Redo

REDO

10;08 a.m.—English Class

BOOP!

And I’m back. But back from where? I feel like I’ve been holding my breath, and can finally let it go.

But, I was right here, right now, just a couple of seconds ago. I’m confused.

I look around. I’m sitting in class like I’m supposed to be—but I know I’ve already been here. Lucas is just about to say that Shakespeare sucks.

”Yeah, I don’t know why I have to read this crapola. No one talks like this, and Shakespeare sucks!” says Lucas. Exactly like I remember.

Ms. Jenkins is about to go off on Lucas for being rude.

“Lucas! Unless you’re talking about vacuum cleaners or black holes, don’t use the word ‘suck’. There are so many better words you could use to describe something you don’t like. Try again.”

Is it déjà vu? Maybe? But, it’s more than a feeling—it’s like I pushed backwards, just a few seconds, and had a redo. Like I travelled back in time. But how? Did I really just time travel? No, that’s stupid. There’s no such thing as time travel. But …

Lucas is going to roll his eyes, and say, sarcastically, that he doesn’t like Shakespeare.

And, cue the eyeroll. ”Ye olde Shakespeare play doth bites big time.”

Ms. Jenkins is going to roll her eyes. And turn to …. me.

Eye roll, head shake. ”Gabriella, what do you think about Shakespeare’s writing style?”

And I am caught up.

I stammer something about it taking a while to understand, but once I started to recognize the meanings of the old words, it’s easier. “But it’s still hard,” I finish up, looking at Lucas.

Ms Jenkins nods.

Was I travelling backwards, or was I travelling forward, or was I just going crazy?

For the last couple of minutes of class, I’m trying to pay attention, but my mind is whirling.

What’s happening to me?

11:01 a.m.—Phys Ed

BOOP!

It happens in slow motion. I walk right into the path of the field hockey stick, heading for my face.

”Duck!” someone yells, but I’m already on the ground. The field hockey stick whizzes over my head.

But that isn’t what’s supposed to happen. I’m supposed to get wholloped in the face with the stick, and my nose was going to be flattened all over my face, blood gushing everywhere.

How do I know? Because it had just happened to me, a couple of minutes ago—pain searing my face, choking on my own blood, vision greying at the edges.

I gingerly touch my face. Nope, my nose is intact.

PHREEEET! PHREEEET! PHREEET!

Mrs. Patel blows her whistle sharply. Everyone stops what they’re doing.

”Stephanie! Watch where you’re swinging that stick! It’s not baseball, it’s field hockey! Kat! The ball stays on the ground! Gabriella—you okay?”

I slowly get to my feet, and nod.

Steph drops her stick and runs to me. “Oh my God! Are you okay!”

I nod. “All good,” I say, a bit shaken.

But not because of the near miss with the stick. But because this isn’t what happened. In the original version ( I don’t know how I should refer to the two different timelines), we’re on the sports field and Steph has been using the field hockey stick like a baseball bat, swinging at the wooden balls Kat is pitching to her. I’m walking over to get my water bottle, and I don’t notice Steph swing the stick, and she nails me right in the face. There is blood (mine), vomit (Stehp’s), crying (me and Steph), screaming (me and most of the class), and yelling (Mrs. Patel). Nine-one-one is called. Mrs. Patel takes off her hoodie and gently places it on my face to help stanch the blood.

But none of that happens. Well, it did, but I got a do-over. The entire scenario changes—because I know to duck.

I ask if I can go to the washroom. Mrs. Patel nods and continues to try and wrangle the class into actually playing field hockey.

I walk up the hill, and into the washroom. After locking myself into a stall, I sit there, not peeing, just thinking.

What is happening to me? I seem to be moving around the space/time continuum—which sounds sooooo lame, like I’m in some kind of bad scifi novel. Except, it’s happened twice. The first time was innocuous and only for a few seconds. But this time is longer, and definitely more significant. I wasn’t hit in the face. But why not? I should be lying on the field in pain, waiting for an ambulance to take me to the hospital. But I’m not. Why?

I won’t mention this jumping around in time to anyone. It will only cause trouble—for me. No one will believe that I can time-jump. I’ll probably be sent home, and an appointment to see the school psychologist will be booked. Nope, this is my secret to keep.

I don’t like it, though. Not one little bit. The weirdness is too much. Sure I didn’t get hit in the face, and I knew that Lucas thinks Shakespeare sucks, but so what?

Why is this important enough to happen? To me?

12:21 p.m.—Library

Only four more minutes before the end of lunch. I volunteer in the library on Tuesdays, helping Mr. Bane re-shelve books. Sometimes I even check books out, or help students find the resources they’re looking for. It isn’t hard, and I earn volunteer hours, so win-win.

