Chapter 124: Beyond the Rainbow

Friday, May 4, 1984

I decided to steal a line from later history (or, at least, I couldn’t remember anyone using this ‘back’ in 1984) and greeted Jess with ‘May the Fourth Be With You.’ It was away from anyone else, mostly for her sake.

She did a double take, then giggled. “Clever!”

“I can’t take credit,” I said. “Someone else thought of it.”

She blinked, then grinned. “Or ... will?”

“Either which way.”

“This is fun! That one won’t get anyone in trouble. I’m keeping it!”

“Have fun with it!” I said, grinning.

Steffie pronounced us ‘better,’ and therefore free from after-school rehearsals until Monday. Next week was, of course, going to be brutal: rehearsals Monday and Wednesday (and maybe Tuesday), Dress Rehearsal Thursday, and performances Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

We’d gotten through it before, and we’d get through it again. Those of us who were veterans knew we’d have a lot of fun with it, but that fun would come with a lot of toil and effort.

We split up between cars for Booker T. Washington. I was taking Jas, Angie, Paige, and Jess, while Amit was taking Sheila and Lexi, and Bob was taking Danny. Pretty good turnout overall!

Carole had to bow out, or we’d have been taking her as well.

We quickly discussed Trish during a brief break. Jess had determined that, yes, Sarah had been clear with Mike that they weren’t a long-term thing. Sarah had seemed pretty embarrassed about it. Jess had put the word out both that she didn’t want to win Prom Queen (which she’d done before, of course), and also that there was nothing wrong with Trish winning.

We’d see what would happen, but at least I’d done what I could.

Cammie and I snuck off to the practice room for a bit. Admittedly, you can’t really ‘sneak off’ to it — everyone knew we were in there — but it was private enough.

“Before you ask,” she said, “I’m still good with things. Not that I wasn’t, but maybe more so now, because it’s had some time to sit and isn’t freaking me out any more than it was then.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m glad. I really wouldn’t want to freak you out — or, at least, any more than necessary.”

“You have no idea why, right? Just that it happened?”

“We have a vague possibility of why, except that — at most — it just shifts the mystery.”

“Tell!” she said, grinning.

“Once Laura figured out that she was going to die — I’ll let her tell the story, but it’s a case where she had time for some dying words — she asked — or demanded, or prayed, or whatever — to get what she deserved, and for ‘Steve and his asshole cousin to get what they deserve.’ Angie, of course, being the asshole cousin.”

“Oh, my God!”

“The thing is, I’m not the one she meant that for, and Angie isn’t, either. You can make it work — for instance, if there’s only one ‘real’ Steve and one ‘real’ Angie and so forth — but I don’t believe that, and it also fucks with my head, because it implies that most people aren’t ‘real,’ and ... that’s bad.”

She nodded. “It sounds very bad, really. And I get that. You’re the only Steve I know, but now I’m aware of three others. Anyway, I see what you mean. That’s not really knowing why, that’s just kicking the can down the road.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “It also doesn’t explain why ... whatever ... listened to Laura’s dying wish. I didn’t have one, and I don’t think Angie did, but lots of people do. Maybe they all get a second try, but that seems ... well, I don’t know. I was going to say ‘unlikely,’ but if there are an infinite number of universes, why not a second try for everyone? Except that it’d suck for anyone like you who’s got things to lose, anyway.”

“Yeah. Unless their second chance starts at a different age, maybe. Like... ‘Okay, everything was fine until I turned thirty, so my second chance starts then.’”

“Interesting idea. Angie, Laura, and I all started over at thirteen or fourteen, but that doesn’t mean anything, I don’t think. Unless it does.”

She bit her lip. “What do you think ... happened? I mean, you ... um, your ... body? ... clearly made it to fourteen before you got here.”

“I think the original me died in that bike wreck and whatever makes me ‘me’ took his place. Same for Angie and Laura. Both of them appeared in this universe during traumatic circumstances. I don’t know if this universe was designed so that the three of us would ‘die’ to be replaced, or if whatever power is in charge picked a universe out of multitudes that fit what was needed, or ... whatever. Whatever that power does, or doesn’t do, I think it isn’t interested in using its power to save people just for the purpose of saving them.”

“One of my problems with the church, honestly. If you’re all-powerful and all-good, why let there be so much suffering? I get the official explanations, but I also totally don’t get them!”

“We could talk about that for weeks. I doubt you meant to do that now.”

She giggled and shook her head. “No, sorry. You’re right. I just really wanted to tell you that I’m good with things. And, I mean, not even in a ‘Well, Steve saved me, so I owe him this’ sort of way. I’m super-grateful that you did save me — maybe a lot more now that I know the rest, thinking about it, which I have been — but that’s at most a reason to not be a bitch if I wasn’t feeling good about things. You can’t help but be who you are, just in terms of being ... reborn. You could be someone worse, though, and that you’re not tells me an awful lot. Heck — Mel claims you could’ve convinced even me that I liked boys!”

