The Power of Un (9 page)

Ol’ Shrapnel’s face went through its series of expressions. It was like watching the Wheel of Fortune, knowing it would land on FURY. “Lorraine Frogner!” she roared.

I don’t remember thinking much about what I did next. I’d decided I was going to change this scene, and I could see that nothing would end up being very different unless I took further action. This, more than anything else, convinced me of the importance of the moment. Something big was fighting me, trying to keep things the way they were.

I felt as if I were pushing my way through Jell-O instead of air as I pulled out my hidden soda straw and stood up. I spoke slowly and clearly, not because I wanted to, but because it took an effort to move my
tongue. “Ms. Shripnole, it’s not Lorraine’s fault,” I said. “I shot the spitball.”

E
verything stopped. Nobody said a word. Ash, frozen in the act of chewing his pencil, stared at me as if he couldn’t decide whether I’d gone crazy or he had. Rainy Frogner held perfectly still, her mouth half open. So did Ms. Shripnole. They looked like impossible twins. Outside, the school custodian, Mr. Beeter, pruned shrubbery. He was whistling “If I Only Had a Brain,” and the classroom was so unnaturally quiet, you could hear every note.

Ms. Shripnole blinked and looked at me, then at Rainy, then at me again. Pink crept up her neck toward her face, as if she were slowly filling with strawberry Kool-Aid. She reached up, pinched the spitball from her forehead, and dropped it on my desk.

“Please pick that up, Gibson,” she said in a voice so soft it made my veins feel icy.

I gulped and picked it up. It was cold, wet, and completely disgusting. And it was Rainy Frogner’s spit, which made it even worse.

Ms. Shripnole grasped me firmly by the arm and pulled me to my feet—not angrily, exactly, just deliberately. She was surprisingly strong. I wished I could disappear under my desk.

Her gaze shifted to Rainy, and she said, “Lorraine, it seems I was mistaken. I apologize.” Then she looked at me again. No, that’s not quite right. She
glared
at me. “I believe Gibson would like to apologize, too.” Her hand tightened around my arm.

“Uh …” I said.

Rainy’s eyebrows pulled together. The soda straw between her fingers trembled slightly. So did her lower lip. “But, but …” she stammered.

I could see she was going to burst into tears and say she’d done it, which would ruin my whole plan. “I apologize!” I practically shouted. “I shouldn’t have shot the spitball, and I’m sorry you got blamed.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Maybe she was stunned. I mean, she must have thought I was suffering from mental illness.

I thought,
I really, really, really hope I’m doing this right, and I really, really, really hope it’s going to he worth it
.

Ms. Shripnole’s grip relaxed slightly. “Because
you’ve been truthful, Gibson, I won’t send you to the principals office this time. But if you ever shoot another spitball in this classroom, don’t expect further forbearance. Please be seated, and speak to me after class.”

She let go of my arm, and I sat down gladly, because my knees were shaking. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. I picked up my pencil and bent over my decimals work sheet. My face felt hot as a campfire. I knew every kid in the classroom must be staring at me. Ash, who sat in the desk behind mine, kicked my foot.

When I glanced over my shoulder at him, he gave me a look that said,
Are you out of your mind
?

“Tell you later,” I whispered. As I sat there trying to figure out the answer to 40.587364 divided by 1.7337618112, I realized that if I told him, I’d seem even crazier than I already did. This time I couldn’t convince him by just giving him the unner and telling him to use it himself.

I shivered, even though rivulets of sweat were meandering down my back. I was scared, and in a weird way, I felt more alone than I ever had before in my life.

The bell rang, and everybody else packed up their books. The room filled with talk and laughter and a few shouts of joy as kids crowded out through the door. Ash frowned at me and said, “What are you doing? Do you
want
to be in trouble or something?”

“No!” I replied. “Trust me. I have my reasons. I’ll explain later. See you tonight.”

“Whatever you say.” He shrugged and shook his head as he left the room, probably thinking my brain was experiencing total system failure.

