

Slipping into the Green

By Nick Iuppa & John Pesqueira

This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales (other than those presented as historical reenactments) is entirely coincidental.

Slipping Into The Green

Copyright © 2020 by Nick Iuppa & John Pesqueira. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Cover designed by Nick Iuppa

Cover Photo: © Can Stock Photo / Eschweitzer - © Shutterstock By Aandrr - © Can Stock Photo/ betochagas

Title Page Photo: © Can Stock Photo/ betochagas

Visit the author's website at www.nickiuppa.com

ISBN: 9780463381595

Publisher: Smashwords, Inc.

Novels by Nick Iuppa &

John Pesqueira

Alicia's Ghost

Alicia's Sin

Alicia Bewitched

Avenging Adelita

Esteban's Quest

The Battle for the Alamo Taqueria

Alien Mission

Slipping Into The Green

Novels by Nick Iuppa

Taken By Witches

The Witch Within Her

Bloody Bess and the Doomsday Games

Dedication

This book is dedicated to those who have fought for justice, equality and freedom. We also want to recognize the challenging journey others take to improve their own lives, gain deeper self-understanding, and enlighten those who help them along the way.

John Pesqueira & Nick Iuppa

Acknowledgments

We'd like to thank the friends who read our manuscript and offered their valuable advice during the creation of this book, especially Debbie Thrush, Bram Druckman, Gary Cardinale, and Sara Sensenbrenner. Special Thanks to Lauren Ayer and Jay Douglas, for their excellent and honest story guidance and character advice. Thanks to Coach John Caselli for his insights into the mechanics of pro, high school, and college sports. And thanks to Maggie Iuppa, for her wonderfully spirited, and direct suggestions about high school vocabulary and teen personalities. We'd also like to extend unique and special thanks to Tara McNabb, for her unflinching story advice, and editorial support.

"The past is obdurate; it doesn't want to change."

Stephen King

11/22/63

Names and Places

Dates: Year of the story 2020, Jake played in 2012, Ray and Kenny in the 1950s

Location: The Village of Green Mountain, CA - west of Mt. View – not quite to the coast (A fictional town with a fictional High School)

2020

School - Green Mountain High

School Colors - Forest Green and White

Mascot - The Cougars

Football Coach - Carl Duffy

Best Teacher - Andrew Paulsen (History & Social Studies)

School Janitor - Jake Cane (see 2012 below)

Local Hangout - Sammie's Pizza and Ice Cream

Sammie's Head Waitress - Lynn

Smartest Kid - Emily Perkins

Head Cheerleader - Chantelle Washington

All star Quarterback - Gio Gomez

Running Back - VL Richards

Wide receiver - Eddy Tagley

Eddy wants to Marry - Rebecca Jordan

Kicker - Mike Sakajima

His girlfriend - Leigh Fukiashi

Gio's Family - Sister - Mía, Mom - Linda, Dad - Francisco

Jake's Family - Mom - Mary, Dad - Joe

Emily's Mom - Christine

Paulsen's Neighbors \- Ray Chavez & Kenny Chin (ages: in their 60s)

Cars - Jake's Dodge Charger \- Gio's Chevy Malibu - Chantelle's Duster - Leigh's Dad's Olds

2012

School – Green Mountain High (still)

Coach – Carl Duffy – still

All State QB - Jake Cane

Star Tight end – Matt Allyson

Head Cheerleader - Diane Gilmore

Diane's best friend – Ashley Pressman

Table Of Contents

PART ONE

2020

Chapter One – Jake's Promise

Chapter Two – Breakfast

Chapter Three – The Vortex

Chapter Four – Eddy in the Locker Room

Chapter Five – Meet Emily

Chapter Six – Eddy In Vietnam

Chapter Seven The Nurse's Office

Chapter Eight – Eddy! Eddy! Eddy!

Chapter Nine – Joe Cane's Story

Chapter Ten – VL on the Bridge

Chapter Eleven – Pizza and Paulsen

Chapter Twelve – Mike In Manzanar

Chapter Thirteen – Jake & Emily in the Park

Chapter Fourteen – Gio at Home

Chapter Fifteen – Paulsen and his Neighbors

PART TWO

2012

Chapter Sixteen – Into the Past

Chapter Seventeen – Jake's Parents

Chapter Eighteen – Meeting Emily

Chapter Nineteen – Gio and Ashley

Chapter Twenty – The Storm

Chapter Twenty-One – The Pass Play

PART THREE

2020 & 2012

Chapter Twenty-Two – The Watch Party

Chapter Twenty-Three – Chantelle & Emily

Chapter Twenty-Four – Gio in Delano

Chapter Twenty-Five – Visiting Jake

Chapter Twenty-Six– The Warning

Chapter Twenty-Seven– The Confrontation

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Car Chase

Chapter Twenty-Nine – Emily and Chantelle in Salem

Chapter Thirty - Plans

Chapter Thirty-One – Jake at the Massacre

Chapter Thirty-Two – One Other Option

Epilogue

Sources

About The Authors

SLIPPING INTO THE GREEN

Chapter One

Jake's Promise

2012

Grass Mountain High School

John Wiley marches up the sidelines of the football field, and begins shouting to the young quarterback who has just come out of the locker room.

"Hey, you. Jake. Number seventeen! Got a minute?"

Jake turns toward Wiley. The boy has dark brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a body built for the beach. "Yes, sir," he answers.

Wiley runs up to the boy. "Jake Cane?"

"Yes, sir."

"I've been watching you play, son," says Wiley as he takes out his handkerchief and wipes his brow. He's a big man, overweight, and he has just run farther and faster than at any time in the last twenty years.

"I just want to say that I think you have a lot of promise, kid. You're very talented."

"Thank you, sir," Jake answers with a smile, "I appreciate it."

"No, son... Jake, I mean. It's not just a compliment. I think you _have_ _great_ _talent_ : Joe Montana great, Drew Breeze great, Tom Brady great. We want you to come to our school."

Jake looks cautiously at the man, even though Wiley is only saying things that Jake has heard all year, and in some sense, already knows.

"There's a letter already in your file from our university," Wiley continues as he points to the school's name and logo emblazoned on his sweatshirt. "We want you to sign that letter, come to our school, and join our football program. I'm not supposed to say this, but we have big plans for you, Jake, and a full scholarship is only the beginning."

Jake's eyes brighten, and a big grin suddenly takes over.

"Think about it, son. Our university is a perennial contender. We could provide you with the national exposure you'll need for a career in the National Football League. You could be a number one draft pick, maybe even a Heisman Trophy winner, and you know where all that leads don't you, boy?"

Jake nods enthusiastically.

"On the day of the NFL draft, you'll be looking at a multi-million-dollar contract. Think what that could do for you and your family." Wiley's smile broadens. But Jake's suddenly vanishes, and his jaw sets.

"Look," Wiley adds as he steps closer and speaks confidentially. "We know about your Dad's problems, Jake."

"What do you mean?"

"His financial concerns; we know about them."

The quarterback's eyes darken. He crosses his arms, and an instinctive coldness hardens him.

"Don't get me wrong. The only reason I bring it up is that we can help with all of that. I'm not just talking about a full scholarship. We take care of our own. There'll be support for your dad from our alumni here in Silicon Valley."

"Is that legal?" Jake asks suddenly. "You can't really do that, can you?"

"The university can't. But the people our alumni choose to hire is up to them. Isn't it? I mean no government can meddle with a company's hires and fires, can they?"

Jake relaxes a bit.

"Besides, your old man was a big success. I hear that he started his own videogame company. He designed his own game, and I might add he's an exceptional graphic artist. We know all that."

"You do?"

"It's just that, you know, the game business is hard, Jake. I mean I'm a banker. I have a lot of dealings with business here in the valley, and I know when it comes to video games... It's like showbiz. Who really knows which new property will catch on? I mean, don't get me wrong, Jake, your Dad's game was great, but..."

Wiley pauses dramatically and studies Jake.

"Let's just say it was a little ahead of its time."

Jake stares at the man, sizes him up with a cold selfishness that seems way beyond his years. And then he smiles his youthful grin again.

"I like it, Mr. Wiley," Jake says. "Do what you have to do to get things started."

"You're interested in The U then, Jake?" he asks as he once again points to the University name on his chest.

"Very interested, sir."

"I'll get on it right after the game, Jake. And I'll have a word with some of our local alumni too. I'm sure they'll be as excited as I am."

"Thanks again, Mr. Wiley," says Jake, and he shakes the man's hand and then turns and runs toward the pre-game warm-ups.

Those dreams of successful college and pro football careers, millions of dollars in income, and, best of all, a new life for his mom and redemption for his dad, they all seem so promising and so very possible to Jake at that moment.

No more than thirty minutes later: one kick-off and one play from scrimmage, one blind-sided tackle, and Jake Cane is wheeled off the field on a stretcher. In less than twenty-four hours, he learns that he will never play football again.

So much for those dreams, Mr. Wiley, but thanks anyway.

Chapter Two

Breakfast

2020

Francisco Gomez had to do something challenging that morning. He had to talk to his son about Jake Cane.

Francisco turned off the cappuccino maker, spooned frothy foam into his cup, and took a long, heartwarming sip. He was working from home. His wife, Linda, had left early and taken the shortcut onto the freeway. By now, she was already in San Francisco, running the customer support network that kept her company alive. So it was his job to get the kids off to school. But first...

He turned to see his teenage son standing right behind him, pouring milk into an oversized bowl of granola. The kid was big, broad-shouldered, and almost handsome. He had a square jaw and a grin that ruined everything when it showed up. Because then, suddenly, he was ten years old again asking for candy or permission to play video games.

"Hi, Gio," Francisco said.

"Hey, Dad," the kid murmured sleepily.

Francisco sighed. Why wait, might as well get it over with.

"You going to see Jake Cane today?"

Gio jumped at the sound of the name. He was holding a fresh pack of blueberries, and they exploded out of his hand and went skittering all over the kitchen counter. He tried to catch a few, some even made it into the bowl. But in the end, he stood there picking up berries and putting them back into the pack. If all of this proved anything, it was that he really didn't want to talk about Jake.

"If you _do_ see him," Francisco said, as he snagged a few berries for his son, "remind him that Hank Thompson can help him get into the art program at the UC."

Gio just shook his head. He was trying to scoop up the last of the berries and toss them into the trash. It wasn't going well. A few had rolled under the microwave.

Gio pulled out a butter knife and tried to coax them out. It didn't work.

"Jake wants no part of college or Hank Thompson," he told his father.

Francisco got his cappuccino and brought it back over to the kitchen counter. "I'll clean this up," he said. "But try again with Jake... will you?"

"Dad... How hard do you press a guy who's given up on everything?"

Francisco was about to respond when someone else answered.

"You press _very_ hard because he is _so_ worth it."

That was Francisco's daughter Mía, two years younger than Gio, and a sophomore at Green Mountain High School. She knew all about the legend of Jake Cane. She'd had a crush on the football star ever since she was eight, and he was at the peak of his success. Mía agreed with her dad, not her brother, even though she knew that Gio was the only person Jake ever talked to.

"You look stunning this morning, Miss," said Francisco, hoping to brighten up the conversation.

"Thanks, Daddy," Mía answered as she spun around, modeling her new plaid skirt.

"How about this, Gio," Francisco said. "Just give Jake a note for me, okay? I've written it all down: Hank's phone number, what he thinks he can do for Jake, all that. Hank knows the whole story. He also knows what a brilliant student Jake was seven years ago."

Gio studied his father for a moment. "Even that won't be easy," he thought and then decided not to turn this into a major argument.

"Okay, I'll try," he said as he took the note. Then he smirked. "That is, if Miss Mía here will get moving. I've got class with Mr. Paulsen first period."

"Ooooo. Paulsen the Preacher Man," giggled Mía, "He'll wake you up."

Gio just shook his head. "Lectures on social injustice at eight-thirty in the morning? Hell no."

"It'll do you good," said Francisco.

Mía smiled. She pushed an unbuttered slice of toast into her mouth, grabbed her backpack, and headed out the door before Gio had even started eating his cereal.

"Come on; stop stalling," she called as she made her way to her brother's beat-up old Chevy Malibu. "You don't want to make me late for school again, do you?"

Gio rolled his eyes.

"She _is_ something," said Francisco.

"The problem is no one knows _what,_ " answered Gio.

They both laughed together. (That was good.)

"BUT," Francisco added, leveling a hard look at his son, "Don't forget to give Jake the note. Understand?"

The kid jumped again. But by this time, the berries were too deep in his cereal to escape from the bowl. He glared at the note for a moment and then slipped it into his shirt pocket. "Okay, Dad, I'll try," he said. "Not saying it'll be easy though."

#

"Keep your damn note," Jake said as he pushed the paper back into Gio's hand. He was a shadow of the promising kid John Wiley talked to on the sidelines eight years earlier. Thin, gaunt, stooped over with a decided limp with every step he took.

"Sorry, dude, my dad just thinks this is a real opportunity for you to..."

"Gio. Are you listening? I said, _keep_ the damn note. And tell your old man to get out of my business."

The two stood at the far end of the football field. Gio in full football pads and cleats, his helmet under his arm, ready to return to the scrimmage. He had spotted Jake watching the practice from the end zone the way he always did.

"Actually, Jake," Gio said. "My dad's on your side."

"No one is on my side," Jake cursed. "So I want you guys to stop pretending, okay?"

This was pretty much what Gio had expected when his father asked him to pass on the note, and it made him even angrier.

"Okay, fine," Gio said. "I told my Dad I'd give you the message, and I have. What you do with it is your business, not mine."

He paused and then finally said what he had been thinking for over a year.

"You know, I don't even think you really _want_ any help, Jake... mine or anyone else's."

Jake stepped back sharply, and the motion made his lower back flare with pain. "You want to help me?" he asked.

"If you stop acting like an idiot."

"All right."

Jake looked at the ground for a long time, and then up at Gio. "Sorry, dude... sometimes it just gets away from me."

"I know," Gio answered. "I'm sorry too."

"But there _is_ a way to help me, and you know it."

"Aw shit, not that again," Gio answered.

"It's real, I swear. I've seen it, and I know it can work," said Jake as he hobbled up to Gio and took him by the arm. "Come with me, dude. Help me."

Gio was suddenly furious. He pushed Jake away and almost fell down in the process. "Come on, Jake. I've told you that I don't believe in that stuff. It's just some weird shit that messes with your mind."

"It's quantum physics, dude," Jake answered. "That's literally all it is."

"Hey, if you want physics, go to college. But don't drag me into your fantasies."

Jake reached for Gio's arm again and grabbed it almost desperately. "Just come with me after practice, dude. I swear. See for yourself. That's all."

"I said 'NO,' damn it. No means no!"

Gio wrenched his arm away from Jake, put on his football helmet, turned, and jogged back to the scrimmage. "You know what?" he called as he ran, "Screw you, Jake."

Chapter Three

The Vortex

2020

The narrow trail dropped sharply into the ravine, and Diane found that she was having a hard time keeping up with Jake. He was charging down the slope, recklessly ignoring his pain and the danger he was putting them both in. It didn't even seem to bother him that the sharp drop-off to his right seemed ready to plunge him three hundred feet into the river below. Jake was happier than she had seen him in years, smiling back at her every few yards, singing some old-school rock and roll.

Further down the trail, a switchback appeared to offer a little more room and a safe, sandy place to pause. A huge rock stood like some ancient fortification, a protection from the drop and a chance to catch your breath. Jake stopped when he reached it, turned to Diane, and smiled, but there was just too much eagerness in his eyes... almost craziness.

"Can't wait for you to see this, Di," he shouted over the roar of the river. And before she could respond, he turned from her and just stood with his hands on his hips. He seemed overwhelmed by the view that was just around the bend.

Diane started running then, racing down the slope, knowing that she could catch herself against the big rock, fall against it, maybe slide down into the sand at its base, and rest. And she did... slammed into the rock and felt the softness of the lichen growing there. She pressed her face against it for just a moment. And that felt so good.

"Just take a look," Jake called.

Diane raised her head and turned in the direction Jake was pointing just beyond the rock. "My God," she gasped. And then she fainted.

When she awoke, Diane was alone propped up against the base of the big rock. It was growing dark. Somewhere, an owl asked its eternal question... "Who?"

"How the hell should I know?" Diane grumbled.

And then she looked farther down the path. Something was shimmering there... in shades of green... like a waterfall forming in mid-air. And then it began to hum suddenly surging with energy like a fallen electrical wire. The thing snapped, and the soft ripples started to pulse and shudder furiously before, just as suddenly, it calmed again.

Diane thought it was beautiful but scary as hell, and wondered again why she had ever let Jake talk her into this. The answer, of course, was guilt. After his crippling injury eight years ago, she was maybe the first one to realize that he really didn't want to get better. He'd refused the cortisone shots that would at least have dulled the pain; then, he'd given up on all the other painkillers and the physical therapy and just went into a long deep depression.

He went from being the high school superstar to a guy who just hung out in the background and watched. And if anyone tried to talk to him, he pulled away, and that pulling away was so painful that it hurt anyone who wanted to connect with him.

After a couple of years of that, Diane just couldn't take it anymore. She stopped seeing Jake, and he didn't even seem to care. He'd taken a job the school offered him out of pity she thought: assistant janitor, none of the heavy stuff, just basically shuffling around pushing a broom and a mop. He went from being a football hero and probable valedictorian to a ghost, who haunted the school, stayed in the background, just watched things happen, and looked hopeless.

And then yesterday, he called her sounding more like himself again. He said he had something to show her, something that might make everything different. She tried saying 'no,' but then he went into his guilt routine. Gio had turned him down; no one believed in him anymore. Jake knew the line would work with Diane. And it did.

Now she crawled backward to get even farther away from that strange spatial vibration. But then there was that sudden crackling surge of energy again. It took on the shape of a man, Jake, who came plunging back through it.

He wasn't wet. But he wasn't happy either. His face twisted with disappointment and pain. And every time he took a step, he winced even more than usual.

"It didn't work," he said. "I thought I had it figured, but something went wrong."

Diane didn't know what to say. But it didn't seem to matter. Jake just kept talking.

"Not sure how I could have messed up this bad. Maybe I can't do it alone. Maybe I need help. Maybe I need someone to go in there with me."

Diane shook her head. "No way. I'm not going into that thing... wherever it is."

"Of course not, Di. I wouldn't ask you to. I need a _guy_ to go with me."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, sorry, I mean, you're not a football player. I need another jock in there with me to, you know, to run the play, reset things... put them back the way they were."

