RE: Trailer Trash Part 2: Surviving Springton High (Patreon)

(1: Cleaning Up and Clearing Out)

   Tabitha Moore didn’t remember what it was like stepping onto the bus for the first day of high school in her past life—because nothing had happened back then. She’d been greeted with indifference and summarily ignored, never given a second glance. As she climbed up the steps within the large yellow school bus at the end of her neighborhood and first laid eyes on the rows of high schoolers seated there... she realized that everything about this life was destined now to be different from what she knew. Immediately upon stepping up into view, a guy sitting at the back of the bus let out a jeering whooo that was picked up on by several other guys. Everyone turned and stared at her, and Tabitha froze.

   Her coppery red hair was worn down and falling in a deliberate tangle—very subtle use of her mother’s curling iron and a little bit of product gave her hair some volume for that perfect slightly mussed look, an endeavor three weekends and quite of bit of research in the making. Tabitha’s large, expressive hazel eyes were framed with a tiny bit of subdued eyeliner and her delicate, sweet features were just a shade pale of perfect.

   Despite spending most of her summer outdoors, she hadn’t tanned—with her genetics, she simply couldn’t. Her skin was either Irish white or redneck red, so in the days before school started she rearranged her schedule to put herself out of the sun. Running times were shifted to early mornings and late nights, and she’d even specifically skipped today’s run to spend time going over her appearance, paying rigorous attention to every detail.

   The white top she wore had once been a discounted thrift-store dress. It showed off her shoulders and neck without revealing any cleavage, had exquisite embroidery and generally looked great on her, but had been a little too dressy for school. So, it had been sundered at the seams, cut apart and then re-hemmed into a lovely blouse. The better-fitting of her two surviving pairs of blue jeans and her new shoes made it a decent outfit. Grandma Laurie had proposed making a school bag together out of the different shades of jeans they’d cut up—the straps of her bag were real belts, worked through actual belt loops on the bag and stitched into place.

   Painfully aware of everyone watching her, Tabitha picked her way down the bus aisle looking for a seat. Conversations went silent as she passed, and guys were politely shifting over to offer her a seat next to them.

   For a second, that would have seemed thoughtful, Tabitha scowled inwardly. Raising her guard, she stepping past them to instead situate herself next to a lone girl who was staring absentmindedly out the window. But, none of you were ever this thoughtful last time through. Nice try.

   “Good morning,” The guy across from her waved.

   “...Hi,” Tabitha greeted back warily.

   “You nervous?” He asked.

   Do I look nervous? Tabitha wondered for a split-second, mentally re-evaluating the entrance she’d made. No. I didn’t make any expressions, or show anything at all. Must just be his way of breaking the ice.

   “...About what?” Tabitha questioned.

   “First day of school,” he reminded her. There were one or two other conversations going on throughout the bus as it lurched into motion with a diesel hum, but for the most part it felt like most of the passengers were listening in on them.

   “Yeah, real nervous,” Tabitha replied in a clear, steady voice. “You know, my palms are sweaty—knees weak, arms are heavy.”

   The guy gave her a curious look and laughed.

   Half-way through chiding herself for not remembering the rest of the lyrics, Tabitha realized that it was still nineteen-ninety-eight… that particular Eminem song probably hadn’t even come out yet. Mentally grimacing, she kept her composure and turned her head away to listlessly watch the scenery roll by outside the window.

   Oh, well. At least I didn't say anything about vomiting spaghetti. Everyone could tell I was quoting something... right?

   Before they arrived at the school’s bus loop, another guy introduced himself, ducking forward from the rear of the bus into a nearby seat to tell her that hi, my name’s Kyle—how you doin’, and Tabitha began to understand that the attention she’d thought she craved after a lifetime of being ignored was actually… awkward and a little embarrassing. I always hated being put on the spot. Why did I ever think I wanted to stand out?

   As everyone filed out of the bus and into the school commons of Springton High, Tabitha felt jittery stage-fright rise up within her. She’d hoped to have a nice moment, stepping off the bus and seeing her old alma mater once again, but it felt like she was being watched from every angle. Heads were turning as she passed, a guy in the distance elbowed his buddy and jerked his chin in her direction, people were looking over at her. It wasn’t just guys, either. Girls were sizing her up and evaluating her when she stepped into the school commons, and an older man—a teacher? Administrator? Principal?—nodded and said good morning to her.

   Is this how normal people feel all the time? Tabitha wondered, struggling to not feel overwhelmed before she even made it to her first class. Like they’re the protagonists of their story? Was I not even the main character of my own fucking story, last lifetime?

   The thought made her a little angry.

   Despite attracting interest in spades, Tabitha was in a strange mood for her debut and didn’t want to chat with anyone or make new friends, just yet. Following her written itinerary, she strolled past the clusters of high schoolers milling about throughout the commons waiting for first bell and headed towards her classroom.

   “Hi,” A pair of students were already there, both guys around her age. Her current age, anyways. “Here for Mr. Simmons, Marine Science?”

   “Mr. Simmons, Marine Science,” Tabitha confirmed, waving her slip. Everyone’s just so friendly when you’re not fat and unhappy-looking…

   “You new here?” the other boy asked.

   “I’m a freshman, yeah,” Tabitha answered cautiously.

   “Cool. Awesome, me too.”

   She wasn’t able to tell whether she was meeting these people for the first time, or if they were middle school peers who failed to recognize her because of her summertime transformation. However, she would have no excuse for not recognizing them if they were people she’d should have met before in middle school, which was an awkward situation just waiting to happen. Don’t want to seem like I’m putting on airs, now.

   Unfortunately, for her forty-seven years had gone by, and she didn’t remember any of her prior classmates at all. She’d become familiar with a few middle-school faces during the last few weeks of finals before summer started, but none of them had talked to her. She hadn’t bothered remembering many names.

   There is one name I remember for sure, Tabitha thought to herself, pursing her pink lips. Alicia Brook. Brooks? I think it was Alicia Brooks. Fellow hometown hero.

   “Got any good classes?” The taller of the two guys interrupted her thoughts.

   “I have classes,” Tabitha shrugged. “Too soon to say what’s good and what’s garbage, isn’t it?”

   “I’ve got bus tech next,” the tall one bragged. “Business technology—the whole first semester’s learning how to type, and I already know how to.”

   “I touch type,” the shorter one said.

   “Hah, chicken-pecking,” the tall one rolled his eyes. “You should transfer to bus tech. You’ll need to learn how to type someday anyways.”

   “For what? I don’t have a computer,” the other one scoffed. “Probably never will. Computers are for nerds.”

   “Do you type?” The taller one looked towards Tabitha.

   “Um… a little bit, I guess?” She showed them an uneasy smile. A little bit as in, over a hundred words a minute. I’m a writer, and I clocked myself when I was looking into working data entry, right before Town Hall hired me. In THIS life, I bet my fingers are even faster than that.

   “You should take bus tech too,” the tall guy said. “You can get a cushy job somewhere as a secretary, barely doing anything and getting paid for it. What’re you planning on doing when you grow up?”

   ‘When I grow up?’ Tabitha struggled to keep a straight face. Do people in high school seriously still use that phrase? I mean, I’m still thirteen until December, so I know I’m really, really young, even for high school, but still…

   “I’ll be a hometown hero, I guess,” Tabitha mused.

   “What’s that?” the tall one gave her a weird look. “Me, I’m gonna run a video store. I have it all planned out.”

   “What, like a rental shop?” the shorter one asked. “That’s pretty cool.”

   “Yeah, I love movies, so that’s always been my dream.”

   “...Good luck,” Tabitha blurted out before she could stop herself. Neither of the boys noticed anything strange about the smile she wore.

   “Yeah, thanks.”

*     *     *

A lifetime ago

   “Here you are! Voila!” A woman with closely cropped salt and pepper hair in a navy blue pantsuit stepped back and gestured towards the large glass display with a theatrical flourish. “Tabitha Moore; hometown hero.”

   “Aww, Sharon… I don’t know,” Tabitha shook her head and gave her boss a nervous smile. “It doesn’t seem very... appropriate?”

   “What’s not appropriate about it? You’re a published author!” Sharon exclaimed, rapping a knuckle on the smudged glass.

   Springton’s Hometown Heroes, the faded letters slipped into the signboard proclaimed, and the prominent glass case contained five different displays. This portion of the town hall normally featured seasonal decorations—but, in one of the long lulls between notable holidays, Sharon had come up with the idea of honoring the prominent locals residing in their tiny city.

   Guess that explains why she wanted copies of both Goblina and Goblin Princess, Tabitha sighed, looking at the two paperback novels propped up beside a large, rather unflattering office photo of her that had been printed out. Makes sense, though. For a while there I thought she was actually interested in reading them. Silly me.

   If she were to be honest, the paperbacks weren’t particularly flattering, either—cartoonish green goblins were baring their teeth on the covers of each of them. She’d never been satisfied with the artist her publisher commissioned, one of the many ongoing problems that had eventually destroyed their unsteady partnership.

   “A published author—not a successful author,” Tabitha protested weakly. “No one ever read those old things, Sharon. Besides, all the others are, you know… they’re real heroes.”

   The three displays in the middle were very obviously military ones. Service medals were laid out in neat display beside uniformed photos of veterans of the Iraqi war. Placing her photo next to these men and insisting she was the hero felt borderline sacrilegious.

   “Well. Not everyone can relate to those kind of heroes,” Sharon dismissed Tabitha’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “Besides, we have Alicia here, on the other end.”

   “Alicia... Brooks?” Tabitha leaned over and read from the placard.

   A softly smiling African American woman wearing an oversized pair of glasses was featured in a nice portrait on that side of the display. Beside the picture was artwork—in one, inked lines formed sorrowful faces, each bold black scratch and scribble forming understated gestures and figures. In another, the scrawled lines portrayed the naked back of a woman, each muscle and detail, every strand of cascading hair defined in light and shadow and rendered in stunning etched lines.

   “Our artist,” Sharon said proudly. “She’s drawn pieces for Sports Illustrated, People magazine, and even Playboy!”

   “She lives in Springton?” Tabitha asked, enthralled by the artwork.

   “She’s... working in Chicago right now, but she was still born and raised here,” Sharon explained. “I thought you might recognize her—I think you two went to school together?”

   “School?” Tabitha echoed, wincing slightly.

   “Yeah, Springton High—you both graduated in the class of two thousand and two, right? I thought for sure you’d know her.”

   “I wish I had,” Tabitha admitted sheepishly, “I um, I didn’t… talk to people much back then.”

*     *     *

This Life

   “John Stephens.”

   “Here.”

   “Kevin Matthews.”

   “Here!”

   “Elena Seelbaugh?”

   “It’s pronounced ‘EE-lay-nuh,’ actually.”

   “Sorry about that. You’re here, I take it?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Kiersten Birch?”

   “Here.”

   There’s still so much to do, Tabitha thought to herself, staring vacantly off into space as Mr. Simmons did his first roll-call. She needed to start writing her book. Some source of income, no matter how meager, was also necessary for her to continue surviving. October was also looming closer and closer, and she had no idea what she should do about the approaching calamity. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember what would happen in any more than the most basic details. Police officer shot in the lower park. October of this year. Don’t remember the day. He bleeds out on the way to the hospital—so, he must have been shot somewhere vital?

   I could prevent it. Somehow. But, directly interfering with what will actually be a fatal shooting incident... isn’t that just asking to get myself killed? Not interfering when she had foreknowledge was probably equivalent to letting the man die, but, how could she prevent it? Providing first-aid after the fact seemed even more helpless for her. I don’t think I can deal with that much blood in person. Should I just stay out of it, after all?

   “Tabitha Moore?”

   “I’m present,” she answered out succinctly in her clear, lovely voice.

*     *     *

   Tabitha Moore?...Isn’t that TUBBY TABBY? Elena was curious and turned her head to see the girl several rows across from her who’d spoken up. 

   Frowning, she discovered instead a slender redhead girl with a bored expression. This ‘Tabitha Moore’ was gorgeous, one of the handful who could be considered peerless beauties throughout the entire school. Dressed well, wearing tasteful makeup, attention was paid to her hair—but she wasn’t actively scoping out the rest of the class. She wasn’t feigning sleepiness, wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t sneaking looks at the boys, and she wasn’t presenting herself in a social way, or making any effort to build a rapport with anyone. This redhead didn’t even seem to be posturing—she really came off as entirely indifferent to their class.

   What, think you’re too good for us? Elena looked at this Tabitha Moore again with distaste. Same color hair as Tabby. Same name. But… it can’t be her, right?

   When attendance was taken and Mr. Simmons was passing out the syllabus packet and a worksheet for them, Elena took initiative to lean over and call out.

   “Hey, Tabitha—are you Tubby Tabby? From Laurel Middle?”

   “Yes,” Tabitha turned to face her, not seeming irked in the slightest by her old moniker being brought to light. “That’s me. Have we met?”

    Yeah, right… That reflexive scoff died in her throat, however, when Elena realized with surprise that there was absolutely no recognition in the girl’s expression. What the hell?

   Elena always considered herself one of the elite of Laurel L Manu Middle School. She hit her growth spurt before everyone else, came into her boobs before the other girls. She knew how to dress well, how to wear makeup, and didn’t take ever shit from any of the other bitches there. Elena had assumed her popularity made her well-known, that everyone was familiar with her name, or at least aware of her. Guess… not?

   “Uhh, I’m Elena Seelbaugh? We’ve had classes together before...?” Elena said, racking her brain and trying to recall if she’d ever directly bullied this girl back then. She’d certainly seen others making fun of her, and definitely laughed along with them—but had they ever actually interacted individually?

   “I’m sorry,” Tabitha smiled at her. “I don’t remember you.”

   Indignant, Elena was just about to give her a sarcastic retort when Tabitha continued.

   “I hit my head, right before our middle school finals,” Tabitha explained. “I don’t know if you heard about that. So many names and faces feel familiar, but I still have trouble connecting them all.”

   That’s right! Elena looked shocked. She did remember that, because Tubby Tabby—Tubby Tabby the trailer trash girl—had waddled into class one day back then with a weird head injury, looking even more unkempt than usual—almost like a zombie. They’d all snickered about it, joking that she was going to be put into the special ed class when she got to Springton High.

