Chapter 3: F*ck You!

Tuesday, June 28, 1983

We’d gotten an even cooler morning. I chose a long-sleeved burgundy shirt (along with jeans). I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see the girls in sweaters.

I suspected first-life me had never worn either a long-sleeved shirt or a shirt this color at Northwestern. He probably hadn’t worn shorts, either, and I was definitely going to do that. The flip side of buying into the program and doing your best was, I thought, being your best ‘you.’ The best me was never going to be a guy that fit into an easy-to-categorize box.

I got dressed and left David snoring. He’d sink or swim (probably swim, if not overly well, if he was like his first-life self) on his own.

When I got to Sargent, the girls were waiting just inside.

“Steve!” Angie called. “C’mere!”

Cammie looked a little excited, too. Jas and Paige didn’t. I wasn’t quite sure what might be up.

When I got close, Angie said, in a quiet voice that wouldn’t carry, “Laura’s here.”

“Um...”

Cammie nodded. “That weird girl from Hockaday. The one that got you all crossed up. Laura ... um ... Waters. She’s here. Angie thinks that’s a big deal.”

“Mostly because we almost literally ran into her at Michigan,” Angie said. “Just another weird coincidence that she’s here.”

It was a testimony to her acting talent that even I nearly believed she meant it. Hopefully Cammie, Jas, and Paige believed it more than I did.

I looked around.

“She’s not here, here. We should get some breakfast, anyway,” Angie said. “I had to tell you first, though, so you knew.”

“Got it!” I said.

As I went in, my mind was in two places. On the one hand: Laura was in Debate, and she was from Illinois. She’d been to Michigan last year. They’re a solid institute. Why would it be particularly odd that she was at Northwestern?

On the other hand: this was Laura. Laura who seemed weird when we first met. Laura, for whom the Universe might have arranged a little meet-not-so-cute with me. Twice, even.

Laura, who mattered, in a way that only a handful of people from my first life mattered. Dave Winton, if he existed, which he didn’t. Dave Winton’s first-life wife, maybe, or Dave Mayrink’s first-life wife, both of whom might well go through life without their Daves. A couple of college friends, a couple of grad school friends, and a few adult friends would matter. My ex would definitely matter.

Laura was in that category. According to both Angie and Jane (and I believed them, now), Laura had always known that we were dating, even if clueless first-life me hadn’t.

This Laura was the wrong age, or at least in the wrong grade. She might be from the wrong town. None of that mattered, fundamentally. If she’d actually recognized me at Hockaday, this could turn into a big mess.

Seven weeks. We’d never be able to avoid each other that long. If she was just an innocent ... resonance ... from my first life (as Megan had been, with the same not-the-right-grade factor), we’d be fine.

If not? I had no idea.

Ten minutes later after we’d come in, Laura appeared, chatting with two other girls. I’m pretty sure I saw her before she saw me, and ... she was definitely looking around. She wasn’t nearly the actress Angie, Jas, or Paige were. When her eyes crossed our table the second time, she visibly tensed up for a few seconds.

Okay, Universe. What are you up to?

She didn’t come over, not that I expected her to. She’d made it somewhat clear that she didn’t really want to talk to us. Oh, Michigan would’ve been difficult, but she could’ve offered to trade contact info. Hockaday was more the point. I’m certain she could’ve found the time between our round and when the scores were posted to talk to us if she’d wanted to. Instead, it felt like she was ducking me.

Here she was, ducking us again. Not even a casual, ‘You again? Wow!’ or the like. She clearly recognized us, and she clearly hadn’t wanted to admit it.

I decided not to push things with Laura right now. For one thing, while Angie would be there (definitely a point in favor), Jas and Paige would be there (major point against, particularly the Jasmine part). If this went south, it could go south in a big way.

Instead, we split up with hugs and kisses (Jasmine’s gave me another entry on the list), then headed off to Assembly. It was much, much shorter this morning, as expected. The big action items were sign-ups for field trips. The first was to see the Cubs at Wrigley Field on the 3rd.

