No Regrets (5 page)

I needed to take care of things in my regular life, so I gave time travel a break for a while. Besides, I didn't really have any good ideas about what I should do with it next. I had lots of half ideas, but for days I still felt tired and like I couldn't think straight enough to figure anything out. And all of a sudden I had a lot of homework. That college credit course was kicking my butt. And I had track.

But then something a senior in my Spanish class said got me thinking hard about the future again. She was talking to this other girl about finding out about the money she was going to get for college.

“Where you going again?” the other girl asked.

“I'm pretty sure the U. I'm getting better financial aid than I thought I would. At first I was only going to apply to community colleges, but then I thought I should at least try. I got the application fee waived.”

I didn't know exactly what she was talking about, but I couldn't help listening. She saw me and said to me, smiling, “You should come check it out next year. I'm going to be living in the dorms. When I did my visit, they just put me with some chick. She was OK, but it would be better to do it with someone you know, know what I'm saying?”

Now I was really confused. I really didn't know this girl Alicia very much. I mean, we'd had Spanish together for three years, and she was on the track team, but we weren't, like, friends or anything.

“I don't have the grades for it,” I said. “Or the money probably.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You might be surprised. And you'd be eligible for certain scholarships—you should talk to your counselor.”

So I did. My counselor gave me a bunch of brochures and wanted to talk more about my interests and junk. But I just wanted to know.

“I know you said I should take these college credit classes … but, like, where do you think I could go? I mean, I was figuring community college…”

She typed on her computer and pulled up my grades.

“Hmm, well, how are you doing in that class? Your midterm grade was good.”

I shrugged and picked at a nail. “OK, I guess. It's hard, but I've turned in all the work.”

She turned to face me and folded her hands. “Layla, I want to be straight with you. Your grades from freshman and sophomore year are pulling your GPA down. But you did pretty well this fall, and you seem to be doing well now. If you keep on this path and do even better next year, that will impress colleges. In fact, some of them really love to see an upward trajectory from a prospective student.”

I nodded like I had some idea what she was talking about. All I could think was that she had said I had to get even better grades next year. Dang! Didn't the woman know I was working hard already?!

“But what about money?” I said. “I don't think my parents can pay for anything really.”

“If you want to bring in your family's financial information or if your parents want to come talk to me, we can run some numbers. Just to get an idea of what you might get approved for. Also, don't forget about scholarships. That's free money, and they love essays about triumphing over adversity.”

I wondered if going to college made people start talking like that. Then I thought about what kind of money stuff she wanted to know. I was pretty sure you couldn't tell a college that they needed to give you more money because your dad gambled away a lot of your mom's salary.

“Think about it,” she said. “You want to keep your options open. For sure, the better your grades are, the more choices you'll have. I'm sure we can make money work out when it's time. Oh, and Layla, next year I'm going to want you to take more college credit classes. If you can show that you can do well in them, then you really don't have to worry about your freshman and sophomore grades.”

I left with my head spinning.

Then I couldn't get it out of my mind. I knew I was going to college somehow. But I had never been sure where or if it mattered what kind of school. Not like my parents could tell me much about that.

“My counselor said I might be able to get into the U,” I told my mom while she was doing her nails on Sunday. That wasn't exactly what the counselor had said, but it didn't matter.

“I'm sure you can go wherever you want,” my mom said, painting real slow. “You doing a lot better than when we was in Chicago. You keep working hard and trying your best, and you'll be fine.”

I bit my lip to stop myself from replying. She just didn't get that it wasn't that easy. I grabbed a bottle of blue polish and shook it hard.

“That might be all dry and nasty,” my mom said, looking up. “It's old. And it was cheap.”

I opened it carefully and pulled the brush up. “Looks OK.” I brushed it on my thumbnail and showed her.

“Not bad for one dollar,” she said. “Here—do my other hand.” She held it out.

“She said I have to keep my grades up,” I said, bending my head over her hand. My mom hated it if polish got on her skin. “And do even better next year. I'm not sure that's possible.”

“Hmm, you pretty smart, Layla. Just like your dad. I think you could do it. Anyway, sometimes I still think school is too easy for you. I know this school is better, but I don't know if you're always being challenged enough.”

I snapped my head up. “What you mean? Don't you see how much homework I have this year? I hardly ever go out anymore it seems like. I can't wait for summer vacation.”

She pulled her hand back and started blowing on her nails. “I don't know—I'm just not sure you're really trying your hardest. Maybe you're kind of lazy like me. I'm just saying—if you really want something, you should work the hardest you can. At least for a while. We're only talking one year of high school, right? I know that sounds long to you, but take it from me, it ain't nothing when you get to my age.”

“I don't think anyone could call you lazy,” I said, sitting back. My chest was full of weird feelings. “You pay for everything in this house.”