   “Right! Yeah, I remember,” Elena admitted, eyes widening. “Just—you, uhh, you look so different! I almost didn’t recognize you!”

   “Sorry,” Tabitha gave her an actual apologetic smile that stunned Elena. “I—”

   “C’mon now, save the chit-chatting for after class, you two,” Mr. Simmons called out.

*     *     *

   Although the deluge of attention to her now was unexpected, several classes through her first day of high school, Tabitha thought things were going very well. The coursework was vaguely familiar, and, as she’d expected, it only took a little bit of brushing up to refresh her memory on some of the subjects. The textbooks distributed to her were an unnecessary burden, in her eyes—thick, heavy monstrosities, last vestigial remnants of the era before digitalization, but the subjects themselves wouldn’t pose any problem..

   Dozens of students had introduced themselves to her, apparently based on her new appearance alone, which was both startling and well outside of what she’d anticipated. While the handsome young men seemed rather well-assured of their own unerring charm, in her eyes... they were still thirty years or so too young for her interest. In some ways, they were children merely masquerading around in the freshly ripened bodies of fledgling adults.

   At the same time, Tabitha wasn’t able to look down on them. This was her second try on this, and even then, she didn’t feel wiser or more mature than them by an enormous margin— just a small one. She thoroughly considered her first life a miserable failure, so she couldn’t bring herself to look down on any of these teens.

*     *     *

   Alicia hated high school so far. She didn’t sit near anyone she knew from Fairfield middle, and those that did would rarely give her more than a passing glance, anyways. Making new friends was absolutely the worst, most aggravating experience she could think of, and it didn’t help that most of the school was made up of white kids. Her parents’ idea of Springton High being a better choice than Fairfield high just because it mostly consisted of white kids was, in fact, fundamentally racist.

   She’d planned on taking an ‘eccentric and artsy’ identity for this new school experience. However, looking in the mirror just this morning at the ‘artsy’ look she’d done up… it felt so contrived and fake that she wasn’t comfortable with it. Instead, she was blending in with the background, as always. Hair pulled tight into a bun, glasses, polo shirt, jeans. I’m just the bland, black girl extra again in this scene, too. No, I don’t have a speaking part. Don’t mind me.

   She kept her sketchbook out on her desk, the pad as much a security blanket as anything else she owned, and hid herself away in her efforts to draw. Anything rather than meeting her new classmates, really. Unfortunately, between the anxiety of being in a new place, being surrounded by fellow teens, and a growing, untraceable frustration, all she had were senseless scribbles. Inspiration was especially elusive today—she had a page and a half of random cross-hatching, a few floating eyes with eyebrows hovering above them in the blank white void of her paper, and some random cube shapes.

   Thankfully, it was all almost over—this was their last class of the day, and it was almost time to be back on the bus and off home to her parents, who would demand to know how great her day was, how many friends she made, what classes she liked, and so on and so forth. She couldn’t help but make a sour face at the thought of running through that particular gauntlet, and her mood darkened even more.

   “Hello!” A pretty white girl with red hair said, interrupting Alicia’s thoughts.

   “Hi…?” Alicia looked up in surprise.

   “My name’s Tabitha,” the girl smiled at her, looking pleased to see her. “I noticed your sketchbook—do you draw?”

   “A little,” Alicia sat up straighter, now on alert.

   Upon closer inspection, this wasn’t just any pretty white girl. This was the pretty white girl, a thought driven home by the fact that all the guys in class were still discreetly watching her right now. She was young, thin, had a fairy-like face, perfect red hair, and was wearing a cool top—Where’d she even get that? Looks expensive.

   “If it’s not too much trouble, do you have any drawings I could take a look at?” Tabitha asked. “I’m starting a large project soon, and I’m very much in need of a talented artist.”

   “Uhh… I’m a no one,” Alicia refused, trying to casually cover today’s awful doodles with her hands while she spoke. “This is just for fun. I can barely draw anything.”

   “I very much doubt that,” Tabitha laughed, a lovely sound. There was a strange, knowing look in her eyes. “If you ever change your mind, will you please come find me? I’m very interested in your work.”

   What was that? Alicia couldn’t help but stare as Tabitha wandered back towards her seat and all the boys immediately pretended they hadn’t been ogling her. I don’t… think she was trying to tease me, or bully me, or anything? But, why come up and talk to me, of all people?

   Oh, well, Alicia returned to resting her cheek on her hand and scribbling geometric shapes as she waited for the final bell to ring. She’ll probably never even talk to me again, anyways.

*     *     *

   “Well, how was it, then?” Mrs. Moore asked, a hint of irritation apparent in her voice already. Tabitha had come home from school without so much as greeting her. Instead, her daughter had traipsed right on over to the trailer’s bathroom. The door was open, and she peered into the small enclosure to check on her daughter—her new daughter, the slight-figured and pretty one she struggled to recognize. “How was your first day of school?”

   Tabitha was a whole new daughter, ever since the day she’d come home from the hospital after that head injury. Qualities Mrs. Moore hadn’t ever thought the girl possessed were focused, sharpened to a point and thrust into a relentless drive that Mrs. Moore didn’t understand at all. She wanted to be happy for her—her daughter was a stunning little beauty now, and just over a little bit more than a single summer—but more than anything, she wanted to feel like a mother again.

   “Everything was copacetic,” Tabitha reported. The red-head girl was sitting on the edge of the bathtub working on something, now wearing only her jeans and a bra. Somehow now even her posture seemed graceful, like someone out of a renaissance painting.

   “Copacetic, huh?” Mrs. Moore frowned. “What’re you up to, then?”

   “Grandma Laurie and I made this blouse,” Tabitha replied, gently rubbing along fabric laid carefully in the long basin of cool water. “Out of a dress, from the thrift store. It’s very lovely, but it was never intended for casual wear. It will need a lot of special care and attention if I want to continue to wear it every week.”

   “Sounds just like the new Tabitha,” Mrs. Moore muttered. Emotions roiled through the mother as she stood in the bathroom door. Resentment, at their current relationship, that Tabitha always chose to spend time with her grandmother, rather than her. Annoyance, at the flippant way Tabitha treated her now. Envy. No—not envy. She’s just a little girl. She’s MY little girl.

   “That’s an astute connection to make,” Tabitha remarked, looking up at her mother in surprise. “It isn’t easy... you know?”

   Tabitha held her gaze for several long seconds before turning her attention back to the garment she was carefully hand-washing, and Mrs. Shannon Moore’s discomfort intensified. Over the summer they’d been at constant loggerheads, and something about this felt like they were forcefully trying to have a civil conversation for once. She was alarmed at how frightened she was of messing things up here.

   “...Why?” Mrs. Moore asked, leaning against the door frame.

   There was only the sound of Tabitha displacing water for a while as Tabitha drew the blouse out of the water and turned it over. Her cute brow was furrowed, and the girl seemed at a loss as how to answer for once.

   “Why, Tabitha?”

   “Would you care to elaborate on your question?” Tabitha asked, an edge appearing in her voice. “Why, what?”

   “Don’t sass me right now,” Mrs. Moore warned. “Why are you always doing all of this? Nothing you ever do is normal, anymore! Ever since the hospital.”

   “Oh,” Tabitha seemed to chuckle to herself. “You mean that. I’ve been waiting all summer for you to ask me that.”

   “Well?”

   “The answer’s in a box at the top of your closet. In a blue album.”

   Shock, anger, and then humiliation rolled across Mrs. Moore’s expression, and she opened her mouth to berate her daughter for the invasion of privacy and blatant disrespect, but couldn’t quite find the words. No. She couldn’t have. She didn’t. She— 

    “I’m old enough to understand why you kept it from me,” Tabitha said slowly, pulling her towel down from the bar on the wall to carefully dry her hands. “If I hadn’t stolen into your room and found your secret, I wouldn’t have known any better for another two years. When Daddy stops you from throwing the album out.”

   “It’s not a secret, Tabitha!” Mrs. Moore yelled, her temper exploding out. “I didn’t want this—I just, I can’t, okay? How dare you go into my personal things without any permission, how dare you—”

   “Why wouldn’t I dare?” Tabitha challenged, rising up from the edge of the tub. “You don’t have to tell me that it’s my fault. I know that it is. I know that having me made you lose your figure—made you give up on how you look. I know you wanted to do more with your life than simply settle, and settle in a trashy fucking trailer park like this, of all places. But, you had me. And, I fucked up your life.” 

   Mrs. Moore backed up into the wall of the hallway, startled tears of anguish rolling unbidden down her face. All the bitter and hateful thoughts she’d swallowed down over the years were unhidden all at once like an exposed nerve, and it hurt. She hated the way she felt, hated herself, and knowing Tabitha somehow understood everything from just those last few old photographs she’d been unable to part with? It made her more ashamed of herself than she’d ever imagined possible.

   She sunk to the floor, crying hard enough into her hands to shake, covering her face and shaking her head. Regret and remorse flowed out of her in racking sobs as she completely collapsed, unable to keep up a stern face or motherly pretense. She sees right through me. Right through me.

   “But, now I know, Mom,” Tabitha said, crossing to where her mother blocked the hallway and crouching down to take her by the shoulders. “And now—I’m going to unfuck everything. I just need you to give me some time.”

*     *     *

   Waiting outside on the grimy concrete steps up into the trailer, Tabitha was surprised to see Grandma Laurie arrive in Uncle Danny’s old car. Well. It’s not his old car YET, I suppose. In the next couple years, she remembered the thing would be here to stay with the Moores for good, up on cinderblocks and out of commission. 

   Which means Uncle Danny’s probably getting convicted soon, Tabitha realized, noticing that the little faces of her cousins were peering out the car windows with interest as the car parked in front of her double-wide. I didn’t really get to know them, back then. Should I… say something to them? Warn the boys?

   “What happened?” her grandmother asked, the moment she opened the door. “Is she okay?”

   “We had our... confrontation,” Tabitha explained, stepping forward to dutifully hug her grandmother. “The big one, I think. I’m really sorry for calling you over like this.”

   “It’s fine, it’s fine,” Grandma Laurie gave her a quick squeeze. “It’s just—I have the boys, today…”

   “I can look after them,” Tabitha promised, gesturing for her cousins to get out of the car. “We’ll put a movie on, and I can make dinner for everyone. Do they have homework?”

   “Not that they’ve told me,” Grandma Laurie rolled her eyes. “Where is she? C’mon, boys, inside.”

   “I gave her a sedative, and put her in bed,” Tabitha explained, ushering them all up inside the mobile home. “She isn’t asleep yet, though. Can you…?”

   “I’ll talk with her,” Grandma Laurie assured her, turning to throw the cousins a stern look. “You boys all be on your best behavior here, I mean it.”

   “What’d you do?” Sam asked, looking at Tabitha in bewilderment as their grandmother disappeared into the back room of the trailer. As the oldest, over the summer Sam had grown a half-head taller than his three brothers awkwardly milling about the tidy living room. Although all of the boys were in a perpetual state of conflict with one another, they were uncharacteristically obedient today while in Tabitha’s home. “What was the emergency?”

   “I had a fight with my mother,” Tabitha explained, sliding a tray of VHS tapes out from beneath the couch. “I’m sorry for dragging all of you over here. Sam, can you pick out a movie to watch?”

   “You fought your mom?” Nick asked incredulously, looking around as if he expected to see broken glass and trashed furnishings from such a battle. “...Is she okay?”

   “Women fight each other with their words, not their fists,” Tabitha sighed, crossing over into the kitchen and pulling that unwanted pack of hot dogs she’d been longing to get rid of out of the freezer. “It winds up more damaging than physical violence, really. You’ll understand someday.”

   “Ew,” Aiden objected. “Those are the big gross hot dogs. We’re not eating those.”

   “They’re only gross because they don’t have any texture or flavor,” Tabitha explained, putting two tablespoons of sesame oil onto her skillet and tilting it back and forth until the oil spread across the basin. She turning on the stovetop. “Joshua, could you turn on the television, but lower the volume? The VCR works on channel three.”

   “Why’d you fight your mom?” Sam asked, more interested in that than any of the Moore family’s small VHS collection—all of their movies were recorded from television onto blank cassettes, four or five to a tape, with the titles handwritten onto labels on the side. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

   “She... hid something very important from me, for a very long time,” Tabitha said, looking a little troubled. She sawed the frozen jumbo hot dogs into quarter-inch medallions with a serrated knife, and then prepared a mixture of brown sugar and soy sauce to pan-sear them in, to give the pieces of meat some texture. Then, I can use up the last of that beef base to soak them in, while I put the noodles on. That’ll be just about the last of the old pantry cleared out. “She tried to hide it from herself, too. But, doing that was only ever going to make her unhappy.”

   “What’d she hide?” Nick couldn’t help but ask.

   “You’ll be able to see it... once I’m able to reveal it to you,” Tabitha answered cryptically. Mom’s weight gain plateaued when I took over all the meal preparation, but she’s not going to actually lose weight until I can wean her off sugars completely. I’m sure everything else with her is going to become a struggle, too. Ugh...

   “I’m a part of it,” Tabitha admitted. “Did you notice how much I changed over the summer?”

   “Yeah, you’re like— almost a whole complete different girl then you was,” Nick said.

   “Then you were,” Tabitha corrected, gingerly placing medallions onto the skillet one by one. “How is school going for all of you, by the way? Today was my first day.”

   “Starting our second week,” Sam said, drumming his fingertips across the countertop as he watched her cook. “It’s alright, I guess. The playground at recess is way better than the one at the park.”

   “No, it’s not,” Nick retorted. “It totally sucks.”

   “It sucks,” Joshua agreed.

   “Did everyone like, totally freak out when they saw you?” Aiden asked Tabitha with a fair amount of anticipation. “At school.”

   “No—why would they?” Tabitha laughed, giving him a strange look over the counter.

   “You’re like, totally different!” Aiden exclaimed indignantly. “You were fat and boring, and now you’re like, uh… it’s like from the ugly duckling to a ha— uh, the swan, you know?”

