The Chinese mind, as I see it at work in the I Ching, seems to be exclusively preoccupied with the chance aspect of events. What we call coincidence seems to be the chief concern of this peculiar mind, and what we worship as causality passes almost unnoticed.

— C. G. Jung, "Forward to the I Ching"
from "Psychology and Religion: East and West," The Collected Works of C. G. Jung, translated by R.F.C. Hull

 

 

Time marched to an ever faster drumbeat as AJ became older. When he was six, each day had seemed like a week; each week was a season, each month a year. A year spent waiting for the next Christmas or the next birthday was an eternity. But now, the cadence had quickened: with his 13th birthday behind him and ninth grade approaching in 1957, AJ realized that an entire year had passed without even noticing it.

It seemed like only a few days had gone by since he arrived in New York, where Lucas met him at Idlewild Airport and drove him back to their new home near Northport. Northport was a small village of 6,000 people, with a protected harbor that opened onto Long Island Sound. The railroad connected them to Manhattan, 50 miles away, and on the south side of the tracks was the town's poor cousin — known contrarily as East Northport. It had a main street, which cut across the railroad tracks and led a few miles north to the gentrified district of Northport; but most of it was suburban sprawl, occupied by newcomers like the Halifaxes, who worked in defense plants and manufacturing outlets taking advantage of the cheap land on Long Island.

When eighth grade began, AJ was sent to a traditional junior high school, located on the Northport side of the tracks. The students were a mixture of newcomers like him, and children of families whose ancestors had helped settle the village 200 years earlier. AJ noticed only two significant events in eighth grade. The first was a non-event: they didn't move in March. The month came and went without AJ even noticing it, and it wasn't until his 13th birthday at the end of April that he asked Lucas about it. Lucas replied smugly that he was now a manager, and didn't have to worry about being transferred, willy-nilly, every year.

The second interesting development was the absence of any contact with Joanna. Perhaps it was because there had been no crises: no falls from trees, no arrows in the face. Or maybe her family never moved from Omaha, he thought. Or maybe she lost interest in me. Or perhaps the problem was that he had lost interest. As a bona fide teenager, the hormones were raging throughout AJ's body, demanding his full attention; he had no time to think about a strange guardian angel who had followed him around the country for reasons never disclosed. Nor did he care any longer about Norma's strange past. He wasn't getting along any better with Lucas, either, but Lucas was traveling more frequently now, and tended to leave him alone. As long as he did the chores assigned to him — mowing the grass, taking the trash out to the garbage can after dinner each night — Lucas and Norma left him alone.

But all of this had been a warm-up, a prelude to the first really significant event of his period in Northport. The summer of 1957 had passed, and it was now Wednesday, September 4th — the day for school to begin. It was significant for a number of obvious reasons that Norma and Lucas could understand: it was the first day in a new school, the first day of high school.

But for AJ, there was an entirely different reason for paying attention to the commencement of school: this was the day that he was destined to meet his future wife. His BeforeTime memories were getting mustier with every passing day, and it took a while to remember exactly when this would happen: sometime around 4:30, he thought, in a last-period social studies class.

Ann had lived here most of her life, on the right side of the tracks, down in the village. AJ had seen her a few times in eighth grade, but always at a distance; they had no classes together. But this year, he knew they would find themselves sitting side by side for the entire year in social studies. It was a strange feeling, made all the more intense by the anticipation: how many people could meet someone at the age of thirteen and announce, "This is the person I'm going to marry someday?" I surely had no such idea when I met Ann for the first time in BeforeTime in 1957, AJ thought.

But I wonder if I should expect it to be any different this time around? he thought, as he climbed aboard the bus that would take him across the railroad tracks and off to the edge of town where the high school was situated. He continued to muse about the bizarre circumstances as he floated through the first day of classes: English, Algebra, German, Science, Phys Ed, and finally Social Studies. It had occurred to him once again during the day that maybe this NowTime timestream would unfold differently than the BeforeTime timestream. Even though events have generally been the same now as they were then, he thought, what guarantee do I have that every detail will be the same?

