Chapter 122: Astute Guesses

Tuesday, May 1, 1984

The morning announcements were full of our success at ToC — enough so that I’m sure all of us were blushing. I certainly was.

It was another day full of congratulations, hugs, and a surprising number of surprisingly enthusiastic kisses. I got plenty of warnings from teachers and principals. None of them sounded like they meant it.

Someone had to get the most PDA warnings. Might as well be me!

Steffie gave us five minutes to celebrate, then made us get going full-speed on ‘Bye Bye Birdie’. I had no problem with that. We had eleven days before we went on stage for an audience, and Prom was in between.

Steffie asked (meaning demanded) that we rehearse Thursday night. I was fine with that, too. We’d have two nights next week, plus Dress Rehearsal. It’d all work.

Mostly because it had to all work, of course.

She polled people about Friday, but a number of us (Angie, Jas, Paige, and me at least, but Jess, Bob, Danny, Lexi, Sheila, and Carole were all thinking of joining us) were planning to go to Booker T. Washington to see Marshall and company perform ‘The Wiz’. That sounded like a worthy outing to Steffie, so we had a reprieve for Friday.

Debate was a celebration the whole time, but Steffie demanded that anyone who was working on the musical keep working on the musical. Indeed, we would probably spend nearly no time in Debate until after the musical was done.

That was a bonus for Steffie, and she’d undoubtedly planned for this. Many students weren’t free seventh period; we were.

Jess was, too. She had PE seventh period — which had mostly been cheerleading practice — and they didn’t need her there daily.

Since this was a normal year, the squad would be electing a new cheer captain shortly. I wished whoever it was a great deal of luck. It was inevitable that, whoever it was, they’d look like a step down from Jess.

Darla had an update. She’d been up in the air on colleges all this time, but had finally decided to go to Texas A&M. I didn’t — couldn’t! — tell her that she’d done what I’d done, more or less, but it amused me.

Linda had settled on UT. The two of them were a bit grumpy about splitting up, but they were planning on staying close. Hopefully, that would work out.

I wondered if Daniel Winton, Darla’s older brother (who I’d known so very well in my first life, and had never met in this one), would somehow latch onto Darla’s friends just as he’d latched onto Dave’s. Somehow I doubted it, but ... maybe?

The good news was that we had no exams before finals. That made this a light Study Group, one that let us goof off.

The bad news was that we had no exams before finals, which gave us no excuse if Steffie wanted a rehearsal on Tuesday next week.

We would see.

The first thing I did after arriving at Gene’s was excuse myself to head off to call Jane in private. She needed to know both about ToC and that I was going to be telling Cammie. She was, as predicted, happy about ToC and nervous but optimistic about Cammie.

Several people asked Angie and Paige about Prom, and their response was that they honestly didn’t know. It would be a big step — not so much for them, but for the way most Memorial students would see them, and potentially for college as well.

I thought both of them would chafe too much at staying in the closet for it to matter for college, but that was their decision. Lizzie and Janet had opened the door. It was up to them to decide whether to step through it.

As for Cammie and Mel, unless their relationship became public knowledge between now and Saturday, they were going as Cal and Andy’s dates. Currently, they planned to ‘break up’ just after graduation, minimizing the number of people who’d ever need an explanation.

If things did become public, breakups would be sudden and public. Of course, with Cammie’s parents silenced (under threat of serious financial and reputational disaster), even the photo might not mean anything. Cammie and Mel could at least claim they’d just been playing a prank on their friends.

Their Prom plan was to rent two rooms — rooms with a connecting door. Cal would go into a room with Cammie, and Mel would go into a room with Andy. That’s how they’d come out, too.

Who was to say what happened in between?

