s1.e10

Slumber Partly

           It took over a month, but Jared did eventually come around and accept Jace as part of the group. They didn’t talk to each other much, but Jace was fine with that. He couldn’t relate to him that well anyway, nor could he see why Wes liked him.

           Even so, it was nice to be able to sit and chill with the others in his presence. And by October 6^th, he’d gotten used to the squad hangouts at The Dump.

           “I still think he did it,” Jared said after breaking off another rubbery piece of the red Fruit Roll-Up he was sharing with Colin. After gulping it down, he added, “Just ’cause the jury got tricked doesn’t mean he’s innocent. It was that stupid glove, man!”

           “Juries don’t get ‘tricked,’” Arthur argued. “My dad says it doesn’t matter if he did it or not; if the state can’t prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, then there’s doubt.”

           “You’re not just defending him because he’s, like… a ‘brother,’ are ya?”

           Arthur glowered at him. “No, man. It’s not a race thing. I don’t even really like the guy. I don’t do football, and he looked scary on TV sometimes. Still, the point is…”

           “You guys still talking about the O.J. trial?” Zach laughed as he came over to the dumpster, which the other boys were sitting against. “That ended days ago, dudes! Old news, move on. Nothing fresh about it anymore.”

           “Zach, man, it went on and on for months,” Wessy told him. “My mom didn’t care about it, but my dad was always watching it. You can’t just forget all about it that quickly when it’s a daily story. What about you, Jace? You watched the trial, right?”

           “Mm, not really,” he replied and took a piece of fruit roll. “Saw it on the news a lot, but my dad wanted me watching things other than some courtroom stuff all day.”

           “Then what about movies? Seen any R-rated ones lately? Any good ones?”

           Jace shook his head. “Saw Hackers. That was kind of cool, I guess. But I don’t think computer systems work or look like they did in the movie.”

           “Hey, that has a hot hacker chick in it,” Jared tried to add to the conversation.

           “Uh, yeah… Sure does. Also saw Canadian Bacon. It was funny sometimes.”

           “Politic people try to start a war with Canada,” Jared summarized.

           It was annoying, but Jace didn’t mind terribly not having to describe stories. He finished by adding, “And Empire Records. It, uh, was about a record store or something.”

           “Yeah, didn’t see that one,” Jared mumbled with a shrug.

           Wessy switched topics, “You guys got your Halloween costumes planned yet?”

           “We still got a few weeks, man…” Zach said. “And I want to put a lot of thought into mine, so I gotta plan and make it perfect. I’m thinking about—”

           “Serial killer,” Felicity suggested after suddenly coming out of nowhere. “You’d make a great serial killer. There are some famous ones that even look like you.”

           “Get out of here, weirdo!” Jared shouted at her. “No one likes you!”

           “Pfft.” She rolled her eyes and walked off. “Maybe I like it that way.”

           “Man, Felicity is messed up,” Wessy told Zach. “Z, you do not look like a serial killer. Anyway, Jared and me are totally thinking about going as Mario and Luigi.”

           Zach wasn’t listening; he actually seemed to be pondering the serial killer idea.

           Park then abruptly came over and announced, “Hey, everyone! Conrad! Conrad is visiting! It’s crazy—he came up to the bike rack and said hi. He’s climbing over now!”

           “Conrad Baker? I heard he was just some big punk, so I’m not bowing to him or whatever,” Jared said, but looked around and saw that most everyone else was excited.

           Jace, meanwhile, was busy climbing into the dumpster after the crew got to their feet. He was inside with the top down before his new friends even realized that he had gone diving. Fortunately for him, it was mostly empty aside from the remains of uneaten lunchroom lasagna. He kept the cover cracked to keep an eye on things, and to breathe.

           Delilah welcomed in Jace’s young dad, as six kids ran up to ask for an autograph. He was tall, with gel-slathered spiky hair. His boots gave him an extra inch, and the wallet chain on his black pants clinched his inclusion in some “Badass Youth Club.”

           As he pointed finger guns at some fans and winked at others, Jace wondered if his dad looked the way he did last year, or if middle school had quickly mutated him.

           Wright slid over to him. “Yo, Rad Con. What’cha doin’ here, man? Skipping?”

           “Heh, no, little dude. Cookton has a different half-day schedule than you losers do. Figured I’d stop by, sneak in, and see how you all managed to ruin my place.”

           “Nothin’ ruined here,” Zach assured him. “Big D does a good job keeping good guys in and… ‘losers’ out. Rad, you were an inspiration to me as a fourthie, man.”

           “Whatever. I was just pulling your leg.” Conrad popped a Tic Tac. “Dump looks all right. But you better not be the ones that get it shut down by the lame-o teachers.”

           “Hey, old Dump leader guy,” Hutch shouted and walked up looking tough.

           “That you, Hutch? You big old jamoke,” Conrad scoffed at the one kid around just barely taller than him. “You still look like a bonehead. You beatin’ up little ones?”

           Hutch, who had already hit puberty and looked like a Stephen King novel bully, was probably insulted—but hid it well. He didn’t show Conrad any courtesy as he made an expected request. “That girl,” he pointed at Delilah, “broke the law and took my job.”

           “What law?” Conrad shoved his hands in his pockets. “The heck you on about?”

           “Jace, what are you doing in there?” Wessy asked and knocked on the dumpster. “I think you’re about to miss some really cool stuff. Maybe even a fight or something.”

           “Uh, I think I saw… a rare Pog in here. I’m trying to find it.”

           “I hear ya, man, but it’s not every day that a former Dump owner stops by.”

           Jace watched from the safety of his trash house as the small crowd swarmed his dad and drowned out Hutch’s begging. They had requests, questions, asked for advice on how to improve the club—and one of them even pleaded to hang out at his house.

           It didn’t take long at all for Rad Con to snap at them and bring his hands out of his pockets to push fifthies away. “Hey, hey! Back off! Look, I’m in middle school now, so I really don’t give two shits about all of your little kid problems. I just wanted to drop by and check out the place before I hit up King Arcade for the afternoon. Bye, dorks.”

           Those that weren’t left in shock by his attitude and language fell into looks of disappointment, and with that, Conrad left the scene without any fanfare.