So he decided to test his "inevitability" theory: he made an effort to hurry to the social studies class first, to pick the seat he remembered having chosen in BeforeTime. Since it was the first day of school, none of the buildings were familiar — he didn't remember that much from BeforeTime! — and he had no idea where Ann would be coming from, since her next-to-last-period class was different than his. So it required a mad dash to reach the classroom before anyone else arrived. But success was his: the classroom was nearly empty when he charged through the door, and Ann had not yet arrived. A few seats in the front were taken, but his chosen spot was empty: it was stage left, third row from the left, second seat from the back. With a contented sigh, he plopped himself down, waiting to see what would happen.

A moment before the bell rang, Ann sauntered in. God, she looks young, AJ thought with a bemused smile, as he watched her chatting with her friends. This isn't my wife, this is a child.

Most of the seats were now taken, and AJ gritted his teeth, determined to let the chips fall where they might. The entire back row of seats, where the tough kids sat, was taken — and most of the front rows were taken, too. Ann wanted to sit with her friends, and they scanned the room, looking for a cluster of seats. Finally, they wandered down the second row, kibitzing among themselves, and stopped near the back of the room. The other girls turned to their left and found two empty desks; Ann turned to her right and carefully organized herself at the desk next to AJ's.

"Good move, Annie!" he said joyfully. "Your fate is sealed!"

"Don't call me that!" she said sharply, turning and looking at him. "No one calls me that, except my family."

Wow! he thought. When did she get so sensitive? Aloud, he mumbled contritely, "Sorry — you have the misfortune of sitting next to the class idiot. Hopefully it won't be contagious."

"I certainly hope not," she sniffed. She turned back to her friends until the teacher, an intense young teacher named Rogers burst into the room. But AJ continued smiling. Your fate is sealed, he thought happily. You just don't know it yet.

And that, as it turned out, was not only the most significant event of the day, but of the entire year. The remainder of ninth grade, as well as the summer of 1957, was peaceful and quiet. Another year had come and gone — and still no sign of Joanna.

As tenth grade began, there was a flurry of activity in early September of 1958: Lucas arrived home from work one evening and announced that he had been transferred back to Omaha. AJ paid little attention, for his BeforeTime memory told him that it wouldn't come to pass. As far as Norma and Lucas were concerned, though, the move was real: the house was put on the market, and the standard preparations began. But the date of the move was delayed, first by two weeks, and then another two weeks. The first delay caused little concern, but the second delay caused more consternation: the house had been sold, and they were expected to vacate within two weeks. A week before the deadline, Lucas arrived home late in the evening, in a foul mood: his transfer had been canceled, he announced, and they would be staying in Northport for the foreseeable future. There was a great deal of shouting and arguing over the details, but AJ closed his bedroom door and went back to his homework. It's turning out as it was meant to be, he thought contentedly.

In a panic to find a rental while they figured out what to do next, Norma located a house closer to the official village of Northport. The locus of AJ's activities gradually shifted from East Northport to Northport, and he began spending his Saturday afternoons at the movie theater on Main Street, and fishing off the town dock when the baby blues began their annual run through Long Island Sound in the warm days of September.

All through ninth grade, Ann had been cool and stand-offish toward him. AJ assumed that it was because of his status as new kid from the potato fields of East Northport, and didn't let it bother him. In tenth grade, they shared a second-year German class and another social studies class, and he was surprised to see that her hostility increased. It made no sense, especially now that he was living on the right side of the tracks, and he found it slightly disconcerting. But he forced himself to keep his distance, simply watching her from time to time in class.

Science that year consisted of the noble pursuit of chemistry, taught by a man who quickly became one of his favorite teachers: Larry Bass. By the end of sophomore year, chemistry had become a passion. It was a blast — literally as well as figuratively: AJ had developed an obsession for making explosives. All during tenth grade, he mixed batches of chemicals that turned bright colors, then mysteriously turned colorless again; chemicals that heated up suddenly and cause a boiling froth; and, of course, things that went bang.

AJ sweet-talked Mr. Bass into giving him an after-school voluntary job of cleaning the chemistry lab — which gave him access to a variety of potent acids and volatile ingredients. Some of this he spirited away from the school, giving him the opportunity to make incendiary devices that occasionally erupted in his bedroom — once causing so much smoke that even a strong wind blowing in the bedroom window wasn't enough to get rid of the stink. Norma was convinced that he had experimenting with smoking, and she gave him a long lecture about the dangers of lung cancer. He smiled at the irony of her lecture, but said nothing. This time, I know what I'm doing, he thought.