Cammie caught me up on a few things that had gone by the wayside with all of the traveling. She had checked with A&M. Her application and scholarship were still fine. She’d played it off as just being a typical nervous freshman-to-be. Apparently, there were a lot of those.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, had been working on complaints against Hedwig Village PD and potentially against Memorial Villages PD, but both Cammie and I would need to decide what to do about those. Beyond that, she was waiting and seeing. We’d had the unnecessary police call at Cammie’s house, and the attempted withdrawal from State, but we couldn’t prove that either of those had violated the agreement.

With everything in place now, and no reason for any contact between the Clarkes and anyone associated with Cammie, anything that happened now would risk violating the agreement.

The danger was hopefully over, but — in the yet-to-be-spoken words of President Reagan — ‘Trust, but verify.’

Angie, Jas, Paige, and I discussed the upcoming revelation on the way home. Angie was still fully supportive and said I could — and probably should — share anything. Jas and Paige were nervous, but not very nervous.

The more difficult point was telling Mel. All of us trusted Mel, but all of us were also hesitant. The question became how hard Cammie would push to be able to tell Mel.

As a long-term thing, making her keep this a secret from Mel was problematic. On the other hand, if Mel never asked, there wasn’t necessarily a reason to tell her.

Laura was the last hurdle, but I thought she would be fine. She knew Cammie — and only knew her once, too. Jess had probably been a bigger hurdle for Laura.

I phoned Marshall after dinner and gave him a count of the likely attendees. He said he’d make sure there were tickets at will-call, and promised to give me a count by Sunday.

After that, I gave Laura a call. She was far more surprised that we’d won ToC than that Cammie was finally asking for answers.

Laura agreed that Cammie was trustworthy, and also that a frustrated Cammie was much more of a risk than telling her was. She gave me permission to explain anything I wanted about Laura’s story.

With that, we were set. Most likely the wheels for this had been set in motion on that fateful day in Memorial City Mall. If not, they’d definitely been set in motion when Cammie agreed to be my Debate partner.

I wouldn’t have seen it then, of course. That was before we’d even told Jane, after all. We were naive, and believed we might make it nearly to a proposal before telling anyone.

Perhaps we could have, and perhaps not, but life was far better as it was. Of course, that’s because Jane, Jasmine, Jess, and Paige had all both believed us and trusted that we were, fundamentally, who we’d always been.

I felt certain that Cammie would, too. Hopefully that wasn’t just overconfidence.

Angie just came by at bedtime, hung out for a few minutes, then went off to bed herself. If things went seriously wrong tomorrow, I’d need the company. If things went well, we might or might not, and there was no reason to decide now.

Wednesday, May 2, 1984

Angie drove Paige to school today, and would drive her and Jas over to Jasmine’s house (probably after going out to dinner). That left me free to hang out with Cammie.

School went surprisingly well. I’d been worried about being distracted all day, but instead I was calm and focused. Most likely, that simply came down to trusting Cammie. We knew each other very well, after all.

Cammie grinned and took my hand after Debate.

“So...” she said. “What’s the plan?”

“Any idea if Gene will be home?”

She shook her head. “He’s going out with Sue.”

“In that case, I was thinking we could pick up tacos from Rico’s and then take advantage of having a quiet house.”

“Works for me! It also confirms that this is something you wouldn’t want overheard.”

“You knew that,” I said.

“I said confirms!” she said, grinning.

Half an hour later, we were seated on a couch in Gene’s living room. We hadn’t talked much at all on the drive or at Rico’s. I think Cammie was apprehensive; I know I was.

After a minute passed in silence, I said, “We can go about this however you want. I can just tell you everything in one big exposition, you can ask me questions — which you will anyway, no matter what I do — or, you can guess, or ... well, whatever. I want to give you the answers you want, not just dump things on you.”

She nodded. “I figured there might be a lot.”

“There is.”

“Anything I should worry about?”

“I don’t think so, or not in the way you mean it, anyway,” I said.

“What do you mean, then?”

“It’s a big secret, meaning it’s a big secret. Potentially dangerous — to me, to you, to others. Once you know, you know, and you have to keep it a secret.”

She nodded. “Mel?”