Mom got up and started pulling things out of the fridge. “Your father does his part, too. It's hard for a black man to find good work right now. We're just blessed I have my job. But what I'm saying is that this year and next year can be really important for what will happen with the rest of your life.”

She inspected her nails. “I'm gonna wait to make supper—don't want to mess these up. You did a good job on the right.” She leaned on the counter and waved her hands in the air, humming.

I painted blue stripes on the nails on my left hand. “You ever wish you could go back and change things?”

She laughed. “Well, I could have done things differently. But I believe in second chances if people want them. And things are OK.” She shrugged. “I got you and your father and a job that's not too bad.
And
a new manicure by my daughter.” She smiled.

I rolled my eyes. “But I thought you wanted to go to college.”

She nodded. “I thought I did, too. But then I didn't go, so maybe I didn't really want it. Besides, I could always go back now. Or when you go—you know Brandi? At work? Her and her son are taking a night class together!” She bent over laughing. “And he won't hardly say hey to her. For sure he never sits by her. But all his friends are like, ‘Darius, that your mama over there? Oh, hey, Mrs. Darius's Mom!'”

She kept giggling as she looked for a pan.

I shook my head.

It was weird my mom thought things were great. I was still pretty sure there was a moment in her life when she made the wrong choice and ended up here. But I guess it was good she didn't see it that way. Whatever, it was her problem. I had enough to worry about with myself.

But what my mom had said about me not working as hard as I could—about me being lazy like her—she was kind of right. I probably could work even harder and get for sure Bs all the time and even a lot of As. If I wanted. But, man, I already felt like I worked hard enough. And what if I did all that work and still only got into a community college? That would suck.

That's when I started thinking about another trip. Another trip to find out where I got into and if I got any scholarships so I could actually pay for school.

I didn't know how to do it exactly. I figured from what Alicia in my Spanish class said that by April next year I'd probably know all that.

I put my homework down on my bed. Sunday night was always when I did my homework. I needed a break on Friday and Saturday. What if I visited myself next April on a Sunday night?

Then I thought I should go a little later, when I would probably be asleep. I could look around for a letter or something. But if she/I was awake, I'd just ask her. No harm in trying.

I stretched. I hadn't done a trip for over a week, and I felt normal. I wasn't looking forward to how it felt, but I thought I'd be OK. I was wearing my comfy clothes, and my hair wasn't looking so good, but I was just going to my own bedroom a year from now anyway.

I stood up. “Future—April—” I stopped to check the calendar. I needed a Sunday to be sure I'd be home. “Future—April 26, 11:30 p.m.” Click, click, click.

I felt the wind first and then smelled something nasty. I put my hand out and felt a wall. I was in an alley, by a dumpster. What was up with the alleys? Where was my room?

“Ugh,” I said, stepping away from the garbage smell. It looked like the back of a restaurant or something. What the—? I went around the corner and out onto the sidewalk. That's when I noticed I was wearing my Tweety Bird slippers. I cussed under my breath.

I kept going along the sidewalk to the door.
Fresh Grounds
was painted on the window of the door. The big front window was all steamed up. Was I really in there? Or somewhere out here nearby? I looked around. Another blast of wind cut through my hoodie. Shivering, I opened the door.

It smelled like coffee, and there were cookies and stuff in a glass case and a big chalkboard with lots of colors and words. I couldn't take it all in. I looked around carefully.

Then I saw her. Over in a corner with her back to me. Her hair was totally different, but I recognized my coat. She gave a big laugh and leaned to the side. Then I could see who she was with. He was a guy I had never seen, I was sure. I would remember him if I had. He was so cute. And she was holding hands with him.

I turned my head quickly before he saw me, pulling my hood up. Not that he would probably recognize me looking like this.

“What can I get you?” the guy behind the counter said. Then he saw my feet. “Hey, cool slippers. Study break? Must have been a little cold out there.”

“Uh, yeah,” I said. I had a bad feeling I had no money. “Uh, I need a minute.”

“OK,” he said and went back to wiping off a big machine.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and felt money. Thank God. But it was only a dollar, and I didn't have anything else. The counter guy was watching me. I needed to order or leave.

“Um, I left my wallet—” I said. “Can I get anything for a dollar?”

He pursed his lips. “I can sell you two-thirds of a cup of coffee. Or, if you tell me you've been working really hard, I'll make it a full one.” He winked.

I nodded, not sure what to say, and pushed the dollar across the counter. He held a cup under one of the big black machines and pressed something. When he handed me the cup, he twisted it around so I could grab the handle.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. I stood blowing on my coffee, trying to look around for somewhere to sit. I might only have two minutes left. I didn't want to disappear in front of everyone. I might ruin her date.

People were leaving from a table a few tables away from her/me and the hot guy. I slid onto the bench and kept my head down, over my coffee. It tasted gross. I tried to watch out of the corner of my eye. They weren't holding hands anymore, but they were both talking and laughing. In fact, they were so loud that other people were looking at them, some frowning, some smiling.

