Джей Эшер - The Future of Us

“Wayne’s World?” asks the woman in the video store. “I just reshelved that ten minutes ago.”

She points me toward the comedy section. I quickly locate the movie, return to the counter, and hand her my video card.

“‘It will be mine,’” she says, grinning as she types in my name. “‘Oh yes. It will be mine.’”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Excuse me?” The woman tips her head. “You haven’t seen Wayne’s World before?”

“I saw it in the theater, but I didn’t—” Then I get what she’s doing. “You’re quoting from the movie! Was that Wayne or Garth?”

“Wayne, I think. My boyfriend says it all the time.”

“He does? So people think that line’s funny?”

She stares at me like I’m insane. “It’s due back in two days.”

I thank her and hurry out the door.

IN THE SMALL employee break room, Tyson’s dad brings in two paper plates, each with a slice of pepperoni pizza.

“I know you said you weren’t hungry,” he says, setting a plate next to my history textbook, “but everyone has room for one slice.”

I like Tyson’s dad. Maybe it’s because he raised Tyson by himself, but he’s more approachable than most fathers. When I showed up an hour ago claiming to need a place to study, he didn’t question me even though no one comes to GoodTimez for peace and quiet. He simply cleared the newspapers from the back table and asked if I wanted anything to eat.

“Will the TV bother you?” he asks, sitting in a folding chair across from me.

“No, that’s fine.” I flip a page in my textbook and take a bite of pizza.

Tyson’s dad leans forward and presses the power button on the TV. Two men appear on CNN, arguing about President Clinton and sex.

“Weren’t they talking about this the last time I came back here?” Tyson’s dad asks.

I smile. “I’m sure they’re almost done.”

After Sydney dropped me off, I tried studying in my living room so I could keep an eye on Emma’s driveway. I don’t want to spend another day getting ignored by her. It’s not fair for either of us. We need to talk about what happened yesterday.

But then, when Emma did get home from track, I sat frozen on my couch as she walked inside. A short while later, she got back in her car and sped off again. That’s when I grabbed my backpack and skateboard and headed to GoodTimez.

“What are you studying?” Tyson’s dad asks.

“Vietnam.” I take another bite of pizza and then rub my fingers on a napkin. “There’s going to be an essay question on the final about the domino theory.”

“I remember the domino theory,” he says. He watches a few more seconds of the men arguing on TV. “If we don’t stop something bad from happening, it’ll keep spreading until it’s nearly impossible to do anything about it.”

“I think that’s it.”

“Even with our ability to look back on that war,” he says, “there’s no way to know for certain what was lost and what was saved. But that’s how it is. History’s a bitch when you’re in the middle of it.”

Tyson walks in, setting his skateboard against the wall.

“What’s up, Mr. Mills?” he says, saluting me. “Dad, did you just say ‘history’s a bitch’?”

“We were talking about Josh’s essay,” his dad says. “Speaking of homework, where the hell have you been?”

Tyson smiles mischievously. “With a friend. Since when do you track my every move?”

Tyson’s dad balls up a napkin and chucks it at him. “Just finish your homework, T-bone, and then I need you out on the floor. You can help, too, Josh. Earn your keep.”

GOODTIMEZ PIZZA has yellow booths and orange tables on one side of the restaurant and an arcade on the other. But in the very center is the reason every kid in Lake Forest wants to have a birthday party here. Three plastic tube-slides—red, blue, and green—spit the kids into a rainbow-colored pool of plastic balls.

Every few weeks, after the restaurant closes, the pit is emptied so the balls can be sanitized. Tonight, following orders, I stay to help. Tyson squeezes through a vertical strip in the netting around the ball pit and immediately sinks to his knees. He dips a white bucket into the balls and then pushes it back through the netting. I hold open a large black trash bag and Tyson overturns the bucket, letting the balls pour in.

“So nothing happened today when you were with Sydney?” Tyson asks, scooping up another bucketful of balls. “Maybe you should bring her to lunch tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do to help push things along.”

The other workers are cleaning tabletops, vacuuming, and emptying tokens from the video games. The music is pumped too high for them to overhear us, but I’m still not comfortable having this conversation.

“It’s too early,” I say quietly. “We barely know each other.”

Tyson empties another bucket into my bag. “Dude, she pulled you out of school. I think she wants to know you.”

“Maybe.” I set the full trash bag off to the side. “But maybe I’m not ready.”

Tyson opens the net just enough to ricochet a green ball off my forehead. “Then get ready! We’re talking about Sydney Mills. It’s my dream to be the guy who’s friends with the guy who’s hooking up with her.”

I shake open a new trash bag. “Wouldn’t you rather be that guy yourself?”

Tyson thinks about it. “Nope. Too many people talk about you.”

I pick up the green ball from the floor and drop it into the trash bag. “Not to mention, it looks like you and Kellan are getting back together.”

Tyson doesn’t respond.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll let Kellan tell Emma about it, if she hasn’t already. But you should be prepared. Emma’s going to want to have a long talk with you about—”

“About not hurting Kellan, I know.” Tyson leans his back against the cushioned border of the ball pit. We’ve emptied enough so that his knees stick up like two islands in front of his chest. He looks at me through the netting. “I would never want Kellan to get hurt. Last time, I just wasn’t ready.”

“But you can understand why Emma’s worried,” I say. “The last time you two broke up, Kellan flipped.”

Tyson picks up a red ball and sidearm pitches it into the blue slide. It rolls to the top, and then falls back into the pit.

“We like each other,” he finally says. “And we’ve both done a lot of thinking this year. I don’t know what else we’re supposed to do.”

There’s nothing I can tell him. Tyson is struggling with whether or not to let himself fall for someone he’s already fallen for. My situation is different. I’m supposed to be falling for Sydney, and everything appears to be lining up for that to happen. But when I think about my future, I’m not sure that’s where I want it to go.

THE PORCH LIGHT is on when I get home. I set my skateboard against the front door and reach into my pocket for the key. I can hear my parents talking to each other inside. They probably won’t say a word to me when I go in, but Dad will glance at his watch, letting me know I cut it close.

Emma’s house is mostly dark. The outside lights are off, as are the lights upstairs. From within the downstairs living room there’s a faint blue glow.

I walk across the lawn between our houses, listening to the chimes on Emma’s front porch. When Martin first hung them up, Emma complained that even his noises were infiltrating her life.

Stepping softly, I approach their living room window. In the center of the room, Emma is asleep on the couch, her head cushioned against the armrest. She’s facing the TV, but it’s angled so I can’t tell what she was watching.