I’m putting all the fantasy fiction books back on the carousel. Benny Cartwright and Dev Simons walk by me. They’re both carrying their books at their hips—no uncool backpacks for these cool dudes. A folded paper slips out of Benny’s binder, landing on the floor.

”Hey, Benny,” I call. “You dropped something.”

He and Dev turn to look at me. I point to the paper.

Benny walks back and picks it up. Neither say anything, just turn and walk away.

Rude! I think, and leave it at that.

BOOP!

Exhale. And I’m having a redo.

Benny and Dev walk by me, the paper slips from Benny’s binder, I tell them, Benny picks it up—exactly the same.

BOOP!

And again. I’m reliving this scenario again, for the third time. Why? Benny, Dev, paper.

BOOP!

And a fourth time. Excactly the same every time.

BOOP!

Fifth time.

What am I supposed to do? Then things slow down, just for a second, right when the paper falls to the ground. This time I don’t call out, I let them walk off. I wait until they meld into the after lunch crowds in the hall, and walk over and pick up the paper.

The five minute warning bell rings, announcing the end of lunch. I shove the paper into my jeans pocket, grab my books and head out to third period—math.

BOOP!

Then I’m back to the point where I pick up the paper, and shove—

BOOP!

Back to the same point—picking up the paper, then shoving—

BOOP!

Again. What the hell was happening? Is there a glitch in this time-jumping matrix? What am I supposed to do?!

I pick up the paper, but instead of shoving it in my pocket, I look at it, and freeze.

You made us do this. And now you will pay. We will kill you all—those who mocked us, bullied us, rejected us, called us garbage. Remember, this is your fault! Before the day is over, you will know how it feels to be hated and rejected! You will be dead.

I stand there frozen. What the hell am I reading?

I have to tell someone. I clutch the paper in my hand and run down to the main office. The office receptionist tells me that there are no administrators at school today—they’re at some school board conference. One of the science teachers is in charge, and would I like to speak to them. I say no, and run out of the office, heading directly to the police resource officer’s workspace. Closed up tight. He isn’t here today.

I’m hyperventilating. I know something horrible is going to happen, and I can’t find anyone to tell!

THE SCHOOL IS IN LOCKDOWN. I REPEAT, THE SCHOOL IS IN LOCKDOWN. RETURN IMMEDIATELY TO YOUR CLASSROOMS. LOCK AND SECURE YOUR CLASSROOM DOORS AND WINDOWS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

Oh God! I’m too late.

I turn to run towards the exit door. I need to get outside, to safety.

Benny and Dev walk around the corner, guns drawn, pointing them directly at me.

”You’re dead,” says Dev, an evil smile on his face.

10:08 a.m.—English Class

BOOP!

I’m all the way back to this morning. English class. Lucas puts his hand up. Benny and Dev sit in front of me whispering—like they do every day.

But what am I supposed to do??? Say, “Hey, guys, don’t shoot up the school today, okay? Especially not me. Thanks!” Not likely.

Lucas says Shakespeare sucks, Ms. Jenkins calls him on his language, Lucas eye rolls, says Shakespeare bites, Ms. Jenkins eye rolls. I answer her question—exactly like this morning. The bell rings—end of class.

I pack up my books, and rush out of the room—my next class, phys. ed. is at the other end of the school, and I have to get changed.

10:10 a.m.—English Class

BOOP!

The bell rings.

We all get up to leave.

I have to pass Benny and Dev because I’m in a hurry. I walk past them.

BOOP!

The bell rings. We all get up.

I have to pass Benny and Dev because I’m in a hurry. But I don’t walk past them this time. Instead I stumble into Benny and knock his books out of his hands.

”What the fuck!” he snarls.

His books go flying, his papers scatter all over the floor. I drop to the ground to gather everything up. I spot the folded piece of paper, and put my own books over top to hide it. Hopefully neither Benny nor Dev see what I did.

I hand Benne his binder and papers. Then I carefully gather up my own books, with the note hidden under my binder.

Before I can stand back up, Dev sneers, “Loser,” and he and Benny disappear out the door.

The classroom empties out—it is just Ms. Jenkins and me. I show her the note. I say, “I think Benny and Dev are going to do something terrible at school today.”

She reads the note, goes to her desk, pulls out her phone, and pushes three numbers.

I hear the voice over the phone. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?

12:51 p.m.—Administrative Offices

I’m sitting in the principal’s office. I’m being interviewed by Detective Terry Waits. We are both sitting at the conference table, across from one another.

She looks from me to her notebook, then back at me. She closes her notebook and clasps her hands in front of her on the table. “We found weapons in both Benny Cartwright’s and Dev Simons’s lockers. How did you know what they were planning?”

I look at the detective. “I found the note. It had today’s date on it.”

She doesn’t look convinced. But it’s the truth. Sort of.