“No way, no way!” she said, leaning back and laughing.

I tried to hear what they were talking about, but now they had quieted down and were leaning together. My mind was racing. WHO was that guy? Where did I meet him?

I snuck a good look. God, he was cute. He looked older, maybe. He was wearing dress shoes, like an adult. Nice jacket. Clean cut. He seemed totally comfortable in this weird place. I would never come to a place like this.

Was that really me? Then I heard her laugh again and thought,
yep.
Except it's so weird hearing your voice not in your head. Like listening to yourself in videos. You always sound wrong.

A giant clock on the wall caught my eye. 11:34.

“Crap,” I said, standing up fast, still holding the coffee cup. The door was far away, so I hustled toward a hall that must have been for the bathrooms. When I tried the handle of the women's, it was locked and someone inside yelled something. Then I was gone.

I was still holding the coffee cup when I opened my eyes in my room. The coffee was gone. I set the cup carefully on my windowsill. Then I collapsed on the floor.

I was crying, I realized. “How could you do that to Marquis?” I whispered. I pressed my hands over my eyes. Did this mean I never talked to Marquis again? Or that I asked him to wait for me and he said no?

That girl, in that coffee place—she looked like she'd never been in love before. Especially not with someone like Marquis.

“I bet Marquis' got more money than that guy,” I muttered. I remembered the guy's jacket and wondered. I just couldn't think where or how she met a guy like that. And why she was out with him late on a Sunday night. I needed to know. I really did.

I stood up uncertainly. I didn't feel great, but my stomach was holding it together. I looked through my calendar for a Friday night next year. Then I remembered to kick off my slippers and stick my feet in some shoes. I grabbed a hat and a jacket.

“Future. April 10, 10:00 p.m.”

The wind almost blew me over as I leaned against the wall and tried to breathe through the nausea. Another effing alley or something. But then I recognized the car next to me in the lot behind the apartment building. It belonged to Tanaya's uncle.

I walked around to the front door, cursing how cold next April was. Once I was there, though, I didn't know what to do. If I was in there, I mean, future-me, it wasn't like now-me could just buzz Tanaya to get in and see what they were doing. Anyway, they were probably just doing what we always did. I really couldn't see that guy being there or him being someone I met because of Tanaya. I cussed again and kicked the wall.

Then I shuffled back around to the parking lot behind the building to wait it out. It was cold like nobody's business. I tried Richie's car door. It was locked, of course, and the car alarm went off—duh. I doubted Richie would come check it out, at least not right away, but could this get any worse?

I shuffled around to the other side of the dumpsters just in case. The smell was not helping my stomach. I played some games to try to pass the time until finally it all went black again.

This time I did puke in my room. I wiped my mouth with a towel I'd been using on my hair and threw it on the vomit.

“I'm not quitting,” I said out loud. “I need to know. And can you skip the alleys next time? They stink.”

I sat back on my heels and looked through the calendar again. He didn't go to my school. I wasn't even sure he was in high school. So I must see him nights or weekends. If I was with my girls Friday, maybe I saw him Saturday.

I didn't bother to stand up, but I did grab a pair of gloves that were lying on the floor.

“Future. April 11, 8:00 p.m.”

This time I landed in a bush and immediately gave it a nice covering of puke. Groaning, I pushed myself back and looked around. Crap, I was in someone's yard. Was I inside that house? It was pretty big and fancy. Maybe that's where the guy lived. But it looked kind of familiar, too.

Then I looked around more and saw her waiting at the bus stop on the sidewalk below. She had her head turned like she'd heard something. I knew where I was now—I'd gone past this house a million times. I wasn't too far from home. No idea who lived here, though, and how they'd react to a finding a black girl puking on their bushes.

I scooted around the bush until I was on the other side from the house. I could see me even better now. I hoped she wouldn't turn around all the way and see me. She was texting or something on her phone now.

Maybe I should just go talk to her? Otherwise this trip was a waste, too. Then a woman with two little kids all bundled up came trudging up to the bus stop. She sat them on the bus bench and sat down hard herself.

I was trying to remember which buses came to this stop when I saw the bus coming up to the intersection. It had to stop for the red so I had plenty of time to read the places it went. Through the city, downtown, then a mall. That didn't help.

The bus came up to the stop, and they all got on. Then as it pulled away, I felt my whole body being pulled, like someone had tied a rope around me.

Thank God there was no fence around this yard, or I would have run right into it. I had no choice but to run. I tumbled down the little hill onto the sidewalk and sprinted after the bus. Coach would have been impressed with how fast I was running, but it wasn't like I had a choice. Finally, blessedly, I was gone. Then back in my room, puking right on the towel with perfect aim.