           “Wow,” Wessy said as he watched him climb the fence, and helped Jace open the lid. “Kids respected him last year? He’s a total jerk. Guy probably thinks we’re the trash.”

           While the boys talked about how little they were impressed by the visitation, Jace recollected a few of the many, many times his uncle had spoken poorly of his dad.

           The fifth-graders had another chance to besmirch the former owner together at the end of the day as they got to their buses. Wes, Colin, Jared, and Arthur stopped in front of their ride home and pulled Jace aside for a second, as other riders pushed by.

           “So, we still seeing ya tonight?” Wessy asked. “Didn’t get cold feet did ya?”

           Jace shook his head. “Nope, uh, my feet are warm… Should I bring anything?”

           “Poster of Conrad Baker to throw darts at?” Jared suggested.

           “Just a Game Boy, if you got one,” Wessy said after a chuckle. “It’ll be great. We watch movies, play games, check out weird late-night TV, and eat pizza.”

           “You dumb boys have fun at your stupid slumber party,” Sadie said in jest as she boarded the bus. “Can’t wait to see all the makeovers on Monday!”

           “Ugh, Sadie! Boys don’t have slumber parties; we have awesome sleepovers!”

           She laughed as she disappeared into the bus along with Ash. By this point, Jace was so cool with the group that he wished he could ride with them, too.

           Instead, he turned to board his bus, further back… but almost immediately ran into a girl heading in the opposite direction, towards her own yellow monster.

           “Sorry—” he started, and then shut up when he noticed her big olive-green shirt.

           Lucy’s big headphones had been knocked off her head, and now rested atop her also oversized brown backpack. She stared at Jace with a listless “why?” face.

           “Can’t anyone ever watch where they’re going…?” she eventually mumbled.

           Instead of getting on his bus, Wessy came over and said, “Yo, that’s my half-sister Lucy. She’s in fourth grade. And, um, not to be rude, but stay away from her, okay?”

           “Uh, hi…” Jace said, thinking about how he’d now seen both his parents today.

           “Stop trying to protect me like I’m a helpless puppy,” Lucy said to her brother.

           “I just don’t want my friends hitting on you, Luce! Things would get weird and gross, and then we wouldn’t be able to be friends anymore. I can’t risk that.”

           “Give me a break…” She slid her headphones back on, and then studied Jace for a moment longer and raised an eyebrow. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

           “Better not!” Wessy shouted, loudly. Jace and Lucy both looked at him like he was crazy, so he calmed himself and huffed, “Come on, Luce. I’ll walk you to your bus.”

           “You are so weird sometimes,” she protested as she was dragged away. “Get off!”

           Relieved that she probably didn’t burn his face into memory, Jace boarded his bus.

           After Jace and Millie split off at the apartment, he noticed that his unit’s door was open. He looked inside to see Wes talking to a guy that matched his height, with thinning gray hair and a patch over his left eye. At first glance, it looked like his uncle was being robbed by a mob boss that did shakedowns on Flamingo residents.

           “Oh, Jason, come in!” Wes waved at him. “It’s all right, he’s a cool guy.”

           Jace slid inside and kept his leery eyes on the strange man. How could he not be a robber, when Wes was actively handing over bills from a stack of fresh greenbacks?

           “Sorry I couldn’t pay yesterday. My… uh, paydays are a little unpredictable.”

           “And what is it you do again?” the man asked in a gruff, almost ‘old cowboy’ kind of voice. “I see you’ve made some additions to the apartment, after coming here with so little,” he added and looked around the living room.

           “Just this and that, while I dip my toes into the market. Oh, buddy, this is our landlord. Ya know, he has some interesting stories—guy’s been all over the country.”

           “Used to ride a motorcycle, coast to coast,” he told Jace with a touch of pride. “And I believe you must go to school with my kid.”

           Jace thought about that. What kid? Maybe this was Pog Boy Wright’s dad? Wait, no… If he’s the landlord guy, he probably lives here. And the only other kid that lives here is…

           “Wow, this place looks nothing like how Ms. Bellavaux kept it,” Millie said from the doorway, where she gawked at the living room without actually coming in.

           “Hey, honey bear,” Mr. Vanbusen said, giving his daughter a rugged smile. “You have a good day at school today? Learn how to take apart a Harley yet?”

           “Hi, Daddy. Do you have to kick them out already?”

           “Oh, no, not yet,” he said with a hearty chortle.

           “Your dad… is the owner of The Flamingo?” Jace asked her.

           “Yeah, duh. You didn’t know that? Ya think I just moved here with him to live with a bunch of old people? You stand out because you’re the only other one my age.”

           “Um, could you actually not look around our home?” Jace said, realizing that an observant girl like Millie might notice the smallest thing out of place and get suspicious.

           She looked insulted, rolled her eyes, and stepped back out. Jace wanted to get some Super Nintendo practice in before the sleepover that would start soon, but now the two older guys in the room were sharing stories. Stories. He knew those took forever.

           So, instead of sitting around listening to those, he went back outside. Millie was waiting for him as she leaned against the stucco exterior, her arms crossed, eyes staring at the ground. She must have grown up here, at an old people apartment. How odd.

           “You know…” she muttered, “a nice old French lady used to live here. She baked me the best cookies ever each Saturday. She died two months ago. Bet you’ve never even heard her name. Bet you don’t care about anyone else at this place.”

           “Hey, give me a break. I didn’t want to move here, either. My dad picked it.”

           “Your dad looks pretty young. Is he even your dad, really?”

           “Y-yeah! Your dad is freaking old. Is he really yours?”

           “Y-y-you jerk!” She hit his shoulder and looked really upset. “Why would you ask me that? I’ve known him all my life! He’s the only family I got!”

           “B-but you started it…” Jace stopped, thinking maybe that didn’t matter. She had obviously been hurt by the returned accusation. “Sorry. Okay?”

           Man, this girl’s hard to hate. I try to, but I just feel sorry for her every time.

           He asked her, “Isn’t everyone here kind of your family? They seem to like you.”

           “They like me because I’m some ‘cute kid.’ Once I’m a teenager, they probably won’t even wave back. We get a lot of punks around here, causing them trouble. Living at this place really sucks sometimes… And it’s not like I can just go somewhere else.”