“As of right now, I’d like to request that you not share it. You could opt not to ask, but...”

She made a slight face, but nodded.

“I know it’s a lot to ask. I’m uncomfortable with putting something between you and Mel. It’s also really ‘as of right now.’ Things could change, and you needing to tell Mel because she’s asking would factor into that. It’s just ... well ... you’ll see. On the one hand, there are people who I believe deserve to know much more than Mel does, and I’m not telling them anytime soon. On the other hand ... like I said, I hate to get between you two in any way.”

She nodded. “Okay. Good enough for now. I can go with that, and yes, I still want to know.”

“So...?”

“So ... you really and truly are different, and you’ve got a big secret that explains it.”

I nodded. “Yes and yes.”

“And Laura?”

“It explains Laura.”

She nodded. “Oddly, I like her now. That’s a big change from where I started. Okay ... so ... does it explain Angie?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not really, no,” I said.

“That’s what I figured. You three were suddenly close. I’m going to guess that Jas knows and that Paige doesn’t know.”

“Both of them know, but they didn’t find out at the same time.”

She nodded. “Okay. That works, too.”

“I could...”

She cut me off. “Here’s what I know, or think I know.”

I nodded, staying quiet.

She started ticking points off with her fingers.

“First, you’re what I’d call ridiculously mature. You’re not old, and God knows you’re no fuddy-duddy or stick in the mud, but you’re just ... you’re secure in who you are, where you fit, what you can do, all of that, and you’ve been that way since the day I met you. Nothing really throws you. You’re not in a rush, but you’re not hesitant. That, and you make everyone around you more like you, simply because they want to live up to what you’re doing.”

I blushed at that, but nodded. It was all fair enough.

“Second, you’re not ... all of that could be arrogant, and you’re not arrogant.”

I nodded.

“Third ... you’re ... okay, given what I said so far, I could say you’re unique, but that’s wrong. Lizzie had some of that, really. Amit has some of it. Jess has almost all of it — which I never would have believed until I got to know her. If anyone could be arrogant, it’s her.”

I chuckled. “She’ll appreciate the thought.”

“Continuing with that ... I could’ve just assumed you were still ... you know... ‘normal.’ But you have to know that Laura blew that all to bits.”

“Definitely, for anyone really close to me.”

She nodded. “There’s no way that I can really buy that Laura knew someone who looked and sounded and acted just like you but wasn’t you and just got confused. Not when she recognized you — and I think she did — way back at Hockaday. You’ve always lived in Houston. She’s an Illinois girl. You visited, but as a kid with your parents. I mean ... it’s nonsense.”

“And yet I’m going to tell you that it’s more true than it is false.”

She blushed. “Actually ... I’d gotten there. Back at Hockaday, you were a terrible liar, but you mostly made that story work. Not only that, but there’s no other explanation. If Laura recognized you and disliked you, there has to be a story. It’s just that whatever the story is can’t be part of normal day-to-day reality.”

“That’s fair, I’d say.”

“I ... have a bit of an advantage,” she said, blushing.

“Oh?”

“I know some things you don’t know that I know. Well, until now, I mean. I know that Laura knew a Steve — a Steve that she feels like she had a perfect right to hate. That Steve can’t have been a kid — it makes no sense with what she said. And you — I think — knew a Laura. You also have a history that makes no sense. How could you have been a ‘one-woman man’ for a ‘long time’? That would be Candice — a few months — or Nancy — a few months. Makes no sense.”

I’d started blushing a couple sentences into that. After a little pause, I said, “Brookfield. The herpetarium. Right?”

“Right. I went in quietly, held back, and listened, then scooted off to the bathroom. At the time ... well ... I had questions. I foolishly thought I’d get answers. All I got was bigger questions.”

“I can’t remember the whole conversation, but...”

She nodded. “What I came up with first is reincarnation. Well, sort of. I don’t love it, but ... you knew Laura in another life. That says reincarnation. You changed so much that you’re not the guy she knew; she changed so much that she’s not the girl you knew. I’m good with that except ... first, you’re not supposed to remember things that well, and second, it felt like your other lives were more ... contemporary.”