At the very end of sophomore year, the day before classes ended, he decided that he would use his last quiet moment in the chemistry lab to concoct an explosive mixture for his own Fourth of July celebration. But while stirring together ingredients destined to make something far more powerful than gunpowder, the mixture exploded in his face with a horrendous whoomph! Powdered aluminum, mixed with sulfur, carbon black, and sodium nitrate, flew everywhere; the hot, burning aluminum hit his face and formed a mask-like cake that caused second-degree burns from his hairline to the opening of his shirt. Were it not for the glasses he hated so much, he would have been blinded for sure.

This time, there was no Joanna to save him; but Mr. Bass was nearby and heard the explosion. His parents were called and he was dragged away to the doctor. After an excruciating hour, he was swathed in more bandages than an Egyptian mummy and taken home. The pain was far worse than any punishment Norma or Lucas could devise, and the embarrassment was something he suffered alone. Another do-over, he thought. I guess I didn't know what I was doing this time around.

The doctor announced he would have to stay inside, out of the sunlight, for several weeks. Outdoor chores — the grass-cutting and trash-emptying routine — were suspended with great ceremony; Lucas hired a boy next door to cut the grass, and took the payment out of AJ's weekly allowance. In the midst of his convalescence, Norma returned from the mailbox one morning with a stack of bills and magazines — and a letter for AJ. She didn't seem to think it unusual, nor did he — not until he opened the envelope and found the star drawing inside:

 

 

 

 

Three years had passed since Joanna had last contacted him, and it took AJ an hour to find the old notebook with the codes. The envelope was postmarked in Northport, but there was no return address; and since it had not appeared on his school desk, there was no way to send a return message. After all these years, he thought, I still don't know her last name. Aside from calling every family in the phone book, there was no way to contact her. Still, he couldn't help feeling a small tingle in the back of his neck, simply knowing that she was back. All of the intrigue and mystery in California and Omaha had faded into the background; now it was back. I wonder what she thinks I'm up to.

Eleventh grade began quietly in September. His chemical burns had completely healed and, miraculously, there were no scars. I didn't have any scars when it happened in BeforeTime, he thought. Why should I have any scars this time? He didn't remember any other BeforeTime crises looming ahead, but he worried that he might be getting too cocky for his own good.

Maybe this is what Ann senses in me, he thought. Maybe this is why she has become so hostile. As their junior year began, they shared only a third-year German class, and Ann prevailed upon the teacher to seat her on the opposite side of the room. By now, it had become an open secret that Ann and AJ had the top two grades in the school; as such, it made them competitors.

Maybe that's the problem, AJ thought. But he had already conceded this one: he knew there was no way he could beat Ann's record, even with the advantage of his BeforeTime mental skills. He had upped his academic scores over what he did in BeforeTime — at least, he thought he had, since he couldn't remember every grade he originally got in every class. But even doing it the second time around, there were some esoteric pieces of science and math that he didn't understand completely; some bizarre verb forms in German that he couldn't memorize; and some nuances of history that he would never learn to the satisfaction of his teachers.

But even if he could have done all of it perfectly, he knew that he would still fall behind Ann in phys-ed. The one-year age deficit that made him a little smaller and slower, plus the residual weakness caused by the polio attack in his earlier years, had made organized sports an anathema. He categorically refused to try out for the football team, the basketball team, or even the soccer team. As a result, the B- grades he received in freshman gym stayed with him through sophomore year, and he knew they would stay with him right through the end of his high school career.

Ann, on the other hand, was a natural athlete. She joined the lacrosse team, the girl's basketball and baseball team, and even the track team. AJ had never seen her report card up close in NowTime, but he knew from BeforeTime that she was pulling down 95s in Phys Ed in every marking period — and as a result, her cumulative average was creeping inexorably higher than his.

It occurred to him that his BeforeTime knowledge might be a means of softening the cold shoulder that he had gotten from her since the beginning of ninth grade. Finding a way to talk to her was the hard part: when she was not surrounded by half a dozen chattering girls, her boyfriend, Russ Mitchell, was like a leech on her side. But finally, in late September, he took advantage of an absence when Russ fell prey to a cold: Ann was eating alone in the cafeteria. Well, nearly alone: one other girl was sitting beside her, though it didn't look like Ann was talking to her.

