A teenage boy with brown eyes and dark hair streaked with purple. Totally random. Ian supposed he was imagining what Professor Russell’s dead brother might have looked like. He thought about the hair streaked with purple, then the purple flier on the telephone pole. Okay, sure. Probably just his brain processing stuff in a strange way since he was beat from studying. But thinking of the flier made him think of that name again. Nikki. Why did he feel like he knew someone with—

  “Are you okay?”

  Ian snapped out of it. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Do you think it’s true?”

  Lisa shrugged. “Who knows. Could be just some weird gossip. Screw dinner, I’m getting that scone.”

  ~~~

  That evening, Ian sat alone in his apartment staring at his history notes. He couldn’t help feel slightly jealous of Brent, who’d finished his last final earlier and was now out partying with Peter and a few others. Still, he appreciated the fact that Brent would be crashing at Peter’s place tonight so he didn’t screw things up for Ian by wandering in at two in the morning. A good roommate, definitely. Ian felt pretty sure he was wasting his time at this point by continuing to cram facts into his head. No, he didn’t have Lisa’s memorization abilities but he felt pretty sure he was about as prepared as he’d ever be for the exam tomorrow afternoon.

  Either way, it didn’t matter since he was having difficulty concentrating.

  Bad enough he’d been obsessing over their little experiment with the Ouija board. Now, he kept thinking about Professor Russell’s past. And th
e face he’d imagined earlier when Lisa told him about Professor Russell’s dead brother. He’d assumed that random image would immediately be forgotten. Still, Ian kept remembering that face. Ian had always been a fairly easygoing person but these last couple of days he’d been distracted and edgy. Almost like he’d forgotten something important.

  Ian shuffled the flash cards on his flexlet screen—all those historic names, events and dates—and prepared to go through them again. Lisa and Brent had poked fun at him a few times about the flash cards he made. Ian had to admit it was a bit high school (which was exactly when he’d started studying for tests that way) but, whatever, it still worked for him. Just not tonight.

  Ian set down the flexlet and went into the kitchen where he grabbed the remaining beer from last weekend’s twelve-pack. He stood at the window, where he looked out over the city neighborhood. He listened as cars and busses rolled past on the streets below. He imagined hearing the laughter and frivolities of those lucky enough to have wrapped up their exams today. He drew his vision in again to see his own reflection in the glass—thin, average height, sandy hair and a smattering of freckles remaining from when he’d been a kid. Hard to believe he’d once had bright red hair but Ian’s parents talked about it still. He’d also seen the photos, of course, so he knew it was true. His parents said he’d entered the world with a bright red fuzz on his scalp and that his hair had continued to come in vividly red. They said he’d been almost two when that color faded. Almost like he’d once been a different person, although Ian supposed that was true for everyone, when you thought about it. You liked to think you were that same kid you’d once been but in reality that kid had been someone else altogether. He’d since been replaced by you, while you managed to hang onto some of his memories.

  Why, though, did he keep thinking there might be other memories he needed to retrieve? Ian turned from the window and set his beer down on the counter. There, the small, purple flier tab remained crumpled next to his keys and wallet. He uncurled the scrap of paper—just a phone number and the same words from the flier itself, Psychic Readings by Julie—and went to toss it into the trash. At the last moment, he stopped himself. He went back into the other room and got his flexlet, dialed and left a message.