I sighed, trying to get myself psychologically prepared to talk to Ol’ Shrapnel and find out what kind of punishment she had in store for me. I looked down at my desk. There sat a piece of pink paper, folded into a tiny square. I glanced around the room, wondering where it had come from. All the kids were gone. I unfolded it, and inside was a note, written in purple pen:

Thank you SO-O-O-O much You are the nicest boy I know
,

Yours truly
,
Lorraine

Each letter was perfectly formed in Rainy’s careful, round handwriting, for which she’d won a citywide award the year before. A plump heart dotted the
i
over
nicest
. I groaned.

    Ol’ Shrapnel’s punishment was suitably hideous. I had to write one hundred times:
If I had not told the truth about the spitball, I would have to write this two hundred times instead of one hundred
. I wasn’t allowed to put 100 or 200. I had to spell them out. And I had to have it finished by Monday morning.

I walked home, and as I turned up the path to our front door, my stomach started feeling like a cave full of
bats. The last time I’d been through that door, Dad was at Roxy’s bedside in the hospital, and Mom was crying herself to pieces as she learned Roxy would never wake up again—a complete nightmare. My brain knew that in the current version of reality, none of that had happened yet. But the rest of me wasn’t so sure.

I turned the knob and stuck my head into the entryway, my heart banging. “Hi,” I called, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m home.”

“Hi!” Dad called from the kitchen, his voice happy and hearty. The smell of simmering beef stew hung in the air like a promise. Maybe everything really was all right again.

I carefully set my backpack on the hall table, licked my lips, and said, “Where’s Roxy?”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she came speeding around the corner in her stocking feet. She slid over the polished floor like a batter going for home plate and ran right into me. “Gib! You’re home! You’re home!” she cried.

“Rox! Am I ever glad to see you!” I blurted before I realized how unlike myself it would be to say such a thing. I wasn’t even mad that she’d almost knocked me over.

She looked up at me, eyebrows high. “Really?” she said.

I laughed. I couldn’t stop myself, not that I wanted to. In fact, I felt like I might burp rainbows any second.
I was happy and I knew it, and weirdest of all, I didn’t care who else knew it, either. “Hey, would you like to play doggy?”

Roxy’s wide, bright eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m serious. Let’s play doggy! I’ll go get the leash.”

“
Aw-ri-i-i-ght
!” she said. “Whuff!” She let her tongue loll out and began to pant.

Dad stuck his head around the kitchen doorway and chuckled. “Boy, I guess somebody had a good day today.”

I smiled, struck by the general greatness of the way my dad chuckles. Saturday morning I’d thought he might never smile again, let alone chuckle. “Yeah, a really good day,” I said.

As I walked to Roxy’s bedroom to get the leash, I thought how weird it was for me to feel this had been a good day—after all, tucked into my backpack, Ol’ Shrapnel’s spitball–punishing assignment lay in wait. I guess some days feel good mainly because other days are so bad.

So I played doggy with Roxy, and though I wouldn’t say it was actually fun, it didn’t feel as much like a chore as usual. I kept looking at Roxy and thinking how great it was that she could run around laughing, her whole body working perfectly.

Afterward, I went out and shot hoops again, trying
to stick to the original chain of events as closely as I could. I wasn’t sure if I could still get the unner—things were already so different from before. But I figured it couldn’t hurt.

When it was about time for me to walk to the woods, I went back into the house, feeling jittery again. Would Dad be on the phone with Rainy? Would she be telling him she’d come down with the flu?

Dad’s voice drifted out of the kitchen. He wasn’t on the phone with Rainy. Instead he was singing a somewhat cracked version of a square-dance tune.

Rainy
was
going to baby-sit. Ash and I could go to the carnival without Roxy, and she would be safe, safe, safe! I nearly whooped with joy. My plan was working.

I told Dad I was going over to the woods for a while. Just as before, he reminded me to be back in time for dinner.

“No problem,” I said. “See you soon.”