   “They do treat me differently,” Tabitha mused. “I’m not really sure what to make of that, yet. The reaction you were hoping for wasn’t going to happen, though.”

   “What? Why not?”

   “Because no one cared who I was, or even ever noticed,” Tabitha said, pressing the medallions down onto the skillet with her tongs until they sizzled loudly. “When you’re fat, ugly, poor, or you’re fat, or smell bad, have no confidence, aren’t attractive, when you’re fat—”

   “You’re saying fat more than once,” Sam pointed out.

   “As I should,” Tabitha muttered. “My point is—no one ever cared about me, and that hurt. Deeply. I can deal with not having close friends, I’m… I’m used to it. But, when no one cares about you, when you go to school with a concussion and no one gives a damn, when you realize no one will miss you when you’re gone, fuck, no one would even notice…”

   The boys exchanged glances before finally looking back at Tabitha, but none of them interrupted her.

   “Sorry. Well. It starts to really affect you. Now that I’ve changed, people are actually just first starting to notice me. It’s still shallow—I know it’s an appearances thing, that it doesn’t have any real meaning… but, it’s a start?”

   “I think you’re really cool,” Joshua said helpfully. “You can do flips, and wall-walk and stuff. And, you always play with us. Aren’t we like your friends?”

   “Hah, you are not my friends,” Tabitha chuckled, starting to flip the medallions. “You’re my cousins—you’re family. You’re friends I can’t get rid of, even if I want to.”

*     *     *

   To her surprise, Alicia found that not only did Tabitha remember their conversation, the red-headed school belle of Springton High actively sought her out during lunch period the very next day. She was wearing another gorgeous top, this time an asymmetrical light blue blouse with only one shoulder—the neckline scooped down under her right arm at a diagonal over her chest, decorated with flowered white embroidery.

   “Alicia! I’m Tabitha. I’m not sure if you remember me, from yesterday?” Tabitha began, standing hopefully beside the lunch table Alicia was sitting at.

   “Uh… yeah, I remember,” Alicia said. Against her better judgement, she courteously moved her backpack off of the adjacent chair, so Tabitha could sit down. Are you being sarcastic with me? Take a glance around. There’s like, a dozen guys scoping you out right now.

   “Oh, thank you,” Tabitha said, taking a seat beside her.

   “Can I ask where you got that shirt?” Alicia blurted out before she could help herself. Stupid, stupid. Probably some rich white girl boutique at the mall.

   “This?” Tabitha looked down at her chest in surprise. “It’s a bridesmaid gown. My grandmother and I’ve been pulling apart dresses from Salvation Army. We turn them into blouses like this. Everything beneath the bust was cut off of this one, and then split it into sections. That way, we could still use the trim of the dress, as the shirt hem. Here, like this.”

   Tabitha leaned back in her seat and held out the hem of her shirt so that Alicia could see that same embroidered floral design circled the girl at the bottom.

   “Wait—did you say you got this from Salvation Army?”

   “Yes,” Tabitha gave her a knowing smile. “I think there were still two more of the matching bridesmaid dresses up on the racks there, too. Seven dollars each.”

   “Seven dollars…?!”

   “Did you happen to bring any of your artwork, today?”

   “Yeah,” Alicia admitted, pulling a small portfolio out of her bag. “Here.”

   I had my sketchbook with me yesterday, too. I just… didn’t think you actually wanted to see it.

   Carefully opening the faux-leather portfolio, Tabitha laid it out and began examining each of Alicia’s best drawings. After a few moments of study, the redhead set a notebook on the lunch table beside the portfolio—and began taking notes. The girl steadily made her way page by page through Alicia’s artwork, carefully flipping each of the plastic-sheathed drawings and then jotting down a series of thoughts.

   The hell? Alicia had been drawing for most of her life, and she knew she was talented. She’d proudly shown off her burgeoning collection of finished pieces dozens of times, and almost always she got the same sort of responses from people. Ooohs and aaahs, some smiles, and then some politely-worded praise or expectations for her bright future. That’s what Alicia expected when she’d presented the portfolio here; for the girl to flatter her and otherwise tell her how gosh darn impressed she was.

   Instead, the lovely girl was staring at each of her drawings one by one with a strange sort of intense focus, as if she was looking for something, something in particular. Tabitha was so intent on the drawings, in fact, she seemed to have lost track of everything around her. In that moment, Alicia Brooks found the strange urge to do a quick sketch of this girl’s expression. It’s like she’s looking THROUGH the drawing, trying to make out something more. She’s peering into the abyss.

   In any case, Tabitha seemed to be finding plenty, and Alicia couldn’t help but peer over the girl’s shoulder to see what she was writing.

5, figure study, female

excellent posture

good expression

shaded, uses same light source as previous figure studies!

no background

6, figure study, female

¾ angle view

excellent cloth detail!

no expression

shaded, uses same light source again

background: vanishing point and line

7, figure study, partial female

face and hands

size difference implies depth of field!

excellent expression

shading uses same light source again

no background

   “Uh… what are you doing?” Alicia couldn’t help but ask. “Were you assigned to do critiques for some class…?”

   “Oh! No, I’m so sorry,” Tabitha hastily apologized. “Your work’s phenomenal! I wanted to remember a few of these for reference later on. Do you have copies of any of these?”

   “Look, what do you want me to draw?” Alicia asked, still bewildered. “You don’t have to say all that. I can do whatever it is you want drawn, when I have some time. I’ve been in kind of a slump anyways, haven’t had inspiration.”

   “I want you to draw…” Tabitha hesitated, giving Alicia a guilty look. “Many, many things. I’m preparing a large project, and I need a lot of help.”

   “A school project?”

   “More of… a life project. I’d like to propose a partnership,” Tabitha announced, settling a thick binder on top of her notebook. “In a project I’ve been planning for... some time now.”

   “Uh,” Alicia blinked. “Okay.”

   “May I go on?”

   “Yeah. Sure.”

   “I’ve been preparing material that I’ll be writing into a fantasy story. It has a unique setting, and I have many, many ideas... but I want to collaborate with a capable artist, to help realize and improve upon all of them.”

   “You’re writing a book. And, you want… concept art?”

   “It may not have to be limited to just a novel. Illustrations could become storyboards, for an animated project, or even a film, someday.”

   “Okay.”

   “Okay? You’re interested?”

   “Um. No, I don’t know, yet. I mean, okay; keep talking.”

   “Alright, my first project is called Goblina. In the story, everyone has magic, and everyone who isn’t able to use magic becomes deformed by it. They’re either cast out of society and live like savages, or they become slaves and servants. If you’re a goblin, there’s no way to escape a life of servitude and total inferiority, no way to oppose the Magi.”

   “Right. Magi. So, obviously, your story is actually about someone opposing and then overcoming them,” Alicia deduced.

   “Exactly!” Tabitha beamed. “It’s the most suggestive theme I can sell to a young adult audience. I want to use allegory to illustrate the struggle of taking that final step of personal growth out of your parents’ influence to stand on your own as a person.”

   “Uh… wow,” Alicia admitted.

   “Is it no good?”

   “No, it’s just—that’s a lot to take in, all at once,” Alicia said, not wanting to admit she didn’t know exactly what ‘allegory’ meant. I know what ALLEGATION means, thanks to dear President Clinton, but…

   “Yeah, it’s… more and more complicated, the deeper you get into it,” Tabitha admitted, patting the binder full of notes she’d organized with a guilty look. “I have pages and pages of rules on how magic works, and the way the Mage’s society and culture fits together, and a lot of other things.”

   “Oh! I’m not going to dump all of the exposition on the reader like that, though,” Tabitha assured her.

   “Our protagonist will be the lowest of the low— beneath the slaves, even. Everyone refers to her as a goblin. She starts with nothing, and we learn bits and pieces of everything along the way as she does. By the end, clever readers will be able to piece it all together, but it should still be a compelling story, even for those who don’t.”

   “Okay, the main character. She’s a goblin?” Alicia asked, trying to figure out what Tabitha wanted drawn. “What’s she like?”

   “She’s me,” Tabitha said, giving Alicia a slightly embarrassed look. “She’s, uh. She’s always been me. I’m the goblin. I’ve always been the goblin.”

   “You’re the goblin,” Alicia repeated, giving the beautiful redhead an incredulous look. “In the story, you’re the goblin, and you triumph over all these Magi?”

   “I… I will,” Tabitha gave her a strange look of resolve, for some reason, further confounding Alicia. “This time, I will for sure.”

   Sounds terrible, Alicia somehow stopped herself from making a face. Like YOU of all people need some self-insert power fantasy, where you impress everyone and save the day.

   “It’s neat and everything, but I’m probably gonna pass,” Alicia turned her down as diplomatically as she could. “I’m not really into all that kind of stuff.”

   “Oh. I… yeah, that’s fine. I totally understand. Would you want to… be friends, instead?” Tabitha asked in what seemed a lot to Alicia like a shy voice. “I think it’d be really cool to hang out with someone my own age, for once.”

   Of course you don’t hang out with people your age. For a moment, Alicia couldn’t help but imagine this sophisticated-looking redhead climbing into the car of some college-age boyfriend that she surely had. Going to busy house parties, or bustling nightclubs, whatever it was girls like her did with their nights. Are there even clubs anywhere near Springton?

   “I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not,” Alicia answered carefully.

   “Messing with you?” Tabitha looked surprised. “No, I’m not. Not at all. Was it a weird thing to ask?”

   “I don’t know,” Alicia answered honestly. “Why would you want to be friends with me?”

   Is this part of your rich white girl fantasy, having a black friend as your little sidekick? I don’t know you, I don’t WANT to know you, and I’m not comfortable around girls that are like you.

   “I feel like we could be… something like kindred spirits,” Tabitha said. “Hometown heroes.”

   “Hometown heroes,” Alicia repeated in disbelief. She’d had no idea what to expect from this conversation anymore, and found herself completely bewildered. “What does that even mean?”

   “I don’t know,” Tabitha gave her a laugh and an exasperated shrug. “I never really knew. It means us, I guess?”

   “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an extremely strange individual?” Alicia asked, trying not to lose her cool. Does she think her little quirky act is cute? Does it make all her normal friends laugh and fawn all over her?

   “No,” Tabitha said, looking down. “I… um. Yeah, I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry, that was a weird thing to say. If you ever want to talk, or hang out, or show me your drawings or anything, I hide myself in the library, every lunch period. Corner table. Sorry for taking up your time.”

   “Yeah, bye,” Alicia muttered to herself, watching Tabitha gather her things and get up from the table. What the hell is her deal?

   I never bought into high schools having that stereotypical social strata thing going on... but there are exceptions, and she definitely has to be one of them. Tabitha’s the prom queen type, I’m sure she’s gonna wind up head cheerleader or something—but she’s pretending she’s not. What’s her sudden fixation with me? Why fantasy nonsense with magic and goblins? Does she think I’m a geek because I draw, or something?

*     *     *

   “Tabitha Moore? Didja know they used to call her Tubby Tabby?”

   Cheek resting in her palm, Alicia was gazing out the window, daydreaming, when she heard her classmates talking. Snapping out of her reverie, she glanced over at the other students. Three girls had turned away from the rest of the class and were caught up in their own conversation. Alicia turned her attention to her sketchbook, scribbling out a doodle as she listened in.

   “Why, was she fat?”

   “She was so fat. Apparently, she went and got lipo over the summer. I guess she used to be like, two hundred pounds heavier, back in middle school?”

   “Two hundred pounds? Christ. Did she go to Springton Middle?”

   “Nah, I think I heard it was Laurel. Carrie used to have class with her, she said Tabby was basically the class retard.”

   “Haha, nice. So, what, her parents bought her lipo and a nose-job? Damn, wish my parents were rich. Must be nice.”

   “Next time you see her, be all like, how’s it goin’, Tubby Tabby? Bet she hates that.”

   “She should’ve had them put all the fat they took out back into her boobs. I heard you can do that?”

   “Damn, really? That’s dumb of her, then, ‘cause for how all high and mighty she’s always acting, she’s just basic now, you know? She’s not all that.”

   “Well, you gotta consider she used to be all fat hog. I’d want all of the fat out for good, too, if I was like that.”

   “Not me. I’d put it in my boobs.”

   “Betcha I know why she’s nowhere to be seen ‘round lunchtime. You know—she’s gotta be all blueergh!”

   “Hey, gotta keep the pounds off somehow, right? Haha.”

   “Bleeeurgh!”

   Lunchtime? Alicia glanced up to see that one of the girls was leaning forward over her desk, miming a finger down her throat to induce vomiting. Wasn’t Tabitha supposedly hiding out in the library?

   “Cut it out, that’s so gross. I heard when you do that, your breath’s permanently like, puke-breath. Is it really so hard to just not eat garbage all the time?”

   They were freshman girls, and Alicia wasn’t particularly surprised to hear them being catty... but it did pique her curiosity once she realized they were talking about Tabitha. Which was fine. Alicia didn’t particularly like that girl, either. Oddly enough, though, there was no mention of Tabitha being eccentric, or pursuing strange interests—topics that Alicia felt would have bubbled to the surface of their gossip right away.

   ...Have any of these girls ever even spoken to Tabitha?

*     *     *

   Later that day, Alicia found herself wandering away from the direction of the lunch line and over to the hall that lead down towards the library. She wasn’t that hungry, and the routine of waiting in line, getting her food, and finding a place to eat was starting to feel mechanical already, and they were still only in their first week of school.

   Springton High’s library center was large, the center area consisting of a small computer lab next to a series of long tables for students to sit at, which were flanked in all directions by tall rows of bookshelves. True to her word, Tabitha was hiding at the corner table behind a comical pile of books that had to be at over a foot high. The only other students in the library were a few kids playing Oregon trail or solitaire on the computers. 

   “Oh, hi!” Tabitha seemed to light up upon seeing her come in, and she slid a small pile of books to the side and out of the way. “You came!”

   There was something off between Tabitha’s image and how she acted. She was putting off a friendly vibe, but it didn’t quite have any of the confidence Alicia would have expected to it. With a twinge of guilt, Alicia had to wonder how many of the rumors flying around about this girl were based entirely on everyone’s preconceptions.