           Jace wasn’t sure what to say, so he figured it’d be smarter to keep his mouth shut. Inside, it looked like their “dads” were capping off their conversation with a few laughs.

           “You’re going to one of Wes’ famous sleepovers tonight, huh?” Millie asked.

           “Um… yep. Do you want some, like, what, ‘juicy tidbits’ about them?”

           “I told you already.” She shoved off the wall and began walking away with her dad. “I think those guys are boring. Don’t let them make you boring, too.”

           “I want to be boring, if it means you’ll leave me alone,” Jace muttered to himself.

           Wes emerged and plopped a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Welp. We get to live here for at least another month. Feels good to have money coming in.”

           “Did you really forget your own landlord’s name?” Jace asked. “Geez, why are we just learning now that he’s Millie’s dad? I thought you were Dr. Research.”

           “Hey, cut me a break. I just didn’t make the connection. I’ve… had my mind on other things recently. Anyway. Let’s start getting you ready for that get-together.”

           As Wes drove them into Desert Tree, Jace checked the backpack on his lap one last time. It was full of compartmentalized sleepover gear, including his own pillow; Wes said it was always much easier to fall asleep on a familiar pillow when at someone else’s house. His Game Boy, a toothbrush, some rented video games, and a few cans of soda were also inside; since Wessy’s mom regulated sugar intake, the boys always smuggled in a little contraband when they came over, to have or share.

           “Anything I should know about this sleepover?” Jace asked.

           With his childhood block approaching, Wes answered, “I doubt it’s anything special. We had about fifty of them a year, and this is probably just another typical get-together. Just keep thinking before you speak, and try to make friends with them.”

           He pulled up to his first house and, like always, looked at it nostalgically.

           Before Jace got out of the car, he mentioned, “Dad came to The Dump today, by the way. I hid in the dumpster, so he didn’t see me. I think you were right about him.”

           “Oh yeah? I don’t really remember him stopping by more than once or twice. I guess you did good if you avoided him. And now you know where I’m coming from.”

           Jace looked at the house, and then back. “So… what are you doing tonight?”

           Wes smirked. “More research. Look, don’t be nervous. Go right in and have fun. My mom will keep the peace, and you can call me if you need to. But remember, these kids are only your friends for a little while. See how easy it is to have buddies, so when you’re back, you can try again with your 2020 ones. Hey, you danced in front of the entire fifth-grade class. A sleepover is nothing. Chill out and don’t try to be the star tonight.”

           Jace took a breath and left the car. He waved to his uncle, he waved back, and then he drove off. Wes’ house was just ahead. How weird it would be to finally go inside; to see the place that for him, once only existed in photos printed from a drugstore.

           Great Auntie swung open the screen door and she welcomed him in excitedly. “You must be Jason! Come in—the others are waiting upstairs.”

           “Oh. Um, hi. I’m… the new one,” he said, realizing how stupid he sounded.

           But she just smiled at the remark. “The more friends the better for my Wessy. Oh, but don’t tell him I said that. Or call him that. He gets embarrassed so easily.”

           “So do we… have dinner together?” he asked as he stepped in and looked at the faded paint on the furniture and walls, and the house’s other messy imperfections.

           “Oh, no, I’m not cooking for five boys,” she replied with a laugh. “There’s pizza already up there, and more in the fridge. Plenty to go around.”

           What his uncle had said about his childhood home was accurate; it was very clearly lived in, but not dirty. Height markers in different crayon colors were on the doorframe of the nearby kitchen. Wayward Legos nested in nooks and crannies. A crinkled The Legend of Zelda poster from Nintendo Power hung behind the living room couch. There were faint scratch marks everywhere, the downstairs television was playing Nickelodeon even though no one was watching it, and summer art camp creations that included a sailboat and a dusty dreamcatcher sat in front of his mom’s book collection.

           Jace had always thought his great aunt was cool for an old lady, though they had only ever seen each other a few times. He could definitely tell how she’d been a major influence on how Wes became, well, Uncle Wes. He said thanks and went upstairs.

           The second floor was small, with only a closet, attic access, and a bathroom next to Wessy’s room—whose door was wide open. Jace heard channel surfing; the TV was blasting out a next show or commercial every few seconds. It stopped on a music video for Undone, which Jace understood as being a song about hanging out and sweaters.

           “Haha, Jared likes Weezer. He’s a dork,” Arthur’s voice joked.

           “Shut up, Arty. It’s a good chilling-out-with-friends-at-home song,” Jared replied.

           “Yeah, man. So is Teen Spirit. You know, if you’re actually, you know, cool.”

           “Grunge is so overplayed, dude. Also, it’s dead. Had its time. Anyway, Kurt—”

           “Yo, Jason!” Wessy shot up and called out once he appeared in the doorway. In his hand was a half-eaten Pizza Hut slice. “Get in here so we can start the party.”

           “Hey, guys…” Jace responded a little meekly, and took in the sight of the room.

           Colin, on a beanbag chair in the corner of the blue-carpeted room, played his Game Boy. Arthur sorted Wes’ collection of Super Nintendo games that were lined up at the bottom of the fire engine red entertainment center while picking ones to play, and Jared went back to surfing after failing to greet Jace and a minute of the song went by.

           “Wes, hit me up. Batteries are low,” Colin requested. “I’m about to fight Wario.”

           “I gotcha.” Wes pulled off the power supply clipped to his shorts and tossed it.

           “Haven’t you beaten Super Mario Land 2, like, at least ten times?” Jared asked him.

           “Sure, but it’s fun seeing how fast I can beat it from start to finish,” Colin said.

           “What’s the point of that? I’d rather just move onto the next game.”

           No stranger to watching speedruns sometimes, Jace managed to chuckle a little as he dropped his backpack and took a seat on the room’s large red inflatable chair.

           “We were kind of wasting time talking about Conrad Baker, tearing him down and stuff,” Wes explained. “We don’t need the class talking about the guy like he was a great legend or something anymore. We will be who next year’s kids talk about.”

           “Yeah, I bet.” Arthur laughed. “We don’t normally trash talk people, Jason. But that dude had it coming, and me and Jared are pretty good at roasting.”