"Reset what things? That's crazy."

Jake shook his head, and Diane could see that he had run out of energy. He didn't want to talk about it or even think about it anymore.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," he said, and he started hobbling past her and up the steep trail. His shoulders were stooped in exhaustion and disappointment, and now he grunted with every step he took.

Diane got to her feet and followed her old boyfriend up and out of the ravine. It took a while to make the climb and then hike through the woods and through the gate. Eventually, the pair came to the far end of the high school football field that backed up to the ravine. By then, Jake was groaning loudly with every step. He pressed his hand into the middle of his back and dragged his left leg as though it were encased in lead.

When they had passed through the gate and Jake had locked it, he hobbled out into the middle of the football field, lowered himself painfully onto the ground, turned over, and just lay there looking up at the stars.

Diane lowered herself next to him.

"What _was_ that?" she asked.

He didn't answer, just shook his head again.

"I didn't like it," she went on. "It scared me. I'd never go into it."

"It's not so bad, actually," Jake answered. "I mean, it doesn't hurt much. Except... it didn't work."

"You keep saying that. _What_ didn't work?"

"I was going to surprise you," he said, and then he reached out and drew her to him. She let him... let him hold her. She wasn't sure that there was much affection in it, but there was a burning need. He buried his face against her shoulder, and after a moment, she realized that he was crying.

Eventually, he pulled away to collect himself, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and struggled to his feet.

"Come on," he sighed. "Let's just get out of here."

Chapter Four

Eddy In The Locker Room

2020

**Fifteen Americans killed in Afghanistan Ambush!**

"Damn, bro, I wish I could be there," said Eddy Tagley as he pushed his way through the men's locker room at Green Mountain High. All he wore was a big, dirty-looking towel. He had snatched up the newspaper sitting at the end of the bench, read the headline aloud, made his pronouncement, and slammed the paper back down.

"You wish you were there?" asked VL Richards. "Why, so you could get ambushed too?"

Eddy smiled for a moment. But it didn't last. "No, sir," he answered, "So that I could show those bastards what _real_ Americans do."

"You saying those soldiers in Afghanistan aren't real Americans?"

"No, of course, they are, it's just that we should be more aggressive, like just fucking kill them all."

Gio Gomez sat straddling the bench facing VL. The two had been discussing a new play that they hoped to introduce in the upcoming football game. VL had brought the newspaper with him, set it on the edge of the bench as he and Gio talked. Then Eddy showed up and went into his rant.

"So _how_ would we be more aggressive?" asked Gio.

"Simple," Eddy answered with a frightening smile. "We go into every one of the god-forsaken holes they live in and wipe out every man woman and child who wants to destroy us."

"Damn, Eddy," moaned Gio.

"I agree with Eddy," added VL with a sarcastic smile. "I think he should drop out of school right now. Then, join the Army! I'll bet he could be over in Afghanistan before Christmas... commanding his own unit."

"You think so?" asked Eddy.

VL suddenly started laughing. "Maybe not."

"Besides," added Gio, "I hear they're not going to allow anyone married in the Army at all anymore."

"I heard that too," VL stopped laughing long enough to add. "The president said something about wanting a much more macho army."

"Fake news!" answered Eddy as he held up his hand against them. "Besides, I'm not married and don't plan to be."

"Is that right?" asked VL. "That's not what Miss Rebecca Jordan told me. She wants nothing more than to get with you, dude. If she has her way, you'll have a condo in the city the day after you graduate and three kids right after that."

"And you'll be working 9 to 5 at the 7-Eleven to pay the bills."

"She's thirsting over you hard, dude!"

"This is all BS, guys," Eddy said as he struggled into his jeans and t-shirt. "I can marry Rebecca if I want to, _and_ join the army, _and_ go to Afghanistan _and_ take out my share of the Taliban while you're still sitting here trying to figure out football plays." And he flipped on his baseball cap, slammed his locker door, and charged out of the gym so fast he didn't even hear VL and Gio's continuing laughter.

On the sidewalk out in front of the school, Eddy spotted Jake Cane, one of his real heroes.

"GREEN GRASS!" Eddy called.

Jake was sweeping the dust off the edges of the parking lot. It wasn't really necessary, but it was one of the jobs he'd been given, and so slowly, mechanically, he swept.

Jake gave Eddy a blank stare and kept on sweeping.

"GREEN GRASS!" Eddy repeated uncertainly. Jake finally looked at him, gave Eddy a slight smile, and the younger kid smiled back.

"Green grass," Jake croaked.

When Eddy was only ten, Jake was the school's greatest quarterback, and he popularized a chant that the school still used.

Once when it was fourth down, time was running out, and the team was just a few yards short of the end zone, Jake told his teammates, "We're just a few blades of grass away from victory. You can get me a little more green grass, can't you, boys?"

The team gave a cheer and got the needed yardage.

It became a standard call in those tough yardage situations, and soon Jake shortened it to just "Green grass," and everyone knew what he meant.

At parties, someone would yell, "Green grass!" And students and players would pick up the chant.

That was all before the crushing football injury that had changed Jake's life forever. But the cheer remained, and players who remembered Jake still considered him a hero.

"Hey, Jake. What's up, bro?" Eddy asked when he heard the janitor's soft reply.

"I'm okay, I guess," Jake said with a sad smile. But then his eyes brightened.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute, Eddy?"

"Totally," the kid answered. "What's up?"

Chapter Five

Meet Emily

Gio followed Chantelle Washington into the school lunchroom. She was the captain of the cheerleaders: petite, gum chewing, tough, outspoken, vivacious, and sweet.

Gio carried a tray full of cheeseburgers, French-fries, apples, a huge slice of chocolate cake, and an energy drink. He had purchased it all from the food line where half a dozen workers in white kitchen coats and net bonnets served up each day's unappetizing selections.

The lunchroom itself (really a combination theater, ballroom, and eatery) was now filled with several dozen large rectangular tables that could be folded up and put away, to be replaced by rows of seats for presentations or an open floor for dancing.

The walls had been recently painted light shades of green and white – the school colors. The place was far from dingy, though it was noisy and raucous, with nearly two hundred students jockeying for tables, eating, talking, and rushing around at the same time.

Chantelle gave her boyfriend a bright smile. "How about we do something nice for a change."

"Hey, we're nice all the time," Gio answered. "At least I am."

The head cheerleader giggled. "You are," she said, "Only let's be extra nice today, okay?" And without waiting for Gio's response, she led him to a table in the back of the room where the school's number one nerd, Emily Perkins, sat eating. As usual, she was by herself.

"Mind if we sit here?" Chantelle asked.

Emily eyed the cheerleader suspiciously. Chantelle had never given the girl any reason to dislike her, but Chantelle was just so popular. She could sit with _anyone_ in the student body. So why sit with a girl like me? Emily wondered, and bring along the captain of the football team?

"Of course, you can sit here," she told Chantelle. "But why?"

"Just trying to make new friends," Chantelle said with a grin, "If that's okay."

Emily moved her violin case from the tabletop onto the bench beside her. So now the two most popular kids in school could have lunch with the person Emily and many other students considered to be the _least_ popular.

She watched with growing interest as Gio methodically spread his food over half the table, making it look like a still life painting in the end. Chantelle pulled a small Tupperware bowl of salad out of a brown paper bag and set it beside Gio's grand display.

"So, are you going to the football game on Friday night?" Chantelle asked.

"I wasn't planning to, but maybe."

"That would be nice," said Chantelle.

"I would go every week if our school had a marching band," said Emily. "I'd be performing, but, you know, budget cutbacks, so no band."

"I'm sorry," said Chantelle. "But then I didn't think that most marching bands had violins."

"It would be cool, though, if they did," said Gio just to be supportive. He took the biggest hamburger and unwrapped it slowly and lovingly. He stared at it with the toothy grin of some predator about to lunge at its terrified prey.

"I play clarinet too," said Emily.

"Really? That is _so_ cool," said Chantelle. "I wish I could play an instrument."

"Me too," added Gio.

"Well, you _should_ play something, Gio," Emily answered. "Italians are very musical."

Gio cocked his head and thought for a minute, "I'm one hundred percent Mexican."

"But your name is Giovanni," Emily said.

"It's just a name my mother liked."

"Oh."

The kids eyed each other uncertainly for a moment, and then Chantelle spoke up.

"Are you part Italian, Emily?"

"I don't know what I am, but whatever it is, it's boring."

"My parents came up from Mexico in the 1960s," Gio said. "Crossed the border at El Paso. They came west to California, attended UCLA, graduated, got married, and then TA-DAH! Me."

Emily clapped softly and smiled.

"My parents attended Howard University," said Chantelle.

"Mine went to Georgetown," Emily responded. "They studied international law. So that means you and I both have roots in Washington, Chantelle."

"I'm glad we're living here, though, aren't you?" asked Emily.

"Oh yes, I couldn't stand the heat back east."

"I like the heat," answered Gio as he grabbed his second enormous burger, took a big bite out of the middle, and dribbled ketchup and mustard all over his tray. Chantelle handed her boyfriend her napkin, and then added, "I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

Gio gave her an unintelligible response.

"I think he's cute," said Emily.

"Thanks," munched Gio.

"He _can_ be sometimes," answered Chantelle.

"So, what do your folks do now?" Emily asked Chantelle.

"My Mom works at Stanford in admissions, Dad's the pastor of a small church in San Carlos."

"Interesting," said Emily. She had no idea what else to say. "My parents have a law firm in the city."

Everyone nodded as the conversation began to slow down. Chantelle picked at her salad. Emily just stared at her lunchroom special, _tuna noodle surprise,_ and grimaced. Gio polished off his second burger, scarfed a handful of carrot sticks, and switched to the chocolate cake.

"How about your parents, Gio?" Emily asked.

Gio's cheeks were now puffed with cake, but he swallowed quickly and then gulped down half the milk carton.

"Mom runs a tech support group in the city. Dad's the general manager at the Great Mart in Sunnyvale."

"Impressive," said Emily.

"They're wonderful people," said Chantelle.

"I'd like to meet them," answered Emily.

"Someday, sure," said Gio, and then he glanced at his watch.

"Oh, shit. Got practice in fifteen minutes. Better get going." And he jumped up from the table, gathered the remains of his meal, which now covered almost the entire table, and he rushed from the dining room.

"Catch you later," Chantelle called after him.

Gio spun, waved, and backed right into Mr. Paulsen, who was entering the dining room with a tray full of spaghetti and a large bottle of water. It was only the boy's superior reflexes that allowed him to catch Paulsen's tray while still managing to balance the mountain of garbage on his own. Clearly, he was far better with trash than with blueberries.

"Sorry, Mr. Paulsen," Gio said. And then, "Uh, see ya," he called back to the girls as he rushed out through the entrance.

"He _is_ well-coordinated," Emily said. "I think."

"Actually, if something isn't shaped like a football, he usually has a hard time."

"I can see that," Emily answered with a nervous smile, and the conversation died again. A moment later, the cheerleader swallowed the last of her milk and smiled at the nerd. "I have to get going too," she said. "My practice starts right after Gio's."

Emily nodded. "Well..." she said as she folded and unfolded her napkin several times before giving Chantelle her very best smile, "It _was_ nice of you to spend a little time having lunch with me."

"Let's do it again," said Chantelle.

Both girls nodded as the cheerleader stood and walked back to the drop off station with her tray.

"It _was_ nice," Emily repeated aloud, and she smiled through the rest of her lunch, which somehow didn't seem so very lonely after all.

Chapter Six

Eddy In Vietnam

2020 (1968)

Andrew Paulsen, with his horned-rim glasses, red hair, bushy brows, and freckly face, stepped up to the podium he had set up at the front of his classroom. He eyed the five (count 'em, five) _Teacher Of The Year Awards_ that hung over the whiteboard across from the windows. He flashed a quick glance at the certificate above the board in back of his desk. It was the one from the State Board Of Education, approving his unique but very effective curriculum.

I've got something great for you today, boys and girls, he thought as he pressed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. And then he turned to his students.

Always nervous but always brilliant, Emily Perkins and the rest of the high IQ crowd sat in the first row, hands folded, eyes wide. They were almost embarrassingly eager to learn.

Gio Gomez and the jocks sat in the back of the room, joking with Chantelle Washington and some of the other cheerleaders. Paulsen smiled. He liked the way they weren't paying any attention one minute, and then he'd capture and hold them for the rest of the period with the very first word of his lecture. They were all good kids, and he liked them.

Eddy Tagley, half jock – half couch potato, looked more spaced out than usual, asleep almost. I'll wake you up, Mr. Tagley, Paulsen thought, the way I always do. You'll be glad you came to class today, boy. And so he began.

**"Vietnam!"**

Paulsen performed the word like the opening chord of a symphony.

"What caused it? Why were we there? What did we do? How did it change our world forever?

"Or did it?"

In the back of the room, Eddy jerked in a sudden spasm that almost knocked his desk over. Rebecca Jordan reached over quickly, took his hand, squeezed it, whispered something, and Eddy turned back to Paulsen. The teacher caught his eye and, for a moment, spoke directly to him.

_Come with me now, Eddy and all of you... to Vietnam in 1945. World War II has just ended. Japan is leaving the country in defeat. North of latitude 16, the vast land of China has recognized the Vietnamese government under Ho Chi Minh. But in the South... oh, in the South, kids, France has re-established its colonial control._

The students leaned forward in their seats. Everyone focused on Paulsen. Total attention! He loved it. He walked around in front of the podium, stared into the eyes of his pupils. And then he continued.

_Now, the United States commits to supporting an anti-communist puppet government when France no longer can. Our leaders are afraid that Vietnam can fall to the communists as Russia and China have. And then the rest of Indochina will fall, and then all of Asia will fall after them... like a row of dominoes. So, the US offers training and eventually combat troops to the South Vietnamese. But even then, at the highest levels of the US government, our leaders know that Vietnam is a quagmire, and yet they convince the country that we can win a war we cannot win. Meanwhile, Ho Chi Minh and his followers have an answer for them. It's called guerilla warfare._

'Guerilla warfare,' was all that Eddy had to hear, and he was suddenly out into the rice paddies himself.

Eddy commands a small troop of soldiers who are on the lookout for the Viet Cong. There are reports that they're hiding in a tiny village up ahead.

Sarge keeps shouting through the radio, "Take them! Kill the bastards." And then Eddy spots a pair of Viet Cong soldiers through his binoculars. They fire at his squad.

Eddy hears a wicked shriek beside him and turns to see that one of his closest friends has taken a direct shot to the head. He runs up to his buddy and kneels beside him, as he lies dying. Blood spills down the side of the boy's face and trickles toward his mouth. He whispers something to Eddy and then turns away, stares vacantly into space, and is gone.

"BASTARDS!" Eddy screams. "GOOK BASTARDS," and he jumps to his feet and charges into the village. His squad follows. He sees the last of that enemy column moving toward a little hut; sees a small young man glance across the rest of the village just before he ducks inside.

Eddy charges the hut, opening fire as he goes, not even looking where he's shooting... just strafing the bamboo walls and everyone inside. As the barrage from his AK-47 tears into the place and its occupants, the screaming becomes unbearable, from men women and children alike.

"Oh, Jesus," moans Eddy. _"Children!"_ And he flings open the door and wades into the slaughter. An old Vietnamese woman hunches over a crib where a tiny baby lies squealing. The woman falls forward over the baby and then lies motionless. She's dead from Eddy's bullets. The baby lets out a screech, and Eddy turns to see a Viet Cong kid moving toward the little one. The Cong has his own weapon. Eddy opens fire only to see that he's actually shot the baby's young mother, who has been making her way toward her child. She has no gun. He imagined it. But his barrage of bullets sends her flying backward into a dozen dead bodies, all killed when he strafed the building.

"Hey, those dead bodies aren't Viet Cong, are they?" Eddy asks his unbelieving eyes. No! Damn! Eddy thinks he must be losing his mind. The dead soldiers seem to be turning into the haunting faces of VL and Gio, and Chantelle dressed like the Cong and torn to shreds by the bullets he's fired. The thing with Gio's face turns to Eddy and looks back with dead eyes. Chantelle shoots ghost accusations his way, "You killed us all, Eddy. Why?"

"BUT I DIDN'T MEAN TO!" Eddy screams at the top of his voice. "I didn't know!"

"KILLER!" shouts the voice of VL from among the dead, and in Eddy's crazed state, he envisions VL reaching for his gun. It prompts the boy to start firing again, blasting everyone lying on the floor, everyone in the hut, killing them all yet again.

The baby begins to wail even louder now, and Eddy turns and blasts a round into the helpless infant.

"Oh Jesus," Eddy repeats, "Oh Jesus, forgive me." And he leans toward the baby, and then slowly just slumps onto the floor of the little hut. "Oh, Jesus." So many dead surround him... so many imaginary dead somehow transformed with the faces and the voices of his friends.

"MR. TAGLEY!" shouts a voice even louder than the machine gunfire. "Why did you go? Why did you shoot?"

Is it coming from the loudspeaker system of some Chopper... some radio overhead? And then it seems to fade into the distance, to change in every way.

"EDDY TAGLEY!" Paulsen called from the front of the room. "Are you okay, son?"

Rebecca shook him then.

"EDDY!" she called. "Stop it! Eddy. STOP!"

But Eddy couldn't stop shouting and sobbing, even after he finally realized that he was back in the safety of the classroom. He had never left, never stopped listening to Paulsen's lecture on the _Vietnam War_ even though somehow.... he had been in it.

At last, Eddy stood, stumbled around, turning left and right, glanced across the room, at the accusing eyes. Even Rebecca seemed to be accusing him. Eddy felt incredibly dizzy, incredibly nauseous. Suddenly his whole lunch came up. He turned away from his girl and vomited all over his desk and the textbook open there. Then he fell backward.

Someone caught him. It was VL.

The last words he heard were Paulsen's.

"Take Eddy out of here, VL.

"Help him, Gio. Get him to the nurse.

"And someone get Jake Cane in here to clean up this mess."

Chapter Seven

The Nurse's Office

Nurse Rodgers could have been a character in a medical show. She was calm and professional, dressed in pale green scrubs the way they do on TV. Her hair was a neat brunette bob; her eyes were bright but showed a look of serious concern as she took the thermometer from between Eddy's lips.

"A little bit of a fever, Ed, not quite a hundred," she said. "Better go home and get some rest for a few days. Are you caught up on your studies?"

"Not really," Eddy sighed.

"I can help him," Rebecca added. She had followed him into the nurse's office and stayed there after VL and Gio had left.