I chuckled at that. “Maybe, and maybe not, and it doesn’t matter. You are who you are, and you shouldn’t be anything else. As long as people are good people — not harming others, all that — let them be who they are. They don’t threaten you, and if you threaten them, it’s you that needs to change.”

“We’d better get back. I just hated to let the weekend go without mentioning this. It’s not a Prom topic, even while dancing.”

“Definitely not. That said — we’re doing something unusual tonight. Booker T. Washington is performing ‘The Wiz’, and we’re going to support Marshall. Plus, it should be fun. We’re going to dinner first, probably around here. We could drop you off after dinner if you want, or you could come with.”

“I should...” she said, then blushed. I was pretty sure she was still adapting to truly being on her own.

After a second, she said, “Dinner sounds great! Probably the show, too, but I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

We headed back out to Debate. Meg gave us a little smile, but that was about it.

Meg was very much on my list of people who I suspected thought that I was truly unusual, but she would never ask, and I doubted I would ever tell.

I spotted Trish while we were all walking to my car. Most likely that was because she was looking for me, but it still worked.

I went over and said, “The word is out that you would make a perfectly good Prom Queen. That’s about all we can do. Well, except voting for you, and I imagine we all will.”

Trish blushed. “I ... I really appreciate it! For my part at least, I’m sorry that we started out on the wrong foot. I’m still ... it ... I don’t know why you didn’t like me...”

“A long story, and I’m not sure we know either, or that you would know if I told you the story, which I won’t.”

She smiled a bit at that. “In fairness, I was a bitch at my other school. I thought I could do better here, and ... I think I have. Even if you’re all convinced that I’m a bitch.”

“At this point, I think we’re all convinced that we don’t know you. We probably never will, either, with only a few weeks left. If we thought you were really a bitch, we wouldn’t have put the word out. Thank you for talking to me. If we wrecked things for you, we’re sorry.”

“I’m generally okay, honestly, but thanks for apologizing. I’d say your opinions don’t matter to me, but they do, at least a bit. Not just in terms of blocking me, but I know you cared about Mike, and I genuinely care about him, too. Not saying we’re getting married, but ... could happen.”

“I suspect you could do a lot worse. And that he could, too.”

She chuckled softly. “I do, too, Steve, for my part. For his part ... well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The six of us headed to dinner at Pho King. Everyone else welcomed Cammie warmly, of course. And, of course, that was something they’d done before, but never quite like this.

“So,” Jess said, as we were leaving Memorial, “How’s it feel to join the club?”

“Weird!” Cammie said, chuckling. “Good, but weird.”

“It felt kinda weird to me, too,” Jess said.

“And me!” Jas said.

“Me, too!” Paige said.

“You should try being me!” Angie said.

All four of them laughed.

“No!” Jas said. “I’ve thought about it, and ... no. Nuh-uh! It’d be way too hard to do this again!”

Paige said, “Ditto! But we have something to lose.”

“And we didn’t,” Angie said. “Especially me.”

I nodded. “I’ve mostly made my peace with what I’m losing.”

Cammie perked up a bit. “I’m clearly missing something here.”

“Steve and his ex-wife adopted two kids and raised them,” Jas said.

“Oh!” Cammie said, blushing a bit. “You mentioned that, but I hadn’t put it together that way. That’s gotta be hard!”

“They were grown. I remember enough that I could probably find them as babies, but ... well, nature versus nurture and all that. Would they even be the same people with one parent different? Would I constantly be judging them based on what I knew about them from a different universe? How do I explain wanting two specific kids that I couldn’t possibly know even existed?”

“Ugh!” Cammie said. “I get it!”

“We had a weird conversation about this,” Jas said. “You’ll get used to this. As Steve says, English sucks for talking about this sort of thing. Anyway, from his perspective, his kids are both well over twenty and off doing their own thing. From my perspective, they haven’t been born yet. Both of us are equally correct. They’re in his past, so they have to be at least as old as they were when he last saw them, but they won’t even be born for more than a decade from my perspective.”

Cammie shook her head. “Okay. I thought I got it, but ... well, the scary part of that is that it made sense.”

“Just wait until Steve talks to you about doing something for the first time again,” Paige said.

“Like going to State my freshman year,” I said. “That was the first time I went to State, by the calendar. But I’d also gone there my junior and senior years, thirty-something years before.”

“Or like going to ‘Return of the Jedi’,” Jess said. “Of course it had to be the first time Steve and Angie saw it, right? Opening day! And it is, by the calendar — they’ve just seen it many times after that. And those were before they saw it on opening day.”

“Ugh, again!” Cammie said. “Okay, we can stop that! Headache coming on!”