   “Hi,” Alicia said, casually striding over. None of the books on the table looked like fantasy novels. “You really were hiding in here. Reading… uh… the 1996 Emergency Response Guidebook? And, this here... Law enforcement field guide? Practice and Procedure; the Police Operational Handbook?”

   “Er… yeah,” Tabitha looked guilty. “I was doing a little bit of research.”

   “On what?” Alicia asked incredulously.

   “If someone got hurt, and I had access to a police radio, I’ll know how to call it in,” Tabitha tried to explain. “You know. Just in case.”

   “...Wouldn’t the police officer normally do that?” Alicia gave the girl a strange look. “I think they keep their radios like, on them. All the time. They have that little shoulder thing?”

   “You’re right,” Tabitha winced. “That would be ideal, yes. Silly of me.”

   “Did you give up on your fantasy novel idea already?” Alicia asked. She seems so… flighty? Maybe she just doesn’t have a whole lot of common sense, and she latches onto these ideas of hers in a weird way. I think there’s a name for people who’re like that.

   “I… haven’t given up,” Tabitha said with some difficulty. “It’s just. I can’t focus, lately. At all. There’s too much going on.”

   “Like what?” Alicia slid out the chair opposite Tabitha, and decided to take a seat. Hot white girl problems? All these people talking about you behind your back?

   “I think… no, I’m sure that my uncle is going to be sentenced to prison in the near future,” Tabitha began. “His children—my cousins, I spend a lot of time with them, and I like to think they look up to me. I don’t know what I can do for them, but at the same time, I can’t stand standing by and doing nothing.”

   Huh, Alicia thought, surprised. THAT certainly came out of nowhere.

   “Also... my mother and I haven’t actually spoken to each other, since the first day of school. We had an argument. I don’t know what to do about that at all, either. Then, there’s this… uh. Thing happening, in October, and I can’t stop stressing out over it.”

   “Wow,” Alicia said, unsure of what else to say. Definitely wasn’t expecting all that.

   “But, I’m not giving up on the story, either,” Tabitha affirmed, straightening up in her seat. “It’s important to me, too. I just haven’t been making much real progress.”

   “Can I ask you a totally random question?” Alicia asked.

   “Of course,” Tabitha smiled.

   “Is it true that you got liposuction over the summer?”

   “No, it isn’t,” Tabitha chuckled. “Someone must have noticed my weight loss? I was a little over fifty pounds heavier, earlier this same year.”

   “But, you didn’t get lipo?”

   “Of course not,” Tabitha answered. “Liposuction isn’t for dramatic weight loss—it’s more of a cosmetic surgery. They usually only remove about four to six pounds at any one time. Adjusting your eating habits is far more effective. As far as I know, there aren’t any surgeons who’ll accept patients for liposuction before they’ve finished puberty, anyways, and regardless I’m sure those procedures wouldn’t be covered under my father’s insurance.”

   “Oh,” Alicia blinked. “Really?”

   “Really. I changed my diet in a significant way,” Tabitha said. “My summer was… extraordinarily active. I had to change, I really had to. I take it you’ve heard what they used to call me?”

   “Yeah, I did hear about that,” Alicia chuckled uneasily. “Girls can be mean, huh?”

   “It wasn’t hearing Tubby Tabby, that hurt,” Tabitha fidgeted with her tall stack of books, and then leaned forward to rest her chin on it. She didn’t raise her eyes to meet Alicia. “Not that much. I was tubby, they were right about that. That was only the beginning, though. As time went on, someone started calling me... a goblin. More than that, I felt like they—well, a lot of people—actually began treating me like I wasn’t even human anymore.”

   “Oh. Oh,” Alicia mouthed. “So, your story you’re writing—”

   “Yes,” Tabitha nodded weakly. “Like I said; I’m the goblin.”

   That makes things a bit different, now, doesn’t it? Alicia thought to herself. At first, it felt a little too far-fetched for this knockout beauty to insist she was the goblin underdog. But, then again, she was holed up here in the library away from everyone else, and her white girl peers did seem to be pretty rotten.

   Laying her sketchpad on the library table, Alicia produced a pen and drew a hasty rectangle, a little wider at the bottom then the top. The pile of books; she could pencil in the specifics later on. Then, the oval of Tabitha’s face, framed within a quick triangle that loosely represented shoulders slumping on either side.

   Maybe Goblinna or whatever could be kinda cool.

   The drawing took definition inside those basic shapes as Alicia filled everything in with finer detail. Each subtle curl of her hair that fell over her face, the delicate curve of her eyebrow, the way her eyes seemed to tighten at some past memory, that slight, despondent turn that was the profile of her cheek down towards her lip… features scrawled into existence one by one with every steady flourish of Alicia’s pencil.

   “Ta-da,” Alicia finally said, spinning her sketchbook around to face Tabitha and sliding it over. “There. I drew your goblin.”

   “She’s... beautiful,” Tabitha said, raising her head in surprise and then admiring it with a wistful smile. “It’s so… somber. Almost tragic. I wish I looked like that.”

   “You do look like that,” Alicia scoffed, taking her sketchbook back and comparing it to Tabitha again. “If I’m gonna be your concept artist, then you can’t go dissing my artwork.”

   *     *     *

   In Tabitha’s first few weeks at school, she’d already begun to question her initial goals.     I knew, in an OBJECTIVE way, that simply being thin and pretty weren’t all it took to make a bunch of friends. But, I guess it really is completely different when you’re experiencing it firsthand.

   She realized now that in her past life, she’d associated all of her high school problems with her low-self-esteem and poor body image. Subconsciously, some part of her had attributed her past life’s social estrangement and loneliness entirely to her weight and appearance—but several weeks into school, she’d only made one friend this time.

She’d somehow thought it she would easily make friends, become more important, somehow; a component of the school’s social paradigm. People would think about her, care about her, worry about her when she wasn’t around. She recognized that it wouldn’t be that straightforward, but the actual brutal truth of just how naive her line of thinking had been was disconcerting.

   Even the positive attention was difficult to bear. It wasn’t uncommon to catch a guy guiltily looking away from her breasts, which was an awkward situation she’d failed to mentally prepare herself for. How does anyone prepare for that?

   Contrary to her expectations—or lack thereof—when her fat receded over the summer, teenage breasts emerged. This was, in some ways, Tabitha’s first ‘real’ experience as a budding young woman. Her breasts weren’t large—they were rather small B-cups, but because they stood out on her frame in a way she’d never experienced before, and it was hard not to be self-conscious about them. She’d expected them to disappear with her weight and be unnoticeable—that’s what had happened in her past life. No, they weren’t the dream boobs that could form perfect cleavage like every girl wished for. But, Tabitha thought they made pretty good shapes, and found herself a little proud of them.

  “Yeah? Well, I heard she sucks a looot of dick,” One of the nearby girls in her Biology class chuckled loud enough—purposefully so—for Tabitha to overhear. This group of gossiping teenage girls were all sitting sideways in their seats partway across the classroom, with their backs to her. One of the less bright ones kept sneaking unsubtle peeks over at Tabitha.

   “Nuh-uh, no you didn’t,” another freshman girl said—but in a goading tone, rather than a voice suggesting actual disbelief. “Who said that?”

   “Fuckin’ everybody I’ve talked to,” the first girl replied. “Hey, you know where she’s from... right?”

   Stifling a wry smile, Tabitha ignored them, continuing to halfheartedly fill out her homework in advance.

   She knew the loudly gossiping girls were inexpertly baiting her for a reaction, hoping to find a guilty conscience. A series of sexy rumors about her was making another round throughout Springton High, but she couldn’t help but regard them with more amusement than annoyance. From the bits and pieces she’d overheard, they may as well have been primitive precursors to clickbait media of the future: These girls were STUNNED when they heard these seven secrets that TABITHA MOORE doesn’t want you to know!

   As absurd and surreal as the whirlwind melodrama of high school politics seemed to her, she was involved this time, by apparent virtue of her appearance and persona alone. As the social strata among their freshman year solidified and matured, she discovered being a rogue attractive entity outside of the traditional cliques made many Springton’s upper echelon hostile by default.

   I’m impressed, more than anything, Tabitha thought to herself, resting her chin on her knuckle as she reviewed her biology questions.

   While her fellow high school girls were without a doubt petty, they were in no way simple. Rather than a straightforward teen-movie hierarchy one could label the queens of Springton High, these girls were mapping out a full-fledged geopolitical landscape based somehow on popularity. A proving-ground arena, complete with power plays, counterintelligence operations, third-party negotiations, and of course—sabotage smear campaigns. Tabitha found herself approached more than once by what she began to think of as investigatory commissions, rigidly smiling parties asking which guy she was interested in, and what she thought of Heather, or Melissa, or Cassidy.

   Tabitha’s ignorance as to exactly who any of those girls were was treated as feigned indifference at best, and open provocation at worst. Tabitha’s public stance on relationships— ‘I’m not interested in dating right now,’—was likewise treated with suspicion. Was she posturing, in attempt to inflate her own market value? Which of the Springton guys did she have her sights set on? Or, was the other buzz about her true? Was she a total lesbian?

   Tabitha was an oddity; well-known by everyone, but not ‘popular.’ Spoken to her face she was treated on friendly terms—for now—but never befriended. Because she didn’t jump to make connections and associations, she remained an unknown—there was apparently no one to vouch for her, no one who knew for sure what she was saying, or about who, or who she was after, guy-wise.

   Tabitha was, potentially, a high-value girl that all the guys want—in other words, an active threat, equal parts comparison and competition. She was an unwelcome complication for the many girls staking their claims on boys, the girls affirming their positions and affiliations—which girls they were besties with, which of them were trashy fucking whores that if she gives me any shit I’ll flip the fuck out on her, swear to God!

   As if any of it actually matters, Tabitha mused, wanting to roll her eyes.

   “Don’t you think it’s weird how nobody knows where she disappears to during lunch period?”

   “Uh, duh,” Another girl retorted. “She’s fooling around with Mr. Simmons. He gives all his other Marine Sci classes a grade curve except the one I’m in with her. He even basically came out told us she was his little beau; he waved around her test in our face for like, twenty minutes.”

   “That’s so fucking gross,” A girl said, a little more loudly this time. “What a dirty old creep. I did wonder why I never see her, around lunchtime.”

   “Pfft. Sure hope she enjoys her lunch today.”

   “Big ol’ lunch.”

   “Ewww, I hope she brushes her teeth afterwards, like, gargles soap or something. Bet you can smell it on her breath afterwards.”

   “Oh my God shut up, I’m going to puke!”

   “Geez, chill. Just offer her some gum or something,” a girl laughed. “Maybe a tic tac?”

   I’m… in the library every lunch period, though? Tabitha barely held herself back from turning and giving them a look of consternation. It’s not exactly a big vanishing act? There’s plenty of other kids in the library for lunch that see me there all the time. Isn’t there?

*     *     *

   Her time spent during lunch was turning a little more desperate each day, and a pressing grim feeling came down on her as she pushed open the school library’s double-doors and walked through the metal detector. As usual, the computer lab there was full of students playing primitive computer games, but today Tabitha made a point to make eye contact and compose a friendly smile for one or two of them.

   They’ll eventually notice that I’m always in here for lunch. Right?

   Her normal corner table was vacant as usual, and even untouched—none of the books she’d collected there yesterday had been removed and put back on shelves. Having exhausted all of her other ideas, Tabitha was finally assuming a worst-case scenario in her current topic of study. She was now reading up on how to field dress gunshot wounds.

   A hopefully not-too-dated ATLS—Advanced Trauma Life Support—protocol guidebook rest atop a small mountain of related material on field dressing wounds in emergencies, all heaped upon familiar library table. Springton High’s librarian, endlessly enthusiastic to help an eager young learner find sources of reference, had been sure yesterday that Tabitha was interested in prepping for medical school.

   That would be the smart move, after all, Tabitha frowned, feeling her insides churn as she found her bookmark in the medical texts. Lots of money in it, excellent career choice. It’s just so… Ugh. So GRISLY... 

   A severe bullet wound wasn’t simple, and no amount of cram-studying was giving Tabitha any optimism for the upcoming situation. It was going to be bad—of course it was going to be bad. Last time through, the man had died. Fatal gunshot wound. Death. The horrifying thought that when worst came to worse, it could be her hands desperately trying to staunch the man’s bleeding threw her into a panic.

   She didn’t remember hearing anything about a rifle, so she assumed the wound would be from a handgun—low-velocity ballistic trauma, in other words. Not that any of the knowledge related to that she was learning made things particularly any easier on her. Tabitha was supposed to very rapidly assess where the bullet penetrated and what specific dangers it posed, and then take the most correct action she could. But, even narrowing it down to assume a chest or abdominal entry wound had Tabitha’s hands shaking as she imagined actually being there and witnessing it all unfold. Because it was really going to happen, and dreadfully soon.

   There’s going to be a LOT of blood. And, I’m obviously going to have to be actively trying to stop the flow. Somehow, Tabitha grimaced, flipping into the sections of different respiratory compromise. But, what if it hits a lung? Maybe I’ll stop up the blood loss—and then he ends up drowning in his own blood, instead.

   Back then in her first life, she’d been watching TV when she heard the gunshot echo across her neighborhood. Specifics, like exact time of day, the officer’s name, and precisely where he’d been shot, however, continued to elude her. If I could just remember what freaking show I was watching at the time! Then I’d be able to match it up in the TV guide… aggh!

   Unfortunately, she didn’t remember, not for sure—and the more she tried, the less sure of anything she was, progressively becoming less and less confident in any of the details she thought she knew. The future never seems quite so nebulous as it does when you start second-guessing yourself.

   Did the bullet pass through too close to an artery? Did it fragment? The crux of the issue was that Tabitha didn’t know why the police officer had bled out. Was the call for emergency services immediate, or was there a significant delay?

   It wouldn’t be as easy as simply tapping 911 into a bracelet PC or smartphone for another few decades, and she knew for a fact that several of their neighbors in the trailer park didn’t even have landlines. IF the cop was too incapacitated to radio in, IF there was never another officer in his squad car, IF no one in the lower park called the emergency dispatcher right away, if, if, if, if...

