He cracks a smile. “Svnoyi Ostu.”
I’m about to shut the window when I notice Owen pause and look back at me. “Ells?”
I stick my head out. “Yeah?”
“Did you rename Hippo? I mean, the last time we had this conversation?”
I smile at the memory of how effortlessly Owen cheered me up and how he made me temporarily forget my heartbreak. “Yeah, you wouldn’t stop badgering me so I named him Rick.”
“But you’re still calling him Hippo.”
“Because yesterday never happened, remember?”
“Ah, right.” He gives me a small salute. “See you tomorrow.”
I close the window and lean my forehead against it. “Or today,” I whisper, my words turning into fog against the glass.
10:42 p.m.
I lie in bed for a long time, thinking about the events of the day and my conversation with Owen.
What if you do get another chance?
I glance at my nightstand. The cup of water I spilled this morning is still sitting there empty. My phone is plugged into its charger. I grab the phone, tap on the Instagram app, and aim the tiny camera at my face.
I smile weakly, snap the selfie, and type out a caption.
I was here.
The Way We Were (Part 2)
Five months ago …
“So what are you doing out here?” I asked as I splashed my legs through the warm, heated water of Daphne Gray’s pool. It felt so good on my skin. A shiver-inducing contrast to the freezing-cold air that swirled around us. The party still blared inside, a million miles away from here.
He stared at our feet, which were warped and distorted under the water. “I had to get out of there. It was too … too…”
“Much?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Way too much.”
I sighed. “Me, too. I just came to look for my friend and—”
“So you claim.”
“I just came to look for my friend,” I repeated pointedly, shooting him a sideways glare. “And it was way too much. And oh my God, what is that noise they’re playing in there? It’s horrendous!”
He tipped his head back and laughed. A loud belly laugh.
“What?”
“That’s my band. We’re called Whack-a-Mole. Daphne’s playing our demo.”
Suddenly all the heat got sucked right out of the pool. I turned a hundred shades of white. I wanted to disappear under the surface of the water. I remembered he played in a band, I’d just never actually heard his music before. But now it made total sense. Tristan was a rock star at our school. It went along with his popularity.
“Well,” I said, pulling my legs out of the water and readying myself to stand up. “That’s my cue to leave.”
But he pulled me back down. “Don’t.”
“I just insulted your art. You can’t possibly want to spend any more time with me.”
“Au contraire. It makes me want to spend even more time with you.”
I gave him a dubious look. “Because you’re … demented?”
“Because you’re honest,” he corrected.
“I wouldn’t give me too much credit for honesty. If I had known that was your band, I would have lied to your face.”
Smile.
Heart.
Puddle.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t know then.”
“You’re not making all that much sense, you know?”
He gazed up at the night sky. “I know. I’m just kind of tired of it.”
I wasn’t following. “Of people liking your music?”
“Of people saying they like something that they don’t. Of the fakeness.” He nudged his chin toward the NASA-manufactured sliding glass door that was so soundproof I almost forgot half of our school was on the other side. “The girls in there. They’re all the same. They say the right things. They wear the right clothes. They post the perfect pouting duck-face selfies on Instagram.”
I was starting to think this wasn’t about every girl in there. I was starting to think this was about one girl in particular.
Colby Osbourne.
Tristan Wheeler’s girlfriend until two days ago.
He pulled his eyes away from the stars and looked at me. “I guess I’m tired of all the drama.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“So you get it?” I wasn’t sure why he sounded so surprised.
“Sure. I get it.”
Of course I got it. I dealt with those kinds of girls every day. I knew exactly what he meant.
“You seem so different, though.”
I laughed. “From the girls in there? I hope so.”
This wasn’t a lie. I never felt like I fit into that crowd, that scene, that exclusive, members-only club.
“I know so,” he said, with such confidence it startled me. I tore my eyes away from the water and looked at him as he went on. “You seem so much more chill, you know? Laid back. Not a drama queen at all.”
The truth was, I didn’t know who I was. Particularly not when it came to relationships. Was I the dramatic type? The pouting type? The jealous type? He didn’t seem to think so. Was it possible he’d gleaned more about me in the ten minutes we’d been talking than I’d learned in my entire life?
I was so ready to be the person he thought I was. The person I thought he needed me to be at that moment.
“Oh, totally. I hate drama. It’s such a waste of energy.”
That dimple again. “That’s a relief.”
I nodded earnestly, like I understood his frustrations. “Drama is the worst. If drama was an ice cream flavor, it would be Rum Raisin.”
I felt guilty as soon as I said it. I actually liked Rum Raisin. Owen and I were probably two of the only people in the universe who did. But my comparison made Tristan laugh again, so I didn’t take it back.
“My last girlfriend, Colby, was queen of the drama. She lived off it, thrived off it. If she saw the chance to make a scene, or start a fight, or rock the boat, she took it. I think maybe it was some sick way of making sure I was paying attention to her.”