           “And it’s not easy to talk smack about a guy when you can’t really bring up trash itself,” Jared emphasized. “You know, since we hang out at a ‘dump’ and everything.”

           “How you doing, Jason? You bring anything cool over?” Wessy asked him.

           “A few video games…” he answered.

           “Mind if I look?” Wessy went ahead and started digging through his backpack before he got a response. “Oh, nice. Mortal Kombat. What’s this box? Video Klub?”

           “It’s… a newer place.” Jace said as a big old hairy mutt suddenly meandered into the room and sniffed at his shoes. “I didn’t know you had, um, have a dog.”

           “Oh yeah, that’s Tiger. My mom got him before I was even born, so I kinda grew up with him. He’s… getting old now, though. He’s kinda slow, and deaf.”

           Tiger snorted on Jace’s shoes, yawned and whined, and gracelessly plopped down and fell asleep near his feet. He gave the dog a pat on the head and relaxed a little.

           “Picked up some videos from Blockbuster for tonight,” Wessy said and pointed out the three that were stacked atop his own personal VCR. “I got Batman Returns, Hot Shots!, and The Lion King. We don’t have to sit around and watch them; we usually just have movies playing in the background. I like doing a lot of stuff at the same time.”

           “Jared cried when Simba’s dad died,” Colin bravely stated. “It’s true. We were all there. It was his birthday movie. We saw it happen. It’s true.”

           “Shut up, Colin! That’s still not true and never will be!” Jared protested.

           “It’s totally true,” Wessy whispered to Jace, purposely as loudly as possible.

           Jared went after him next as Arthur burst out laughing, and a smile soon formed on Jace’s face. They could poke fun at each other, so this wasn’t so bad—and it also felt familiar. Jace had a few good sleepovers with his own friends before things went south.

           Dinner soon rolled around, if it could be called that; all it involved was a mom bringing up a fresh box of pizza and water bottles. Water. She mentioned the day’s sugar quota, so Wes was denied a second liter of soda. But Jace saved the night with his four smuggled cans, gaining favor from the others. He was actually fine with water himself.

           Jared abruptly began laughing after a Coke-filled belch, and as Batman fought the Penguin on Wessy’s TV, he exclaimed, “Still thinkin’ about that burn you made earlier, Arty. About how the only thing Conrad Baker bakes is fart cookies in his butt.”

           “It was good…” Arthur half agreed, half sighed. “But don’t kill the joke, J.”

           “Speaking of baking…” Wes went to his closet and took out a worn box with the words ‘Creepy Crawlers’ on the side, above kids making bugs. “Guess what I dug up.”

           “That old thing? Man, we haven’t made crawlers since we were, what, eight?”

            “Still got some goop left,” Wes said with a shrug and took out the orange and green oven. “Let’s make a few bugs and then, I dunno, light them on fire or put them around the kitchen.” He plugged in the contraption. “You ever done this, Jace?”

            He shook his head, but understood the concept. It looked like the toy allowed one to make their own colorful insects with molds. It was somewhat similar to the 3D printers rich kids from his time would use and show off to their jealous peers.

           As the oven warmed up, Colin finished off the last slice of Pizza Hut deep dish and asked Jared, “Hey, J, who’s gonna win the World Series this year?”

           “Cleveland probably. It’s the Indians and the Braves, man, so I don’t really care.”

           “You watch any baseball, Jason?” Colin asked him. “Me and Jared aren’t sports junkies, but we’ve been on a little league team for a few years together.”

           He said truthfully, “The World Series, sure. Last year’s was… pretty crazy, huh?”

           Jared and Colin looked at one another, and then Jared said, “Yeah, real crazy. Crazy in that it didn’t happen.” An army of penguins with rockets strapped to their backs marched on the television. “Remember? There was some big strike last year?”

           Screwed up again, Jace thought. I really need to keep my mouth shut.

           He provided a correction, “Oh. Yeah, duh. Guess I was thinking of ’93.”

           Wes passed around the metal tray molds, and the boys took turns filling up bug shapes with what little green, red, black, and purple “goop” was left. Jace was actually a little proud of his tri-colored centipede as it went into the oven with the others.

           While they baked and hardened, Arty observed, “You know, this thing is basically an Easy-Bake Oven. Except… you can’t even eat this stuff. At least girls get to do that.”

           “Think Sadie’s making cupcakes right now?” Colin asked. “I think she has one.”

           “She usually has a sleepover with Ash and her other old friend Celeste opposite ours,” Jared explained to Jace. “I know! Wes, we should totally prank call her again.”

           “Nah… That’s kinda mean and immature…” Wessy argued, but then went right into a snicker and grabbed his room’s hotdog phone. “Which is why we gotta do it.”

           Jace watched as this prospect excited the others, and they got close so they could hear the victim. Wes punched in her digits, and Sadie answered with the basic, “Hello?”

           Wes cleared his throat and tried his best to sound like an adult. “Ahem, yes. This is the Water Department. We’ve noticed some unusual activity. Is your toilet running?”

           “Gee, I think one’s talking to me right now. Grow up, Wessy.” And she hung up.

           “Wait—oh, come on,” Wes groaned as the others burst out into chortles.

           Jared caught his breath and said, “Hey, she hasn’t heard Jace’s phone voice yet.”

           “N-no, I couldn’t…” Jace tried to refuse the hotdog phone being thrust at him.

           “Come on, give it a try,” Wes insisted. “I’ll dial the number. She has a good sense of humor, and she’ll get us back sometime anyway. Just come up with something!”

           Jace muttered a curse word and grabbed the phone. He had listened to a few prank calls done with soundboards, but never figured he’d have to try one himself.

           Sadie picked up and muttered from her nearby home, “Wes, if this is you again…”

           Jace brought out his best ‘old guy’ voice, more convincing than Wessy’s. “Evenin’ ma’am. I wanted to let you know that no one answered the door, so I had to slide your package through your mail slot. I think I heard it break open when I pushed it through.”

           “Package? What package?”

           “I believe it was marked as ‘Warning: Live Spiders.’ Ma’am? Are you there?”

           There wasn’t one, but three audible shrieks on the other end, and before Sadie slammed the phone down, she clearly shouted “Mom! Mooom!”