"Don't you think you'd better go back to the classroom, Rebecca?" asked the nurse.

"You're right," she answered. "I'll go over to Eddy's house after school. We can spend the evening studying."

Eddy smiled at that. Nurse Rodgers shrugged. Then she turned back to the boy. He was still shaken from his experience.

"Is anyone at home, now, Eddy?"

"My mom should be."

"Good, I'll give her a call.

"And Rebecca... back to class, huh?"

Rebecca nodded and watched the nurse move into the next room. Then she turned to Eddy.

"You've got to stop obsessing about Afghanistan and the Army, Ed."

He didn't answer, just sat there, shivering.

"Eddy?"

"I know. Don't worry about me."

"But you're white as a sheet." She touched his forehead, "And God, you're feverish and ice-cold at the same time."

"I'm okay."

But then he started to cry. "No, I'm not. Damn, the killing! The slaughter!"

"That's what war's all about Eddy, how could you not know that?"

"I had a different picture of it. I thought about those goons who attacked America, and I wanted to attack them back... kill the bastards... kill everyone like them, kill their wives and kids... end the possibility of there ever being any more like them."

"And do you still?"

Eddy puffed himself up as best he could, "Yes," he said. And then he just melted... "No."

"Killing is still killing Ed, especially innocents. And there's always... what do they call it on the news?"

"Collateral damage?"

"Right."

Rebecca paused for a moment and then sighed. "Jeeze, I knew Paulsen was a great speaker, but I never heard of anyone reacting this way to his lectures."

Eddy turned even paler. "It wasn't just that."

"Oh?" She said as her eyes widened and she moved even closer to him. "What then?"

Eddy stared at her, about to say something, and then he began to whimper, "I don't know. Sorry... but...."

Rebecca pulled him to her, as his tears grew more intense. And that's how Nurse Rodgers found them when she came back into the room.

Chapter Eight

Eddy! Eddy! Eddy!

2020

Five days later, wide receiver, Eddy Tagley, sat bundled up on the bench at the Green Mountain/West High Football Classic. It was one of the last big home games of the year. Eddy hadn't practiced in a week. And he hadn't played even though the game was almost over. Whatever his self-doubts, his team was probably losing without the threat of his miracle catches, and his long runs into the end zone.

On the sidelines, the cheerleaders were doing their best to inspire the offense now that there were only ninety seconds left in the game, and Green Mountain was behind 23 to 17.

Coach Carl Duffy was one tough coach, as everyone knew, Duffy brought a winning record and attitude to the Green Mountain Cougars and their fans. Now he came slowly up to Eddy and studied him.

"We could really use you in the game, Ed."

Eddy shrugged and looked down at his hands.

"I talked to your doctor this morning," Coach continued, "and he told me that if you thought you could play..."

Eddy looked back up at him.

"I think I can play," he said as he started rising to his feet. And then he sat back down again. "Maybe."

"Ed, you're one of the best players we've got. They'll double-team you, sure, but that will open it up for the other guys. Even if you're only a distraction, you know, just run a simple curl and stay away from the action."

Eddy looked over at Rebecca. She had seen him talking to the coach, and now she smiled at him. Could she look any more beautiful? He wondered.

"I can do it," he sighed as he stood shakily, dropped the blanket, and trudged out onto the field.

When they saw him, Gio and the other team members cheered aloud. The quarterback ran up to him. "Thanks, man," Gio said as Eddy entered the huddle. "I know you're in rough shape, but we can really use you."

Eddy looked white but smiled. "Yeah."

"We're going to run that flea-flicker.

"VL will take the ball, start up the middle, then turn and pitch it back to me. He'll sprint through the line, and I'll throw it long. Everyone goes out, fly pattern all the way.

"Eddy, if we're lucky, they'll double-team you. Just run as best you can, maybe a curl that will leave one of the other receivers uncovered. I'll fake it to VL and then throw to the open man. You'll be out of the play completely."

Eddy just nodded. He didn't look up, but when Gio clapped his hands and called, "Let's go!" he ran purposefully to his wide receiver position.

Suddenly a new cheer erupted from the stands. Was it Diane, sitting in the back of the stands who started it? No matter. Within seconds everyone in the stadium had taken up the cheer.

"Green grass, green grass!"

"Green Grass! Green Grass!"

"GREEN GRASS, GREEN GRASS!"

Gio came up to the line. He ran his cadence and then screamed out, "NINETY-NINE, GREEN!" The center snapped the ball. Gio took it, turned, and handed it to VL, who raced toward the line, and then just as he was about to be tackled, he turned and pitched the ball back to Gio.

The quarterback dropped back and scanned the field. The middle linebacker had held up VL, and two defenders had knocked down the tight end. But Eddy... damn Eddy had somehow gotten wide open. He was racing toward the goal line way ahead of the safety who was chasing him.

Gio launched the ball toward the end zone and then was knocked on his backside by the blitz. He saw stars, literally, as he looked up into the nighttime sky.

And then the stands erupted in cheers.

"EDDY!" the cheerleaders screamed, and then that chant began again, "EDDY! EDDY! EDDY! EDDY!"

"Green Grass! Green Grass!"

"GREEN GRASS, GREEN GRASS!"

Gio got to his feet and saw VL run to the wide receiver, grab him and spin him around in the end zone.

On the sidelines, Coach Duffy was running around hysterically, jumping up and down, hugging his assistant coaches, his wife, and his eight-year-old daughter.

"God Damn!" shouted Gio. "God damn you, Eddy. YOU'RE A FRICKIN' HERO."

But way back in the stands, a somber Jake Cane didn't think so. He thought the real heroes of the game were VL and that crazy pitch back. He'd talk to VL tonight, Jake decided. He had to.

#

"I don't get it, Eddy," said Gio. "You couldn't move for two days, and then you're suddenly out there on the field outrunning the entire West High defense. What the hell happened?"

"Nothing," Eddy mumbled as he pulled Rebecca closer to him. They were sitting in the back of Gio's Chevy, just stopped by the side of the old mill road. Gio's girl, Chantelle, sat beside him in front.

"Maybe it was the rest you got this week," said Chantelle.

"Not really," Ed answered.

"Then, what was it?"

Eddy thought for a moment and then turned to Rebecca. "It was you. The things you said to me in the nurse's office, and then seeing you sitting in the stands smiling at me like that... I forgot about the crazy visions I'd been having and just focused on you."

Rebecca pulled her football hero to her and hugged him, kissed him over and over again. She squeezed him, feeling the heartbreak of his sorrow and her own longing.

"Eddy," she said at last, "As soon as you're well, as soon as we graduate, this spring, let's get married. Okay?"

"And have three kids and live in a condo?" asked Gio with a smirk. "Maybe get a job at 7-Eleven?"

He wished VL were with them to make the comment; it was his joke.

Then Gio realized that he hadn't seen VL after the game at all.

Where the hell was he?

Chapter Nine

Joe Cane's Story

2020

Jake Cane hobbled up the narrow walkway that led to his parents' rundown condo.

He was in such goddamn pain. Worse than that, he'd had another failure. _How many times was he going to try?_ He asked himself. And then he knew, _as many times as necessary_.

He was fed up with the ineffective meds they were forcing on him, the painful exercises that didn't work. And he was tired of people feeling sorry for him, of dip-shit high school heroes making big plays and getting all the glory. He should be in the pros by now, earning millions, guiding some NFL team to the super bowl, and, most importantly of all... getting them out of the rundown home his mother and father were forced to live in.

Jake pulled open the rickety screen door that served as a barrier to the nighttime moths and mosquitos. It broke off its hinges as soon as he opened it. Jake twisted the door back into its frame and then hobbled inside.

"Jackie!" his mother called. "We're in the family room, honey. Why don't you come in and say goodnight?"

Jake pressed his hand against his back and tried to keep from screaming: living at home with his parents, watching his father slowly disintegrate day by day, knowing he could do nothing about it...

He walked through the dingy living room with its ratty old couch, a beat-up easy chair, and that massive oil painting, the one his father had done back in the day. Things were so good then. Why couldn't they just stay that way? Well, two tragedies had taken it all away, hadn't they? Make that three tragedies, he thought, maybe four.

The painting was beautifully done. You could see the happiness in everyone's eyes, his mom looking like the proud wife of a successful, soon-to-be Silicon Valley millionaire. Dad had that mischievous grin that always hinted at the crazy ideas going on in his head. And little Jake (or Jackie as mom liked to call him) was age six, happy as hell, energetic and ready for anything.

Jake shrugged, shook his head, and moved on. "All gone," he whispered out loud, "All gone, Jackie."

The scene in the family room was all too familiar. Dad slouched back in his recliner... staring off into space, really not seeing the images flashing by on the TV show mom was watching.

Joseph Cane glanced up at Jake as he entered the room. Their eyes met for a brief moment. They shared a sad message.

"My life sucks."

"Yeah, Dad. Mine does too."

They might have shared a laugh about it, but there was no laughter in either of them... not anymore.

"Come sit down, Jackie. Tell us about your day," said Mom.

"Nothing to tell, Mom," Jake answered. "No success. No breakthroughs."

Jake's mother sighed. Living with two men who were in deep depression would have destroyed many women. But not Mary Elizabeth Cane. She was the wife of the one-time CEO of Game Gal Games. (3-G for short.)

Combining his artistic skill with an amazingly fertile imagination, Joseph Cane had created the concept and vision for a game in which superhero tween girls battle enemies as evil as those in any supernatural adventure. He sank every penny he had into it and then refinanced his house to fund more.

And Game Gal 1 did launch. Players tried it. The first two days showed encouraging numbers, but almost no one stayed with the game.

Joe told his wife that he needed more content to deliver on his vision. And Mary agreed to let him take out a second mortgage on their home so that he could pay for more game development.

Joe was working twenty hours a day by then, not sleeping at all. And that's when the debt collectors started hounding him.

The next rev of the game came out with a very inexpensive launch and was less successful than the first. No one noticed it at all. Joe vowed more new game features, but companies had started repossessing his office equipment by then. There were battles with unpaid programmers at work and arguments with Mary at home.

When the bank finally told the couple that they had two weeks to make payments or they'd lose their home, Joe and Mary did all they could to beg or borrow the money, and when they couldn't, they found "temporary" low-cost housing on the other side of town.

It was a beaten-down condo that had mold on the windows and rats in the walls. On the third morning in the new place, Mary found her husband sitting in his recliner (one of the few pieces of furniture he was able to keep). He was staring out of the window. She tried to talk to him, but he didn't answer. He barely got out of the chair for the next two months.

Joe might have leveraged his incredible artistic talents to try and support his family in other ways, but instead, he began to draw into himself. Oh, he went on some job interviews. He got lots of handshakes and comments about his artistic skills, but after that... nothing. Too much failure and he was just too depressed about it. One would-be employer said it best, "Your insides are like fine china, Joe. Better rest a while."

Jake sat down on the couch next to his father. He looked at his mother, who had somehow found a way to get these two tragic figures up and out of the house each day. That in itself was a small miracle. She had gone to her cousin, Tony, and asked him to hire Joe as a salesman in his burgeoning Green Mountain Garden Center. But then Joe had blown one sale after another, on items that usually sell themselves. No sales job there, but Tony did keep Joe on as a general maintenance and repairman, at least.

As for Jake, it was the same thing. Mary had gone to Green Mountain High and convinced the school that Jake was worth keeping around. And so they hired him as a janitor. Like his old man, Jake was too despondent to do much with the job, and so the school scaled back his role... and scaled it back until Jake was really only sweeping out the halls and the parking lot.

So now Mary Elizabeth Cane sat there looking at the men in her life, both of them staring off into space, feeling left behind by the rest of the world. They both wanted little more than to do well for her. But both of them knew that the chances of that happening were growing slimmer.

Well, Mary was not about to cry about it, she told herself. Instead, she looked at Jake for a long moment and said. "I've got something for you, Jackie. It's out in the hall."

Jake's expression didn't change. His eyes didn't brighten; he didn't smile. He merely said, "Sure, Mom," and followed her into the little hallway that ran between the family room and the bedrooms.

Mary stopped at the phone stand in the hallway. She turned to Jake, cradled his face in her hands, and smiled. "I know you're trying, Honey," she said. "And we both appreciate it. Really we do." Then she opened the plastic bag that sat on the stand.

"I bought you a big pad of paper and some watercolors," she said, and she pulled the art materials from the bag and showed them to Jake.

"Thanks, Mom," he answered. "I'll take them to my room and see what I can do."

"Jake, honestly," she continued. "I think if you go back to your drawing, it might help you connect with... I mean, it might help you focus on some positive things."

"It's okay, Mom," Jake said. "I've got a plan to make everything great again, you'll see." And he actually did smile then. Mary smiled too, but it was a wistful smile, full of understanding but no hope at all.

Jake felt anger began to burn inside of him then. "Come on, Mom," he wanted to plead. "Trust me. I can make myself well; I can make us _all_ well again."

But he didn't say anything. Instead, he moved toward his mother, kissed her gently on the cheek, then took the bag of art supplies from her and headed down the hall.

Tears welled up in Mary's eyes. She blinked them back. No one was going to see her cry no matter how much her life, like the rest of her family's, sucked.

At seven AM the next morning, Mary went into Jake's room as she did every morning to wake him for work. But Jake's bed was empty. He was already up and out. Had Jake gotten out of bed early, she wondered. The bed was still made, though, the way she'd made it the day before. Had he slept at all?

Mary looked across the room and there, propped up on an easel Jake hadn't used in eight years, was a new painting. It was green, really green, green trees almost curling around an amorphous shape in the distance. That shape shimmered like some doorway to another place and time. It was almost alive. She could practically feel it vibrating and calling her to come closer... to move into it.

_Slipping Into The Green_. The words were scrawled onto a little pad of paper that lay on the floor next to Jake's palette of watercolors.

Mary smiled then, the first time she had actually smiled in Jake's room in years. Maybe it was because Jake was actually painting again. But she thought there was more to it than that. That shimmery thing... what was it? And why did it make her feel so very hopeful?

Chapter Ten

VL On The Bridge

2020 (1965)

Chantelle Washington was captain of the cheerleaders and star of the girls' gymnastics team. On the sidelines and on the dance floor, she had all the moves. But none of that slowed her down in the classroom where she had the highest math GPA among all seniors. Logic was her favorite subject though she'd only had a brief glimpse of it in Geometry, and then it was out of range until college. But that didn't stop her from using it as a weapon anyway. "That's not logical," was her favorite phrase, and with it, she would cut down any opponent in any argument.

On Saturday morning, after Gio's concerns about VL and his whereabouts, she called VL's cell phone to find out where he was and why he had disappeared. He hadn't returned her calls. And when she'd gone over to his house, his mother had been very defensive. She said that VL had come home late and seemed dizzy and out of sorts. That Sunday, he was so weak and tired that Mom had let him skip the family's weekly church services.

Chantelle knew VL wasn't there. Her father was the pastor, and she sang in the choir. She had looked for him throughout the service. No VL.

But now, here he was, in his usual seat, flipping through his binder with an intensity that made everyone want to stay away from him. He was slapping his thigh and bouncing his left leg up and down nervously. He was obviously keyed up over something and trying to keep all his friends at a distance. Of course, it didn't work.

"Hey," Gio said as he walked up to VL. "Where were you last Friday night?"

VL mumbled something no one could hear and looked away.

"Hey, VL. It's Gio. Remember me? What was so important last Friday that you couldn't..."

"Never mind!" VL answered sharply. He stared at the quarterback for a long, cold moment, and then Gio just moved on, shaking his head.

"Better let me try," Chantelle said as Gio swung into the seat beside her. And she stood, straightened herself, and walked carefully up to her friend.

"What's going on, VL?" she asked.

He looked up at her and frowned. "You know, I _do_ care."

"What'd you just say?" Chantelle asked.

"You heard me."

"I heard you, but I don't understand you. Of course, you care, honey. Is that all?"

"No, it's not all," VL answered. But before he could go any further, Chantelle knelt down beside him and took his hand.

"What's going on," she whispered. "I know something weird happened to you. What is it?"

VL stared at her for a long moment, then he said, "Jake Cane."

"What about him?"

"He wanted me to help him, that's all."

_"That's all?"_ Chantelle's eyes grew wide. "I don't think so."

"Okay, whatever he was up to, it didn't work. I don't understand it. But I know it didn't work. And when it didn't, it made Jake angry as hell. He dug into me, told me I just didn't care enough... I wasn't motivated! Can you believe that? I mean, I went _with_ him to try and help him, didn't I? And then I get that shit."

"Now, listen," Chantelle said. "You know that Jake hasn't been right in the head since his injury."

"I know," VL said. "But I never thought he'd turn on me like that."

"Was it some kind of a racist thing?" she asked.

VL kept bouncing his left leg. He thought for a moment and then shook his head.

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so... and what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't think Jake's comments were racist, okay. I don't think he's a racist. I mean, I don't think he's _that_ dumb. But I do care, you know... about this school, about Jake, everything."

Chantelle leaned closer. "Listen, VL, you're the most _caring_ person I know. You care about everyone." She was about to say more when Paulsen stepped up to the podium. He eyed Chantelle with a look that suggested she'd better end her conversation no matter how important it was.

"Let's talk about this later," she whispered.

VL didn't answer. He just turned toward Paulsen and focused all his attention on the teacher.

**BLOODY SUNDAY!**

Paulsen began. "Know what that was all about, kids?"

"A movie?" said Rebecca from the back of the room.

"Yeah, the one about homosexuality," added Gio. "We saw it at the drive-in last year."

"Not the movie," said Paulsen. "I'm talking about the _event_ in 1965."

"On the bridge in Selma, Alabama," said Emily without even unfolding her hands.

"That's right," Paulsen answered.

VL winced. He knew exactly what Bloody Sunday was all about, because, suddenly,

He was there!

They march across Selma with little or no interference. Oh, crowds gather. A few southern whites taunt the marchers. But no one moves on them.

VL is right in the middle of it all. And in spite of the hatred he can see in the eyes of the onlookers, hatred he suddenly realizes is so foreign to the expressions of respect and love he knows from his closest friends, VL feels safer than he expected to... at least at that moment.

Somehow, he knows things the others might not. For example, he's aware that Governor George Wallace has given the police permission to use _whatever measures necessary_ to stop the marchers. VL isn't sure whether Amelia Boynton and the other leaders of the march know it. He doesn't know if Dr. King knows about the governor's directive as he attends his own church services back in Atlanta that day.