There was a long drawn-out silence, and I could tell he was waiting for me to speak, waiting for me to comment on this revelation he’d just dumped into my lap.
So I chose something eloquent. “Ugh.” And I made an equally elegant face to go with it. “That’s super annoying.”
He stared at me like I was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Like he was an extraterrestrial researcher no one took seriously and I was alien life.
“I like you…” He faltered, realizing for the first time that he didn’t know my name.
I tried to ignore the dagger in my chest.
“Ellie.” I helped him out.
“Ellie,” he repeated, and my heart, liver, kidneys, spleen, and frontal lobe joined the strike. “I like you, Ellie.”
I bit my lip to keep the grin from leaping off my face.
“Although,” he added a moment later, “you do have dreadful taste in music.”
THE THIRD MONDAY
The Girl with Kaleidoscope Eyes
7:03 a.m.
I wake with a start and dive for my phone, knocking over a cup of water on my nightstand. It spills all over the pile of textbooks and paper next to my bed.
Full cup of water.
Textbooks and English paper next to my bed.
Did it happen? Did the day start over again?
I open Instagram and check for my picture. The selfie I posted just before I went to sleep last night.
It’s not there.
I check the clock. One minute until 7:04 a.m. That’s when the text messages come. That’s when Tristan tells me he can’t stop thinking about last night and wants to talk today. That’s when I know for sure that I’ve been given a third chance to fix this.
I count the seconds, feeling my grasp around the phone tighten with each passing moment. There’s a swarm of agitated butterflies flitting around in my stomach. There’s a thousand-pound
gorilla sitting on my chest. There’s—
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
I spring out of bed, holding the phone high over my head as I do a victory lap around my bedroom.
I click on the message and everything around me gets a hundred shades brighter.
Tristan: I can’t stop thinking about last night.
Wait for it. Wait for … it.
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
Tristan: Let’s talk today.
There it is! It’s real. This is actually really truly definitely happening. For once, me, Ellison Sparks, and the epic, ever-expanding universe are officially on the same side. Our agendas are aligned. Our visions are one and the same.
Today is victory day. Today is where it all turns around. If I succeed today—which I fully intend on doing—tomorrow will be Tuesday. I’m sure of it. I made the wish. I asked for another chance to set things right. So once I succeed in doing that, life will go on and Tristan and I will be together forever.
Whoa, what a story to tell our grandchildren.
Well, I almost messed it all up and Grandpa almost left me. If I hadn’t been given a magical opportunity to set things right, you guys never would have been born!
Now, I just need a plan. A solid, bulletproof plan.
And when all else fails, there’s only one place to turn.
I sit down at my laptop and type “How to stop a boy from breaking up with you” into a Google search.
The first result is a YouTube video of an interview with someone named Dr. Louise Levine. I click the link. It’s a segment from some morning show a few months ago.
“Welcome back!” the interviewer trills to the camera. “Today on the show, we have author and male behavior psychologist Dr. Louise Levine.”
I lean forward in my chair.
Male behavior psychologist?
I didn’t even know they had those! This is exactly what I need.
“Dr. Levine has written a very popular book called The Girl Commandments, which teaches women how to hold on to a man. Dr. Levine, won’t you tell us a little bit about your new book?”
The camera pans to the author in the adjacent chair. She’s a polished woman in her early forties, dressed in a red skirt suit with matching lipstick and high heels. Her hair is so big, it looks like it’s been glued on.
“Of course,” Dr. Levine says, “and thanks for having me on the show. The idea behind The Girl Commandments is very simple. Women, as a gender, have lost sight of our femininity, our special womanly flower. The very thing that makes us desirable to men. Women in the fifties and sixties—our grandmothers and great-aunts—they knew what it took to keep a man. They knew it wasn’t easy and that it required effort every single day.”
I nod emphatically, drinking in this woman’s words like I haven’t had a drop of water in weeks.
“The Girl Commandments teaches young women through basic, easy-to-follow, step-by-step rules—or commandments—that utilize the very same tactics women have been relying on successfully for centuries. You know, in our grandmothers’ generation, divorce wasn’t an option. You fell in love with a man and you lived happily ever after. There was none of this back-and-forth, push-and-pull, on-again, off-again, power-struggle relationship drama. Women knew where their true power lay and they used it to their advantage.”
This is sheer brilliance. Why am I just learning about this now?
“So tell us,” the interviewer says, “what makes you qualified to write a book like this?”
“Well, Anne,” Dr. Levine says, “I have a Ph.D. in male behavioral patterns and I’ve spent the better half of my life studying the male species.”
The interviewer lets out a hearty laugh. “Species! I love it. It’s like they’re primates in the wild.”
Dr. Levine smiles politely. “In a way, they actually are. Everyone likes to think men are these complicated, difficult-to-comprehend creatures, but they’re actually not. They’re very easy. Biologically they haven’t changed much since the caveman years, and neither have we. It’s our society that has convoluted our gender roles. I study men the same way a zoologist might study apes in the jungle.”