"What do you think about that Krushchev, huh?" AJ said boisterously, banging his lunch tray down on the table as he sat across from her. Ann and the other girl, a California expatriate with the strange name of Cheska, looked up at him blankly.

He figured that if he was loud enough, he would drive at least one of the girls away — and there was a good chance it would be Cheska, since Ann was too stubborn to be driven away by anyone. So he rattled on with comments about Nikita's tour of the US, which he assumed they had seen on television: Krushchev had toured Hollywood, an Iowa farm, and an IBM plant in San Francisco; he had eaten his first hot dog, but he was not allowed to visit Disneyland because of security concerns. Blah, blah, blah; by now, Cheska was looking desperate.

"Yup," AJ said, with a flourish, "I just loved his final comment when he signed those Camp David agreements with Ike: 'Let us have more and more use for the short American word, O.K.'"

"Is he always this way?" Cheska whispered to Ann as she left.

Alone at last, he made his pitch to Ann quickly. "I know you don't particularly like me," he told her, " but I was wondering if we could have a truce."

Ann had hunched her shoulders together, like a cornered cat, and was staring at him. He waited to see what she would say, but after a moment's silence, he carried on. "If you're competing against me scholastically," he told her, "you can rest easy. You're going to be valedictorian next year: I already know that."

No response.

"And besides, we might as well get to be friends now, because we're going to be stuck together next year for all sorts of awards — like Class Einsteins and Most Likely to Succeed."

Still no response, but her frown had deepened. "You know why I don't like you?" she finally said, quietly but forcefully. "Because you're too much of a smartass."

"I'm sorry," AJ responded, with a shrug. She's right, he thought. But it took an effort to slow down and respond in a serious vein. "It's just a way of masking my shyness all the times I find myself in a new school with people I don't know."

Ann shook her head. "It's something else."

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"Something's not right about you," she frowned again. "I can't put my finger on it, but you keep making wise-cracks about stuff that you shouldn't know about — like this idiotic stuff about how we're going to be voted Class Einsteins next year."

There was nothing he could say to such an accusation.

"I don't know if you're just joking, or bluffing, or what ... but it's almost like you're cheating, somehow, when you start telling everyone things that haven't happened yet."

"Maybe you're right," AJ responded humbly. "But I didn't mean any harm. I'll stop doing it if you like."

"The problem is that I just don't trust you," she said, standing up and grabbing her lunch tray. "And that makes me mad."

As he puzzled over her tirade at the empty lunch table, he decided that the best thing for him to do would be to hunker down and avoid standing out. She's obviously seen right through me, he thought, so the best thing would be to cut out the smartass predictions, and simply become the Quiet Man in school.

And indeed, he become nearly invisible as Christmas came and went, and 1960 got off to a slow start. But in mid-February, another letter arrived from Joanna, with his name and address neatly typed on the envelope. The star-message was enclosed within a thick, blank piece of paper — presumably to avoid discovery in case someone held the envelope up to the light. It was longer than most, and it took him a while to decode it:

 

 

 

The conclusion was obvious: there was no way that she was attending his school, or she would have found a way to leave messages there — in his locker, under his homeroom desk, or someplace controllable. But her message also implied that she, or an accomplice, knew where he lived and drove past his house every night. Probably in the same damned green De Soto that followed us all over the country, AJ thought.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help responding. After dinner, when it was time to take the trash out to the garbage can, he carried an envelope to the mailbox. He had nothing specific to say, but since she seemed to have expectations of him, he asked:

 

 

 

 

The next morning, he checked the mailbox on his way to school. His message was gone, and a reply awaited him in another neatly typed envelope:

 

 

 

 

There was no question who Joanna meant by "he," and he was only slightly surprised by her knowledge of the computer file. Her message implied that she was watching both him and Lucas, and suggested that there was a dangerous game underway. AJ was too shaken to know what to do, what to say to her; he could only assume that she would contact him when it was time to make the next move — whatever it might be.