In any case, at that moment, early in this _march for voters' rights_ , the streets of Selma are decidedly quiet. There are very few hecklers, and no state police in sight.

And so the marchers move solemnly along, heading from Selma Alabama to the governor's office in Montgomery to present their case for voters' rights to a governor who wants nothing to do with the issue or the marchers.

"Hi," whispers a voice beside VL, and he looks over and sees a young white couple with a little girl coming up beside him.

"I'm Jenny Peterson," said the young woman, "this is my husband, Jack, and our little daughter, Susie."

VL nods to them. "VL Richards," he answers, waving at each of them.

"Nice to see a fellow freedom marcher," she says. "We're from Boston. Where are you from?"

"California," VL answers. He smiles at all of them, and they smile back... so hopeful, so positive. He wonders how long they can hold onto that optimism. It's a daring thing they intended to do: march in the Deep South during a time when blacks are finally asserting their right to have some real say in the elections. But VL knows that the young couple must not really understand the danger they're facing; otherwise, they wouldn't have brought little Susie along.

"So, you know about the principles of nonviolence?" Jenny asks.

VL shrugs. " _Turn the other cheek_ , something like that?"

"Very good..." said Jenny. "That's Jesus."

"But it goes beyond that," adds Jack. "There has to be an _unconditional commitment to be truthful and authentic_."

"We must swear to use our talents for the sake of others as much as for ourselves," adds Jenny. "Those are the principles that Gandhi taught."

VL nods, suddenly realizing that there is a lot he has to learn if he is really going to participate.

"Unfortunately, we must also accept the fact that violence _can't_ be totally eliminated," Jack adds.

"We're going to have to deal with it."

They're moving forward now, toward the river. Little Susie is skipping along, holding her mother's hand and smiling, oblivious to the danger they are facing.

And that's when the marchers come to the Edmund Pettus Bridge... named for a Confederate general and Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan.

There is a rise in the middle of the bridge, and, as VL and the other marchers start over it, they can't see across to the other side.

VL's tall, a football star, and so, with Jenny, Jack, and Susie right behind him, he quickly pushes his way forward until he's up beside the leaders of the march.

John Lewis, head of the local Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee, has been chosen by the flip of a coin to lead the marchers along with Hosea Williams of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.

VL moves up beside them as they reach the rise at the center of the bridge.

For the first time, the marchers at the front are now able to look down on the other side of the river, and what they see are state troopers wearing helmets and carrying billy clubs. Behind the cops are mounted deputies from the County Sheriff's Office.

Spectators are all around: laughing, partying, carrying confederate flags, and chanting. They've come to see the show and, no matter what the _marchers_ ' intentions are, the _crowd_ seems to want violence.

VL turns around and sees that there are hundreds of marchers now facing the heavily armed state police.

The marchers move across the span stopping just short of the state troopers. Hosea Williams speaks up then,

"Major McCloud," he says to the man in charge, "can I have a word with you?"

McCloud has been studying the oncoming marchers. He believes in his cause and the strength of his force. He raises the big bullhorn he has often used for crowd control and booms back an answer.

"I've got nothing to say to you, young man. You are part of an unlawful assembly, and it will be detrimental to your safety to continue.

"DISPERSE!" he commanded. "YOU ARE ORDERED TO DISPERSE!"

VL turns to those around him. "Gotta get outta here," he calls. "These guys want blood."

Lewis and Williams stand their ground.

"GAS MASKS!" McCloud commands, and the troopers immediately don their masks and begin to advance. VL steps up beside Lewis for just a moment, ready to deck the first trooper to approach him.

"No way," calls Jenny when she sees VL's clenched fists. "Nonviolence, remember!" And so VL and the others at the front are shoved aside, and the troopers moved forward swinging their clubs.

Tear gas now blasts into the crowd. The onlookers cheer. The marchers began coughing, screaming, running for safety, but it's too late for them to get very far. Mounted horsemen charge into the crowd, chasing the gasping men, women, and children.

VL gets to his feet and runs among the dispersing marchers. He sees Jenny and little Susie Peterson being chased by two troopers. Somehow they've been separated from Jack.

Jenny stumbles, dragging little Susie down with her. VL cuts in front of them, and, doing his best to hold fast to the principles of nonviolence, he throws his body over the mother and her screaming child. The troopers began to pound him with their clubs.

Somehow, he's able to shield Jenny and her child, but over to his right, he sees another couple that is not as lucky. A man only slightly older than VL is trying to shield his mother from the blows of the attackers. These men used rubber hoses wrapped in barbed wire, and VL can tell by the viciousness of their attack that they're killing the boy.

"STOP IT!" VL suddenly called aloud from his desk right there in Paulsen's classroom.

"Show some humanity!"

Tears streamed down VL's face. "STOP IT! You're killing us. You're killing all of us!"

Then he threw himself out of his seat and onto the floor beside his desk. He curled up into a fetal position and covered his head as though protecting himself from a beating.

His body jerked and shook as though he were ducking unseen blows.

Chantelle was the first person to him. "Oh, no. Oh, God, no," she sobbed. And suddenly, VL reached out for her, wrapped his arms around her, buried his head against her chest and began to cry.

"They're killing all of us," he murmured.

Chapter Eleven

Pizza and Paulsen

2020

The teens poured into SAMMIE'S PIZZA & ICE CREAM PARLOR on Middlefield Road... the one located at the crossroads of all the major bus lines on the peninsula.

Inside, groups of school kids dumped their backpacks onto the battered tabletops and talked loudly as they crammed into the green and white booths (the school colors). They drank bottled water and cokes and ate ice cream and slices of pizza, sometimes both at the same time.

After their long after-school practice, some of the football players and cheerleaders were in deep discussion, and this time it was serious stuff, not the latest play or the newest cheer. This was about what seemed to be happening in Mr. Paulsen's class.

"He's the one doing it," said Mike Sakajima, the Cougar's Japanese American placekicker. "I watched him before class, and he's definitely up to something. He acts really nervous like he's picking the kid he wants to have those hallucinations. I'll bet he goes around sneaking something into their drinks at lunchtime."

"Did you actually see him put something into VL's coke?" asked Chantelle.

"Oh, hell, no," answered Mike. "Nervous or not, the dude is way too sharp for me. But I know that's what he's doing, drugging the football team... trying to make himself look like the greatest teacher in history."

"You're right," added Mike's girl, Leigh Fukiashi, "You know, he wants people to think that his lectures are so amazing that they send them into another dimension or something like that."

"That's just not logical," said Chantelle. "He already has five _Teacher Of The Year_ awards. Why would he want to freak-out his students to get more?"

"I think he wants an administrative job," answered Mike. "More bucks, a lavish lifestyle. School administrators think they're hot shit."

Mike bit off a big piece of pizza, and half the mozzarella slid off as he tried to move it toward his mouth. He twirled the slice deftly, caught all the loose strands of cheese, and took a big hearty bite. Then he kept talking as he chewed.

"My great-grandpa was one of the senior admins for the San Francisco school system back in the day. Mom said that he ended up doing nothing but bragging about how great he was. I guess he expected people to be impressed that he came out of World War Two and was able to get a good job with the schools. But hey, once he got into admin, mom said that he just became this lazy conceited dude who drank coffee, ate donuts, and went to meetings all day long. I'll bet that's what Paulsen wants."

"I don't understand any of that," answered Chantelle. "But that sure doesn't sound like Mr. Paulsen's kind of thing... EVER. He gets off on teaching."

"Okay then, who else could it be?" asked Rebecca, who sat beside a very quiet Eddy Tagley.

"Think about it logically," said Chantelle. "Who are the victims?"

"So far, all guys on the football team."

"So why mess with their heads?"

"Uh, so that we'll lose the next game?" said Mike.

"You mean kids from other schools are coming in here and finding some way to drug our football players during lunch?"

"We'd spot kids from the _other school_ coming in and messing with our stuff."

"Yes," said Mike. "But not if the kids doing it were students _here_... sellouts because they don't give a shit about football or the team."

"Okay then," asked Chantelle, enjoying the role of Grand Inquisitor. "So, who would that be?"

"My candidate," said Leigh, "would be our chief nerd, Emily Perkins."

"Yeah," added Mike, "she sits alone, doesn't pay attention to any of us... doesn't seem to care about anything related to the school."

"You've gotta be kidding me," said Chantelle. "I _know_ Emily."

"No way," said Rebecca.

"Gio and I had lunch with her the other day. She's very nice. I like her, Gio does too."

"Gio does too... what?" asked Gio, who had just arrived at the table. He kissed Chantelle on the forehead and slid into the booth beside her.

"Why so serious, gang?" he asked.

"We're just talking about what could be causing the problems in Paulsen's class," said Chantelle. "Do you think it could be Emily?"

"Emily? No way. She's a sweetheart. I like her."

"But how well do you really _know_ her, Mr. Gomez," asked Leigh.

"Well enough to know she's not going to screw with the football team, _Miss_ Fukashima."

"Well, who then?" asked Mike.

"Maybe Jake Cane," said Chantelle.

Gio jumped a little when he heard the name, but no one seemed to notice.

"You all saw how upset VL was before class on Monday," said Chantelle. "He went somewhere with Jake last Friday night, tried to do something that didn't work, he said. And then Jake was insulting him."

Gio suddenly looked away.

Eddy began drumming out a harsh cadence on the table as he pumped his legs up and down in nervous rhythm. None of it was lost on Mike Sakajima.

"Hey Eddy," Mike asked, "didn't _you_ say that you went somewhere with Jake the Friday before you had that Vietnam vision in Paulsen's class?"

"Actually, no," answered Eddy. "I never said that." And he suddenly began to fidget even more than usual. "Not sure where you got that idea, but I didn't even talk to Jake. I haven't seen him in weeks."

Eddy glanced uneasily over at Rebecca.

"Wait. That's not true," she said. "I was with you in the nurse's office, don't you remember? You said you talked to Jake on Friday night and even...."

"NO, I DIDN'T!" shouted Eddy above the din of the Pizza shop.

"Eddy?"

"No. That's all! NO!" And Eddy got to his feet and stormed from the table, almost knocking over their waitress as she made her way toward them with a Mammoth Mountain All Meat Extra Thick Crust Pizza. Eddy didn't even turn to see what happened to her, he just kept heading out the door and into the bright California afternoon.

"Gio," said Chantelle, "What's going on with Jake Cane? You must know?"

Gio looked down at his hands, worked his fingertips, which were already raw from nail biting, and said nothing.

"GIO!" Chantelle insisted.

Gio shrugged and got up from the table.

"What is this? Some macho bullshit code of silence or something," she demanded. "You get back here, Giovanni Gomez."

But he didn't.

#

No one had seen Eddy for the rest of that Friday, and yet there he was in the visitor's locker room the next afternoon... for the last game of the year. It was against East Valley High, way over on the far side of the San Joaquín Valley.

"Damn, Mr. Tagley," said Gio, "how the hell did you get here?"

"Just drove myself... got into the car, and came on out."

"You gave us all minor heart attacks, you know... and maybe a major one to that girl of yours."

Eddy stood to lace up his uniform.

"Rebecca?" he growled. "She shouldn't have challenged me there at SAMMIE'S. I mean, _I_ know what I said to her in the nurse's office."

"Relax, man," said Gio. "No one is arguing with you. They were just wondering about Jake."

"But you know as much about Jake as anyone, Gio."

"Like what?"

The two boys stared at each other for a very long time... until Eddy finally spoke up.

"Well, they really don't need to wonder about him, do they? We both know he's just a _nothing_... a guy who went down playing football and never learned to get up again..."

"Okay, okay!" said Gio waving his hands more to pacify his friend than to agree with him.

"You know what?" Eddy added. "Jake Cane will never get back up on his feet. He's done. He's gotten so used to being down that now he likes it."

"That's what I've been trying to tell my Dad," said Gio. "But the dude feels sorry for him, I guess. He wants to get Jake to talk to some people at the University."

"Dude," said Eddy, "He shouldn't do any of that. Don't feel sorry for Jake and don't try to help him, or he'll drain you dry... he's a lost cause."

The two friends dressed in silence then, barely speaking. And when the other players came in, they too were somehow silenced by Gio and Eddy's attitude.

#

Without VL, the Cougars' offense did poorly, in spite of the wicked cheering from Chantelle and the other cheerleaders, in spite of the sold-out crowd including four full busloads of fans from Green Mountain, and in spite of a solid performance by the offensive line.

Gio did his best, with a long run on a keeper, and then a quarterback sneak that went over the goal line on fourth and inches. Still, with thirty seconds left in the game, Eddy dropped a sure touchdown pass from the thirty, and that left Coach Duffy with no choice but to send in Mike and the rest of the field goal unit to try a fifty-yard kick to tie the game.

Mike Sakajima had never even come close to making a kick that long, not even in practice.

"Make-out heaven for you if you hit this one, Mike," shouted Leigh Fukiashi. And she gave her guy a sexy smile. Mike heard Leigh's call, saw her smile, and gave her a little wave. Then he nailed the fifty-two-yard field goal.

More than that, Mike's kick seemed to inspire the whole team. Eddy finally started paying attention to the game. He snagged the opponent's on-side kick and ran it out of bounds at the ten-yard line with less than three seconds left.

Mike came back onto the field with a chance to break the tie and win it for Green Mountain. It would give the team its first undefeated season since Jake Cane was quarterback.

Mike nailed another kick, and the Cougars won thirteen to ten.

Leigh and the rest of the crowd went wild, and they were all waiting for Mike when he got off of the bus back at Green Mountain. He smiled modestly as the chant of "Mike! Mike! Mike!" filled the air. Then he whispered, "excuse me for just a minute," and disappeared into the crowd, just as Eddy and VL had.

Everyone raced into the school gym where soft drinks and snacks were served, and a victory dance was starting. But Leigh Fukiashi still waited outside for her guy. She'd brought her dad's car, and told Mike's mom that she'd bring the football hero home after the dance.

As the evening grew longer, though, she decided that the dance was a good cover-up. Couples sometimes went to private parties at someone's home after a big win, and this was the biggest win of the year. So she was sure that Mike's parents wouldn't be too distressed when she finally saw him come staggering across the football field at five AM. Gio and Chantelle had waited with her all night long.

"Oh, Mike," Leigh shook her head. "Where were you?"

"Not exactly sure," he answered. He seemed okay, maybe a little tired, but okay.

"You've been gone all night... I waited for you."

"Thanks, Babe."

"Gio and Chantelle waited too."

Mike turned to his friends and nodded.

"You okay, dude?" Gio asked.

Mike nodded again and did his best to smile.

"Okay then," said Gio. "We'll be heading home."

Chantelle went to Leigh and gave her a hug. Then she and the quarterback walked slowly back to his Chevy.

"Mike!" said Leigh, "We missed the big victory dance for the undefeated season."

"I know... sorry."

"Is that all you can say?" Leigh was starting to get angry. "I've been texting your parents all night long. But what do I tell _my_ parents?"

Mike rolled his eyes. He couldn't handle this right now, not after all he'd been through.

"Just take me home, okay. We can sort this all out on Monday."

"But what about _us_ ," Leigh asked as she led Mike to her dad's car and opened the door for him.

"Mostly, we need a good night's sleep, don't you think?"

Leigh walked around to the driver's side and slid in behind the wheel. "What I think is that...."

"FUCK, LEIGH. MY BRAIN IS FRIED," Mike snapped. "I don't really care what you think right now. Let's work it out on Monday... okay? Monday. We'll talk about it all on Monday."

"Sure, Mike," she answered as she started the engine and began to drive out of the school parking lot. But this time, anger was boiling out of her. If Mike had looked at her at all, he would have seen it. But he didn't.

"Thank you," sighed Mike without even looking at the girl who had waited for him all night long. And then he closed his eyes and slid down in the seat.

When Leigh got to his home, he was sound asleep.

Chapter Twelve

Mike in Manzanar

2020 (1942)

The dust storm blasts through the early morning. Mike lowers his head against it and feels the swirling particles of sand ripping into his skin. He holds his hand in front of his face to shield his eyes and somehow manages to make his way past the tarpaper shacks where thousands of Japanese detainees have been forced to live. He's on his way to his job in the kitchen. They pay him eight dollars a month.

He has to help in the preparation and distribution of food for the other detainees, here in the concentration camp called _Manzanar_.

"Pitch in, boy," says Mr. Ito, his boss, as Mike pulls himself up the stairs and into the narrow mess hall.

Ito is lugging a large sack of rice from the storeroom and into the kitchen area.

"And don't say a word," he tells Mike. "Today's the day."

"What day is that?" asks Mike. He hardly knows where he is or who he is. It's just that everyone in the California Japanese community knows about Manzanar.

It's the middle of World War Two and, fearing that Japanese Americans may be spying for the empire, President Roosevelt has signed an executive order forcing thousands of them (most of whom were born in the US) into these camps. There are ten of them, concentration camps really, and Manzanar is the first and perhaps the harshest of them all.

It's in Owens River Valley near the California Nevada border, in the high desert where the daytime temperature is often over 110 degrees. And then it plunges to forty at night as the wind sweeps down from the peaks of the snow-crusted Sierra Nevada and into the camp.

"You're telling me today's the day, Mr. Ito?" Mike asks, "What day?"

"The day we protest his arrest," answers Ito. "Ueno, head of the Kitchen Workers Union, has been arrested for helping us get even with one of the spies.

"I know some people say the guy wasn't a spy. But I was there; I know he was spying for the US Military. And now we're going to show them, show the soldiers and the commanders. We're going to march on the administration center, and let them know that we stand together."

Mike has moved another massive sack of rice into position, and now he returns to the storeroom for more.

"Great, just great," he murmurs sarcastically as he goes, and Ito grabs him with a big, meaty hand and slams him hard against the tarpaper wall.

"Are you with us or against us, boy?" the old man demands.

"With you, I guess."

"You'd better do more than guess, kid. We have to stick together, all of us. Do you know that the camp administrators are stealing our meat and sugar rations? They're cutting into our food supplies and selling what is supposed to be _our_ rations on the black market. How the hell can we survive out here when they do that?"

Mike holds a big barrel by the edges and walks it along into the kitchen. Ito does the same.

"If we ever want to get out of this god-forsaken place alive," Ito hisses, "we'd better find the spies and the traitors among us and get rid of them. And we'd better send a message to the administrators that we know they're stealing our food, and we won't stand for it."

Mike nods and tries to show his agreement.

"Now let's get cooking," Ito says. "People are already lining up."