The second was to Ravinia on July 6th. We could see Evanston’s July 4th fireworks from campus, but this would be different. Ravinia is a famous music venue in Highland Park, known for all sorts of music. Pop, rock, orchestral, jazz, and plenty of other things turned up at Ravinia. This year, they were doing a fireworks-oriented show with the Chicago Symphony. We had to tell them if we wanted in or not by June 30th.

The third was a trip to the Art Institute on July 9th. There was no way I was missing that.

We could sign up for all three at once, and did. The girls were in, though Paige grumbled about both the Cubs and Ravinia, and Cammie grumbled about baseball in general.

After these? We’d see.

This time I spotted Laura, but that was it. I had no idea which group she was in. When it was time for class, I went to class, tried to set Laura aside, and did my best. I think I was successful.

Mostly, anyway.

When I got out, I staked out a position at the front of the Technology Institute. There are plenty of ways to get to Sargent, but Laura might go this way.

Ten minutes later, she came outside in the middle of a group of kids. She was halfway down the front steps when she spotted me. She hesitated, then turned as if to go back. After another brief pause, she squared her shoulders, turned back, and came down. In the meantime, all of the other kids had gone on, none of them looking back.

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual. It didn’t actually sound casual.

“Hey,” I said. “I heard you were here.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I had a good time at Michigan, and this seemed like a good bet before senior year.”

“How was your year, last year?”

“We lost in quarterfinals at State. You?”

“Semi-finals.”

She bit her lip a second, then said, “Was that your school in the papers? The one where the girls went to Prom?”

“That was us.”

She shook her head. “You must have known them.”

I nodded. “They’re really close friends.”

For some reason, that visibly pissed her off. I mean, she gave me a serious glare. It lasted a second at most, then went away. My guess was, if I asked about it, she’d play it off as a hatred of lesbians, but ... I wouldn’t have bought it.

Instead, I said. “Hungry? I’m heading to lunch.”

“Yeah, I am. I have some friends in group seven that I need to catch up with, too.”

“Sounds good.”

We started walking, more-or-less together. Made sense, starting at the same place and going to the same place.

I couldn’t resist. If this was wrong, I’d look like a moron with a truly idiotic pickup line, and that would be fine. First-life Laura meant a lot to me. This Laura? She might mean even more, or nothing at all.

“It’s too bad they clear breakfast,” I said.

“Huh?” she said.

“I could use a donut. And some cherry pie, and a damn good cup of coffee.”

The reaction was everything I could’ve hoped for and nothing I would ever have hoped for. Her face went white, then red. Then very, very red.

“You fucking bastard!” she spat out at me. Literally; I could feel the droplets. “You absolute no good fucking horrible bastard!”

“I...” I said.

“Leave me the fuck alone or I swear I’ll get you!”

I nodded. “Okay.”

She took a few steps away, then turned back. Her face was still red, but it was covered in tears. Whatever I expected, it hadn’t, in a million years, been this. What the hell?

“I ... I can’t,” she said. “I fucking can’t. No! This is ... I ... it’s not supposed to...”

She stepped back over, and then slapped me as hard as she could. At least ... I hoped she couldn’t slap harder.

Fuck! That hurt! My ear was ringing. What might be worse was seeing Angie, Jas, and Paige turn a corner a couple of blocks away and pause, staring at us. I wasn’t sure how much they could hear, but anything might be too much.

“I’m leaving. Fuck the money. Fuck it all. I can’t do this!”

She took a few steps, then looked back and yelled, “Fuck you and fuck your goddamn cousin and your horrible fucking friends and ... and... everything!”

I said, “Laura, wait. Whatever it is...”

“Fuck! You!” she said, then turned and started across Sheridan, getting about halfway across.

That was a really bad idea.

I shouted, “Laura, look out!”

She stopped and looked at me over her left shoulder. Worse idea.

“Laura, look out!”