The others all chuckled again.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet!” Angie said. “He told you about Darla, right?”

“He did,” Cammie said. “That’s freaky, though not as freaky as him being in Debate two years and never meeting me!”

“We’ll never be sure of why that was,” Angie said. “I didn’t know you, but I was only here one year in my first time. He had all four, with two in Debate, but ... were you busted? Sent to a Christian school? Not born at all? We have no idea. I tend to agree with Steve that ‘busted’ is most likely, but...”

Cammie shivered. “I’m not sure I like thinking about it, except ... maybe I do? Because of the contrast with how things went?”

Paige said, “They didn’t know me or Jas at all, either. It’s not just you.”

“Me, neither,” Jess said. “I mean, except just as the head cheerleader. Which is weird, but I can totally see how that happens if they’re not who they are now.”

Paige nodded, then said, “I might’ve gotten grumpy if I thought they had known me — us — except...”

She shrugged.

Jas picked up the thought, saying, “That’s where I am. Steve seeking me out would be a compliment, really, and he didn’t, anyway. Angie set us up — you know that, of course — and she really had no way of knowing me. However it worked out, it worked out, which is the big thing.”

“I have to agree,” Cammie said. “It worked out. I don’t like thinking about the alternative, but I know you’d have never stopped looking for me, at least.”

“None of us would have!” Paige said.

I pulled up to Pho King and parked, and we all got out and headed in. The place was busier than it used to be. Nearly half of the tables were in use.

We said hi to Huong (who again chided us about not coming in as often as we used to), and then everyone ordered. Not the large, either, since we really didn’t need leftovers this time.

Once we’d sat down (away from the other diners as much as possible) Cammie said, “Mel and I went here a couple of times on your recommendation. I always figured it was Jas that introduced you to pho, but...”

“I ate it in college, some,” Angie said.

“And I started in grad school,” I said.

Cammie grinned. “So, you were an easy sell, then?”

“He got the pronunciation right the first time!” Jas said. “I was impressed!”

“In my defense, I got it right the first time then, too. I mean, someone said it, and I just followed their example,” I said.

“See,” Cammie said, “This is probably another place where I should have noticed something, but didn’t.”

“Nah,” Jess said. “I knew about pho, and I’m normal.”

She noticed the looks everyone gave her, and giggled a bit.

“No, I really am! I mean, that way. Put another way, duh, of course I’m not ‘normal,’ but no one at this table is ‘normal’ that way. I won the genetic lottery, yeah, but look around this table. There are more National Merit Finalists sitting here than most high schools have! None of us really count as ‘normal,’ which means I’m really just as normal as the rest of you.”

That triggered a bunch of hugs. There was subtext in there that I think everyone caught — it was important to Jess that we were her peers. It was an enormous shift for each of us to let her become primarily ‘my friend Jess’ instead of the untouchable goddess that we’d once seen her as — the girls just as much as me. I’d just had more time to get used to it.

Once we’d settled back down, Paige nodded, then said, “Angie passed it off as Chicago being cosmopolitan...”

“Which it is!” Angie said, grinning.

“Well, yeah, but you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Angie said. “There’s just no other explanation, right? Had to be that we tried things on trips up there. Except, for Mom and Dad, it had to be that we tried them here, of course, since they know it wasn’t there.”

“I didn’t ask, yesterday,” Cammie said. “How was Debate in your first go-round? I mean, I know you were there, and some of the people were the same...”

I nodded. “Well, let’s see ... Ted...”

Paige and Angie both made faces.

“Hey, just the facts. Anyway, Ted and Amit both went to Nationals. Janet and Lizzie were great, but not like they were this time. No one else got close, really. We took a bunch of kids to State — fewer than we did in this life. Drama took their own bus. I don’t know how many they had, since Drama and Debate never got together. I mean, we all knew Steffie, and the Drama kids knew Meg, but neither group was on a first-name basis or anything.”

“Sounds sucky, honestly,” Cammie said, “And I’m, like, the least cross-over-y of all of us. Well, tied with Jessica.”

“The other big difference was the tournaments,” I said. “We only went to one out-of-state tournament in those two years — U Penn.”

“Which we never went to,” Cammie said.

“Weird sidelight about that. Janet and Lizzie went to U Penn for college my first go-round.”

“That is weird,” Cammie said, nodding. Jess, Jas, and Paige were nodding, too.

“Yeah. Anyway, the last two years are nearly unrecognizable. I suspect we went to some of the same in-state tournaments, but not UT’s invitational, nor UH, nor Grapevine. No one went to ToC. Hell, no one had any ToC bids! I don’t think we even knew what it was. It’s just totally different,” I said.

“Seems to me that has to be you and Angie,” Cammie said.

I shrugged. “Maybe? But maybe it’s Cammie Clarke, who wasn’t on the team either year.”