   There was also the sobering idea that nothing Tabitha might attempt would ever save the man. Maybe he was fated to die no matter what she did, and causality was locked in certain ways beyond her understanding. Unchangeable. Would I regret getting myself involved, then, or would I once again begin to despise the hidden powers-that-be?

   I hate how much this terrifies me, Tabitha admitted to herself. I don’t want to form some sort of God complex, thinking I can do anything and save anyone. But, at the same time… I’ll hate myself a little— maybe more than a little— if I know this is going to happen and remain indifferent to it.

   “Hey,” Alicia interrupted her thoughts, giving a small wave to get Tabitha’s attention. “You alright?”

   “Alright?” Tabitha blinked, wondering when Alicia’d come in. Her only real friend at Springton usually didn’t stop by to chat with her until after she’d eaten, but this was the first time she hadn’t noticed the dark-skinned girl enter the library.

   “Yeah. You look kinda… uh. You know,” Alicia shrugged, pulling out the opposite chair and dropping her sketchbook onto the table beside the stacks of books. “Are they starting to get to you?”

   “They? No, no,” Tabitha shook her head with a chuckle. “No, fine. I’m just… stressed.”

   “Uhhh,” Alicia’s eyes went wide as she snatched an annotated military field dressing guidebook off of the pile nearest her. “...You wanna talk about it?”

*     *     *

   “And how’s school goin’, sweetie?” Mr. Moore asked, punching his fork through the romaine and chicken of his salad.

   Tabitha’s high school debut and her first few weeks at Springton High had come and gone with what seemed like little fanfare. Whatever it was she felt like she expected didn’t seem to be happening. No sword of Damocles had descended to put an end to her cheat-like second try at being a teenager, but nor was she universally well-loved by everyone, like she’d idly fantasized about while on her morning jogs.

   And that’s okay. Her staggering routine of waking up before dawn to run, cleaning herself up before school, researching for the future, and coming home to practice Taekwondo forms, and finally make dinner for her family should have seemed a near-impossible burden. It’s rough sometimes, but once I got into the swing of it, I can manage. For now.

   Although the man ate with typical aplomb, Tabitha could tell her father still wasn’t enthusiastic about eating salads, despite the extra effort she had put into this one. It was a grilled chicken fajita salad, and his portion in particular was more slabs of chicken and pepper slices than it was traditional greens. The chicken’s marinade doubled as dressing, and with as liberally as it was applied, Tabitha was forced to concede that the dish may no longer be particularly healthy.

   “Perfect,” Mrs. Moore spoke without looking up, stabbing and picking at her own meal in a petulant way. “She’s doing perfect. Perfect at everything.”

   “...I’m doing well,” Tabitha said carefully. “Certainly not perfect, but—”

   “Nonsense,” Mrs. Moore snorted. “You’re just perfect at everything, aren’t you?”

   “I’m only human,” Tabitha decided to say. “I make mistakes.”

   “Oh? Well. I’d sure like to see that,” Mrs. Moore’s fork clanked against her dish a little louder than necessary, and flecks of marinade dotted the table.

   “As you please. I’ll endeavor to restrain my academic perform—”

   “What’s goin’ on, here?” Mr. Moore interrupted, a steely edge to his voice. “Does one of you wanna explain to me what this is all about? Honey?”

   “Well, I think everything’s just fine,” Mrs. Moore replied flippantly. “We’re all just perfect here. Aren’t we, Tabitha?”

   “Honey.”

   “Please excuse me,” Tabitha stood up mechanically. “I’m afraid I’ve had sufficient—”

   “No. Sit down,” her father commanded, pointing towards her. “Both of you are gonna sit right there, look me in the eye, and tell me what all this is about.”

   “Oh, I don’t whatsoever comprehend what you mean,” Mrs. Moore said in mocking imitation of her daughter’s manner of speech. “Pray tell if—”

   “This isn’t the—” Tabitha began.

   “Oh, did I pronounce something wrong? I’m so sorry, don’t be shy about correcting me, dear.”

   “Both of you, stop!” Mr. Moore raised his voice in aggravation, shoving his plate towards the center of the table. “Goddamn. I mean it, what the hell is this? Tabitha?”

   “...I apologize,” Tabitha said. She clamped her mouth shut resolutely and stared off at their fading wallpaper, saying nothing more.

   “You apologize,” Mr. Moore repeated sternly. “For? You apologize for what, exactly?”

   “My mother’s immature behavior,” Tabitha gave Mrs. Moore a sidelong glance. To her own surprise, she did feel responsible for the way her mother was acting. She’d hoped the small breakdown the woman had experienced after that first day of school would be a watershed moment—a sign that things were on the cusp of change between them.

   “Excuse me?” Mrs. Moore roared. “My what?”

   If only things could be that simple, Tabitha grit her teeth. Instead, it seemed now that the moment back then had been nothing more than a tantrum. Her mother was just as irritable and on-edge as before, perhaps more so. She was volatile now, in a way that suggested the woman was indeed coming to understand the source of her own deep-rooted issues—but that it was only unhinging her more and more.

   “Enough!” Alan Moore stood up. 

   He looked angry now, angry in a way Tabitha hadn’t witnessed since seeing him lay into the hospital technicians as Emsie St. Juarez, and she found herself shrinking back in her seat. She’d remembered her father annoyed and frustrated throughout her childhood, but never angry like this. From her memory, he was a simple and stoic man, whose laidback attitude was perhaps in part responsible for how unruly his wife became.

   “Whatever this is? You two better bury it, right now,” Mr. Moore swiped his plate of food off of the table in a single violent gesture, sending it against the wall of their living room with a loud crack, making both Tabitha and Mrs. Moore flinch. 

   “I don’t care how you do it. You two put everything on the table right now and figure it out. Both of you. Sort this shit out, and put it behind you. For good.”

   Then, he turned and left, striding down the hall to the master bedroom. Mother and daughter alike were stunned silent by what had just happened, and locked eyes with trepidation for a moment before their gazes seemed to repel one another and they looked anywhere else.

   “Sorry,” Tabitha said quietly, rising out of her seat. This IS my fault, too—I know it is, because nothing like this ever happened in the other life.

   The thought weighed on her. Salad that would have been her father’s dinner was all over the floor, and the fajita dressing was sure to stain their worn carpet if she didn’t act quickly. To Tabitha’s surprise and dismay—she found that the plate had broken.

   This is—this is wrong. This plate isn’t supposed to break, Tabitha held the dish up in disbelief. She recognized it, because it was one of her old plates. Cream-colored ceramic, with a pink floral motif adorning one corner—one of pieces of tableware she would inherit eventually. It would have been part of her mismatched collection of tableware all throughout college, a familiar, even sentimental thing that she still used in regular rotation right up into her sixties. Now, it was in two uneven pieces, and would not be joining her on her life journey this time.

   Because everything’s changing, Tabitha realized, feeling a little shaken. Things are breaking. It was never like this for them. Daddy never did anything like that. My mother and I never butted heads like this. Everything’s way, WAY off course.

   Anything can happen. There aren’t any guarantees from last time, Tabitha thought, trying to stop her fingers from shaking as she picked pieces of lettuce off the floor. The new future, that had had seemed bright with infinite possibilities for her, also had this darkness of the unknown to it—Tabitha had so focused herself on climbing to new heights that she’d refused to see the depths those heights created.

   Knowing that tonight’s exchange came about from her actions terrified her. She felt smaller, diminished, in seeing what she was doing to their family. Even when I’m trying to make things better, some other things are just going to get worse instead. That’s just life. But... is this how it’s supposed to be? Or was last life how things should have been?

*     *     *

   Sorry. Unlike her daughter, Shannon Moore wasn’t able to say it out loud. Her own temper got the best of her, like it always did. Those imperturbable calm eyes and that collected way her Tabitha held herself got deep under her skin, yet again. I WAS acting like a child. I still am.

   Worse yet, she knew what stress her husband was going through right now. With his brother Danny arrested this past weekend, their entire extended family was in turmoil. They hadn’t told Tabitha yet—Alan still wanted them to sit down and explain to her what was happening and what it all meant.

   That hadn’t happened, only because Shannon was dragging her feet about it. Sitting down and attempting a heart-to-heart with that know-it-all pretty little face was the last thing she could do right now. The very thought of her daughter’s lovely but guarded expression evoked undisguised self-loathing and malice that bubbled to the surface like a sickness.

   You think that’s how easy it is? That’s all it takes to become an actress? Mrs. Moore frowned, absentmindedly watching her daughter take the initiative to clean up spots of marinade with the kitchen stash of fast-food napkins. Even facing away from her and crouching down, Tabitha somehow affected a grace to her posture that might as well have been directly mocking her. You have no idea how hard it is, or what a toll it will take. You’re young. You think you know everything, but you have no idea, Tabitha.

   Everyone told me having a daughter would be worse, Mrs. Moore turned and glared angrily at the grilled chicken fajita salad in front of her. She was so hungry that it ached, so furious and ashamed and nauseous all at once that she wanted to throw up. I never believed them. I never WOULD have believed them, ‘till just a few months ago.

   The salad was delicious, and she hated salads. It wasn’t normal food—there wasn’t anything Tabitha made that was normal, period. Making dinner for the family took the girl almost an hour every day, and that wasn’t normal. Everything they ate was amazing, took obvious effort to prepare, and was supposedly even healthy fare. Shannon hated it.

   Somehow or other, this past summer Tabitha had learned how to push all of her buttons. All of them at once; she pushed them and then held them down, until it felt like she was going berserk. Mother and teenage daughter; deadlocked in a futile struggle through every nuance of their interaction.

   Even the guarded look Tabitha wore when she was in her presence was equivalent to a line drawn in the sand. The girl was working out the scheme of her overall life alone, and the very fact that she was at it alone, that it was all kept secret made it evident to her that she was not a part of that future. Changing everything around in their little trailer was the rebellious teen’s way of trying to assert dominance, and taking up cooking for the family was a challenge; open provocation to Mrs. Moore’s position to their family.

   Shannon knew that Grandma Laurie must have been behind some of those attacks— because they were done without the subtlety of a thirteen-year-old girl, yet each and every one seemed to catch her completely off guard all the same. When had the grandmother and daughter even colluded to put all of this into action? None of it had made any sense—even with practice and instruction, the Tabitha she thought she knew wouldn’t have the sheer drive to keep at something like this for more than a day or two. Certainly not for months on end like she had been. It didn’t add up to Mrs. Moore at all.

   Until she found out Tabitha had seen the little blue album, that is.

   Mrs. Moore was watching her daughter again when Tabitha turned her head and looked over at her. That composed expression, the subtle smug look—wasn’t there.

   Looking into Tabitha’s eyes, she just looked lost and alone. Vulnerable. A hollow, defeated look on those familiar features, a look Mrs. Moore had seen exactly once before—staring at herself in the mirror some fourteen years ago when she’d discovered she was pregnant and the ignorant dreams she’d had for the future turned into smoke.

   The revelation stung her, and she couldn’t help but think that for so many years, Tabitha had followed in her own current image—soft-bodied and slothful. The girl’s absurd transformation, this look in her eyes, it was like watching her own life play out in reverse. The redhead with the brilliant smile beaming out in those beauty pageant photos, the glamour shots she’d collected for her portfolio haunted her; they represented the future that would never be. Shannon felt further removed from her naive past self than she’d ever been, and it felt like the distance between her and her daughter was growing even further distant still.

   “Tabitha, I…” Mrs. Moore began listlessly. 

   Her beautiful daughter went still at hearing her speak, however, and the look of caution settling into the young girl’s expression might as well have been a door slamming closed in her face.

   “Tabitha…”

*     *     *

   “Uhhh. Is this the right stop?” Alicia hesitated on the steps off of the school bus. She’d been chatting with Tabitha about designs for her goblin story and somehow entirely lost track of the surroundings passing by the bus windows outside. 

   “Yep, this is our stop,” Tabitha confirmed, waving Alicia forward with an excited smile.

   “This... is a trailer park,” Alicia pointed out, uneasily stepping down from the school bus.

   It wasn’t a nice-looking trailer park, either. Alicia had an aunt that lived in a mobile home lot in Georgia, but those ones were all new homes, painted uniformly and arranged neatly onto their picture-perfect manicured little lawns. This lot that Tabitha had taken her to was as close as Springton had to a ghetto, the sort of slummy, broken-down place that spoke of a lifetime of mistakes.

   Dilapidated trailers were packed together in claustrophobic rows, stretching on down the hill behind a gas station and a liquor store. Garbage was everywhere; discarded trash, sagging waterlogged fast food cartons and cups, unidentifiable broken pieces of plastic, and rusting metal parts littered the sides of street. Lawns consisting of clumps weeds seemed popular, while bare, sunbaked dirt patches scattered with cigarette butts and gravel were also apparently in vogue in this neighborhood. 

   The trailers themselves were obviously, visibly run-down. Some had doors boarded up with plywood already black with mold, others sported roofs covered with tarps or trashbags. Broken glass in windows, with duct tape applied haphazardly across the spiderweb of cracks. There were trailers with sagging paneling, trailers filthy with grime, and even an abandoned, gutted one that looked like it had become a playhouse for neighborhood kids. Or possibly drug addicts.

   “You... live in a trailer park?” Alicia asked, turning to cast a doubtful look in Tabitha’s direction.

   “Surprised?” Tabitha gave her a knowing smile.

   “Yeah. I mean, kinda,” Alicia took another look around. “You’re for real? Not messing around?”

   “Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad,” Tabitha teased. “Now hurry up, let’s get inside—I don’t wanna get mugged today.”

   “Har, har,” Alicia gave her a sarcastic snort. She stopped in place a moment later, giving Tabitha an unsure look. “...Has anyone here ever actually mugged you?”

   “Of course not,” Tabitha laughed. “I’ve lived here my whole life—well, sorta, anyways—so, everyone here already knows I’m dirt poor. I don’t have anything worth taking.”