She turned around and spotted the truck bearing down on her. Her face went white and she started to move, but stumbled. A horn blared and brakes squealed.

Fuck it. I wasn’t going to watch this. I had enough time.

I dove out, running, then jumped, giving her a shove just in time to push her out of the path of the truck.

Me? Not enough time after all.

I never lost consciousness, which surprised me, which meant I heard the squealing brakes almost the whole time. I felt a big push from something hard, I felt my shoulder hit the pavement, and I rolled at least once. When I stopped, I’d wound up on my back, looking up. I looked to the side, and there was the truck, less than five feet away.

Surprisingly, nothing really hurt. More surprisingly, my feet moved when I told them to. So did my hands.

“Don’t move!” I heard a voice call. “Oh ... fucking hell ... please, Jesus, let him be all right!”

I placed it. Sherri, whose class I’d just been in.

From farther away I heard, “Steve!” It was loud and sounded anguished. Jas, of course.

“Oh, my God!” That was Angie.

“Holy fuck!” And there was Paige.

I sat up a little, gingerly.

“I’m so sorry!” a male voice said. It appeared to be the truck driver. “I couldn’t stop in time!”

“Don’t move!” Sherri said. She was over me now.

“I’m ... I’m okay, I think,” I said, blinking.

“You can’t be okay! A truck hit you!” she said.

“Seriously, I think I’m okay. Everything works and nothing hurts more than a scrape.”

I thought of something right then and started to chuckle. I probably looked like I was crazy, or in shock, or ... something.

“Stay put, please. Please! We can’t have a student injured like that.”

“Okay, since you asked nicely.” I put my head down and waited. I could already hear a siren.

“What ... what happened?” Jas said, appearing above me.

“Girl. Truck. I hope she’s okay,” I said.

“I don’t fucking care!” Jas said. “Don’t die on me! Please!” She had tears pouring down her face.

“Jas, I’m fine,” I said.

Angie said, “That’s shock. Believe me, I’ve been there.”

I shook my head. “Ang. I’m fine. I’m actually fine.”

“You’re nuts!” Paige said. “A truck just smacked you! You’re not fine! No one’s fine!”

The siren got very loud, and paramedics appeared.

“Ladies, please, move back,” one of them said.

The other knelt down, shining a light in my eyes.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Don’t move,” he said.

“I’m not, but I’m fine,” I said.

He started doing a full inspection, very carefully. Moving parts of me tiny amounts and making sure nothing hurt. After a bit, they put me on a backboard.

Angie said, “Where are you taking him?”

“Evanston Hospital. It’s just up the road.”

“I’ll call Mom and Dad,” Angie said.

“Wait, Ang. Just half an hour. I promise that I’m fine.”

“You had better be right, buster!” she said. I realized her face was just as tear-streaked as Jasmine’s. Paige’s was, too.

“What happened?” I heard Cammie shout.

“Steve! A truck hit him!” Jasmine said.

“Steve? No!”

“Cammie, I’m fine!” I yelled.

I got a look across the road. Laura was there, sitting on the grass, staring at me with an indecipherable look that I thought might be shock. One ankle was turning red, and I saw some blood. Not a lot of blood, but blood.

“Guys,” I said. “I know you have to follow protocol, but the girl over there, the one I was saving, looks injured. Please don’t forget about her.”

They got me settled, then one of the paramedics went over to her. After a brief examination, he looked back and shouted, “I’ll stay with her, Barry! She’s likely in shock, and her ankle is messed up. She should be monitored.”

“Got it. I’ll take him.”

They hit the gas and off I went. Barry got a blood pressure cuff on me and shook his head.

“Kid, I seriously wouldn’t believe this if I wasn’t seeing it. You’re sure a truck hit you?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

He shook his head again. “Slightly elevated blood pressure and heart rate, but nothing bad. No sign of major trauma. You’re not in shock, you seem lucid and oriented, all that. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ll let the guys who get the big bucks check you out, but ... this takes the fucking cake. Pardon my language.”