Wow. I didn’t even know you could get an actual degree in deciphering the male brain. This woman really is an expert on the opposite sex!
It immediately makes me realize how little I know. I mean, Tristan is the first guy I’ve ever dated. My first real relationship. (And no, I don’t count the seven minutes I spent kissing Alex Patterson in the closet in eighth grade.)
Here I was thinking I could solve this Tristan dilemma on my own, but the truth is, I am completely clueless about boys.
I stop the interview—I’ve seen enough to convince me—and pop over to my favorite online bookstore, where I still have leftover funds from my last birthday gift card. I search for The Girl Commandments by Dr. Louise Levine.
This book is popular. It’s ranked #4 in all self-help books. At least I know I’m not alone out there.
I purchase the eBook and download it to my phone. A minute later, I’m looking at the table of contents. There’s an introduction and then ten chapters, one for each of the commandments. I don’t have time to read it all now so I simply skim the chapter titles, feeling like I’m being bulldozed by a new revelation with each one.
Girl Commandment #4: Thou shall NOT text or call him back right away.
Well, there’s my first mistake right there. I always text Tristan back right away. I’ve been doing it the past two Mondays.
I glance at my phone, rereading the messages from Tristan.
He wants to talk about last night? Well, he’ll just have to wait.
Ha!
Moving on.
Girl Commandment #5: Thou shall always be a Creature of Mystery.
I slap my forehead. Of course! Be mysterious! I’m never mysterious. I’m always so … well … whatever the opposite of mysterious is.
I select the chapter and scan the text. It has additional hints on exactly how to be a Creature of Mystery. Things like:
• Answer his questions with a question.
• Don’t say exactly what you mean.
• Avoid the drama! Don’t let him know when you’re upset.
• Don’t laugh too hard at his jokes.
• Never eat in front of him.
Crap. I eat in front of Tristan like every day! They should really teach this stuff in school. It’s so much more valuable than chemistry. This is like life chemistry.
Now that I have the rules to live by, this day is going to be a piece of cake.
I drop the phone in my schoolbag and prance into the shower.
Ten minutes later, I’m back in front of my closet, staring down my wardrobe choices.
Girl Commandment #2: Thou shall always look feminine and refined on a date.
The book says that boys like when girls look like girls. It reminds them of their own masculinity and their place in the relationship.
I search the Web for some inspiration and finally decide on a pink lace knee-length dress that my mom bought me two years ago but I’ve never worn because I always thought it was too girly, and pair it with a belt. Then I style my hair into soft, feminine waves. For my makeup, I choose a palette of pinks and warm earth tones.
I finish off the outfit with a gold heart-shaped pendant around my neck.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I have to admit I look pretty dang good. I don’t think Tristan has ever seen me like this before. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen me like this before.
7:47 a.m.
“Good morning, beautiful family!” I say a few minutes later as I float into the kitchen like a summer breeze.
My brand-new self comes as such a surprise to everyone, I actually manage to halt the circus mid-act. My dad looks up from his iPad, my mom looks up from her cabinet door banging, and my sister puts her book down on the counter.
“Wow,” Hadley says. “I guess th
at means he called.”
I just smile in response and swing the fridge door open with a flourish.
“You’re in a good mood for a Monday,” my dad points out.
I remove the bread and shut the door, nodding emphatically. “I think it’s gonna be a good day.”
“It’s raining,” Hadley points out.
“Is it?” I ask wistfully as I push my bread into the toaster. “Well, that just makes it all the more romantic.”
“What the fuh?” Hadley asks, referencing what I can only guess is another offering from Urban Dictionary.
I pat her head. “You’re adorable.”
“Mom,” Hadley whines, “Ellie’s on drugs. When was the last time you checked her room for narcotics?”
I glance over my dad’s shoulder at his screen. “Narcotic,” I suggest, pointing to a triple word score space.
He taps it in. “Ninety-six points! Yes!” He holds his hand up for a high five and I deliver.
My mom bangs a cabinet door closed.
My dad looks up from his iPad. “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing!” she snaps. “I’m not looking for anything at all. Why would I possibly be looking for something I have no hope of ever finding? At least not under this roof!”
When my toast pops up, I slather it with peanut butter and take a bite. This time, I’m determined for it not to end up squished at the bottom of my bag.
“Ellie,” my dad says.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, walking over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll make the team. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
I swing my schoolbag over my shoulder and head for the garage door. I pause, looking back long enough to say, “I hope you all have a beautiful, fulfilling day. I’m off to change the world.”
Now I’m a Believer
8:02 a.m.
“Wow, it’s really chucking it down out there,” Owen says, getting into the car and giving his wet hair a shake. I watch the tiny droplets of rainwater land on the dash but today I fight the urge to wipe them away.
When I don’t respond, Owen turns and stares at me, his eyes lingering on my clothes a beat longer than normal, like he can sense something’s different but can’t figure out what it is.