#

Like it or not, five hours later, Mike finds himself in the Manzanar admin center surrounded by fellow detainees. He didn't really want to come, but he's sure that if he doesn't, the other workers will know. Mr. Ito and the rest will suspect him of collusion with rival groups within the Japanese community or with the guards, and they will turn on him... maybe kill him. It's violence by members of his own kind that scares Mike the most.

"Good to see you were willing to come," Ito says when they meet up. "I was beginning to worry about you."

A couple of the other workers grunt their agreement.

"No! No need to worry, Mr. Ito... I was always on your side. You should know that."

Just then, a warning shot booms out over the assembled workers, and the camp's head administrator addresses the crowd with a bullhorn.

"DISBERSE," he calls. "MR UENO is back with us, but he's in custody and will remain so."

"FREE HIM!" shouts Ito, and the rest of the workers pick up the chant.

"FREE HIM! FREE HIM!"

"DISBERSE," cries the commander again. But instead, the crowd surges toward the admin buildings.

Mike can't believe it, but in the distance, he is sure that he sees his own great grandfather leading the charge. "Papa!" Mike calls as he's swept along beside the energetic man his mother someday will call lazy. The military police flanking the admin aim their rifles.

"DISBERSE OR WE'LL FIRE!" calls the commander. But the crowd is too large and already in motion. Suddenly even Mike feels caught up in the cause.

"STOP STEALING OUR FOOD," he yells, and his great grandfather looks back and gives him a smile of approval.

"Good boy," he calls, just as the first tear gas canisters blast into the crowd.

Screaming intensifies. The crowd runs from the exploding canisters in all directions. A young, very militant worker right next to Mike falls, and Mike suddenly realizes that, somehow, the soldiers are firing live ammunition at them. He sees a young boy buckle from a bullet through the chest. Another man falls and then another.

Mike feels a bullet rip into his own arm. He raises his fist high in the air.

"STOP IT!" he calls, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP FIRING!"

As the crowd continues to scream and scatter around him, Mike suddenly sees the face of Leigh Fukiashi. She's coming toward him, making her way through the crowd as though she is almost untouched by them and by the hysteria all around them... and then she's standing beside him.

"Mike, what are you doing?" she asks. "We're here in class... in Mr. Paulsen's classroom. It's _now_. It's 2020. That's where _you_ are. You're okay, Mike. You're okay."

But Mike wasn't okay. He stared at his girl, and then a slow stream of blood began dribbling from his nose. He tilted his head in confusion, and Leigh could see that blood now trickling over his lips and onto his neck.

"MIKE!" Leigh screamed, and many of their classmates jumped up behind her, staring at the football hero, who now began to slouch down in his chair and then gradually tumble toward the floor.

More blood ran from Mike's mouth.

"Get him up," someone called. It was Paulsen. "Get him into the nurse's office." And Gio immediately moved through the crowd. He picked up Mike like a wounded buddy on the battlefield and carried him out of the classroom and down to the nurse.

Chapter Thirteen

Jake & Emily in the Park

2020

Chantelle strolled into the little park across from Grass Mountain High. She had a lot to think about... too much in fact. In the last month, four football players had disappeared after big games on Friday night. Then they'd returned to school the next Monday and absolutely freaked out in Paulsen's class.

Oh, she'd realized, there were personal lessons for each of them to learn, but still...

Chantelle moved on a little further and then stopped in surprise. A short distance in front of her, Jake Cane – of all people – looked like he was preparing a picnic for someone special. He was laying out plates and deli sandwiches and cokes on a blanket.

Maybe Jake's mental condition was improving, after all, Chantelle thought. Perhaps he had gotten back together with his old girlfriend, Diane Gilmore, and was ready to rejoin the human race. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Hi, Jake," Chantelle said with a little wave.

Jake's response was cold. He grunted something and went on with his preparations. He took out a tub of potato salad and set it in the middle of the spread.

"Potato salad?" Chantelle giggled.

Jake looked annoyed.

"Does Diane even _like_ potato salad?"

"It's not for Diane," Jake said.

"Who then?"

Chantelle put her hands on her hips and stared accusingly at Jake. She meant to be funny. Most people, at least, thought the look was cute. Jake did not.

"Just leave me alone. Okay, Chantelle?"

" _Whatever_ ," the cheerleader answered, and she quickly shuffled past Jake, down the hill and out of sight. If she had only turned around at the last minute, she would have been amazed. Because coming up right behind her, was her newfound friend, Emily Perkins.

The former class hero meets the current class nerd, Chantelle would have thought. Except that Emily didn't really look like a nerd today. She had even put on a little make-up: some lip gloss, mascara, and brows. She wore a skirt and a sweater and was almost attractive. But that didn't stop her from being nervous.

"Hi, Jake," she whispered.

"Hey. Got us some lunch," he said, gesturing to the picnic spread.

Emily looked at it. "Mmmmm, potato salad. My favorite," she said and giggled.

"I like it," Jake said.

"Sure. Of course, okay," Emily said, as she moved to Jake's blanket and sat down on the edge.

"PB&J?" Jake offered as he held out a plate with the sandwich on it.

"Thanks, Jake. I'd like that." Emily reached for the sandwich, studied it for a moment, and then took a big bite.

"Mmmmm. Excellent, Jake," she said after a moment. "Thanks for doing this."

"Coke?" Jake responded, holding out a can.

"Oh yeah, sure. Thanks."

Jake took his own sandwich and grabbed a big bite. He chewed it enthusiastically and then stared at Emily.

"What?" she said at last.

"You look... really nice," he answered.

"Thank you," she said. "Of course, _you_ always look good."

They stared at each other a little longer, and then they both broke out laughing.

"Guess we won't be the king and queen of the prom this year," Jake said.

Emily laughed even harder. "I'm not complaining about that. I'd have to learn to dance."

"I could teach you," Jake answered.

"Are you telling me you know how to dance?"

"I specialize in the Macarena, baby. Care to learn it?"

Jake stood and did a few moves.

"I'd make a fool of myself if I did," Emily answered. "And I'd lose my standing as Green Mountain High's official nerd."

"Wouldn't want that to happen," Jake said.

"No," Emily said, suddenly becoming wistful. "Can't put my title at risk." She looked away sadly.

"Hey, Emily," Jake whispered. And she turned back to him.

"What did you want to talk about, Jake? Certainly not the Macarena?"

Jake laughed softly. "No, certainly not that. Besides... you know."

"The vortex," Emily said softly.

Jake nodded. Both of them rediscovered their half uneaten sandwiches and concentrated on finishing them off.

After a while, Jake whispered,

"How come it isn't working for me, Emily?"

She took a sip of coke and looked back in concern. "I don't know."

"But I did what you told me to. I went back through the vortex and redid the play, and I was still hit, knocked down, just like before."

Emily nodded.

"Then, next thing I knew, I was crawling back out through the damn thing and...."

"When you got here," Emily finished for him, "Nothing had changed."

"Yeah, that's it. So I went through it all again only the next time I brought another football player with me. I thought that putting a different guy in the mix would change the dynamic, you know, make things different enough that it would break the spell."

"It's not a spell, Jake. It's not magic."

"No, I didn't mean that."

"I know you didn't. But you have to understand this vortex, this opening in time, this link between probable worlds...." Emily stopped to gather her thoughts and realized that she'd lost Jake. He looked at her in confusion, trying to follow what she was saying. But, as smart as he was, he wasn't getting it.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told you about this idea in the first place," she said.

"No, Emily, I'm glad you did. I mean, I couldn't believe that the thing actually existed and that it could work. But, damn, there I was back in 2012, reliving the old times with the old gang and running the same damn plays. If we could make that happen, we should be able to find a way to fix things for me, don't you think?"

"I do," Emily answered, feeling suddenly better. She reached for the potato salad, spooned some onto her paper plate, and tasted it. She smiled. "So good," she exaggerated.

"Don't make fun of it, Emily," Jake said with a smile. "I can eat it all myself."

"Never," she answered, grabbing the whole bowl and clutching it to her.

Jake smiled, but gradually the smile faded, and Emily put the bowl back in the middle of the blanket. She stared at Jake. He was looking at her so hopefully, just as she had always wanted him to.

"Okay, here's another way to think about it," she said as she got to her feet, walked over, and sat down right beside him. She was so close she could touch him... feel his breath.

"This isn't exactly right. But you could think of the vortex as a _person_ ," she began and was thrilled to see Jake's eager attention. "When I say a person, I don't mean like anyone you could _meet_ , I don't mean that."

"No, not that."

"It's just that the vortex almost has feelings, or at least it has likes and dislikes. No, that's not quite right, either. But it does seem to have its own set of rules... the way it wants things to be done."

Jake thought about that for a moment and then nodded.

"Okay. I get that."

"I don't mean that it has free will, but it does have likes and dislikes. You have to do things a certain way to have it decide to work with you."

"Decide..." Jake said slowly with new understanding.

"The past doesn't want to change, Jake."

"I can see that."

"But if you do things just right, it will. It will do it for you. And it will even _help_ you make things different."

Emily studied the man who, with her help, was showing the first signs of stepping out of his clinically diagnosed depression. He looked eager, attentive, almost like he did when she slipped into the past with him.

And, she _so_ wanted to kiss him. But instead, she waited for a moment and said...

"Okay, here's another way to look at it all. This force is almost like a... a god, you know. And it has rules, and you have to follow those rules and get things just right if you want to...."

Jake stood up. "No, I don't like that," he said. "You're saying that I'm supposed to worship this force and obey its commandments?"

"I didn't mean that either, Jake."

Emily stood too. She stepped toward Jake, and they stared at each other for a moment.

"Okay, how about this?" he asked. "If the thing is like a god, then it might want some kind of _sacrifice_. Isn't that what all gods are about?"

"No, Jake. They're not."

"Sure they are. I get it now. It was the frickin sacrifice. The way things had been _I_ was the one paying the price. I need someone to take my place, I need someone to take the fall for me."

"Jake, that's not what I meant at all."

"It may not have been, Emily. But it's what you should have meant because that's the way it really is. I can see that now. If I'm going to get up, someone else has to fall down."

"Jake, you can't believe that."

"But I do. Sometimes the truth is hard to swallow. But that's what this vortex is, some kind of supernatural being that wants a human sacrifice... just like all those gods always do."

"Jake, I can't believe this."

"Sorry, Emily, but it's the way it is."

"No!"

"YES!" Jake insisted, and he glared at her.

Emily stepped back, a look of terror in her eyes. Jake had never looked this way to her... not ever.

"Oh, Jake," she sighed in disappointment, and then she turned and walked slowly away from him without saying another word.

Chapter Fourteen

Gio at Home

2020

"What's the trouble, son?" Francisco Gomez asked Gio. They were sitting around the dining room table, which was spread wide with delicious Mexican cooking.

"Mama's made her world-famous enchiladas," Mía told Gio when he walked in the door. Then she saw the look on his face, and the place had been like a morgue ever since.

Of course, that didn't stop Linda from ladling out heaping servings of her food or stop Mía from eating it.

Gio was another story. "Maybe we should talk after dinner, Dad," he said. "Why spoil our meal."

Linda smiled. "I've heard that good food makes important things easier to talk about."

"Really, Mom?" asked Mía. "Who said that?"

"I did," Linda smirked. "Right now to myself."

Everyone laughed a little, even Gio.

"Come on, son," said Francisco. "Tell us what's bugging you."

Gio took a big bite of enchilada, chewed it carefully.

"Mmmmm, good," said the boy.

**"Giovanni!"** insisted Dad as he pointed directly at him.

"Okay... okay." Gio paused and studied his father. There was just no way out of this conversation. So he began.

"You know Mr. Paulsen's history class?"

"Paulsen, the preacher man?" asked Mom as she raised one eyebrow.

"He's a great teacher, Mom. His lectures at the start of class are some of the best I've ever heard. It's why he wins all those awards."

"I've heard that CBS wanted to film those lectures and release them as a TV series," said Francisco as he refilled his wine glass.

"What part of history is he teaching?" asked Linda.

"This class is American History," answered Gio. "But he's focusing on social and political injustice."

"Sounds like a college course."

"Probably should be," said Gio, "but the kids love his lectures. They just really grab you."

"Wait a minute," said Mía. "I've heard that they're giving some of his students hallucinations right there in the classroom. Is that right?"

"Something like that," answered Gio.

"There must be something else going on," said Francisco. "I mean, I've heard of people going to the movies stoned on LSD and seeing visions. But it's the drugs that cause the visions, not the movie."

"Right, dad. Someone actually suggested that Paulsen is drugging the kids in his class to get more notoriety."

"Why would he do that? Isn't his class popular enough?" asked Francisco.

"Kids fight to get in it."

"People have reported visions in church if the preacher is inspiring," said Linda.

"Isn't that supposed to be caused by divine intervention?" asked Mía.

Gio took a deep breath. No wonder he didn't want to discuss the subject. Everyone had a different angle, and then there was Mía. Her angle was probably just _obtuse_.

But since his dad had goaded him into it, Gio thought, why not bring up the most distressing part of it all.

"I think there could be something else going on," added Gio as he held up his empty plate, which he had somehow cleared during the conversation. "Can I have some more enchiladas, Mom?"

Linda smiled. "Of course." And she served up two more of her specialty.

"So what's your theory, Gio?" asked Francisco.

"I'm afraid that you're not going to like it."

"I'll try to keep an open mind."

"It involves Jake Cane."

"What? Is he supposed to be distributing drugs to the students?"

"Something far more complicated than that," Gio said.

"Well, then tell us."

Gio took a deep breath. His parents had put down their knives and forks and were staring at him.

"Jake thinks he's discovered a gateway to another dimension."

Gio grabbed a quick bite of enchilada and looked up at his parents as the idea sunk in. Mía's jaw dropped. His parents didn't say a word.

"He thinks that if he goes through this gateway or portal, he can enter the past, relive the football game where he got hurt, and somehow fix himself. He thinks the fix will be total if he can just get it right. Then, when he returns, he'll be good as new."

Francisco looked at his wife, and they both let out a long, slow sigh.

"There's more," said Gio.

"Science fiction," said Mía with an enthusiastic smile. "Great! Let's hear it."

"Okay, so Jake thinks that if he takes a football player back into the past, he can re-run the play that hurt him, fix things and come back cured."

"That's totally nuts," said Francisco.

"Don't tell me that he wants you to go back there with him," said Linda, "and run the play and...."

"Actually, he does, Mom. And I've told him 'no."'

"Good for you," said Linda.

"But that's not the point."

"Really? Wow. Then what _is_ the point?" asked Francisco.

"The three kids who had those hallucinations in Paulsen's class are all football players. And I'm pretty sure that Jake talked each of them into going back through the portal with him to do that crazy fix."

"This sounds so cool," Mía whispered.

Her father looked at her coldly, and Gio took that moment to scarf all the remaining enchiladas on his plate. Then he looked up at his parents. They were sitting there, staring at each other.

At last, Linda spoke up. "Well, I, for one, don't believe any of it."

"Neither do I," added her husband.

Gio looked at Mía. She rolled her eyes at him.

"What?" he asked her.

"Could be real," she said. "I mean, really real."

"But come on," their father said. "I knew Jake. I can't believe he'd fall for that kind of nonsense."

Gio took a quick gulp of milk. "So then, what if he asks me to go through the portal with him?"

"I think you should do it," shouted Mía, "It'd be cool."

"Don't you dare," said Linda.

"He won't ask you," said Francisco. "There are no portals."

"But what if he does ask?"

At this point, Francisco was getting tired of the conversation. "I'm sure he won't."

"But just to make sure... I _should_ help him in any way I can, right?"

Francisco suddenly turned away from Gio and spoke to his wife.

"Linda, what's on TV?"

"49er Football."

"Sounds good. I think they'll have a great team this year."

Gio suddenly stood up. "DAD, MOM, if Jake Cane asks me to help him, should I or not?"

"Of course," Francisco answered. "Jake's a wonderful boy. I know he's struggling now, but those brains are still there, so's the talent.

"Gio, one of the big keys to my success down at the store is that I continue to make donations to different community groups. And then they give back to us. We help people get on their feet, and they become loyal customers. We all need to help Jake get back on his feet, and I'm sure in the long run, we'll all be rewarded."

"Even if it means going through a time-portal?" asked Mía.

"Don't be silly," said Linda.

"What do you think, Dad?" asked Gio directing the question back to his father. But Francisco had had enough. He sighed heavily, shook his head, and turned to his wife.

"Linda," he asked. "Has the 9er game started yet?"

"There's your answer," Mía whispered to Gio. "I say take it as a 'yes.' Help Jake any way you can."

Chapter Fifteen

Paulsen and his Neighbors

2020

It was the following Friday, the first weekend without a football game when Chantelle Washington and Rebecca Jordan drove over the little bridge that crossed the ravine separating their Grass Mountain High School from the housing track behind it. The houses were single-story ranch-style built right after World War Two. They each had a relatively large back yard, almost all of which led up to the high chain-link fence that blocked access to the ravine.

Chantelle's beat-up old Duster coughed its way down the side street and into the driveway of Mr. Paulsen's home. As soon as the car stopped, a little dog inside Paulsen's house began to yip incessantly.

"Let's get out of here," said Rebecca. "It's crazy to think that Mr. Paulsen will help us."

But Chantelle grabbed her friend by the wrist and forced her to look at her.

"We just have to figure this out," she said. "And Paulsen is really the only guy who can help us. Besides, when he isn't lecturing, he's really very nice. Don't you think so? I think so."

"I don't know," shivered Rebecca. "Honestly, after what Mike was saying, I'm starting to think he's some kind of ghoul."

Chantelle laughed. "No way," she said, "But even if he is, we have to deal with him. It's like Scooby-Doo and all the scary cases he solved. Besides, I'm a _cheerleader_ , remember? We'll be fine."

Chantelle did have that look of confidence she always had when cheering... even on a hostile field. Rebecca hoped that being a cheerleader really did make her friend stronger. But right now, she thought she'd rather have a few Marines on her side.

"Come on," Chantelle called as she got out of the car, and, in spite of everything, Rebecca followed her.

The two young women walked up to the front porch while the air continued to ring with the incessant yelps of the little dog. Chantelle didn't even have to knock. As soon as she reached the top porch step, Paulsen came out to meet them. He still wore his thick glasses and his shirt, tie, and dress slacks from school. But over them was a black apron that said **Inquiring Minds** across the front.

A tiny white dog darted out between Paulsen's legs and continued yapping at the two girls as though they were armed robbers.

"Robespierre, stop it now!" called Paulsen, and the dog darted back into the house, finally giving everyone a much-needed break from its barking.