For the next several weeks, the mailbox was empty — and his attention returned to the events at school. At the end of March, the Student Council convened a meeting of its representatives to nominate candidates for the following year's officers. AJ had been waiting for this to happen for the past two years — for if there was one thing he remembered from BeforeTime high school, it was his election as Student Council President. Not only was this an experience he very much wanted to do over, but it was one he desperately needed to achieve enough credibility for Ann to take him seriously. It shouldn't matter, he kept telling himself, 'cause she's not going to pay any attention to me anyway until after college. But somehow, it mattered very much.

His academic record turned out to be enough to get him nominated. Ann was nominated, too, as he expected her to be. And Russ Mitchell — football quarterback, star forward of the basketball team, cleanup batter on the baseball team, man among men, a mensch for the people, known as "Bear" by his football teammates — cornered the third nomination. Just as it was supposed to be, he nodded contentedly when he heard the news.

When AJ announced the news at dinner, there was an awkward silence from Norma and Lucas. "Don't all clap at once," he said.

"Well, the problem is this, kiddo," said Lucas, in a matter-of-fact tone. "We're not going to be here for the next school year. Of course, it doesn't matter if you lose — but if you should win, you won't be here to carry out your term of office, or whatever your Student Committee calls it."

"Student government, Dad," AJ shot back angrily. "What do you mean, we're not going to be here next year? We've been here for four years now — and I'm almost through high school. Where the hell are you taking us now?"

"AJ!" said Norma. "Watch your language!"

"We're heading for Salt Lake City at the end of the school year, sport," said Lucas happily. "Back to God's country. I've had enough of these East Coast shit-heads."

"Salt Lake City?" AJ asked incredulously. "But we're not supposed to go there — I mean you're not supposed to go there — until the end of next year, after I graduate from high school. I'm not supposed to go there at all — I'm supposed to visit during the summers while I'm in college, but that's it!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lucas asked. He was annoyed, and his brows knitted together. "What's this supposed-to-do-this, and supposed-to-do-that crap? Since when did you get the job of running this family's schedule?"

"I'm not trying to run anybody's schedule but my own," AJ yelled. "Go to Salt Lake and take over the whole damn Mormon Church, for all I care. But not me! It's not on my agenda!"

Norma was sitting on the sidelines, with her mouth open. She wanted to get a word in, but AJ and Lucas were glaring at each other over the dinner table like two gladiators.

"Agenda?" bellowed Lucas. "Agenda!? What the hell are they doing in that goddamned school of yours — telling you kids that you're all a bunch of Vice Presidents? Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Agenda: when I say jump, you say how high, sir? When I say move, we move! If I say we're gonna move to Salt Lake City, then we're gonna move to Salt Lake God Damned City!"

He slammed his martini glass down on the table so hard the glass stem broke and the liquid sloshed out on the table. "Shit!!" he yelled, in an ear-splitting roar, and threw the glass against the wall behind AJ's head.

AJ ducked as the glass flew by his head. The smart thing to do at this point, he thought, would be to mutter a contrite apology, slink out of the room, and hope that he forgets the whole thing when he wakes up tomorrow morning. But the news had taken him entirely by surprise: It's not supposed to be happening. If they left Northport and moved to Salt Lake, everything that transpired thereafter would be utterly and irrevocably different than what AJ remembered from BeforeTime. I might not even end up in the right college, and then I won't run into Ann after we graduate, and then ... the domino effect was unimaginable.

The prospect had a galvanizing effect: he stood up, shoved his chair back, and leaned over the table to stare at Lucas. "You can go to Salt Lake — have a great time." AJ stretched out his arm to encompass Norma. "Have a great life — but leave me out of it. I've got one more year in this school, and I'm staying here until it's over. Then I'm going to MIT; as far as I'm concerned, Salt Lake City will sink to the bottom of the lake before you'll ever see me there!"

"MIT?" Lucas cackled. "Where did MIT come from? What makes you think anyone is going to send you to MIT?"

"I've got the best science grades in the school," AJ answered stiffly. "I happen to know that I'm going to be accepted there."

"I don't give a rat's ass if you're accepted there," Lucas howled with a drunken joviality, "I asked who you thought was going to send you there. Who the hell is gonna pay for your artsy-fartsy Ivy League college, bucko?"

"I'll get a scholarship," AJ hissed between clenched teeth.

