If this doesn’t work.I wince. The possibility is too depressing to comprehend. Mind you, we probably should have more than one viable plan for Operation Back to Seventeen. At least a measly backup plan. But we haven’t quite gotten there yet.
Just as I psych myself up for the fall, Renner calls up, “You better hurry. Students are gonna start coming in soon.”
“Please don’t rush me,” I snap, my full body shaking. “I’d like to see you voluntarily hurl yourself off the top of this ladder.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would love to see that.” He pauses, bottling his attitude. “And don’thurlyourself off. Just kind of, let yourself glide down gently.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been doing during science class, but gravity does not work that way.”
He pokes me in the calf. “Hey, we agreed we aren’t arguing anymore, remember? We need to work together to get out of this. Bickering isn’t gonna help.”
I hesitate. Bickering is simply our natural state. But he’s right. We have no hope in hell of getting out of here if we spend the entire time fighting. “True.” I hold my breath and stare down at him. It’s now or never. The sooner I jump, the sooner I’ll be back in my regular life, seventeen again, andnotengaged to Renner.
One ...
Two ...
Three ...
When I force my eyes open, I’m straddling Renner, legs splayed like a frog on either side of his body.
I blink a couple times, slowly taking in the surroundings. We’re in the gym, on the dusty, narrow plank wood floor. Good news, we didn’t hurtle ourselves into some other alternate dimension.
Bad news, when the wiry hair of Renner’s beard tickles my forehead, I know I’m still thirty, C cups and all. Ugh.
At least I’m not in as much pain as I was when I woke up yesterday morning.
Apparently, I’ve uttered that thought out loud, because Renner lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah, I broke your fall with my body.”
This alerts me to the fact that I’m on top of Renner, pressed into him like a panini. He grips both sides of my waist, gentler than I thought him capable. Our eyes snag for a second before he lets out a deep groan that jolts me with a fleeting spark of electricity. In my defense, this is just a normal biological reaction to having your entire body pressed into someone else’s. These feelings are perfectly normal, right?
“You’re still crushing me,” he says with another low groan.
Our lingering eye contact is replaced with mutualickbefore I roll off him. I make quick work to get back on my feet. “Let’s try again.”
Five ladder falls later, we’re no closer to going back in time.
Laden with disappointment, and bruises, we find our way into the student council room down the hall. It feels more familiar than going to our offices. We’ve spent countless hours parked at the table, poring over lists, invoices, and logistics. It also happens to be where Renner and I have had some of our most dramatic arguments, like the homecoming-float debacle.
Renner flings himself onto the worn couch (the same lumpy orange couch we had in 2024), long legs dangling over the end. “Now what?”
“We brainstorm how to get out of here,” I say, whipping out a spare notepad from the bookshelf, which contains MHS yearbooks dating back to the 1960s. “Let’s separately brainstorm a list of ideas. Then we’ll evaluate options and choose the best course of action.”
He smirks. “How did I know you were gonna suggest a list?”
I rip off a piece of lined paper from the pad and toss it into his lap. “When in doubt, make a list.”
“Do you keep lists for everything?”
“Absolutely everything. Including your hostile acts of aggression toward me.”
His laughter echoes throughout the room. “Care to share what’s on this list?”
“Stealing the presidency from me, for one.”
“Okay, Donald Trump.”
I clasp my chest. “Wow. I pride myself on my golden, non-orange skin tone, thank you very much.”