"What is it, girls?" Paulsen asked.

Rebecca turned nervously to Chantelle, who took in a deep breath as though she were about to lead a cheer. Then she said, "We have to talk about what's been happening in your classroom. Mr. Paulsen... to the boys: VL and Eddy and Mike."

"Yes, I guess we do," said the teacher with a heavy sigh. "You know there's going to be an inquiry. The principal wants a full investigation. On Monday he's going to interview me about the incidents. Then he's going to call on several students. You may be among them."

"That's the last thing I want," Rebecca sighed. But Chantelle wasn't distracted. "We still think it's important that we talk to you _now_. Don't we, Rebecca?"

The other girl nodded, trying to show as much conviction as she possibly could.

Paulsen smiled kindly at both of them. "Come on inside," he said.

Paulsen's living room looked like a TV Network media center. In one corner, a big 16mm projector was already threaded with a film and pointed at a big screen mounted on the opposite wall. Beside the screen, an enormous HDTV sat on a rack full of different kinds of video players. Several couches faced the displays, and the coffee table in front of them was littered with different kinds of remote controls. All along the back wall was a low-slung bookcase full of DVDs, videotapes, and laser discs. Above the bookcase, an enormous picture window looked out at Paulsen's back yard and that of his neighbors. Heavy curtains could be drawn to blackout the room when necessary, but at that moment, they were open, making everything look bright and entertaining.

Movie posters were plastered everywhere. They were mostly about old films that Chantelle had never heard of, _Rules Of The Game, Paths Of Glory, Dr. Strangelove_. But she did recognize the poster for Spike Lee's _Do The Right Thing_ , and Woody Allen's _Bananas_.

"Guess you like movies," said Chantelle with sudden reverence in her voice.

Paulsen smiled. "They're mostly political films... research stuff for my work, inspiration, entertainment.

"Can I get you a coke?" he added.

"I'm good, thanks," said Chantelle, and then, before Rebecca could even ask for a drink or comment on Paulsen's fabulous collection of movie stuff, Chantelle started in.

"A lot of your students, Mr. Paulsen," she began, "are trying to figure out who is responsible for the troubles Mike and VL and Eddy have had in your classroom."

Paulsen nodded. "Please sit down, girls... sit down."

Chantelle and Rebecca sat down on one of the big welcoming couches, though Chantelle sat right on the edge while Rebecca did her best to sink deep into it... hopefully to hide for the next hour.

"Do you think someone is feeding our athletes something that's giving them hallucinations?" Chantelle asked. "Because – if they are – it's a crime, it's not logical, and it's very, very wrong."

Paulsen smiled as though he'd almost expected this outburst, given the circumstances. And he was okay with it.

"It's all right, Miss Washington," he said very gently. "Believe me, I don't know anything about the physiological effects your classmates are experiencing when they hear my lectures.

"Oh, I actually felt proud at first," he continued, "when Eddy got so excited during my little talk about Vietnam. But VL's response was disturbing, and so was Mike's."

"You don't think anyone _caused_ those responses, though?" Chantelle asked. "Like you didn't feed the boys something?"

Paulsen just shook his head, "Why would I do that? Even if I knew what to feed them, how would that help anyone?"

"It might help you look like the world's greatest teacher," said Rebecca.

Paulsen turned to her, and it made her try to melt even deeper into the couch cushions. But then he smiled warmly, and she felt much better.

"So, you're saying my lectures are so great that some kids actually swoon when they hear them."

"Well, isn't that what's happening?"

"Oh, dear," said Paulsen. "Aside from the part about the lectures being great, I guess it is."

At this point, Robespierre wandered back into the room, gave the girls an untrusting look, and started to growl.

"What do you think, Robbie?" Paulsen asked. "Am I the greatest orator since Daniel Webster?"

The dog looked at Paulsen, at Chantelle, at Rebecca, and then he started barking all over again.

Paulsen moved to pick up the noisy dog, and then he froze. So did the dog. Chantelle had suddenly jumped to her feet and stepped past them to the rear window. She was looking into the neighboring yard where two old men were frantically working on a telescope and pointing excitedly into the ravine as they did.

"Who are those men?" she asked.

"Old guys, neighbors."

"And what are they looking at?"

"I don't know," answered Paulsen. "I don't have the angle they do, but they're probably just staring at some wildlife down there."

"They're so excited about it, though," said Chantelle. "Something else must be going on. Can we take a look?"

"We could go over there and ask," said Paulsen. "Have you finished your questions about the boys' hallucinations?"

"Not really," answered Chantelle, "But I have this weird feeling that maybe what they're looking at has something to do with them."

Paulsen looked confused and concerned, but he was taking the girls seriously, even though Rebecca, at least, thought that maybe Chantelle had been a little too blunt with her questioning.

"Okay, come on then," said Paulsen, "and I'll introduce you to my neighbors."

#

Ray Chavez and his friend Kenny Chin were out in the back yard of Ray's home, working with the telescope. It had become something of an obsession for both of them.

Ray and Kenny had been friends since high school when they led the Green Mountain team as quarterback and running back to a state football championship in the 1950s. Now in their sixties, they were still active and energetic... but their work with the telescope was taking up more and more of their time.

"Can I ask just what you're looking at," said Chantelle when Paulsen brought the girls over and introduced them.

The two men were happy to entertain two such intelligent-looking young women, even if it meant that the men had to talk about subjects they hadn't even broached with each other.

"The urgency is gone," said Ray. "They're outta sight for the next little-bit-a time."

"Who's outta sight?" asked Chantelle.

"Wait up for a second. Not so fast," said Kenny as he grabbed several folding chairs and began to set them up. "We have a minute. Let's make sure that you're comfortable."

Ray immediately disappeared into the house and then returned with some freshly squeezed lemonade in a big pitcher. He poured five glasses and began passing them out to his guests.

Rebecca took one immediately, took a deep swallow, and decided that it was world-class.

"But what about the telescope?" Chantelle insisted.

"Have some lemonade first," Ray said as he pushed the glass into her hand. "Just give us a minute to get ourselves situated, and we'll answer all of your questions. We promise."

Everyone was relieved, especially Rebecca, who was happy to slow Chantelle's over-eager and, from Rebecca's point of view, dangerous quest for an answer that she thought might be absolutely terrifying.

It turned out that she was right.

PART TWO

Chapter Sixteen

Into The Past

2012

****

**GREEN GRASS! GREEN GRASS!**

**ANOTHER YARD OF GREEN GRASS**

The cheer echoes through the nighttime as Gio follows Jake across the fields behind Green Mountain High School. It's cool, breezy, and it takes a while for Gio to notice the glow of fire along the edges of the ravine.

"What's the light?" Gio calls to the boy marching along in front of him. Strangely, Jake has no limp, no painful back to slow his stride. It's just a straight-up, healthy walk.

"Tonight's bonfire," Jake answers, "pep rally for Friday's game."

Jake turns toward Gio and, for the first time, the boy notices how youthful Jake has become: clear skin, dark thick hair, no wrinkles across his forehead, no lost and distant look. This is Jake in the prime of his youth, the Jake in all the photographs on the bulletin boards at Green Mountain High, Jake before he became the disillusioned, pain-ridden invalid he is in 2020.

"Bonfires," Jake repeats. "They have one before every game. You know, cheers, pep rally, speeches. Want to say something?"

"You want me to speak at the pep rally?"

"You could. Just follow my lead; pick up on my lines."

There is a crazy gleam in Jake's eyes, and, together with the bonfire along the ravine, and the absence of new cars in the high school parking lot; Gio is more than a little spooked. And then he notices the school building itself.

There's been a whole new wing added to it. It's gigantic, has to be a gym, one bigger than the height of the main classroom building itself. The entryway is new too, with an arch over the doorway that features large letters that spell out the words, Green Mountain High School.

Only...

"That gym isn't there in my time," Gio tells Jake. "I mean, if a brand new gym had been built in 2012, it would be there in 2020."

But the gym _isn't_ there when Gio and his friends attend Green Mountain High School. That entryway isn't there either.

"There's no super gym in 2020," Gio repeats.

"Sure, there is. Just the way I remember it... the way it's always been," Jake says. And suddenly, Jake's eyes begin to shine as though he's living in a dream.

It's Jake's dream, Gio thinks. But still, he lets the star quarterback take him toward the bonfire where rows of cheerleaders and song girls dance. Diane Gilmore leads them all.

The crowd is almost two hundred strong, high school students and their parents, but there are also interested fans and alumni.

"Let me introduce you to the coach," says Jake. "I want you to play alongside me in Friday's game."

"I can't do that," Gio says. "He won't let a kid from another school play in one of your varsity games... What about state regulations?"

"What state regulations? No one tells us who can play on our team."

Gio says nothing; he just goes along with his friend. He did, after all, promise to help Jake in any way he could.

"There he is now," Jake calls. "Hey, Coach... Coach Duffy!"

The man's back is to the boys, but Gio already knows this is not the same man who has coached him throughout his career at Green Mountain, not the tough dude from Gio's time. This is the younger version, maybe even a rookie... a little nervous, still in his twenties.

"Hey Jake," says Duffy. "Who's your friend? He looks familiar."

"Of course he does, Coach," Jake answers. "He looks like _me_. This is my cousin from Michigan... his name is Gio Gomez."

Duffy sticks his hands into his back pockets and studies the new kid up and down. "Don't I know you, son?"

"No way," answers Jake before Gio can say a word. "He just got here. Visiting... wants to check out Green Mountain High."

"All right," Coach answers. Then, turning to the younger boy, Duffy asks, "So you're in town for how long, Gio?"

Before the kid can say anything, Jake answers for him again.

"A month, Coach. I've already talked to Principal O'Malley, and he says he's willing to let Gio monitor some of my classes."

"Why not?" says Duffy.

"So, can Gio maybe work into a couple of our practices, maybe even come in for a few plays next Friday? He was all-state last year in Michigan."

"All state, huh?" says Duffy.

Gio glances over at Jake, who quickly adds, "He owns all the passing records for the Upper Michigan Peninsula. You gotta see his arm, coach."

Duffy is still skeptical but finally says, "Okay, since Friday's an exhibition game anyway, I'll put him in for one play if he can show me something in practice. But he'll have to suit up for the next couple of workouts first."

"Awesome," says Jake as he gives the coach a salute and moves away through the crowd.

Gio catches up to Jake once again. "Hey, Dude. What comic book world have you gotten me into?"

"My world," answers Jake. "The way it really is, trust me. Besides, I think a couple sessions with young Duffy's coaching can really help you."

"He already coaches me," Gio says. "At least an older version of the same guy does."

"Right, but he had more innovative ideas when he was just starting out. It will be good for you."

Gio shakes his head but doesn't argue. Instead, he follows along behind the star quarterback. The crowd erupts into the Green Grass Cheer just as Jake begins to move through the lines of cheerleaders.

Diane Gilmore grabs him by the arm.

"Hey baby," she says. "Are we goin' down to the Bay-front this evening?"

Jake laughs. "Maybe... if you can set someone up with my cousin."

Diane turns and gives Gio an appraising stare, then she smiles.

"Impressive," she murmurs.

Gio blushes.

"Shy, though."

"Just got here from Upper Michigan... doesn't know the story."

Gio wants to say that he already has a girl, but that doesn't seem right. So he just nods, and Diane calls to one of her friends from over by the stands.

"Ashley. Come over and tell me if this dude is hot."

A strawberry blonde with big green eyes steps out of the crowd and moves toward Gio. She studies him for a moment and then gives him a smile.

"Ashley, this is Jake's cousin, Gio.

"Gio, this is Ashley Pressman."

"Hi, Gio," Ashley whispers.

"Hi," Gio whispers back.

"Come on, dude," says Jake as he shakes his head, "Who the hell is writing your material?"

"Give them a chance to get to know each other," says Diane. "They'll be fine."

"Especially if they come down to the Bay-front with us after the rally."

"Want to?" Gio asks Ashley.

Ashley smiles seductively and nods.

"Of course, she does," says Jake.

Suddenly, there's a burst of applause, and Coach Duffy climbs onto the stage in front of the bonfire. Gio sees scrap wood, tree cuttings, and old crates all going up in flames. They form a dramatic backdrop for those who have come to speak.

Across the front of the stage is a big banner. It's the cartoon of a big muscular Jake punching out a hulking knight.

"Jake did that drawing," Ashley whispers to Gio.

Gio nods. He's seen Jake's work. In 2020, there are still some of Jake's cartoons on the walls of the boy's locker room.

And then the roar of the crowd overwhelms them.

"WHO ARE WE GOING TO BEAT FRIDAY NIGHT?" Duffy calls to the crowd.

"BISHOP MCDOUGAL!" screams nearly two hundred students and fans.

"That's right," Coach Duffy answers. "Because who's the best team in the state?"

"BEST IN THE WORLD!" Shouts Diane as she shakes her pompoms.

"GREEN MOUNTAIN HIGH!" shouts Coach Duffy, answering his own question.

GREEN MOUNTAIN, the crowd begins chanting.

GREEN MOUNTAIN!

GREEN MOUNTAIN!

And then Diane begins chanting:

"GREEN GRASS, GREEN GRASS!

GREEN MOUNTAIN! GREEN GRASS!"

It becomes a soft cadence under the coach's calls.

"Who has the best defense in the state?" Duffy shouts.

GREEN MOUNTAIN!

"And who has the best _offensive line_?"

GREEN MOUNTAIN!

"And the best backfield.... led by our superstar Quarterback?"

"JAKE CANE," Ashley shouts from the sideline, and then she grins playfully.

"That's right," cries the coach. "LET'S GET HIM UP HERE, KIDS."

Duffy turns to Jake, "Come on up, boy."

"Let's go, Gio," Jake says as he charges up onto the stage.

Gio watches Jake in the light of the bonfire with the cheerleaders dancing wickedly, and the crowd going absolutely wild. There's a look of adulation in everyone's eyes and a look of megalomania in Jake's.

"Could this even be real?" Gio asks himself as he makes his way in front of the bonfire. Is this a real moment from the past or merely what Jake remembers? Gio has certainly never experienced this kind of fan support, but then Jake's team went undefeated for three straight years.

In any case, how could Jake ever get over this kind of worship? Gio wonders. And a second later he knows. _Jake never could_.

The star quarterback takes a microphone from the coach and walks up to the edge of the makeshift stage.

"How's everyone out there?" he calls.

"GREAT!" the crowd answers in a roar.

"You know what it's time for, don't you, guys?"

"GREEN MOUNTAIN GREEN GRASS!" they all cheer.

"Because Friday night, you know, we'll be tough," Jake shouts as he pounds around on the stage. "We'll be strong! Our offense will be unstoppable! Our defense will push those Knights all the way back to Modesto!"

Gio sees the crowd holding its collective breath as Jake speaks. Eyes are wide, hearts are pounding; the girls love him, the guys are inspired and envious.

"Jake's a rock star!" Gio whispers.

Jake steps right in front of Gio, gives him a knowing grin and then turns back to the crowd.

"And when the going gets rough," Jake continues, "and the breaks are beating the boys... you know what we're going to do. Don't you?"

Suddenly there's silence... eager anticipation... joy...

"WE'RE GONNA GRIND IT OUT," Jake growls, "BLADE OF GRASS... BY EVERY MOTHER-LIVING BLADE OF GREEN DAMN GRASS...

"Until we're... VICTORIOUS!"

Mad cheering erupts from the crowd. "GREEN GRASS! GREEN GRASS! ANOTHER BLADE OF GREEN GRASS!"

"So, every one of you," Jake continues, "Every guy, every girl, every Green Mountain Cougar, get out here this Friday night and Cheer us on! Send us your strength! Get us just a few more blades of green grass... and we'll give you...

"A VICTORY!"

#

Ashley and Gio sit on opposite sides of the back seat in Jake's rusted old Dodge Charger. They smile at each other as, outside the car, the autumn wind begins to batter the rushes down along the Bay-front.

Ashley is waiting for Gio to say something. But he doesn't. So she just sits there quietly, looking absolutely delicious, smiling a mysterious smile that Gio finds so damn seductive.

"Hi," Gio finally whispers.

Ashley bites her lip. "Hi," she responds.

In the front seat, Jake pulls away from the stranglehold Diane has on him. He turns, looks over to the back seat, and shakes his head.

"Will you guys _do_ something?" he jeers. "Just kiss her, dude."

Gio doesn't move, but Ashley does. She slides forward and kisses Gio softly on the lips. And then she kisses him again. This time it's long, deep, and deadly.

"Mmmmm," sighs the girl, as she pulls away from Gio for a moment. She studies him with those soft, soul-melting eyes. "Wanna see something?" she whispers.

Gio nods like a hungry puppy.

Ashley settles into the far corner of the back seat again and gives Gio her most bewitching smile. It promises nothing and everything at the same moment.

"Pretty soon," she whispers. "Pretty soon."

Chapter Seventeen

Jake's Parents

2012

Gio follows Jake through the back door of his parent's home. He's never seen the place, not even in 2020, and he's immediately taken by how clean everything is, and yet so run down, the neighborhood, the yard, the building itself.

The steps in the rickety wooden stairway that leads to the back door are coming apart. The railing is loose, and Gio is sure it will come right off in his hand if he isn't careful. The bottom panel of the back door looks like someone has tried to kick it in.

"Come on," Jake says, and he leads Gio through a small entryway and into the kitchen.

The sweet smell of spaghetti and meat sauce is overwhelming, and Gio suddenly forgets all about the home's lack of paint, the creaking stairs and floorboards, the worn carpet in the entryway, and the fact that the kitchen is vintage 1953. Dirty yellow walls, cracked Formica counters, a beat-up old table set with chipped dishes and glasses; none of this can detract from the tempting aroma and the fact that everything is spotless.

Jake's mother spins toward the boys as they come through the doorway. She's wearing a frayed housedress and heavy brown shoes. But somehow her face is still beautiful, Gio thinks, and her smile is so welcoming.

"You must be Gio," she says as she wipes her hand on her apron and reaches to shake his. "I'm Mary."

"Happy to meet you, Mrs. Cane," he answers.

"Are you hungry?" Mary asks.

"Oh yeah, and it all smells delicious."

"It is," Jake says. "Mom's spaghetti is the best in the bay area, and that's saying a lot."

He walks up to the big kettle of sauce and stirs it, then takes a sip.

"Damn, Mom, such meaty sauce. You know we can't afford it."

"You're bringing home a guest, Jake. He deserves my best, don't you think?"