I found the empty Coke can in front of our house, and this time, instead of kicking it, I picked it up and tossed it in the air, running to catch it, imagining what it would be like to be a star receiver in the NFL. I did that all the way to the woods and was feeling so good I nearly forgot I’d ever been worried about using the unner. It was beginning to look like smooth sailing from here on out, whether the old man reappeared or not. If he didn’t, Roxy would still be O.K. If he did, I’d get the unner back and be invincible. I could make
everything happen the way I wanted for the rest of my life. In fact, I might even find a way to live forever!

I started down the leaf-crunchy path, looking left and right. I was just about to give up when the old man stepped out of the shadows between two tree trunks.

He looked just as strange as he had before. His shiny, silvery hair stood out around his head as if he’d rubbed it with a party balloon. Pale vapor and the weird electrical smell rose from his rumpled coat.

“Hi!” I said, as if I’d known him forever, which, silly though it may seem, was exactly the way I felt. “How are you doing?”

He leaned back and laughed. “You’re not so scared this time, eh?”

“Wha … you remember last time?” I said, my voice a startled squeak. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might remember events that had happened before I unned them. Nobody else did. Suddenly I
was
a little afraid of him again. My head filled with all the forgotten questions that remained stubbornly unanswered.

He nodded. “Yes, I remember. Let’s find that flat rock again, shall we? I need to sit down. Jumping around like this is hard on my knee. Old injury.” He smiled like someone who had a huge secret, beckoned, and started down the path in his slow, uneven way.

“Jumping around?” I asked. I hadn’t noticed him jumping around at all.

“Well, in a manner of speaking. I don’t mean jumping around’ in the literal sense. I mean, jumping around’ in the …” He waved a hand through the air. “Haven’t thought of a word for it yet.” He glanced at the back of his hand, as he had before, and I got a better look at the shiny, flat panel set into his skin. A small, lighted display of numbers flashed across it in neon green.

“What’s that?” I asked.

His eyes twinkled. “Pretty cool, huh? It’s kind of like a watch, but not really. Some things never change. I still don’t have much time.”

There they were again—words nobody his age should be using.
Cool. Kind of
.

I tugged at his arm, and we stopped in the middle of the path. “Who are you? How come you remember things I unned, when nobody else does? How come you gave the unner to me and not some other person?”

He looked at me for a second or two, chewing his lower lip in a thoughtful way. Then he turned and started walking again. “I know you’re full of questions. Some of them I can answer. Some I can’t. Some you haven’t even thought of yet. Not that I wouldn’t like to tell you everything. Speaking of the unner …” He reached into the folds of his coat and pulled out the little gray box. It looked just the same as it had before. Our progress toward the rock slowed down as he
struggled to give it to me. I could see his muscles tightening as he strained to place it in my hands.

He looked at me, half frowning, half grinning, his eyes full of excitement. “I’ve been thinking about why this is so hard,” he said. “Time is like most things. You need energy to change it. The more you change it, the more energy it takes, and this is a big change. Also, the farther you are from what you want to change, the more energy it takes, and I’m farther from the event than you are.” The half grin disappeared from his face, and only the frown was left. “Oops. I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“Farther from what event? Shouldn’t have said what?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” he replied. With a final hard shove, he once again succeeded in handing me the unner.

I thanked him, though I’m sure I didn’t sound as grateful as I should have. I was just so curious about him and so frustrated by his refusal to tell me anything I could really sink my teeth into., It was hard to be polite.

“Be extra careful with it,” he said. “It’s even more important this time.”

That stopped me dead in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged.

Invisible ants scuttled along my backbone as
everything suddenly fell into place. “You know my future! You’re
from
the future, aren’t you?”

I’ve replayed this scene in my mind a thousand times since then, trying to remember every tiny detail. Looking back on it now, I know it was one of the most important moments of my life.

We’d come to the rock, and he sat down on it. A small, sympathetic smile crossed his face. “Yes, I know your future and a lot more,” he said. “You want me to tell you what’s going to happen tonight, tomorrow, five years from now. You want to know how I know. All I can say is that if I told you, the consequences might be more awful than you can imagine. I’ve already taken terrible risks, telling you as much as I have, doing as much as I have. So don’t ask. Just take the unner with you tonight. Don’t drop it in the leaves. Most important of all, don’t use it unless you have to.”