           “Whoa, we got Prankin’ J. Connor here!” Colin exclaimed. “That was great! But how did you know she has a mail slot? And is also horribly, deathly afraid of spiders?”

           “Uh, who isn’t?” Jace said and smiled from one more win as the others laughed.

           He just hoped Sadie would be merciful when the time for revenge arrived.

           The early internet had, unsurprisingly, failed Wes. Searching for written books was already an unreliable and boring crapshoot, and what few actual websites existed so far about time travel were hard to read, unorganized, and mostly full of nonsensical and rambling theories among early GIFs of stars and compressed Back to the Future stills.

           So, he was off to a library. Not the old Royal Valley Central Library—that had already closed for the day before the sun had set. But the university had a respectable archive, kept open into the late hours for the sake of caffeine-addled cramming students.

           Surely they had a book on the possibility of time travel and causation effects, by someone smart like Stephen Hawking or Michio Kaku, or a local professor. He wouldn’t mind finding even just a pseudo-scientific take on the field, either, by some nutty alumni who tried building a time machine in his garage. He had become desperate for ideas, voices, and opinions. Was he seriously the city’s only time traveler? No, there had to be someone before him, or perhaps in this case, after him. Someone smarter. For the sake of the remainder of his vacation, and his nephew’s existence, he needed to learn more.

           As Wes wouldn’t be a student for another eight years, he wouldn’t be able to check anything out, but as long as he minded his own business and kept quiet, he knew he could pass as someone who might belong there. Or at least go unnoticed.

           He parked in the visitors’ lot, walked across the quad under a late dusk sky, and arrived at the neoclassical-style library. Its exterior remained unchanged since its 1937 origins, but inside was a well-lit and inviting learning space that looked ripped right out of The Breakfast Club. He gave the librarian a wave—noticing that he wasn’t quite as old as how he remembered him—and walked past the computer desks, towards the back where he’d have more privacy. The few students about ignored him, as they were more interested in their National Geographic magazines and hip Apple Newton organizers.

           And again, something was watching; another eye had formed from black, liquid-like tendrils. It appeared briefly near the security camera in the corner, identified Wes after waiting for him to pass by, and then returned to the abyss on the other side.

           But since Wes hadn’t seen such a thing, he still assumed nothing was following him as he found a lonely computer and took a seat. He also couldn’t know that these would be the last minutes on the trip that he felt alone and free of danger.

           For now, he had searching to do. He entered into the index system: “time travel.”

           Strangely, the nearby ceiling lights flickered as he pressed the enter key, as did the old CRT monitor itself. For a moment, it sounded like something electronic had fizzed from an indiscernible direction. He shook it off as failing wiring and checked the results.

          The library had copies of A Brief History of Time, The Time Machine, a Wrinkle in Time, and a few books on physics in general, but little else. And what did he expect? The world still had no verified time travelers; at least none that came back and wrote about it. But, on the second and last page of results, there was a single entry that stood out.

           The Possibilities of Time, by Malcolm Corathine, written in 1990. Wes was around 95% sure he had no idea who the author was, and yet, he sounded very vaguely familiar. Seeing nothing else that could actually help him, he memorized the book’s location and took off to find it. The lights flickered again as he got up and went into the stacks.

           “Wonder who this guy is… Corathine…” he muttered as he went deeper into the library, further away from the big areas, to a place where the lights didn’t quite touch.

           He heard more buzzing as he leaned down to hunt for the book on the lowest shelf—and then all of the lights within twenty feet of him suddenly shut off.

           This wasn’t someone playing with switches or funky wiring. The air was charged, and he felt eyes on his back. An eerie silence in a dark corner of a library, one of his least-liked places ever, was abruptly broken by the sound of a book dropping nearby.

           Determined to find the one he was after and return to somewhere well-lit, he hurriedly found and grabbed it. It was a small thing, made of pulpy paper. It was also in pristine condition, maybe never brought out of the library—or maybe never even read.

           He stood up and as he began to head back, looked at both sides of the book. On the cover was a poorly drawn sketchy hourglass, below the title. There was no subtitle. On the back was a picture of the author: he was an old man with a wild gray beard, looking overly serious and confident about his writing. And also his bowtie.

           “In his first book, Dr. Malcolm Corathine of Royal Valley, California, explores the likely local and global effects of time travel and interaction with our past selves and places. As he shares personal mathematic and quantum formulas that prove time travel is possible, Dr. Corathine will also lead the reader in a journey of growing up in Royal Valley, the town’s urban legends, and his own personal meeting with a real time traveler.

           “Corathine teaches at Royal University and is a graduate of—”

           Wes wasn’t able to learn which university the author and professor had gone to or what he held a degree in—because out of nowhere, a strange, sharp black tentacle had just skewered the potential guidebook to his own time journey.

           In shock, he could only stare at the weird dark thing, its reflective “skin” moving like black ants on television static. Before he could get a firm grasp on the book, the tendril whipped back, yanking it out of his hands. He then watched, dumbfounded, as it pulled the book into a small lightless portal where it disappeared, devoured.

           The rift closed, and after his adrenaline kick eased up some, Wes cautiously pulled out a few books and looked around the shelves to look for another portal.

           It found him first—twice over. A pair of black holes suddenly opened up from the sides of either shelf in front of him. He froze in place, legitimately terrified. Then a third portal opened up between the two, and a small floating white eye popped out.

           He thought rather mindlessly, what the hell is this little Eye of Sauron thing?

           With the eye glaring at him, two long, shapeshifting tendrils came out from the flanking portals. Moving like a monster tree’s twisting branches, they bent themselves into words, with each letter connected together and meant just for him.

           He watched, frozen in place, as they morphed into, “YO! WHATCHA DOIN HERE, WESSY BUDDY?” They then transformed again to say, “YOU SHOULD PROBABLY GO HOME.” Afterwards, the tentacles, eye, and portals vanished again.

           He pressed at his chest and felt his heart racing, and only then did he notice that three college students—two girls and a guy—were on their way to check out a bunch of books. They had stopped to give him curious looks. Did they not see what he had? Was he going crazy? Would this be his own Time Ninja, and would Jace in turn not believe him when he tried to convince the kid that the time tentacles were—

           Before he finished the thought, over a hundred of the portals spawned all around him, trapping him in a spherical net. Eyes sprung out of every single one. After staring at him for a moment, some of the eyes in front of him retreated into their portals, leaving those spaces black. This formed the most unsettling message yet: “LEAVE 1995.”