Jake turns to Gio and laughs. "I'll be eating peanut butter and jelly for a month just so my mom can impress you with her cooking."

Gio smiles. "I'm already very impressed."

"Thank you, Gio," Mary says, and then she turns to Jake. "You boys wash up for dinner and see if you can get your father in here. I'll be ready in just a minute."

As the boys walk into the family room, Jake turns to Gio and whispers. "You'll have to excuse my dad. He's pretty low these days. His company went under about a year ago, and he hasn't been able to find another job."

"Oh, no. Sorry," Gio says. "What did he do?"

Jake sighs. And runs his fingers through his hair. He clearly doesn't want to talk about it. Finally, he says, "Graphic artist... mostly for video games."

"An artist?"

Jake gestures to the wall behind the TV, where a portrait of Mary hangs in a simple but elegant frame. She wears a plain white cotton blouse, and her smile is sweet, warm, and beautiful. Her eyes sparkle. This is Jake's mother before things went terribly wrong for her husband, and he started losing hope. Still, the workmanship is perfect.

"That's fabulous," Gio whispers.

"Yeah," Jake says. Then he turns toward the darkest corner of the room. "My friend likes your work, Dad."

Deep in the shadows, a man sits in an upright recliner just staring into space. He hasn't even acknowledged that they are there.

"DAD!" Jake calls, and Jake's father jumps at the sound of his voice. Joe Cane finally looks at the boys.

"This is my friend Gio," Jake says. "He's going to spend a few nights with us. If it's okay with you and Mom."

Without changing his expression, without any new interest or hope in his eyes, Jake's dad turns slowly to look at Gio.

"Hello, Gio," he murmurs. And he manages to smile.

"Good to meet you, Mr. Cane."

"Dinner's ready," Mary suddenly calls from the kitchen. "Get moving, boys."

"Come on, Gio," Jake says. And he leads him away from his father and into a big, old fashioned, but immaculate bathroom.

#

"Gio can sleep in our office," says Mary as she offers Gio yet another serving of spaghetti.

"We don't want to make you guys do that, Mom," answers Jake. "He'll do just fine in a sleeping bag on my bedroom floor."

"I will," Gio adds.

Dad hasn't touched his food. But he's watching the conversation closely.

"We want to make him comfortable," Mary says. "Neither of us use the place these days. Just give me a few minutes to make up the bed. You boys can talk football and girls in the meantime."

"And do the dishes," Jake's father adds. It's the only thing he's said all night.

"I'd be happy to do the dishes," says Gio. "After a meal like this...."

"Thank you, Gio," Mary says.

"And, Mom," Jake begins, with a big grin, "do you know who's suddenly very interested in Gio?"

Mary takes another sip of water and shakes her head.

"Ashley Pressman."

Mary almost chokes on the water and starts coughing. After a moment, she stops, collects herself and smiles. "Ashley Pressman, our own local femme fatale."

Jake nods.

"I've seen her twist more than a few boys around her little finger."

"She's Diane's best friend, Mom," Jake answers. "Diane fixed Gio up with Ashley."

Mary smiles and turns to Gio, "What do you think of her?"

Gio just gives her a broad grin.

"I see," says Mary. "Well, be careful. She's a charming girl... but so mysterious. I wouldn't trust her if I were you. Sometimes I almost get the feeling that she's the agent of a foreign government or something."

"Or something," Dad adds. "Or something."

Chapter Eighteen

Meeting Emily

2012

"Get to know the ground, boys," screams Coach Duffy. "In a tough game, it'll be your best friend."

Gio picks himself up, wincing from the pain of his latest tackle. He's almost certain that the coach is making things extra tough on him, hoping that if he does, Gio will just drop out... and Jake will shut up about including him in Friday night's game.

"Off the field, Gomez!" Shouts Duffy. "You've had enough for this afternoon. Into the showers, boy."

"But coach," Jake calls, "He needs to practice if he's going to...."

"And you need to stop trying to do my job for me, Cane," says the coach. "I think you'd better take another lap around the field."

"Coach...."

"Get your ass moving, Cane. And Gomez... into the showers."

Gio pulls off his practice helmet and trudges toward the locker room. He guesses this is what he should have expected when he agreed to help Jake. But now his friend is starting to act desperate, and that worries Gio... a lot.

He moves past the band as it practices new formations on the opposite end of the field. A skinny kid with a tuba that must weigh more than he does takes a few misguided steps and comes tumbling toward him. Gio has to catch the guy before he falls right onto his tuba.

"Sorry about that," says the nervous band member.

"It's cool," Gio answers.

The tuba kid laughs, so do some of the other band members who have stopped their practice to watch. They look pretty ragged and disorganized Gio thinks, and then suddenly, he stops cold. He's looking at one of the clarinet players... the one who could almost be Emily Perkins.

The girl wears a short black skirt, a white dress shirt, and the classic forest green sport coat of the Green Mountain Cougars. Her hair is in Emily's everyday ponytail, but it looks so much better. Her horn-rimmed glasses are just a bit more stylish than usual. She looks at Gio and is as dumbfounded as he is.

"Gio, what are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to be a real friend," he answers. And then he just runs up to Emily and hugs her. She hugs him back. They look at each other for a moment, studying the changes in each other's features. Emily is still the same girl, but there's a whole new confidence about her that's very becoming.

"You look a little different, Gio," she says. "More rugged, I guess. But also a little scared."

Gio nods. It makes sense to him, and he's starting to feel very frightened.

"But what are _you_ doing here, Emily?" he asks, "And how did you get here?"

The girl smiles proudly. "I've been slippin' into the green for a long time."

"Huh?"

"I stumbled onto that shimmery green vortex out in the ravine. Decided to see what it was all about, and the next thing I knew, here I was."

"Whoa. And how long have you been... slippin'?"

"Through the vortex, into the past? A couple of years now, I like it here."

"So, you come every day?" Gio asks.

Emily shakes her head. "Only on days when we have band practice here, and only after school."

"And this version of Green Mountain High lets you do it?"

"No one's paying any attention to me," says Emily. "And apparently they need clarinet players very badly."

Gio laughs. "There's a shortage, huh?"

"Guess there must be. So I tell them I'm coming over from a nearby school that doesn't have a band. I want to march, and they let me."

"Weird."

"I know, but I'm having fun. Anyway, that's my story, Gio. What's yours?"

"I told you, I'm helping a friend."

"Jake Cane?"

"Well, yeah."

"Be careful," Emily says. "He's messing with events, trying to cure himself."

"I know. He thinks he can undo his injury."

"But do you know how he plans to do it?"

Emily takes Gio's arm and moves him toward the bleachers on the far side of the field... away from everybody.

"He keeps running the play that got him injured five years ago. But he's trying to change it somehow so that maybe someone else gets hurt instead of him."

Gio's never been able to admit this possibility to himself. "But he wouldn't do that to me," he says.

"I've been talking to him, watching him," Emily continues. "At first, he just ran the play a little differently, but when that didn't work, he started bringing some of our current players through the vortex with him. You know, like Eddy and VL. I don't think he originally wanted to have them get hurt instead of him. But when his original plan failed, he started to get desperate.

"I think he's willing to sacrifice just about anything or anyone to get what he wants."

Gio thinks about all this then shakes his head.

"I'm not ready to accept that one," he says.

"Maybe I'm wrong. I'm just saying be ready. Have you seen the look in Jake's eyes when they're holding those pep rallies?"

"Like megalomania?"

"Narcissism."

She wilts a little. "Just be careful, okay, Mr. Quarterback? There are a lot of dangers here, you know."

"I know."

"And they're not all on the football field."

"Like what else?"

"Just be careful."

Chapter Nineteen

Gio and Ashley

2012

Gio walks Ashley Pressman to one of the booths at Sammy's Pizza and Ice Cream. She's wearing a pink cardigan sweater, a white knit polo, and a short pleated skirt. It's almost too retro a look for Gio, but he has to admit that it does make her look especially fine.

It's only a few hours after the end of football practice, but it's already dark outside. Streetlights and the speeding traffic on El Camino Real offer a very "downtown" look through the wide picture window.

A fifties style, single-booth jukebox sits just below the windowsill. It's twenty-five cents a song for lots of ancient oldies: The Beatles, Elvis, The Everly Brothers. Ashley pulls a quarter out of her purse and selects a romantic tune:

_"Dream... Dream, Dream, Dream."_

Maybe it's too romantic, thinks Gio.

The booths are vinyl in the school colors of Green Mountain High. The tables are the same dirty Formica Gio knows so well. (They were even dirty back in 2012, he thinks, maybe even with the same dirt.) On the wall, one booth behind Ashley, a colorful cartoon by Jake Cane shows the clash of the Green Mountain Offensive Line and some dark rival defense. The Cougars line is destroying the other team. Jake's caption screams out the slogan:

**One More Blade Of Grass – One More TOUCHDOWN!**

Gio's gone through another rough practice with coach Duffy, and he's starting to wonder if the guy is asking more of him then of the other players.

"Whatever..." the quarterback sighs aloud. He's more than ready for a little relaxation with a nice, fat pepperoni pizza and this very interested young woman.

Ashley sits there, smiling seductively at Gio, not saying anything, just waiting for something. Gio's not exactly sure what, when suddenly the waitress is there. Gio might have expected it, but still, he can't believe who it is, Lindsey White, the same gal that Gio will know very well twelve years from now. She's there, staring at Gio the same way he must be staring at her.

"Do I know you?" she asks as she chomps away at her chewing gum.

Gio doesn't know what to say. He can't admit that he recognizes her.

"Don't think so," he finally answers. "I'm from out of state."

"Really," Lindsey answers. "Okay, then, what's your name?"

"Giovanni Gomez," he answers as though the school principal or a cop has asked him.

"Mexican?" asks Lindsey.

"Originally."

"And my name is Lindsey," she pushes out her chest so Gio can read her nametag. "But you can call me Lynn... everyone around here does."

"Pleased to meet you Lynn," Gio says. Ashley just sits there with a bewitching smile, taking it all in.

And suddenly, Lynn's mind jerks in a whole new direction.

"So, did you pick up on the drug murders down in Mexico yesterday?" she asks. "Gruesome. Just gruesome."

Gio is shocked by this turn but happy to get past Lynn's ability to remember him from the future.

"Do you like all the violence on the news?" Ashley asks.

Lynn shrugs. "I don't like it... but it _is_ interesting. I mean, I've never been to Mexico, but Gio's from there... right? Or at least his parents are, so I'm just wondering whether..."

"NO!" Gio answers. "My family has no ties to drug cartels."

"Of course not," says Lynn, "But you might have relatives down there who are in danger or..."

Gio gives her a blank stare.

"Don't you watch the news, kid?"

Ashley's smile broadens as she turns toward Gio.

"Hell no," he answers, suddenly angered by the conversation when all he really wants to do is order a pizza.

"In fact, I try to avoid the news at all costs. Who needs all that BS cluttering up your head? I've got enough on my mind. Besides, there's nothing we can do about it... so why give a shit?"

"Right," Lynn says, as she studies Gio, wondering again why he looks so familiar. And then she's back to taking their order.

"The _Green Mountain Special_ is today's Bargain Bonanza."

"And what's that," asks Gio.

"You know, just green onions on a thick crust pizza, piled high with seasoned hamburger, mozzarella, and zesty tomato sauce. Just fifteen ninety-five for a _large_."

"I think I need time to think about it," says Gio. "How about you, Ashley?"

She glances quickly at the menu and then sets it aside. "I know what _I_ want, but take your time."

"Give us a minute," he says to the waitress, who nods and heads down the line to another booth full of customers.

Gio turns back to Ashley, who gives him a sweet smile. "I know what you mean about the news," she says. "Who needs it?"

Gio nods and can't help but wonder how the girl manages to look so delicious. And then another couple moves into the booth directly behind her.

A broad-shouldered kid of about twelve takes a seat with his back to Gio. Across from the kid, a girl of eight or nine begins talking enthusiastically. She's going on and on about that great quarterback, Jake Cane. Ashley and the twelve-year-old are between Gio and the girl, so he doesn't get a very good look at her, and he really doesn't want to. He'd rather concentrate on sweet, soft, and sexy Ashley Pressman.

And then the little girl moves slightly to the right, and everything changes.

She continues to talk about Jake.

"Well, I think he's spectacular," she says, gesturing to the cartoon, which also shows Cane rising up above the defense and throwing a long pass. And suddenly, Gio recognizes the voice and the girl. How could he not, he's known her for most of his life. It's his little sister, Mía.

The kid across from her just shakes his head and slides over to the window. He leans up against it, revealing even more of Mía in an outfit she wore almost every other day when she was eight.

"Excuse me for a moment," says Ashley without even noticing the sudden change in Gio's expression. "Nature calls." And she slides from the booth and walks past the counter and into the hallway leading to the bathrooms. That leaves Mía with a clear view of Gio, and her jaw drops open. She tries to say something and can't.

"Weird," she murmurs at last. "Gio?"

"Yeah, Mía, what is it?" asks the kid sitting across from her.

"Not you... him," Mía answers as she suddenly points directly at Gio. The twelve-year-old suddenly turns around and looks.

"So... so creepy," Mía continues as Gio stares at his twelve-year-old-self who is looking directly back at him. For a moment, both of them are frozen. And then suddenly the kid seems to get it. He nods as though he's sharing Gio's thoughts, reading his mind, and agreeing.

"Yeah," he says finally, and reaches over and gives Gio a fist bump.

"Wait... what?" asks Mía turning to the kid in the booth with her, "You did what?" But just then, Gio spots Ashley on her way back to their booth. He stands and moves quickly to her.

"Let's go," he whispers as he takes her by the arm and spins her toward the door.

"What's this?" she asks with a giggle.

Gio thinks fast. "You look so pretty tonight, I think you deserved a lot more than a pizza."

"Really? That's sweet."

"Absolutely!"

So, Gio leads Ashley out into the night.

It's cooler outside and very dark. Still, there's enough light from the shop window to illuminate the girl's flirty expression. "Tell you what," Ashley says, "You're being so nice to me that I think I'll do something nice for you. Okay?"

Gio is so confused by the sudden appearance of his former self that he's ready to agree to anything. "Sure."

"Can I drive?" Ashley asks.

Gio nods and hands her the keys.

She opens the door for Gio, gives him a sexy smile, moves to the driver's side, and slides behind the wheel.

"There's a very romantic café up in the hills," she says. "I think you'll like it. Sometimes when no one's around, Pat, the owner, even serves us a cocktail or two. Would you like that, Mr. Quarterback?"

"It's not really legal," Gio answers with a shrug. "Plus, I don't drink."

"That's okay," Ashley answers. "We'll have a good time anyway. Besides... I want to show you something."

Chapter Twenty

The Storm

2012

Emily Perkins is still dressed in her Green Mountain band uniform. And now she moves quickly toward Jake Cane as he walks out of the men's locker room. His eyes are bright, his hair tousled. He's still pumped up from the day's football practice. Emily steps up toe to toe with Jake and demands to know, "Where is he?"

"Whoa," Jake says with a handsome grin. He takes her by the shoulders and holds her at arm's length. "Who are you talking about, Emily?"

"Gio... Gio Gomez, where is he?"

"Hey girl, chill," Jake says. "I don't know where he is. Coach sent him into the showers early, and I haven't seen him since."

Thunder suddenly rumbles as the sky opens, and rain sheets down on the Village of Green Mountain. The school windows rattle in the wind. The lights flicker on and off for a moment. The school feels like it's near the center of a hurricane. But none of it bothers Emily. Gio is too important.

Matt Allison has come out of the locker room with Jake. And now the big tight end with the square jaw and the retro crew cut speaks up.

"I saw Gio heading off toward the parking lot," says Matt. "He was with that pretty blonde. You know, Diane's friend."

"Ashley Pressman," says Jake. "She drives a Mini Cooper."

"Nice car," adds Matt. "I think I saw it parked in the far corner of the student lot."

Emily nods. She's desperate. "Thanks," she says as she gives Jake an accusing stare. Then she catches herself, smiles, and adds, "I appreciate it, guys." She turns and runs down the hall toward the exit at the back of the building.

The boys look at each other. "Who was that?" asks Matt.

Jake tries to laugh and cover up his long friendship with Emily. "Just a band girl I've run into a couple of times."

"Yeah... but it looks like she's in love with you, Dude?"

"Then why is she so desperate to find Gio?"

The rain is unusually heavy, and the wind is nasty. For a moment, Emily feels like the gods have turned on the heavenly spigots just to be bitchy.

She's soaking wet before she even gets to the edge of the parking lot. There are only a few cars left, scattered almost randomly across the windswept blacktop. School has been out for hours, and everything is black. Then lightning flashes across the sky, and the whole lot is illuminated for a moment. Emily sees the Mini Cooper parked at the very back of the lot.

She gasps.

In that brief lightning flash, she can just make out two bodies holding each other in the dark. The little car's windows are steamy, but Emily is almost positive that they're naked.

Inside the car, Ashley gives Gio another passionate kiss. They _are_ naked from the waist up and trying to tear away the rest of their clothing.

Gio falls back on the seat, and Ashley jerks his slacks and underwear down around his knees. She glances at his ripped body for a moment and then looks back into his eyes.

"Oh, Gio," she sighs. Then she raises her hips, slides out of her skirt, tosses it aside, and jumps toward him. Their passionate kisses begin again. But just then, there's a frantic hammering at the car window.

Gio turns and sees the rain-soaked face of Emily glaring at him through the foggy glass. She has a look of utter outrage.

"GET OUT OF THERE, GIO," she calls above the pounding of the rain. "GET AWAY FROM HER."

Ashley looks for the button that locks the car door, but it's too late. Emily has already jerked the door open.

"WHAT ABOUT CHANTELLE, GIO," she screams. "I THOUGHT _SHE_ WAS YOUR GIRL."

Gio is desperately trying to pull up his pants as he falls backward out of the car.

"Gross," Emily murmurs as she watches him struggle to his feet, button his pants, and finally stand there still naked from the waist up.

Emily turns and tries to climb into the car to get to Ashley. "YOU BITCH!" she screams. "HOW COULD YOU? I THOUGHT WE...." Ashley slams her open palm into Emily's face and pushes her back outside where she slips and falls on the rain-drenched blacktop.

Without bothering to try and put her clothes back on, Ashley throws Gio's shirt from the car, grabs the door, pulls it shut, and drives off into the night.

Emily struggles to her feet and turns to Gio.

"Can't you see what she's trying to do?"