“You’re mostly on the right track.”

She blinked. “Really? You knew Laura in a past life? She knew you?”

“Um ... sort of.”

“Okay. I think we’re at the point where I let you explain. I just wanted you to know how much I knew. Might save time, or ... whatever.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I mean that. Okay, so ... let’s start in the middle, since you brought it up.”

“Um ... okay...?”

“I was a one-woman man for over twenty-five years.”

She blinked. “That’s a weird thing to say. As in ... stark raving nuts, from my perspective.”

“Basically ... there was a guy named Steve. He looked a lot like me, only add fifty — or one hundred, or more — pounds, and take away dating and romance skills and fashion sense.”

She giggled. “I can maybe imagine that.”

“He went to Memorial, he debated for a couple of years, graduated, went to college, and then graduate school. At graduate school he met a girl named Laura. They were friends, nothing more — at least in his view but, if it was more, then it was casual dating — and when he left graduate school he left her behind forever. He moved away, met a girl, got married, and had a long and rather tempestuous marriage until she divorced him. Not that long after the divorce, a truck crushed a cab he was in.”

She blinked. “Explains the reincarnation, maybe.”

“He woke up in 1980 after wrecking his bike. He had a concussion and a very strange case of amnesia.”

“And that’s ... you, right?”

“That’s me.”

“And you went to Memorial the first time...”

“From 1980 to 1984.”

She took a deep breath. “Not reincarnation the usual way, then. You’re ... living your life over?”

I shrugged. “Very broadly. Steve Marshall went to Memorial from 1980 to 1984 twice, so yes. Nearly every detail other than that is different.”

“How’s that work?”

“Well, first, Steve Marshall the first had no Angie. Or, rather, he had a cousin Angie who never moved to Houston.”

She blinked again. “That ... fuck! Okay! That would be totally different.”

“You have no idea, really. The other thing is... this time, when I started in 1980, I knew what I didn’t want to repeat. Like ... I didn’t want to go through high school without going to a single Memorial dance, or without a single date, or...”

She bit her lip, then nodded. “I have more trouble imagining that. I guess I can, but...”

“That was me. I married the first woman I dated seriously. It was a fucked-up lousy marriage, but it was a marriage. We adopted kids, raised them to adulthood, went on vacations, had fun, and fought like cats and dogs.”

“I’m going to jump subjects. You lived ... what? Until...” she said, then paused and bit her lip. After a second, she said, “The late 2010s?”

“2021, actually.”

She shook her head. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that things were better for gay people.”

“Yeah,” I said. “There was still friction, but it was hugely different.”

“That’s where it came from! The thing I couldn’t figure out about you — well, one thing, but it was the first thing — was that you were a fourteen-year-old straight kid from a conservative family, and yet you clearly were fine with gay people, so much so that it seemed to almost confuse you when someone wasn’t. It wasn’t just Mel and me — I heard about Mike’s sister and her girlfriend.”

“I’ve never understood why anyone would care. I mean, I didn’t in high school the first time. It’s just that, by the 2020s, in the circles I lived in, no one would’ve cared. I wasn’t going to put up with it this time any more than I had to.”

She nodded. “Jumping subjects — I get it now. I mean, when you said ‘Miracles are miracles, whether or not you believe in them.’ You had a legitimate miracle happen to you.”

“Or something. I tend to say that God, or the gods, or the universe did it, because I don’t know. No explanations, no mission, no nothing, just ... boom, there I was, on a day I’d lived forty-something years ago.”

“Interesting. You said no Angie, and that other things were different?”

“No Angie. I had the same bike wreck in my first life — but it was years earlier. There’s more after that.”

“Taking a big guess: Angie, too? And Laura?”

“Yes and yes. Both of their first lives were clearly not my first life. I mean, they were in different versions of the universe.”