           That did it. As soon as the portals vanished, Wes totally freaked and ran past the gawking students. He then fled the library and ran off into the night. The incident would be on his mind for weeks, but he was proud of one little thing. At least I didn’t scream.

           Using mostly yellow Lego bricks, the boys, now in their pajamas, had created an unfortunate victim: a man on his back that happened to have a dozen Creepy Crawler bugs wriggling both on him and out of him, resulting in the spillage of red brick-blood. The scene garnered many laughs, and Jace had contributed the construction techniques he had developed over the years from building modern sets of the old toy.

           That happened hours ago, and now the last of The Lion King was playing on the TV, with poor Bug Man among the audience. As the glow of the animation filled the room—its only light source—Colin snored quietly from his corner air mattress.

           “Kid’s a lightweight,” Wessy mentioned to Jace. “He’s always out by eleven.”

           Jace looked at the Nickelodeon Time Blaster clock on Wes’ computer desk. It was 12:02 at night, the climatic fight between Simba and Scar had just finished, and Wes was at the VCR, ready to rewind the tape, which his mom always made him do.

           “So. You crying?” Arthur inquired as he closely studied Jared’s eyes.

           “No, man! I keep telling you—I don’t cry at movies.”

           “How late do you guys stay up, anyway?” Jace asked after a yawn.

           “As late as we want,” Jared answered. “Until we get bored and tired.”

           “Usually later on Saturdays,” Wes added. “When I’m here instead of at my dad’s. But he has me tomorrow, so I have to leave early. Friday sleepovers are never as good.”

           “You guys ever sleep at someone else’s house?” Jace continued the questioning.

           “Yeah, we take turns, kinda,” Arty answered. “But they’re usually here.”

           “I don’t have many at my dad’s…” Wes stopped the tape and began to rewind it. “I don’t like his house that much, and I don’t have much of a room there anyway.”

           “It is a much bigger place though, dude,” Jared said.

           “Who cares? Spending nights there is weird, what with Lucy’s mom and stuff.”

           “Whatever.” Jared sighed and grabbed the remote, as the VCR spools went into high gear. He started surfing once more, now flipping through strange late-night TV and old cartoons on his quest to find entertainment. “Doesn’t your dad have HBO, too?”

           Wes glared at him. “Just drop it, okay?”

           “All right, all right. I’m just saying, is all.”

           Jace yawned again and got into his provided blue sleeping bag, his pillow on top. It was surprisingly comfortable and clean, and it smelled like it had just been washed.

           Arthur was the next to fall victim to the sleeping bug, and without saying a word, he crawled into his own bag next to the door, took off his glasses, gave his saline nose spray a few pumps, and turned around to enjoy the darkness of the wall.

           “Now it’s just the three of us. Who will last the longest?” Jared quipped.

           “I can,” Wes promised. “Not even a challenge. I’ve already done all-nighters.”

           Jace studied his young uncle’s eyes and face for a moment to see how awake he was, confirming what the older version had told him about his poor sleep schedule.

           “Sometimes there’s good stuff on TV this late,” Jared mentioned, flipping past a loud MTV music video. “You like weird shows, right, Wes?”

           “Yeah, I guess. I like Mystery Science Theater. It’s on this late sometimes.”

           “That thing where robots make fun of bad movies? Yeah, I know the one.”

           Jared went past some old guy who was staring into the camera and talking about something, paused on a beer commercial, and then went back a channel.

           “—and that’s what we’ll be talking about tonight… on Quantum Wisdom,” the man with wild gray hair said from his desk, a blanket backdrop full of stars behind him.

           The show went into a low budget title sequence with floating cutouts of black holes, hourglasses, galaxies, a pocket watch, and mathematical equations, ending on the words Quantum Wisdom: Expand Your Knowledge. Created by Dr. Malcolm Corathine.

           “What is this public access crap?” Jared said with a laugh. “Did this weird dude make his show in his garage or something? Oh, man, this might be worth a laugh.”

           “I’ve seen this thing a few times,” Wes replied. “The guy actually sounds really smart, but I usually don’t know what he’s talking about. Sometimes, though, he makes things simple and uses objects to explain stuff, kinda like Bill Nye.”

           “Time travel,” Malcolm began, using large hand gestures to imply the bigness of the subject matter. “I’ve spoken about it often on the show. Of course, that is because it’s my favorite subject matter. But what is it, really?”

           He brought out a hefty antique hourglass and turned it over to start the sand flowing—though it was hard to see because of the poor lighting and video quality.

           “Is this guy for real?” Jared scoffed. “Wes, you really watch junk like this?”

           Wes shrugged. “For a few minutes, sometimes. If he’s talking about something interesting, and I can understand it. I think the university makes, or made this show.”

           Jace was interested, but didn’t want to draw suspicion by asking Jared to stay on the channel; it would be odd if he made it sound like he wanted to keep watching. They probably wouldn’t label him a time traveler, but they might think he was weird after such a request. He just had to keep quiet and hope he’d get a few minutes with the mysterious professor. Maybe the guy was a quack… but what if he actually knew something?

           “So, tonight we talk about time travelers, visiting us right here, right now. What would they look like, sound like? What would they wear, how would they blend in? And would they be here to save us, to warn us, or are they just visiting? This is Episode 4-13: ‘Travelers Among Us,’” he held up a poster board with the episode number, title, and the production date, “filmed on March 5^th, 1990, at Royal Valley University, California.”

           “Please tell me this guy lets you call in,” Jared asked Wes hopefully. “Those are the best local shows. Anyone can call in and prank them! We could be famous!”

           “Um, no, and it wouldn’t matter because this was filmed five years ago?”

           “Check out his bowtie. Maybe Spice should give him some fashion advice.”

           Peeved, Jace thought, will you both please shut up and let me listen?

           “The most curious thing about the idea of time travelers is their purpose here. And if they fulfilled this purpose, why would they need to be here at all? Do they create alternate realities after they leave, or as soon as they arrive? What if there are hundreds, thousands, from some ruined future, and they come here to fix mistakes?