   “Um. You’re still a pretty young lady, though… you know?” Alicia said in a pointed tone. Be a little more self-aware of what could happen to you, please? Mom might not even want to drive in here to pick me up. This whole place screams all kinds of bad news.

   “Damn, you’re right,” Tabitha said sheepishly, and the redhead smacked her forehead into her palm. “I keep forgetting about that.”

   “Please be careful,” Alicia let out a nervous chuckle as she looked around, not sure if they were joking or not.

   “Yeah, no kidding,” Tabitha nodded. “Hah. C’mon, this way.”

   Still. Dirt poor, huh? Thumbs hooked into the straps of her backpack, Alicia couldn’t help but reevaluate Tabitha as she followed the redhead down the narrow lane between the rows of trailers. Nothing at all she thought she knew about the girl had ever hinted that Tabitha grew up in this sort of poverty. The most beautiful white girl in all of Springton High comes home every day... to THIS? This is the rest of her life?

   “Here we are,” Tabitha said, heading up the steps of a rather nondescript trailer.

   ...Huh. It looked as shabby as the others, and Alicia awkwardly wondered if she was expected to remark on how nice it was, make some sort of polite observation. Unable to think of anything to say, Alicia pressed her lips into the thin line of a forced smile and followed her friend up the concrete steps and into the worn-down mobile home.

   “Dad? Mother? As we discussed yesterday, I’ve brought a friend home with me from school,” Tabitha announced. “Her name is Alicia Brooks. Please treat her respectfully, and make her feel at home.”

   That’s… a weird way to phrase it? Alicia tried not to feel on edge. ‘As we discussed?’

   The interior of the double-wide wasn’t as bad as Alicia feared. Their living room was a neat, tidy area, without any of the cluttered furnishings or mess she’d expected. Worn but well-cared-for furniture, sparse but tasteful decor, a recently cleaned carpet, and wide-open window views gave the illusion of having a much larger open space.

   Tabitha’s parents were both home today and sitting around the TV—an older man with a forgettable face who looked like a blue-collar extra in a movie, and a fat, rather unfriendly-looking wife.

   “Hi,” Alicia gave Mr. and Mrs. Moore a meek wave. Oh shit. I thought they would seem more like Tabitha, or something. They look like… generic rednecks? Racist maybe? Is my skin color gonna be a weird issue?

   “Nice to meet you, Alicia,” the father got up out of his seat to shake her hand.

   “Hello,” Mrs. Moore didn’t rise out of her seat on the sofa, instead giving Alicia a lingering glance before turning to give Tabitha a scathing look.

   Oh shit. Oh shit.

   “Here,” Tabitha called, pulling two chairs out at their dining room table. “I’m sorry there aren’t more places to sit. Would you like anything to drink?”

   “I’m good, thanks,” Alicia said, placing her bag on the table and settling into the seat. Nothing about this visit had gone like she thought it would—she’d pictured a nice, upscale house in a suburb somewhere. Good-looking parents, maybe ones with some light-hearted sense of humor to help put their daughter’s friend at ease and make her feel more welcome. Why can’t anything ever be like it is on TV?

   Mr. Moore returned to his chair, and the trailer went quiet.

   “I uh, I read through that whole masonry book you gave me last night,” Alicia spoke up. Even if tense silence was situation normal for this family, it felt incredibly straining on her as their guest. “Art of the Stonemason. Well, kinda. I definitely didn’t read any of it, but I studied all the diagrams and everything.”

   “Oh?” Tabitha’s eyes lit up with interest. “Was it helpful at all?”

   “Oh my God, yes,” Alicia nodded emphatically. “I was… well, you know. I draw people and expressions mostly, I was never interested in drawing walls—until now.”

   “If slaves are doing all the actual labor, they wouldn’t have the uh, modern, perfectly-squared off bricks that fit all nicely together. They’d have to take each random rock, chip away all the weak parts, protrusions or what-have-you, and then fit all these different-sized pieces together somehow with mortar so that it’s structurally sound.

   “There’s so many aspects I’d have never even thought about ‘til going through that book. Thinking about it in terms of structure, figuring abutments, springers, and a keystone when you form stone arches—and you’re gonna want arches—thinking about using longer stones as corbels to support weight, that kinda thing. Here, look at my new doodles,” Alicia said, opening up her current sketchpad and sliding it across the table.

   “These are amazing,” Tabitha praised, tracing her fingers along the paper with reverence. “They look so much more... real.”

   “Right? That book really helped me start thinking of each piece as its own three-dimensional thing. Like, it’s made of all of these mismatched components, but everything still fits together in a certain special way. Matching up rubble with uneven joins so that they’re all in their courses, spacing out what they call perpend stones, or through-stones, to keep the pilings from shifting away from one another… there’s so many little details that got put into stuff back then that you just don’t see with boring cinderblock kinda stuff today—I never realized how cool this kinda thing would be to design and draw.

   “I mean, I was always doing that generic, boring, flat surface with overlapping rectangles brick pattern for things ‘till just last night, when I read through that book. Is there gonna be a whole lot of this kinda stuff in your story?”

   “There is!” Tabitha nodded. “The second book will feature stoneworking throughout its plot! The mages, they had their goblins build up these labyrinths around the leylines—labyrinths designed in a specific way, so that everything from the mana spring gets focused and channeled along onto this one singular, specific path.

   “But, the free goblins hide out there, break down some walls and build up others, messing everything up and turning the labyrinth into this huge, sprawling maze. So, not only do the mages have to deal with navigating this underground deathtrap full of rebel goblins, they have to figure out which exact walls to repair and which to tear down to restore the proper magic flow.”

   “I understand less an’ less o’ that conversation the more I overhear,” Tabitha’s father commented, turning from his seat to give each of the girls a baffled look. “What’s all this about goblins, now?”

   “They’re, you know—they’re part of Tabitha’s story?” Alicia tilted her head and gave the man a quizzical smile.

   “Her what, now?” For some reason, he looked more confused than ever.

   Does Tabitha never talk about her interests with them? Alicia looked from Tabitha to the girl’s parents and back again, hoping she hadn’t committed some sort of unknowing faux pas.

   “Oh, um. Yes, I’m working on writing a novel,” Tabitha admitted.

   “Hah,” Tabitha’s mother barked out a short, humorless laugh. “Of course she is.”

   Before anyone else could say anything, Mrs. Moore heaved herself up from the sofa and left the room, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. The woman had looked agitated to begin with, but Alicia couldn’t piece together exactly what had happened, or what particular choice of words had suddenly set her off.

   So—okay, what the hell? Alicia turned to her friend for answers, but all she saw was a conflicted look as Tabitha bit her lower lip in frustration.

   “You’re writing a story with goblins?” Mr. Moore sounded like this was news to him. “I tried reading that Hobbit book when I was ‘round your age, but I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. That stuff sure is popular as all get out, though—fellow that wrote that must be a bigshot millionaire by now.”

   “That would be John Ronald Reuel Tolkien,” Tabitha clarified in a wistful voice. “He passed away in nineteen seventy-three. I’ve been a longtime admirer of his work—I would kill to possess even one-hundredth of his talent.”

   “Huh... is that right?” Her father nodded, already distracting himself with the television in front of him again.

   ...Are these people actually even related to Tabitha? Alicia blinked in disbelief. Is this really her family? There didn’t seem to be a single shared trait between them. While Alicia felt uncomfortably out of place in this weird, kinda messed-up situation, what struck her the most was that Tabitha seemed even more out of place.

   “You’re a very strange girl,” Alicia blurted out before she could stop herself. Ah, crap.

   “Oh?” Tabitha winced and gave her an apologetic smile. “Yeah... sorry.”

   “She sure is,” Mr. Moore chuckled. “But, we love ‘er anyways.”

   Well, at least one of you does, Alicia thought, glancing over to the hallway Mrs. Moore had disappeared down.

   “Um… anyways, I’ve been spending every day this month practicing martial arts, over in the empty area on the other end of the trailer park,” Tabitha forcibly changed topics. “Do you want to come see?”

   “You know martial arts?” Alicia asked, raising her eyebrows. She wasn’t sure if any random new thing this girl said should surprise her anymore.

   “Yes,” Tabitha said, looking embarrassed. “I mean, I practice a little bit.”

   “Sounds like you’re gonna be my volunteer model for whenever I need a cool action pose, then,” Alicia decided, grinning and flipping her sketchbook to a fresh page. “Perfect, I’ve got my camera in my bag today, too!”

*     *     *

   A pair of teenage girls loitered around on an empty stretch of grass beside the parking spaces at the end of Lower Park mobile home lot. The first girl was pale, a fine-featured young lady with lovely red hair wearing an elaborate sleeveless blouse, while the second was a rather smart-looking dark-skinned young woman with glasses and her hair drawn up in a business-like bun.

   “You promise you won’t laugh?” Tabitha asked with a nervous expression.

   “I promise nothing,” Alicia gave her a snarky look. “C’mon—let’s see it.”

   “Um… yeah, okay,” Tabitha sighed. “The best action pose I think I can do for you is— well, it’s called a butterfly kick. It’s very… cinematic? But, I’m not sure it will work for a static drawing. Maybe I can just run through like, one of the basic forms?”

   “Well, let’s see it!” Alicia prodded.

   Alicia held her disposable camera against her face like a mask, turning it this way and that. Looking out at the world through the narrow viewfinder, she tried to imagine each of the rather stilted action scenes before her as a captured photo. It was a Kodak Max, a small but expensive contraption of black plastic and yellow cardboard, and almost all of the film within had already spent on family beach photos. The handful of remaining shots, however, her mother had told that their young artiste could take however she pleased, because they were getting them developed soon.

   She’d already taken a photo of herself earlier, in her artsiest getup and presenting what she hoped would be a mesmerizing look off into the distance, and when it was developed she was going to use it to draw a glamorous self-portrait. Now, Alicia wanted a photo of Tabitha.

   Super weird thing to just ask for outta the blue, though, Alicia thought, feeling guilty for some reason. She didn’t want just any random picture of her strange school friend like this—she wanted the absolute BEST angle of her, one that captured Tabitha’s surprisingly beautiful features in just the right way. A reference she could use, to portray the girl just the way she wanted for this big Goblin project of hers. The idea was growing on her.

   WOOP-WOOP!

   The brief sound of a police car toggling his siren interrupted the teenagers, and they looked up in unison to see a white car being pulled over by a cop car across the empty stretch of grass from them. The lone driver being stopped cussed loudly, slamming his hand against the side of his steering wheel in frustration.

   “Uh-oh—somebody’s in trouble!” Alicia chuckled, and the dark-skinned girl was looking over with interest when something strange about Tabitha’s awkward stance had Alicia do a double-take.

   “Y-yeah,” Tabitha mumbled uneasily. The young woman had frozen up at the sight of the guy being pulled over, and when she abruptly turned away from them, she was wearing a rather strained smile.

   What’s this? Alicia arched an eyebrow at her friend. Guilty conscience? Maybe there’s some story there, or maybe she just gets real nervous around cops? As an artist, she was a fair study of body language, and as Tabitha’s friend, her intuition told her that something had her friend very ill-at-ease. There was raw apprehension there, a strained sort of jittery look, as if Tabitha was clenching her jaw.

   “Uh, sorry. Someone you know?” Alicia asked, looking back over as the police officer got out of his car and sauntered up to lean over the window of the man he’d pulled over.

   “No. I—um. No,” Tabitha said distractedly, stealing a glance over in their direction herself.

   The cop was asking the man to step outside of his vehicle. When the door opened, the guy stepping out had a narrow face and sharp, angular features. He had short, messy hair, wore a distinctly unwashed-looking shirt, a pair of gym shorts, and no shoes at all. Tabitha quickly looked away.

   Okay…? Lately, something had been weighing heavily on Alicia’s strange school friend. Each day in class or at lunch, Tabitha seemed progressively more high-strung and on edge. Despite both subtle prodding and even direct interrogation, the girl wouldn’t reveal why.

   Well. I can make plenty of guesses, Alicia mused, quirking her lip. Maybe it’s a boy I don’t know about? And, then there’s her weird family thing she has going on. Also, sure, she says it doesn’t bother her, but all the things those girls at school keep saying about—

   A thundering crack sounded out, impossibly loud, louder than anything Alicia remembered hearing before, and she flinched in response, hunching her shoulders and wincing. It sounded like a gunshot from a movie or on TV, but at such an incredible, exaggerated volume that Alicia couldn’t help but swear out loud. The dark-skinned girl whirled, searching for the source of the disturbance.

   Looked just past Tabitha—who was also turning to see what had happened—to see the police officer collapsing backwards onto the ground on the median. The man he’d pulled over was made a mad dash back to his car and he dove into the driver’s seat, peeling out before he’d even gotten the door closed again after him. Seconds later, the white car was practically gone, quickly disappearing down the road and out of sight.

   What. Was that? Alicia was still frozen in place, staring at the scene in shock when Tabitha bolted forward towards the downed police officer. That’s when it hit her, and Alicia realized—the cop laying right there just a few dozen yards in front of them had just been shot. This wasn’t something staged for a movie, or a game some kids were playing.

   He just got shot!

   In her stunned disbelief and confusion, she took a few hesitant steps after Tabitha before realizing she was still clutching her disposable camera in both hands, right in front of her. Realizing how stupid she was, missing this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Alicia hurriedly raised the camera up and snapped a quick shot.

   Shit! Fuck! Alicia cursed to herself, realizing she hadn’t been holding the thing steady. She tried immediately snapping another shot, but this time there was no click. Staggering to a halt, she belatedly remembered to wind the film for the next shot and carefully brought the camera up again. Damnit Alicia, don’t waste it…

   She took the photo just as the running Tabitha was reaching the police officer, and it looked like a pretty good picture. The subjects were a little too far away for it to be ideal, but Alicia didn’t have any more time to think about shot composition— she quickly jammed the disposable camera into the back pocket of her jeans and rushed over towards them.

   Oh my God…

   The police officer was a clean-cut looking man in his thirties with an old-fashioned taper haircut and rather rugged features that were just beginning to droop. A handsome man just a little past his prime, he looked like a stereotypical Dad, one that might have just walked off the set of some white family sitcom. Except, he was dying.