"And who the hell is gonna pay your room and board, you lazy son of a bitch?" Lucas shouted. "And while we're at it, who the hell d'ya think is gonna pay your room and board while you prance around here next year?" He grabbed Norma's glass, slopped it full from the martini pitcher, and took a deep swig. "Because if you think I'm gonna pay a plug nickel for a smartass little bastard like you, you can go straight to hell. You'll be lucky if I let you work your way through Utah State!"

AJ was momentarily silenced: this was a problem he hadn't thought through ... but the whole evening was one he hadn't anticipated. He was stunned, and he sank to his seat.

Norma broke in, and told them that they were both being childish. She berated Lucas for yelling so loudly, and she dressed AJ down for being so uppity and disrespectful. She sent him to his room, and told him to go to bed without any further reading, homework, or other shenanigans. "Lights out, buster!" were her marching orders.

It was fine with AJ: darkness was the best place to contemplate his options. His entire world had fallen apart, with no advance warning. He had no plans, had formulated no strategies: the most significant thing he had been worrying about before dinnertime was what name to give the ersatz "political party" represented by the four candidates on his electoral team — but now he had much larger problems to worry about.

But if worst came to worst, and Lucas tossed me out of the house, he thought, there's no question that I would survive. I could always get a job at IBM — at least I haven't forgotten how to write computer programs. And he could probably do quite well in the long run, he mused, by investing in Polaroid and Xerox before the stock market boom of the 60s really took off. But there would be no overnight riches; the first couple of years would be a real scramble.

And I wouldn't end up with Ann, he suddenly realized. If I make a sharp break with the past and head off into uncharted territory, then everything I knew in my adult BeforeTime life could be gone in a flash.

Suddenly, he sat bolt upright. This is absurd! he thought to himself. Why am I even considering this? What the hell am I even doing here? He had been in NowTime for such a long time, had gotten so involved in this world and this life, that he had completely forgotten that he never intended it to be permanent.

I tried to go back when we left Omaha, and the lightning wouldn't let me, he remembered. It wasn't time then; maybe it's time now. The more he thought about the possibilities of pursuing this life — whether it took him into the totally unacceptable world of Salt Lake City or into uncharted waters as a runaway fugitive in Northport — the more frightening it seemed. If he were to stay here in NowTime, he might eventually resolve the mystery of Joanna, but he wouldn't have Ann and his children ten years from now. And besides, he thought, there are too many things in the future that I know about and can't change. I don't want to see John Kennedy die again.

His final thought, as he drifted off into a troubled sleep, was: Lucas said he wasn't planning to move until the end of the school year — so I've got that long to find myself a good solid thunderstorm and get the hell out of here. His birthday was April 30th, and that seemed like an auspicious day, if the weather cooperated; it gave him a month to pack his bags, get his act together, and prepare to leave town forever.

The next few weeks passed in a fog: Lucas was in a state of permanent fury with him, Norma seemed to be taking his side, and AJ moved numbly from one day to the next, trying to decide how and when he should make his move. The school election campaign continued, homework demanded attention, and the whirlwind social life of high school continued with no concern for his cosmic fate.

On a Friday afternoon in late April — the 22nd, to be exact — an entirely unexpected event occurred. School had ended for the day, but AJ decided not to bother going home — the basketball team was playing the neighboring town of Huntington for the league championship that evening, and it would have been a waste of time to go home for two hours and then come back again.

With time to kill, he wandered down to the athletic field and found that a second competition was underway: the girls' softball team was playing against Huntington. It was not a championship match, just one of the regular season games; aside from the coaches, there were only a handful of spectators. The same Northport girls who played on the lacrosse team and basketball team were hard at work now playing softball; AJ spotted Ann and several other familiar faces on their team.

None of the Huntington girls were familiar, but a few of them were fairly attractive. He found himself wondering how difficult it would be to ask one of them for a date — he didn't have a driver's license yet, not even having reached the age of 16 — and he suspected that such a liaison would be seen by his Northport friends as a sign of ultimate betrayal.

In the midst of his ruminations, he spotted a Huntington player staring at him from third base. He would have sworn that he had never seen her before, and yet there was something familiar about her. He stared back at her, wondering if his fly was unzipped, or if she had spotted spinach on his teeth. But he checked: no, everything was in order — and then Ann hit a sharp ground ball to third base, and the Huntington girl lunged desperately to grab the ball and throw to first. Whoever she was, the moment was gone.