           “Will we never know, either because they hide themselves well, or in fact, upon making their ‘correction,’ were never needed here to begin with? Do they then vanish, and yet their handiwork remains and becomes a new truth we all accept? As my students might say, it kinda… blows your mind, man,” he said with an entertained grandpa chuckle.

           “This guy…” Jared, out of insults, said with one last laugh.

           “I’d like to tell you a story, about when I actually saw a time traveler. You don’t have to believe it, but I’m going to share it anyway. It happened last year, when I—”

           “Wes, you and your friends need to go to bed,” his mom interrupted with a knock, taking everyone’s attention off of the television. “You get up early, remember?”

           He didn’t put up a fight. “Okay, okay. Was out of stuff to do anyway.”

           With that, he turned the TV off right away and got into bed. Jace really wanted to hear the story about the time traveler, but he was powerless with Great Auntie in charge.

           “Night, guys,” Jared said once the door had closed and the room fell into darkness. After he wormed into his sleeping bag, he cheekily added, “Hope you don’t have nightmares about Dr. Time Travel dragging you to the past.”

           The remark got the last few snickers of the night. Jace kept his eyes open and stared at the glowing sticker stars on the ceiling, floating among the little hills and valleys of plaster, all of it dimly illuminated in the deep blues from the moonlit night outside.

           I wonder what this room is like in 2020, Jace thought. Is there a kid like my uncle living here? I bet Wes would want to see what this Corathine guy has to say… Maybe someone put his videos up on YouTube? I would have to go back to the present first to find out. There’s gotta be recordings—

           His ponderings were broken by the sound of a flashlight click. He looked up at Wes’ bed, and saw that he was under the glowing covers. From the faint rustle of paper and the quick pace of the page flips, Jace believed there was a strong likelihood that Wes was reading a comic book. This continued for ten minutes before Jace finally spoke up.

           “Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly.

           “You can’t either?” his muffled voice replied. “I always stay up late. I don’t like sleeping that much. Can’t do things when you sleep. Other than dream, I guess.”

           Jace considered how to use this moment. Maybe this would be a good chance to ask Wes a few questions, or just talk to him privately? Well, if the others aren’t actually awake, that is.

           He was sure there were many questions he could ask, but right now, inside his young uncle’s childhood bedroom late at night surrounded by snoozing ten-year-olds, he could really only think of one—but it might be pretty good.

           “So… how’d you and Charlie Pippin become friends?”

           “Huh?” Wes murmured back. “Hey, you ever put a bright flashlight behind your fingers? It’s like I can see my bones or something. It’s creepy.”

           “Wes, tell me about how you met Charlie Pippin,” Jace repeated.

           Jared, surprisingly still awake, mumbled, “Yeah… tell him about Ol’ Charlie…”

           Wes turned off his light and emerged from the blanket. He was still wide-awake, and with his own eyes adjusted to the dark, Jace could see him stretch a few times.

           “So, yeah, Charlie Pippin was close to being my first friend. My mom has been friends with Colin’s mom since they were in college, so I knew him as a toddler.”

           “You would’a been a toddler too,” Jared said with a sleepy laugh.

           “Yeah, yeah. But, you know, that means that Colin has always kinda been there since I could first remember… anything. Charlie, though? Man, he made an entrance. It was the first day of kindergarten. I show up at school with my Super Mario lunchbox looking like a dork, my best bud Colin at my side. We go to the first class I’d ever have there. Ms. Muntz was my teacher. She was old, kinda smelled like a closet. She was nice.

           “Me and Colin try to make friends, but they aren’t really having it. Guess there being two of us made us look intimidating, or whatever? Nope, no one wanted to try and make two friends at the same time. But Charlie? That kid had a plan from day one, man. He was a five-year-old with his life all planned out. It was like he was the coolest guy in the world that died doing the most extreme awesome stunt ever, and then got reborn and went right back to it. He didn’t even care that there were two of us. He treated us like we had always been friends, complimented our backpacks and lunch boxes, made us feel cool. Showed us just how to move and talk… Taught us about confidence.

           “He never took any crap, either. I mean, he didn’t argue or fire off a return insult; he just plowed through everything. Kids making fun of his clothes, teachers giving him a punishment, someone saying a show he liked sucked? Nah. He’d keep on doing what he was doing, or say ‘cool’ and shrug. Most little kids get emotional, you know? Don’t deny it. You cried in first and second grade for some stupid reason. I know Jared did.”

           “Shut up, man… Almost made you cry tonight… When you lost at Street Fighter.”

           “Sure, whatever you say. But all of that was just his attitude. That alone isn’t what makes someone cool, or a guy you want to hang out with. He also knew everything about popular stuff—all this trivia about movies, games, TV, celebrities… He ate it all up and spat it back out. I don’t know what he didn’t watch, or play, or like. Every time we, or anyone else started talking about games or shows or movies near him, he’d jump right into a long chat and usually make even more new friends. That’s how he made so many and got really popular. He didn’t care how well-liked other kids were. They could be the class loser, but the minute he realized someone enjoyed just one thing that he also did, bam, he shares his favorite episodes and his opinions, and they’re insta-buddies.”

           “But he hung out with us the most,” Jared continued his supplemental remarks.

           “Yeah… He brought us together with Arty, Jared, and Zach.”

           “Sadie was our find, though. She was always hanging around the neighborhood.”

           “Because she likes being outside and she lives in the neighborhood,” Wes stated the obvious. “She never actually seemed to like Charlie that much, though. Anyway…

           “Here are some of Charlie’s greatest hits over the years. He was the first one in school to find out they were building an amusement park in town, and announced it at first grade lunch. He got sent to the principal’s office and, rumor has it, cracked so many jokes that he made him laugh, so they became buddies and he got off scot-free. Just last year, he snuck us into Steader High’s pool during a sleepover, and we had a pool water gun fight at night, until we had to run away from some guard guy. He brought all five of his dog’s puppies to school and gave away the entire litter before a teacher noticed. He also brought a bowl of marshmallow-candy-macaroni to ‘bring a cookie to share day.’ He… well, he did so many other things too, almost every day… But then he kinda…”

           “What?” Jace replied, his thoughts now back on the Charlie stories after he had begun to drift off while thinking, I wonder what Dr. Time Travel is talking about right now?

