Джей Эшер - The Future of Us

Here I am, about to spill every detail, but Kellan hasn’t done the same with me. She’s either having sex or is about to have sex or is possibly already pregnant , and she hasn’t breathed a word about anything.

“He just said hi.”

Kellan smirks. “Did you try out my Husband Theory again, or do you still have cats in your passenger seat?”

“Is this the theory with the car coming toward us?”

“Head-on collision.”

It feels wrong to try out Kellan’s theory knowing I’m supposed to marry Kevin Storm. I couldn’t find any pictures of him on Facebook, so it seems unfair to imagine someone else in the car simply because I don’t have a mental image of Kevin.

“Is Tyson still in your passenger seat?” I ask.

Kellan bites her lip for a moment, and then says, “Are you sure you can’t go to the lake today?”

She’s avoiding my question. Are she and Tyson getting back together? I felt like I was picking up signs at lunch, but I couldn’t be sure. If they are getting back together, he could potentially be Lindsay’s dad!

“Will you please come to the lake?” Kellan says. She touches my elbow. “We’ve barely hung out all week.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“I can’t,” she says. “I have my college class.”

The cute college guy! That’s why she never wants to miss class. Could he be the baby’s father? Has she been going back to the dorms with him after class?

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll come to the lake.”

Kellan claps her hands together. “But you need to drive. I had a doctor’s appointment before school, so my mom dropped me off.”

What? “Why did you see a doctor?” This has to be about the pregnancy.

Kellan looks at me and then breaks into a laugh. “You just went completely pale! I’m not dying, Em.”

I need an answer. “Then tell me why you went.”

“It was just a check-up.” She flips her hand dismissively. “Can we stop by your place and grab swimsuits?”

As we walk past the front office, Kellan knocks hips with me again, and this time I knock back. But then I glance through the office window and stop cold. Josh is sitting in a chair with his back to us. There’s a girl leaning close to his shoulder, watching him sketch something on her notebook.

“He’s drawing Pepé Le Pew,” Kellan whispers. “I think our little Josh is finally learning how to hit on girls.”

I grab Kellan’s arm and pull her away. “If that girl wants a chauvinistic, sex-addicted skunk on her folder, that’s her problem.”

WE WALK UP THE STAIRS to my bedroom, and Kellan asks if she can borrow my red bathing suit. “You should definitely wear your tan bikini,” she says. “Guys love it.”

“How do you know?”

Kellan opens my bedroom door. “Not that we care what Josh thinks, but when you wore it at the lake, he was checking you out.”

My mind flashes to that photo on Facebook. The good ole days. Josh said he took the picture by accident. Well, if he was checking me out, he’s definitely over me now. Now he’s got his pick of girls at school, and it’s only a matter of time before he permanently picks Sydney Mills.

I locate Green Day’s Dookie in my stack of CDs, slide it into my stereo, and click fast-forward until I get to “When I Come Around.” I’ve always liked this song, and Cody definitely put me in the mood for it.

“Is that your new computer?” Kellan asks, unclasping her bra beneath her shirt. “Look at that monitor!”

I wonder what would happen if I showed her Facebook. She said she wouldn’t want to time travel, but how would she feel about reading her future… reading about Lindsay ? Would her future self want her to know? And what would my future self want me to know? And Josh’s?

Do they remember that, during this week in May, we’ve discovered a way to read Facebook? Maybe when they’re writing this stuff, they’re encoding what they say with subtle messages, guiding us into making different decisions. Maybe Kellan’s future self knows she’ll be in my bedroom today, inching closer to my computer. If that’s true, then adult Kellan can tweak what she says to reflect whether or not she wants seventeen-year-old Kellan to know about the baby.

“Can I check my email?” Kellan asks, pressing the power button on my monitor.

Or maybe Josh and I are the only ones who are supposed to know about this.

Or maybe time doesn’t even allow us to remember because it’d rip a massive hole in the universe.

“No!” I push Kellan’s hand away from the computer.

She steps back, confused. “I’m not going to break it. Remember, I’m the one who showed you how to use the Internet.”

“It’s just that Martin’s getting home soon,” I say. “He and my mom have been touchy about how much time I’ve been spending online.”

There’s no way I can bring Kellan into this, too. I throw our bathing suits and flip-flops into a beach bag and send her down the hall in search of towels.

DAD PICKS UP his office phone and dials Mom’s extension. She’s only two doors down, so I can hear it ring.

“He’s here,” Dad says into the receiver.

Dad’s office looks the same as the last time I was here. Mind-numbingly dull . Some of their best friends teach history, and their offices have powerful posters with cool quotes like “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” and “History is written by the victors.” The only poster on Dad’s wall is a black and white photo of a bald sociologist inspecting his glasses.

Mom eases the door shut, and then sits in the chair beside me.

“Why were you late for school this morning?” Dad asks.

I knew this would happen. When Emma and I finally arrived at school, we were already ten minutes late. I was hoping if the school left a message on our answering machine, I could erase it before my parents got home. But apparently their work numbers are at the top of the contact list.

“Dad and I give you a lot of freedom,” Mom says. “We don’t make you take the bus, but we expect you to get yourself there on time.”

“We know you didn’t oversleep,” Dad says. “Your music was playing when we left for work.”

“I caught a ride with Emma,” I say. “We lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”

Dad taps his finger against his desk. “Did you forget to look at the clock?”

“Why did you lose track of time?” Mom asks. “Was Emma in your bedroom?”

This is what David was talking about. Before leaving for college, he warned me that Mom and Dad get way too overprotective about the opposite sex. But apparently, it wasn’t the opposite sex they had to worry about with him.

“She wasn’t in my bedroom,” I say, which isn’t a total lie. I don’t think Emma actually made it through the doorway once she began laughing at my tighty-whities.

“Were you in her bedroom?” Mom asks.

I shouldn’t have to answer that question. I’ve never given them any reason not to trust me, yet they’re acting like I need to report back on everything I do. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a little kid anymore. I can even cross the street all by myself.”

“That’s right,” Dad says. “And when you were a kid, we let you and Emma have sleepovers. The difference is, we know you’re not a kid anymore.”

“You’re a teenage boy,” Mom says.

“Really?” I ask. “Wow.”

Dad leans forward. “Why were the two of you late for school?”

I lean back in my chair and chuckle. “You want to know if we were having sex, right?”