That evening, the basketball game was a humdinger: the lead seesawed back and forth, with neither team able to gain more than a few points before the other team caught up. In the final few seconds, Russ Mitchell threw an impossible shot from the center of the court and scored the winning basket as the buzzer sounded. The gym was in a state of pandemonium; everyone was limp with exhaustion and utterly elated by the victory.

Plans had been made for a post-game record hop, and the Huntington spectators were eager to clear out before the victors had too much of a chance to rub their noses in defeat. The principal asked several of the Northport students to stand by the doors leading from the gymnasium out to the parking lot, so that they could close them as soon as the enemy students had left. Thus, AJ had the opportunity to watch them filing past, and he spotted the third-base Huntington softball player again.

"Good game, AJ," she said glumly as she walked by him, "but you guys didn't deserve to win."

It didn't even hit him at first, and she was out the door before his brain registered: AJ!! How did she know my name? How would anyone here know me by that nickname?

He chased after her, into the throng in the parking lot. She was with a group of Huntington girls, heading for one of the buses that would take them home. The noise level was deafening, with everyone rehashing the game, complaining loudly about missed shots, bad calls, and the general unfairness of it all.

He had worried that he might be mistaken, and might be punched in the nose by one of the frustrated Huntington boys if he ran up to her and tried to pull her away. But then an idea occurred to him: if she knew his nickname, then he knew hers.

"BJ!!" he yelled, loudly enough to be heard across the parking lot.

Loudly enough, perhaps, but nobody heard; nobody paid the slightest attention. Nobody, that is, save for one blonde-haired girl. The third-base softball player turned in her tracks, and stared back at him.

"How did you find me?" AJ shouted across the crowd. "Why did you find me?"

"I'm sorry," she said, sadly. "I can't talk to you. Not yet."

"Whaddya mean, not yet?" AJ yelled. "You've been following me for ten years, for Chrissakes! And now you can't talk to me?"

A Huntington girl pulled at her arm; the bus was filling up and the doors were closing.

"Not until you're 18," she said, turning toward the bus. "If I talk to you before then, I'll never see you again."

Jesus! he thought. What kind of screwball is she? The whole thing was incredibly frustrating, and as she climbed aboard and the doors swung shut, he blurted out a secret that he would never have considered sharing with anyone.

"Well, you better talk to me soon if you're gonna talk to me at all!" he shouted. "I'm leaving town next weekend, and when I blast out of here this time, I ain't never coming back!"

He didn't know whether she had heard him, but he could see her face, watching him intently from the window as the bus pulled out of the lot and headed toward Route 25A to Huntington. That is one sicko lady! AJ muttered to himself as he walked back to the gym, pounding his fist on the door to got someone to let him in.

The next morning, a message awaited him in the mailbox, written in black pencil:

 

 

 

 

The timing of the message didn't surprise him, but he was in no mood to pay any attention to the ominous warning. She's as nutty as a fruitcake, he muttered to himself, as he folded the paper in half and slipped it into his notebook.

In the final week of April, the election campaign reached a climax. A student assembly was held on Thursday afternoon so the candidates could explain their campaign promises to the student body. Elections were scheduled for the next day, and the winners were to be announced at a school dance on Saturday night — April 30th, AJ's birthday.

The consensus was that all three Presidential candidates were running neck and neck: the jocks and basketball fans were supporting Russ; Ann had gotten the nod from the intellectuals, social butterflies, and long-time residents from the right side of the tracks. And AJ had picked up the mavericks, the misfits, the malcontents, and all of the disaffected nobodies who, like him, had moved to the school district in the last few years and found themselves living on the wrong side of town.

Friday morning was gloomy and wet; when AJ left the house for school, he was so obsessed by the election that he was half-way down the block before a nagging voice in the back of his mind convinced him that something was amiss. He turned back, wondering if he had forgotten his school books, his homework assignments, or ... Aha! It's the mailbox! The mailbox had been left hanging open, as if begging someone to look inside. He walked back to retrieve the inevitable envelope, and slowly decoded the message on his way to school:

 

 

 

 

She must be out of her mind, he thought. How does she expect me to pull it off? The timing would have to be perfect, and she would have to help — and every time I've asked her for something, she pulls back and disappears.