           “He got a little intense,” Jared said quietly. “Was that what you were gonna say?”

           “Pretty much. His stunts and his, I guess, attention-seeking? It all got crazier and crazier last year. He had to impress everyone more and more. And, I dunno, he didn’t seem very happy. He was never much of a smiler or a laugher, but… I mean, he was still really cool, it’s just… Geez, you got me thinkin’ about stuff I haven’t thought about in a while.”

           “Um, sorry about that?” Jace murmured sleepily.

           “He suddenly started doing pranks and burns on other kids, and soon lost a few friends. Then he eventually stole a bunch of candy from a store downtown, and the next day at lunch, when he was eating the only piece he didn’t drop into a storm drain, his dad and get this—two police officers—came in and took him away forever.”

           “Haven’t seen him… since…” Jared murmured, and might’ve just drifted off.

           “Wes,” Jace spoke up after a long silence, upon seeing that he was still awake and gazing up at the ceiling. “Charlie might’ve brought you all together, but it sounds like he was kind of a… troubled kid? Sort of like… he was this bright light to everyone, but he didn’t feel much of anything? Did you ever actually try to get close?”

           Jace was certain he had heard him, but couldn’t remember if he got a response before he fell asleep himself. He couldn’t even be sure that Wes actually did go to sleep.

           That night, for some reason, Jace dreamed of five puppies running loose at DTE.

           He was woken up early in the morning by the sound of Wessy packing. In the dawn light, he rolled over and saw him finishing up with his over-capacity backpack. After Wes slung it over his back, he noticed that Jace was awake, and gave him a wave.

           “Dad’s here,” he whispered. “Last night was pretty fun. Hope you come to one of my Saturday sleepovers soon. They’re even better. See ya.”

           And then he left, with the others still asleep or at most stirring. Jace stayed in his sleeping bag for a few more minutes before realizing his body was in no mood to return to a weird dreamland. He got up, yawned, and looked around the room.

           He heard an engine noise outside, and went to the window to look through the blinds. Wes’ dad opened the passenger door of his Mercedes and waved his son over. Wes hurried to the car, but his gait didn’t suggest that he actually wanted to go with him; it was more like he was in a rush to complete the pickup before he got scolded. He quickly got inside the car, and disappeared as it took off with screeching tires.

           Seeing this as a chance to learn a few more things about his uncle’s youth, or find some peculiar memory or object that he could bring up with the guy, Jace looked around again. Almost every object in the room couldn’t simply fulfill a function; it also had to look like it belonged in a young boy’s room. From the bright red metal coatrack, to the M&M dispenser and colorful blue, green, and yellow ceiling fan, Jace thought it likely that Wes shopped with his mom often and handpicked all his own décor.

           He carefully stepped over Colin and Jared, and went over to the corkboard full of scraps and photos. Among the memories was the only thing that Jace thought locked Charlie in time—if it was in fact him in the photograph: a Polaroid square, labeled with a Sharpie. “First movie without parents! 1994.” It reminded him of the kids making cereal memories in Applejacks commercials, and showed the squad as he knew it plus one.

           He wasn’t sure what movie they’d seen, but they stood in front of The Queen’s marquee that showed titles for The Flintstones, The Crow, and Beverly Hills Cop III. Wes, Jared, Arty, Colin, and Zach looked the most excited, all grinning at the camera together. Sadie, a little less thrilled, was next to a shorter boy in sunglasses with a flat expression and bright red jacket. As he stared at the photo for a few seconds, Auntie knocked.

           “Oh, Jason. You’re up,” she said and sipped her coffee. “Your dad’s here already. Usually, the boys aren’t picked up before ten. Do you have a busy day ahead?”

           He honestly didn’t know, so he shrugged. It was surprising, as his uncle rarely even got up in the morning. And this was first thing. He must have had some reason to be here so early. Jace supposed it didn’t really matter, and he grabbed his backpack.

           He headed downstairs, met Auntie’s wave with a friendly one of his own, looked down and acknowledged Tiger old-dog sleeping by the door, and hustled out to the car.

           “Have a… good time?” Wes asked tiredly. “Pulled up once I saw that car leave.”

           But it wasn’t just that he was sleepy; Jace noticed right away that the hands on the steering wheel were trembling lightly. And it looked like Wes hadn’t slept all night.

           “You okay?” Jace asked after tossing his backpack into the back.

           “Yeeeah… not really. But never mind. How’d it go? Didn’t say anything too stupid for our sakes, right? Who, uh… who won the most games?”

           “Jared and you mostly. It was actually a good sleepover. Best I’ve had in a while. Even though they kept making jokes about Dad. Unk, you never told me about Tiger.”

           “T-Tiger? Tiger… Oh. My old dog, yeah. Oh, wow, he must be around fifteen. Yeah. He was a good boy. Glad he’s still around… you know, for the moment.”

           “Did you sleep, or did you binge some show on your iPad all night?”

           Wes reacted to the question slowly, and at first only chuckled. He shook his head, started the engine, and began to drive. “I didn’t get to sleep, no. Spent most of the night watching weird late-night television—infomercials mostly.”

           “Um, wow. Okay. Did something spook you? Why are you here so early?”

           “Just wanted us back together again… Jace, how about we spend the night at a motel? That okay with you? After I get some sleep, we’ll hang out all day tomorrow.”

           “Sure, if that’s what you want to do…” He looked out the window at the passing neighborhood for a bit before speaking up again. “So… Weird shows, huh? I saw a few minutes of one last night. Quantum something. Made by a guy named Corathine. He was talking about time travel. Think he’s worth researching? He’s local—you heard of him?”

           The early morning suburbia roads empty, they stopped at an intersection. Wes sat there and ruminated as the idle engine chugged. He then gazed at Jace with an unsettling stare, the darkness under his eyes prominent. He had never looked so tired or perturbed.

           “I did a little digging last night, yeah. Malcolm Corathine… disappeared in 1992.”

           It gets stranger, Jace thought, but it looks like that isn’t the only thing that’s bothering him.