   It wasn’t poignant and serene, nor was it dramatic— something about the scene unfolding before her eyes was just so real that horror and instinctive revulsion rolled through her uncontrollably. His eyes were mostly closed and slightly fluttering, his body was jerking and slightly twisting as he struggled for consciousness, and she could see blood, a deep, dark wet spreading out across the dark blue of the man’s uniform. She could smell it, even; a metallic, somehow sticky smell.

   “... No, no, no no no!” Tabitha cried out, dropping down beside the officer. She snatched up the officer’s handset from the man’s belt, and her young voice rung out back to them from the radio within the nearby squad car. “Officer down! We have an officer down at thirteen twenty two South Main street. He’s shot, he’s—he’s bleeding everywhere.”

   There was several strained seconds of tense silence before a response crackled back over the radio.

   “Hello, can you repeat that address?”

   “Thirteen twenty-two south Main street, it’s the lower trailer park. One, three, two, two, South Main,” Tabitha repeated, nervously stretching out a trembling hand above the policeman. “Lower trailer park.”

   “Help is on the way, they should be with you shortly. Is the shooter still at that location?” the dispatcher asked. 

   “No, he’s—the shooter drove off,” Tabitha answered. “I need um, sorry, I have to stop the bleeding.”

   “Hold on, I need you to stay on the line,” the dispatcher insisted. “Honey? I need you to stay with me on the line.”

   Ignoring the dispatcher, Tabitha tossed the radio to Alicia and scrambled back to the downed officer. Alicia caught the handset awkwardly in both hands, nearly fumbling the thing as Tabitha inhaled sharply through her nose and then clamped both palms right down into the man’s blood-soaked chest in an effort to stem the bleeding.

   “Are you still there?”

   “Hello?” Alicia asked into the radio. She couldn’t hear herself over the car radio like she had when Tabitha had spoken through it; she wasn’t getting through. In a panic, she tried again, squeezing down one of the buttons on the side. “Hello? H-hello?”

   “Hello, we have help on the way but I need you to sit tight for me if you can do that. Has anyone else been hurt?”

   “No,” Alicia answered.

   “Can you describe the shooter?”

   “Caucasian male in his mid-twenties,” Tabitha called over. “He was headed southbound on South Main, driving a white Lincoln Continental with West Virginia plates.”

    “Uh… uh… what?” Alicia froze as she looked over to see Tabitha pressing both hands firmly down to pin the officer to the pavement. Her hands were covered in blood, and blood had soaked a large swath down the side of the officer’s uniform and onto the pavement. How-how does she know what to—

   “Are you still there?” the police dispatcher asked. 

   “Th-the shooter was a white male, in his, uh in his twenties,” Alicia reported over the handset. “He was going, uh, he was—”

   “Southbound on South Main, in a white Lincoln Continental with West Virginia plates,” Tabitha said again. The slender girl sounded composed, but she was wearing an extremely grim expression as errant red locks of hair fell down across her face, not daring to take her eyes off of the wound she was clamping down on.

   “Southbound on South Main, he’s in—he’s in a Lincoln Continental with West Virginia plates,” Alicia blurted frantically into the receiver. “White, a white Lincoln Continental.”

   “That’s southbound, in a white Lincoln Continental?” The dispatcher asked.

   “Yes.”

   “Okay, thank you. Just sit tight please, we have an ambulance on the way there to you now.”

   “Okay.”

   All at once and in several different directions, the town erupted into warbling siren wails, a cacophony of dogged noise. Alicia hadn’t been sure if they would even be taken seriously with that officer down—after all, they were just teenage girls. It turned out, however, they were taken extremely seriously, as what must have been every police car in Springton seemed to immediately mobilize to full alert.

   “You said the officer is bleeding?” the dispatcher returned.

   “I’m—uhh. I’m gonna let you talk to her again,” Alicia said, hurrying over to hold the radio up to Tabitha for her.

   “I’m sorry, what was that?” the dispatcher asked amid a burst of static.

   “We have an entry wound about an inch, inch-and-a-half left of his sternum,” Tabitha reported, leaning towards the offered handset. “That’s, um, my left, his right. He’s still breathing, he’s breathing in tiny little breaths. He’s, uh. He’s lost a lot of blood. I’m applying pressure, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

   “Okay, keep on applying pressure, please. Emergency medical is on the way.”

   “Whatever you’re sending, send it faster,” Tabitha insisted with an edge of urgency to her tone.

   “Emergency medical is getting there as fast as they can. We just need you to stay calm and keep applying pressure to the wound.”

   Alicia saw Tabitha’s form hunched over the officer’s body blur as tears filled her vision. The initial stunned shock of the moment had abruptly worn off, and a whirlwind of emotion was suddenly overwhelming her. Clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs so as not to startle Tabitha, Alicia stood there rigidly beside the police car, looking across the horrific scene and crying.

   Short moments later, the siren sounds drew painfully close and a vehicle flashing brilliant blue and red light screeched to a halt. To their disappointment, it was another cop car, rather than the much-desired ambulance. A uniformed police officer jumped out, radio in hand, leaving his car running in the middle of the street. 

   “Thirty six to dispatch, I’m confirming officer down at one three two two South Main,” the officer reported as he ran forward. “Request urgent medical.”

   “Ten-four,” the dispatcher acknowledged. “Stay there, ambulance is on the way.”

   “Shit,” the officer took a knee beside Tabitha and the fallen officer. “Ahh, shit, shit.”

   He was a stocky, clean-shaven white man with a crew cut and a no-nonsense expression. The brass nameplate he wore above his breast pocket read WILLIAMS, prompting Alicia to realize she’d never looked down to see the fallen police officer’s name. Now, she was afraid to.

   “Let’s get that ambulance rolling,” Officer Williams barked into his radio. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”

   “Ten-four, ambulance is on the way,” the dispatcher helplessly repeated again.

   “Are you girls alright?” the officer stowed his handset and leaned in, hesitant to jeopardize the downed officer by taking sudden action. “You want me to take over there, Miss?”

   “I’m not releasing pressure until the ambulance is here,” Tabitha promised in a resolute voice. She was paler than ever, and her eyes were wet, but she wasn’t crying. “We were over there on the side of the road when it happened—we saw everything.”

   “Good—okay, good, good, you’re doin’ great, just keep putting on pressure,” Officer Williams told her, pulling a pair of latex gloves out of his belt pouch and hurriedly putting them on. As carefully as he could, he opened the fallen officer’s eyes one by one, shining a small diagnostic flashlight into them.

   “Is he gonna be okay?” Alicia blurted out, hoping the cop could tell them something.

   “Uh, I don’t know, hun,” the man admitted regretfully, surveying the copious amount of blood that had already spilled. “I really don’t know.”

   “He’s going to be okay,” Tabitha decided, gritting her teeth and staring back down at her bloody hands pressed against the officer’s chest. “He’s going to make it.”

   How do you know that? Alicia wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand, staring at Tabitha incredulously. How did she know what to do?

   The answer, surprisingly, came to mind right away, and many things all at once seemed to fall into place. Of course—Tabitha read about all of it, in the school library. All those books. Specifically. Is it a coincidence? Everything was like, tailored for this situation, preparing her for exactly this.

   Her steadily increasing anxiety. Her not wanting to be alone today. Her wanting to hang out around here, right here, for no apparent reason… waiting for something? Alicia’s eyes widened as she regarded Tabitha in shock. It seemed impossible.

   She knew this was going to happen.

*     *     *

   “Tabs? You still awake?” Alicia asked, twisting on the narrow mattress towards her friend on the floor. “Uh, is it cool if I call you Tabs?”

   The past several hours had been a whirlwind of sirens and blood and concerned parents, a news van, and the police officers, and nightfall had seemed to creep up on them all at once. It was hard to focus on her mother’s terrified expression as she arrived and nearly tackled her into a stranglehold of a hug, and Alicia didn’t remember much of what she’d said to those policemen or reporters. There were too many questions burning on Alicia’s mind.

   “Yeah,” Tabitha answered, sounding exhausted. “Call me whatever you want. Tab, Tabby, Tabitha.”

   Alicia had refused to part after the ordeal they’d been through, pleading to sleep over in Tabitha’s tiny room in that worn-down mobile home of theirs. She was offered the tiny single bed, while Tabitha gathered up blankets and stretched out on the floor. Alicia’s mother sat out in the dining room with Mr. and Mrs. Moore, still exchanging words in hushed voices.

   “Doesn’t bother you if I use ‘Tabby?’”

   “No.”

   “Okay. Um. You prolly know what I’m gonna ask, right?”

   “What?”

   “How did you know?”

   The dark bedroom was dead silent for a few long moments before Alicia heard her friend let out a long sigh. 

   “I didn’t… exactly know,” Tabitha muttered. “Didn’t think it would happen on the first of October. Just sometime in October.”

   “But, you did know?” Alicia quickly sat up.

   “...Yeah,” Tabitha admitted.

   The room went silent again.

   “Okay. Tabitha. Can you understand why that would freak me the hell out?” Alicia blinked, trying to make out the other girl’s expression. “I know this is gonna sound shitty, but if we’re gonna be friends—you need to fucking tell me what’s going on.”

   For possibly the first time in her life, Alicia felt shaken. Witnessing the shooting, stammering out responses to the emergency dispatcher, even simply standing by while Tabitha and the other officer struggled to stem the bleeding had been an incredibly taxing experience on her. The implications of Tabitha possibly having advance knowledge of all of this weighed heavily on her, and she knew she wouldn’t be getting any sleep until she addressed things.

   “I…” Tabitha struggled out. “I don’t know what I should say. How much I should say, right now.”

   “Was it, like, planned out?” Alicia asked in a flat voice. “Pre-meditated? Was this like, a set-up and planned out cop killing?”

   “No!” Tabitha exclaimed, and from the rustle of blanket it sounded like she’d sat up as well. “No, no.”

   “What, did you get, um. Like, a vision of the future? Dreams?” Alicia guessed. “I dunno, prophecy sorta stuff?”

   “Not exactly.”

   “Time travel?”

   Tabitha didn’t answer.

   “Time travel?” Alicia prompted again. “Tabitha?”

   “Kind of…?” Tabitha whispered in a weak voice. “But, not exactly?”

   Time travel? Alicia frowned. The dark bedroom seemed to spin with fantastical scenarios for a moment. Yeah, right.

   “Okay, um. Time travel. What else do you know? What can you say that can like, prove it for me? What do you mean ‘not exactly?’”

   “I… ugh,” Tabitha made a sound that Alicia guessed was the girl slapping her own forehead, and then she heard the girl fall heavily back down onto the comforters arranged on the floor. “I don’t even know where to start.”

   “Time travel?” Alicia suggested. She tried to settle back down on the bed, but the events of the day and the sudden introduction of the topic had her too amped up. “Start at time travel? What, was there a time machine?”

   “I don’t think so,” Tabitha said quietly. “I lived out my life, and then somehow I came back to this point in my life. Er, I came back to right towards the end of middle school.”

   “Wait, so did you die? In the future I mean? How far in the future? Does anything big happen?” Alicia didn’t really buy into what Tabitha was saying, but she couldn’t help herself from blurting out questions all the same. “Did you die?”

   “No,” Tabitha sounded unsure now. “I… I don’t think so. I don’t remember dying, at least. I was in the hospital, getting my headaches checked out.”

   “How far in the future?” Alicia prompted.

   “Forty-seven years,” Tabitha answered in a quiet voice. “The year twenty-forty-five.”

   She’s actually going there? Alicia frowned. She’s seriously gonna try to sell this bullshit story to me? I know she’s imaginative and all, but I’m still legit freaked out here—this isn’t the time or place to play around like this. Is this her own way of coping with shit? Should I NOT just poke a bunch of holes in her stupid time travel thing?

   “Okay—so, the future,” Alicia splayed out her hand in the dark and began ticking off fingers. “Is there flying cars? Robots? Teleporters? Or aliens?”

   “Sort of, sort of, no, and no,” Tabitha chuckled sadly.

   “Okay back up, back up to those two ‘sort ofs,’” Alicia laughed. “Explain. Flying cars?”

   “There’s always been flying cars,” Tabitha said. “Probably even in these times—in the late nineties. It’s the kind of tech project that’ll make the cover of Popular Mechanics, maybe, but never ever gets mainstream.”

   “Lame and boring answer,” Alicia rolled her eyes. “Why not? What’s a future without flying cars?”

   There was a long, drawn-out silence, and Alicia was sure Tabitha had given up on her time-traveling charade.

   “The common sense answer is that they’re expensive. A compromise between a street legal vehicle and one capable of flight also really sacrifices the better points of each.” Tabitha’s voice was odd—it was somehow too tired and world-weary. “But, that’s not the real reason they’ll never be a thing.”

   “Oh yeah?” Alicia sat up on one elbow, interested.

   “There’s a terrorist attack,” Tabitha murmured. “It’s... the terrorist attack. They hijack four flights from the Boston airport and… fly them into buildings. I think it’s Boston. Either Boston, or Baltimore. Two of the planes hit the twin towers; the world trade center. A lot of people die. Another one hits the pentagon. The last one crashes in a field in Pennsylvania, it was heading for the White House, but… who knows what happened.”

   “Okay, kinda not funny anymore,” Alicia let out an uneasy laugh.

   “The economy tanks right away, and things stay bad for years. People are afraid to fly, airport security changes forever. Airlines need government bailout money to keep operating. It was… there got to be this sort of... mass hysteria in the background of our culture, a paranoia that certain people in office use to—”

   “Robots?” Alicia interrupted, feeling a little unsettled. “Robots was your other ‘sorta?’”

   “They don’t act humans and walk around,” Tabitha sighed. “The common everyday ones are just automated janitors and groundskeepers, really. They mop floors or mow lawns for whatever area they’re programmed for, and return to their dock to recharge. They don’t look like people, they look like vacuums and mowers, but without the handle stuff.”

   “Your future sucks,” Alicia said. “I guess at least everything’s all magically clean everywhere though, right?”