Joanna's crisis throbbed like a dull headache in the background all day long, but his attention was on the election. He knew it would be close: there were crowds of supporters for all three political parties at the ballot box when he arrived in the morning and nobody was prepared to concede defeat at the end of the day. The day was dark and blustery, with rain coming down most of the afternoon; the ballot box was carefully guarded in the cafeteria building, and no one could tell how much the bad weather was affecting everyone's decision to come in and vote during their free periods. The polls finally closed at the end of the school day, and he realized that even though he knew he was supposed to win, he was still nervous.

His nervousness must have shown, for the outgoing Secretary of the student government, Amy Smith, patted him on the back as she and a friend hauled the ballot box out of the cafeteria and off to an office in the administration building. "Don't worry," she whispered to him in a conspiratorial voice at the doorway, "you're gonna do fine."

"Yeah, sure" AJ responded. "Thanks for your support."

"No, I mean it," she said intently, looking around to see if anyone was watching. Amy was a senior, plain-faced and timid. AJ hardly knew her, but she had been kind to him throughout the election campaign, and had given him several suggestions and tips.

"I'm gonna take care of you," she continued softly, motioning for her compatriot to go on ahead, through the rain, with the ballot box. "Don't worry: it's all going to be okay. You'll see tomorrow night." And with that, she favored him with a broad smile, whirled and dashed off to catch up with the ballot-box toting factotum.

The import of her words suddenly struck him. Jesus! he thought. She's going to stuff the ballot box — just like she did last time. But did she tell me this early, when it happened in BeforeTime1? He turned back into the cafeteria, found a seat at a lunch table, and sat quietly, waiting for the memories to shuffle into place and percolate up to the top of his consciousness.

No, he muttered to himself with a sense of conviction. It wasn't now, not before the results were announced. It wasn't today, and it wasn't even tomorrow. It was sometime after the winner had been announced — a week or two after I had officially been declared President of the new student council.

Well, that's a relief, he thought. At least I didn't really cheat the last time around. But then a sickening thought struck him: But this time, I do know about it ahead of time. Now what? And he remembered suddenly the voice of a son he had almost forgotten in his narcissistic years of re-living the past — the voice of little Danny, who had asked his father innocently, "Dad, even if it was after the election when you found out, why didn't you tell people that someone cheated?" AJ's answer at the time had been the words he had learned from Norma. But the past is no longer the past, he thought. I can't let it go this time.

That evening, the weather turned worse; Norma told him that he didn't need to take the trash out, but he insisted. He was sopping wet by the time he reached the mailbox, but he had composed his final message to Joanna:

 

 

 

 

The rain came down heavily all night, and he lay awake listening to the thunder in the background. Okay, God, you're right on schedule, he thought. Just make sure you don't miss me this time. He had spent some time thinking about what to take, and concluded that nothing that existed in 1960 would be terribly useful in 1990, even if it did survive the timewarp. In any case, the issue of personal effects for the ride back to BeforeTime seemed far less consequential than the moral dilemma he had been wrestling with all afternoon and all evening: what to do about Amy's barely disguised boast that she was rigging the election on his behalf? What's the point of winning this election, anyway? he asked himself. As soon as the dance is over, I'm going to walk out into the rain and look for a few million volts to get my little body out of this time zone.

In any case, how could I go back to BeforeTime and tell Danny I cheated a second time? Once was bad enough! AJ mulled the thought over for a few minutes, and realized that it was moot: Danny wasn't aware of his time-travel the first time around, wasn't likely to hear about it the second time, either — and wouldn't believe it even if he did heard about it. After all, he thought, I never could get Ann to believe what I went through — so why should Danny believe me?

The rain continued Saturday morning: Norma told him that a freak hurricane had moved up the East Coast, and the Coast Guard had issued small craft warnings throughout Long Island Sound. It was too early in the season for any sailboats to be out anyway, but everyone in Northport worried when the weather turned lousy like this: high tides often washed up over the town dock and smashed clam boats and dinghies against the rocks.

But AJ didn't care: the worse the weather was, the happier he was. The louder the thunder, the more certain he was that the lightning had come to town for him alone. Th