   “It’s not really any different than things are now,” Tabitha replied sadly. “It’s just... buying a smart-cleaner rather than paying a night janitor to mop the floors.”

   “Lame,” Alicia decided. “Do robots take a lot of jobs, then? Fast food?”

   “Yes, actually,” Tabitha said. “Well, it’s technology, but not exactly robots. Nobody behind the counter taking orders anymore—it’s all touch screens, or through your phone. Actual people still make the food, but I’m sure that’ll eventually change, too.”

   “Through your phone?” Alicia laughed. “So what, you have to call ahead and order if you want fast food?”

   “A phone in the future is… a very different concept than a phone in nineteen-ninety-eight,” Tabitha sighed. “They start out as portable phones, but then they’re also cameras, personal computers, and 3D scanners and projectors and eventually your wallet and ID all rolled into one, I guess.”

   “That’s… kind of a big game-changer,” Alicia said, leaning out over the bed. “Tabitha? How serious about all of this are you?”

   “...I’m not going to ever admit to anyone else that I’ve been to a future,” Tabitha said carefully. “I understand that you’re skeptical, and we can drop it as a joke for now. I’d just like you to… keep it in the back of your mind as a possibility, when I seem to know things in advance from now on that I shouldn’t. If that’s all right.”

   “But, you did know about the police officer getting shot,” Alicia pointed out. “What happened with that in your future?”

   “He died,” Tabitha said.

   “So, this time through, he doesn’t die? What does that change? What happens?” Alicia asked, interested.

   “I… don’t know if he will make it yet, if that’s, um. Something that I can change or not. I won’t know until we hear what happens. I tried, though,” Tabitha managed to say, her voice dropping down to a whisper. “I tried?”

   “No, no, I’m not saying you didn’t try—you were amazing—you did everything you could with saving him, and all. But, just, like… why?” Alicia wondered. “Not to sound heartless, but… why put yourself through all of that?”

   “Because, I have to try?” Tabitha answered in that quiet voice. “It’s all so... complicated. I have to change things, if I’m going to survive. Because, I know I can’t go through life like I did before all over again. I’d rather die. But, then changing everything is so terrifying, sometimes so much worse than it was before! I feel like… like I’m losing my grip on who I was in the first place—or who I’m supposed to be—or what I wanted? What I’m doing?”

   “So... you’re—”

   “The Julia from my last life would understand that I can’t save everyone. I think she’d be cross at me for putting that burden on myself, for even trying. B-but, the things that happened that made Julia think like that—that made Julia the way she is—I-I can’t let them happen to her. I’m not ever going to let them happen to her.

   “So, the Julie in this lifetime will never be the Julie I knew. And, maybe I’m robbing her of everything that defined her, everything that made her… her? She’ll never understand my writing, understand me the way she did, and I don’t even know if I’m saving her anymore or… erasing her real existence?”

   Who the hell is Julie? Alicia’s head felt like it was spinning at the sudden detour onto what sounded like a really heavy topic. Or, is it Julia?

   “What would the past, er, your future Julia want you to do? The one you knew?” Alicia asked.

   “She would… choose not to exist,” Tabitha’s voice was wavering now, on the edge of tears. “Yeah. That’s exactly what she did. I just—I can’t—I don’t want things to be that way! I’m not going to let those things happen to her, I won’t ever let those things happen to her, but then that also probably means my Julie, the Julie I knew really is gone forever! And, then it’s like, what’s the fucking point of any of this?! I never—”

   “Tabitha. Tabitha!” Alicia urged, clambering down from the bed as Tabitha’s voice continued to rise. She could tell her increasingly bewildering friend was working herself up into some kind of hysteria now, and she didn’t want the adults running over to check on them.

   “Th-the first thing I did?” Tabitha bawled, “When I realized what the fuck happened to me, that I was back in time? I broke down and started crying. Just like this. Because it sucks. You were right about that. The future—my future—repeating all of this, is lame and it sucks. And, I hate it. I hate it.”

   “Ssh, shh, it’s okay! It’s okay, I believe you,” Alicia awkwardly pulled Tabitha into a hug to try to comfort her. She heard footsteps coming down the narrow hallway of the mobile home. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

   “It’s not,” Tabitha’s body wracked with sobs. “It’s not okay! I’m—”

   “You girls okay in here?” Mr. Moore opened the door partway, sending a narrow band of light from the hall stabbing across Tabitha’s tiny bedroom. “Tabitha?”

   “She’s just—” Alicia turned to give him a worried look, but was thankful he didn’t enter. She was just in her underwear and a borrowed oversized shirt to sleep in. Despite the unusual circumstances, Mr. Moore was practically still a stranger to her. “It’s... been a long day? We just need a little time.”

   “...Okay,” Mr. Moore hesitated. “You two need anything at all, don’t be ‘fraid to just holler. We’re all right out in the other room.”

   “Thank you,” Alicia gave him a weak smile.

   Tabitha refused to raise her head.

   “You’ve both been up on channel seven twice now, already,” he reported. “Last news was, Officer Macintire got life-flighted from Springton General to Louisville. Still in critical condition, and… well, you girls did everything you could, and we’re so proud of the both of you. He’s in all our prayers.”

   “Thank you,” Alicia said again, trying not to start tearing up herself.

   Tabitha’s crying seemed to redouble in intensity, and after giving the girls a pained look, Mr. Moore quietly closed the door to give the girls their privacy. Muffled sobs sounded out in the small enclosure of Tabitha’s dark room for several long minutes, and all Alicia could think to do was hold her friend in a tight hug. Wondering what the hell she could do.

   “All of it for nothing,” Tabitha cried. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing really changes. Knew I couldn’t. Knew I couldn’t change anything—”

   “Ssh ssh sshh, we don’t know anything for sure yet,” Alicia whispered, cradling Tabitha’s head against her shoulder. “We’re going to figure everything out, okay?” 

   She’s not crazy. It’s just— a lot happened today, with the shooting. She’s... out of sorts. Who wouldn’t be? Maybe more than just today—a lot happened over a lot of days, and her stress just has her jumping to weird conclusions in her head? Alicia didn’t want to believe any of Tabitha’s claims, because they seemed awful dark. Ominous. The more she thought about them, the less she liked the time travel idea. Which was a problem, because Tabitha’s act was getting pretty convincing.

   “Hey, Tabitha?” Alicia asked in a whisper, gently rocking the crying girl back and forth. “Did you know me, in the future?”

   Still shedding tears and letting out tiny sniffling sobs, Tabitha simply shook her head from side to side, answering in the negative.

   “Really?” Alicia was a little surprised. “That was one of the things I kept thinking was weird, though. You kind of singled me out back then in school.”

   “—rd about you,” Tabitha said.

   “What?”

   “Heard about you,” Tabitha repeated. “You became a big artist. Drew stuff for magazines. You were from Springton.”

   “I do?” Alicia blinked in the darkness, surprised. “Big? Like, big big? Famous?”

   “Not big big,” Tabitha shook her head. “I don’t think. Just. Successful? Wanted you to draw goblins for me.”

   “Oh.” Alicia didn’t know if she should be disappointed or elated. “Tell me something else, then. What do I gotta invest in, to make big bucks in the future?”

   “Alphaco,” Tabitha said into her shoulder.

   “What’s that?”

   “Alphaco,” Tabitha pulled away, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “Alphabet corporation. Sorry. I’m sorry for... losing it like that.”

   “It’s fine, it’s fine,” Alicia patted the girl’s arm reassuringly. “I cried today, too. I lost it, like, right in the middle of everything happening back there right at the scene. Remember?”

   “Alphabet Corporation,” Tabitha said again. “They make a search engine called Google. Named after googol—ten to the hundreth power.”

   “Googol? A—a search engine?”

   “For the web. The internet. Indexes everything on the internet,” Tabitha explained in a weak voice, rubbing her wet eyes. “You ask Google what you’re looking for, and it finds whatever. Everyone uses it.”

   “Everyone uses it?” Alicia tried not to sound doubtful. “And, that makes money in the future?”

   “Yeah,” Tabitha nodded. “Advertisements, tracking data. Companies want to know what you search, profile you. Then, ads you see are always related to what you want. Money. Lots of money.”

   “That sounds… clever?” Alicia admitted. That scary thing was happening again, where the things Tabitha said were somehow more thought-out and convincing than they ought to be. “Is that legal?”

   “It’s all in fine print somewhere or other,” Tabitha shrugged with a sniffle. 

   “Wait, are you investing in stuff?” Alicia asked.

   “I guess?” Tabitha shrugged again. “Someday? Completely broke now. So, not soon. Most of the big companies that are still around in twenty-forty-five don’t even exist yet. Alphaco should have their IPO a couple years after we graduate, though. I think? Was going to have us put whatever we had into that.”

   “What’s an IPO?”

   “Initial public offering. So that we can buy stocks. Maybe a hundred dollars a share? Something like that?”

   “Tabitha… if you’re from the future and know that ahead of time, then you’re already basically super rich? Or, you will be?”

   “Maybe in twenty years, yeah,” Tabitha gave Alicia a helpless look. “Won’t help us much when we actually need it—and getting enough shares at all isn’t going to be easy. It’s a popular stock. Or, it will be.”

   “Tabitha,” Alicia took a deep breath. “I can barely even see you, but can you like, look me right in my eyes, one hundred percent dead serious and swear on someone’s grave that you’re actually from the future?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Okay. I still don’t think I actually believe you, not deep down,” Alicia admitted. “But, I really want to. You’re either from the future, or some kind of smart that’s kinda scary. Do you have anything that can like, prove things beyond any doubt?”

   “Nine eleven,” Tabitha sighed, hanging her head until her face fell into her hands. “The big terrorist thing. It happens September eleventh, and pretty soon. I know it was Bush and not Clinton in office, but it’s somewhere right after the year two thousand. You won’t have to worry about Y2K.”

   “Wait—I think my parents are putting money in a Y2K.”

   “Probably a 401k. Y2K’s a computer bug that has to do with the millenium, but it turns out to be this big false alarm. Nothing major happens.”

   Finally, found a little hole in her story, Alicia thought to herself, torn between feeling relieved and feeling disappointed. Bush was the president BEFORE Clinton, not the one after. That was scary—she was starting to actually get me going with all of this. But... she’s going through a lot. I can play along.

   “Oh, yeah. That might be it, 401k,” Alicia nodded agreeably. “Sorry. So, is there any way to prevent the big terrorist thing?”

   “Um,” Tabitha seemed at a loss. “Not… that I can think of. I mean, I haven’t thought about it much, because I’ve been focused on the here and now, but… anything off the top of my head I could try will get me in very, very serious trouble. I also wouldn’t have any proof or explanation. Also, then the terrorists will probably just plan something else that I don’t know about.”

   “If you know who the terrorists are—maybe just tell the cops about them beforehand?”

   “It’s… complicated,” Tabitha shook her head. “Bigger than that. From what I remember, it took us years to catch up with them regardless. Years, and a lot of military deployment. They’re not in a good place for us to get to.”

   “Russia?” Alicia guessed.

   “The middle east,” Tabitha explained.

   “Ah. Don’t know much about them,” Alicia looked thoughtful. “What’s their beef in the first place?”

   “It’s a long story,” Tabitha said, letting herself fall back onto the spread of sheets on the floor. “And… I think I might pass out before I get anywhere with it.”

   “Oh! Yeah, totally fine,” Alicia said, climbing up off the floor to sit back on the edge of Tabitha’s bed. “Um. I know it’s not much, but... I’m weirdly believing you more and more?”

   “Thanks?”

   Alicia felt a little guilty comforting her friend with what now seemed like totally empty platitudes, but tonight didn’t seem like the time nor place to flatten Tabitha’s coping mechanism. At the same time, however, she was incredibly frustrated not knowing how Tabitha actually knew the shooting was going to happen. She couldn’t even tell anymore if Tabitha completely bought into this, or if it was all an increasingly roundabout way of avoiding having to give her real answers.

   “Although, if you are really a time traveller, you’re just about the worst at covering up details and keeping it all secret and all,” Alicia prodded. “I mean, you were checking out all of those books regarding bullet wounds and emergency medical stuff, and then you’re coincidentally caught up in all this? People could connect that.”

   “Didn’t actually check out any of those books,” Tabitha yawned. “They never left the library.”

   “Oh. Well, still—like, I noticed it.”

   “You’re the only one who ever came over and saw,” Tabitha said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Just like last time through—I have no friends. Nothing much has changed, no matter what I do.”

   “Wait, why didn’t you hide all of it from me, then?” Alicia chuckled. “Sorry. I swear I’ll let you sleep. I just, I have so many questions...”

   “Wanted you to notice,” Tabitha murmured. “Needed you to, if you were ever gonna believe me.”

   “So, you were gonna tell me about all of this?”

   “Yeah. Soon as you asked.”

   “Why?”

   “Because… I really wanted to not… do all of this alone,” Tabitha admitted reluctantly. “Wanted a friend.”

   “Why me, though? I’m just fourteen. If everything you’ve said is true, you’re like, actually this ninety-year-old grandma.”

   “I’m thirteen. Turn fourteen in December,” Tabitha mumbled. “I just have… extra memories, or something. I don’t know. Definitely feel thirteen, instead of sixty. Not even just my body. I have my thirteen-year-old mind, but then also with things I shouldn’t remember. Because they haven’t happened yet? Can tell the difference.”

   “Okay,” Alicia said, leaning forward in the darkness. “Then. I want you to know, that whether or not you’re somehow making all of this up, we’re definitely friends. Okay?”

   “Thanks.”

   “No, not ‘thanks.’ You say ‘okay.’”

   “Okay.”

   They didn’t speak anymore after that, but there was no way Alicia was going to be able to fall asleep. She really did seriously consider Tabitha her friend, and that was what made all of this so complicated and impossible to work her mind around. Whether she was lying about this or not, Tabitha was different; interesting. Even if nothing else tonight was real, the raw emotion her friend revealed didn’t seem feigned at all.

   Maybe she’s just fuckin’ crazy? Alicia thought to herself, staring towards the ceiling with a perplexed smile. I don’t even really care. Not like I had the guts to tell her I don’t have any other friends either.