Gio picks up his shirt and puts it on. He doesn't answer her at first. But then, with a sad nod, he murmurs, "Yeah, I guess I can."

"You'd better, Mr. Quarterback," Emily answers. "Or you're going to end up stuck here in 2012 for good... and just _maybe_ you'll find out that you're a cripple too."

Gio feels the wind blustering around him. He's drenched, but he doesn't feel cleansed or purified.

Then...

"Gio, bro!" shouts Jake as he jogs across the rainy parking lot and looks at his friend.

"You and Ashley Pressman, are a thing, huh? I see you!"

"Not quite," Gio murmurs.

"Oh, too bad. Sorry. I know how that goes." Then turning to Emily, Jake says, "But then, maybe Emily wants you all to herself."

"Or maybe she wants Ashley all to herself," says Matt Allison as he catches up to the rest of them. "You can never tell these days."

Emily looks at each boy with anger in her eyes. And then she turns and marches off across the windswept parking lot alone.

"Hey, girl, wait," calls Jake running after her and taking her arm.

Emily shakes his hand off of her. Her eyes are filled with tears.

"You guys don't know _anything_ about what's going on," she sobs, "NOT ANYTHING!"

Jake steps back for a moment. Then he flashes his most brilliant rockstar smile and brushes Emily's arm gently.

"Sorry," he says. "We're just a bunch of stupid, overworked jocks. It's not about you."

Emily looks into those heroic eyes, fights with her feelings for a moment, and then she just melts. The smile she returns is genuine and beautiful. "I'm okay, Jake."

"We're very sorry. I mean it."

"I'm sorry too."

"Sure. So, why don't you let us take you to Sammy's and buy you a pizza? You haven't eaten, have you?"

"No, I haven't eaten... and thanks, Jake. It's very nice of you, but I'm okay. Really."

"You look a little soggy, but then we all are. We could dry off at Sammy's."

Jake studies the girl for another moment and adds, "I'm sure that you'll be beautiful again after a few moments with a nice soft towel."

Emily laughs through her rain-drenched tears.

"Thanks again," she says. "The offer is flattering, but no."

"Well, let us at least drive you home."

"No. Really, you guys go have a pizza. I've got a few more things to do in the band room. The school has showers... And I live nearby."

"You sure?"

"Yes, the rain has already stopped."

"Yes, it has. Well... again, please accept my apology. See you around, Emily?"

"Yeah, Jake, see you around."

Chapter Twenty-One

The Pass Play

2012

"Get in there, Gomez," calls Coach Duffy. And Gio straps on his helmet and rushes out onto the playing field. There are exactly thirty seconds left in the football game. Jake and the rest of the team are already in the huddle.

As Gio runs up to them, he recognizes many different emotions in the eyes of his teammates. Several of the seniors on the squad look at him hopefully. They've seen him in practice and know what he can do. They know the play he's bringing with him and are sure it can work.

The receivers and backs look less positive. There's more at risk in a gadget play like this one. Besides, it's brand new. And, even though they've practiced it, it's never been tested in a real game.

"You haven't been tested either, Gomez," he imagines them thinking. "You've looked good in practice, but we've never really seen you in real game conditions."

Jake seems the least confident of any. And now Gio thinks that his friend's eyes look desperate.

Of course, Gio knows what Jake is really playing for, a total turnaround in the rest of his life!

"Halfback pass," calls Gio as he takes his place in the huddle. Jake nods.

"Allison, you go long," Jake calls.

"Hardy, do your job, man. Protect the quarterback.

"Gio, look for Thompson. If he's not open, go to one of the backs out of the backfield. I'll be near the sidelines. If there's no other alternative, find me."

Jake and Gio have discussed the play a thousand times. If Jake is the only one open, Gio should throw the ball in his direction... but way over his head.

The essence of Jake's plan is simple. Re-play the last moments of the game in which he was injured. Only, this time, Jake has to be totally out of the action. Gio has to throw the ball to someone else. If Jake isn't hurt, he can't be crippled, and his whole future changes forever.

That's what Gio thinks the play will be. But there's a part of Jake's plan that Gio doesn't know about. After trying that simple approach over and over again, Jake is certain that the only way his future will really change is if there's a _victim_ , a sacrifice, maybe to the gods of time and space or something like that. Who knows? What Jake _does_ know is that the victim has to be the guy throwing the ball. GIO!

"ON NINE," shouts Jake. "Now, let's get out there and get us some GREEN GRASS!" And the whole team claps and rushes up to the line of scrimmage.

For Jake, for Gio, for Diane Gilmore - cheering from the sidelines, for Emily - already moving away from the band and closer to the field of play, for Ashley Pressman –who has put on her sexiest sweater and now watches Gio from the corner of the end zone, the next few seconds seem to last forever.

"NINE!" shouts Jake, and the center hikes the ball to him. Jake turns and hands off to Gio, who begins to run to the left. But then he stops dead, faking out a charging linebacker. Gio drops back and looks downfield.

Matt Allison, the tight end, is covered, so is Thompson running toward the post. The wide receiver has curled to the sidelines, but he's double covered.

"WHAT THE 'F'!" shouts Gio as another linebacker blitzes though and charges toward him.

Gio fakes right, moves left. He's still behind the line of scrimmage. All of his receivers are covered, and the linebacker is closing fast.

Gio turns and sees Jake alone near the sidelines. Gio is about to be pulverized; he forgets all about the plan and throws a perfect strike to Jake.

Jake drops his arms and pulls away from the ball. It slams into the ground directly in front of him, and then it bounces out of bounds. Jake turns and glares at Gio just as that oncoming linebacker smashes into the passer.

"Late hit," calls the ref as he throws the flag.

"HEY, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" calls Jake as he runs toward the linebacker. He too is operating on pure instinct.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM, BITCH," Jake screams at the defender who still lies on top of Gio. The guy gets up slowly, grinds his knee into Gio's midsection as he does, and then he turns to Jake.

"WHAT'D YOU CALL ME?"

"Prick, bastard, asshole," sneers Jake. "Pick whichever one you like. They all fit."

The linebacker moves toward Jake and stands facing him. Then he smiles, raises up for a moment, lowers his head, and then drives the crown of his helmet into Jake's... head-butting him hard.

Jake goes down and lies there lifelessly.

Whistles blow, coaches and trainers rush onto the field. So does Emily. She finds Gio struggling to get to his feet, almost crawling toward Jake.

"NO GIO!" she screams. "Come on. We have to get out of here."

"But Jake..." Gio shouts turning, seeing Jake still unconscious, body crumpled, head twisted back unnaturally.

"COME ON," Emily screams, "OR YOU'LL DIE HERE. I MEAN IT."

Gio doesn't understand what's going on anymore. But he lets the girl pull him away from the crowd and onto the sidelines.

Ashley's there. "Gio, I'm so sorry," she sobs. "Come here, Baby." And she opens her arms and reaches for him.

"NO!" Emily screams again, and she jerks Gio in the other direction.

They rush across the open field, out beyond the gridiron, up to the fence at the edge of the ravine. They struggle through the gate, then stumble down the trail toward the raging vortex...

They dive into it...

Slip into the green...

And move back into the future.

PART THREE

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Watch Party

2020

Rebecca Jordan sipped the last of her ice tea and looked down into the ravine once again.

"Are you sure they're coming out of there tonight?" she asked the two men whose telescope has been the center of their watch parties for the last six months.

"Always have before," said Ray Chavez.

"Want another ice tea?" asked Kenny Chin.

Rebecca gave both of the old men a faint smile. "No, thanks. Sorry. I'm fine."

"No problem," answered Kenny.

Rebecca sighed and looked at Chantelle. "I think maybe we'd better go home. I'm really exhausted."

"Girl. No way," the cheerleader answered. "My man is down there, and I'm not leaving until I know he's safe."

"But that could take all night... even days," she answered.

"Never has before," said Ray as he took Rebecca's glass and added more ice tea to it. "Usually, it's about an hour... two at the most."

"But it's getting chilly," Rebecca whined.

"I can get you a blanket," said Ray.

"Or you could just take my car and go home," Chantelle added. Her face was twisted with worry. She'd curled up in the little lawn chair that Ray had given her, and started to shiver in the evening chill.

"So what will _you_ do if I take your car?" asked Rebecca.

"When the boys show up," said Mr. Paulsen, "I can drive her back to school. She can meet up with Gio there."

Paulsen had been standing at the barbed wire fence at the edge of the ravine. Now he turned and stared at the hypnotic green shimmer of the vortex once again.

"I think I'll just call my mom and ask her to come pick me up," said Rebecca, and she took out her cell phone and was about to call home when she heard Paulsen shouting.

"There they are! They're coming through right now."

Ray took Chantelle by the hand, and they rushed to the telescope together. Kenny and Rebecca joined Paulsen at the barbed wire fence. They all stared into the ravine.

Rebecca shaded her eyes. "I don't see anything."

"Just beyond that big rock," said Paulsen.

Ray focused the telescope on the vortex and then stepped back so that Chantelle could look through the eyepiece. She saw Gio suddenly emerging through the green. He wore a football uniform, not at all what he had on when he and Jake went into the vortex two hours earlier.

"It's Gio. He's okay! He's okay!" screamed Chantelle. "I'm not sure what he's wearing. But he's moving okay. Only..." She looked over at Paulsen, "Who is that with him?"

"It should be Jake Cane," answered the teacher.

"But it's not, it's some guy in a band uniform."

"Here, let me take a look," said Ray, and as Chantelle stepped back from the telescope, he looked into the eyepiece.

"Nope, it's not Jake," he said, "not a guy either. It's that girl... the one who keeps going in and out of the green thing."

"Let me see." Chantelle stepped up to the telescope again.

"It's Emily."

"Emily who?" asked Rebecca.

"You know, Emily Perkins."

"Really? The Nerd?"

Chantelle turned to Ray, "You say she's been through before?"

"More than anyone."

"She's the smartest kid in my class," added Paulsen, "the best student, period. Brilliant girl, but she's always been rather timid. The only person I've ever seen her talking to is you, Chantelle... and Gio."

"I never would have thought she'd dare to...." Chantelle began.

"We've watched her make the trip maybe what, thirty or forty times?" said Ray. "Right, Ken?"

Ray helped Chantelle zoom in on Emily's face.

"She looks different, somehow. Not sure. And she's definitely helping Gio like she's the one with the experience."

"She's been through maybe fifty times," added Kenny.

Chantelle stepped back from the telescope and crossed her arms.

"I'm going to have to talk to that girl," she said. "I really am."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chantelle and Emily

2020

Chantelle had already tried to see Gio that morning, but his mother said he had come in late after a very difficult night, and might not be able to see anyone before school on Monday morning.

"Please understand," Mrs. Gomez had asked. And though Chantelle didn't like it, she decided not to press the point. Instead, she walked a few more blocks to the home of Emily Perkins.

It was a typical mid-century bungalow in a quiet neighborhood. Painted grey, it had a huge picture window that looked out onto the tall oak trees lining the street. Directly above the window was a single room with white shutters. A huge teddy bear sat there staring down on Chantelle as she used the knocker to pound on the door.

"Coming, coming," said a sing-songy woman's voice, and then Emily's mom was standing there in a 1960s-style white shirtwaist dress. She was Emily-squared, every bit the same person except for a much more confident smile.

"Good morning, can I help you?" she asked.

"I'd like to speak to Emily," said Chantelle, grateful that she'd worn a conservative pair of slacks and a well-pressed cotton blouse.

"I'm sorry, but she's not feeling well."

Emily's mom began to close the door when Chantelle added, "But we're classmates, and I need to talk to her about this weekend's reading assignment."

The mom cocked her head and looked the teen up and down. Then she smiled. "You're Chantelle, right? The girl who has been so nice to Emily?"

"Your daughter is very sweet. I really like her."

Mom nodded and opened the door. "I'm Christine," she said, "and thank you. I like Emily too."

Chantelle stepped into a quaint entryway where the walls were hung with pictures of Emily growing up. There was a small table holding a telephone and a notepad, and a winding stairway that led to the second floor.

"Emily really _is_ sick, maybe female problems," Mom added. "Let me go up and see if she's able to talk to anyone... just a second."

A few minutes later, Chantelle stood in Emily's room. It was not at all what she had expected. Photos of the football team and the cheerleaders filled the wall opposite the girl's bed. There were candid close-ups of Chantelle, a few shots of Gio, and a whole section dedicated to images of Jake Cane at the peak of his success in 2012. He was chatting with fans in some shots, huddling with the coaches in others, and then throwing touchdown passes. Diane Gilmore led cheers and looked on proudly. It was as if the shots were taken with a high-powered telephoto lens on an excellent camera... _eight years ago_.

"Hey, Chantelle," moaned Emily as she sat up in the bed and brushed a mop of hair out of her eyes. "How do you like my photo wall?"

Chantelle couldn't help but stare at a shot of herself as she led an energetic cheer. It may have been the most beautiful photo of herself she'd ever seen. "Who took these?"

"Oh. _I_ did," Emily whispered. "Sorry."

"No. They're good; they're wonderful. I didn't know you were into photography."

"I try to keep it a secret."

"But why?"

"If I didn't, I'd have to get out there and (you know)... join a club or something. That's just not my thing."

"I understand," Chantelle answered. "Anyway, what's wrong? The flu?"

Emily sat back on the bed. She just looked beaten down.

"No. I just had a rough experience last night."

Chantelle fixed Emily with a hard gaze. "That's what I'm here to talk to you about."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I was over at Mr. Paulsen's last night. His next-door neighbors have a telescope trained on that... _thing_."

"What thing?"

"They saw you coming through it."

Emily turned white. "The vortex?"

"Whatever. You and Gio slipped back through it and into the ravine."

Emily lowered her head and begins to play with her fingers.

Chantelle put her hands on her hips. "Care to explain?"

"Not really... it's a gateway to a... a... while ago... back when Jake was a superstar."

"Before his injury."

"Right."

Emily got up from the bed and walked across the room so that she stood directly in front of the photo wall. She wore loose-fitting cotton pajamas that made her look even sicker than she was.

"What's Jake up to, Emily?"

The girl shook her head as if unwilling to answer. But then she whispered, "He thinks he can cure himself by going back there... can make himself well... even though it means that some other player will get hurt when he does it."

"How?"

"He runs the same play over and over again, hoping that eventually, some sacrificial victim will be the one who's injured instead of him."

"Oh my God, you mean, like Gio?"

"That's who it was this time. Before that, it was Mike, then VL, then Eddy."

"You mean he's trying to get them killed?"

"Not exactly, more like hurt real bad... as bad as he was... or worse."

Chantelle felt sick. Her eyes nearly closed as she glanced absently around the room: at Emily's neat desk with a MacBook Pro and a small printer on top of it, her matching dresser and bed, and all those photos covering the walls.

"And who's that?" asked the cheerleader. She gestured to a corner of the wall where a dozen candid shots of Ashley Pressman captured the girl's stunning beauty.

"Just a girl," Emily answered. "I thought she was my friend. Guess not. You would have loved her though... and then hated her."

"Why?"

"She tried to get to Gio... tried to have him (you know) fall in love with her... stay in the past with her, start living his life from 2012."

Chantelle was stunned. "Bitch," she finally murmured.

"That's how I felt. If I ever see her again, I'll... I don't know." Emily's fists were clenched, and her jaw was set, suggesting that, if she ever did encounter Ashley Pressman again, she intended to hurt the girl.

"And what's this?" asked Chantelle as she walked up to the wall and pointed to a close-up of Emily marching in the school band.

"Ashley took that picture. It's band stuff. That's what got me back there in the first place. I wanted to play in the school band. We were outstanding... back in 2012. You should have heard us."

Chantelle felt overwhelmed by everything Emily had said. And now the sick girl sounded insistent.

"Come and hear us."

"How?"

"Go back through the vortex with me."

"You mean that thing in the ravine?"

Emily's eyes lit up. "That would be so cool. Let's do it."

"But won't it hurt?"

"The vortex? No, I think it would _like_ you to come back."

Chantelle looked stunned. "You make it sound as though the thing has a mind or something."

"I think it's more like an instinct."

"But it messes with the people who go through it, I know it does."

"Don't worry, I have an antidote for that. I can give you some."

Chantelle shook her head. "Where did you find it?"

Emily didn't answer. She just looked down... but she was smiling a little.

"The vortex showed you where?"

"Let's just say it let me go back to a place where they knew about the antidote, and they shared it with me."

"Terrifying," Chantelle murmured. But Emily was excited by the new idea.

"Come back with me, Chantelle. Check out the band. You could definitely find some dude and... You know... the way Gio and Ashley...."

Emily suddenly put her hand over her mouth and stared at Chantelle with guilty eyes.

"The way Gio and Ashley ... what?"

Emily sighed. She pulled out the desk chair and sat down. Chantelle moved to the bed and sat across from her.

"Ashley made a lot of moves on Gio. I think she wanted to get something started with him. But I stopped all that. So now, if you want to, you can go back there, find some dude, and you know..."

"What? Get pregnant? Damn, Emily. What I should do is go back, find that bitch Ashley, and scratch her damn eyes out."

Emily was so excited that she jumped up from the chair and rushed to Chantelle. "Yes, that's it. And I'll help you. Come on."

Chapter Twenty-Four

Gio in Delano

2020 (1966)

On Monday morning, Gio was in his usual seat in Paulsen's class when Chantelle and Emily came wheeling into the room together. They marched up to the boy's desk, and Emily slammed a small bottle of clear liquid down in front of him.

"Drink it!" she commanded.

"And good morning to you too, Emily," said Gio with a sarcastic smile that didn't seem like him at all.

"Just drink it," whispered Chantelle. "It's important."

"Sure," answered Gio, but the full bottle still sat on his desk when Mr. Paulsen spoke up.

"Nice to have you with us, girls," he said to Chantelle and Emily. "Now, how about taking your seats so I can get things started."

Secretly, the teacher was pleased to see these two very bright young women working together, but he had to be the disciplinarian, didn't he, for the sake of the other students.

Emily moved quickly to her desk, while Chantelle crossed her eyes in mock-annoyance at Paulsen's words, and then she slid into the seat next to Gio's. "Drink it," she whispered to him once again.

"It's okay. I'm fine," Gio answered though he definitely did not look fine to Chantelle. And he still left the bottle untouched.

"You're not fine," answered Chantelle, "Drink the stuff in the bottle!"

**"DELANO!"**

Paulsen's voice suddenly boomed out at them from the front of the room. Chantelle turned to the teacher, folded her hands like a well-behaved schoolgirl, and nodded. Emily did the same.

"The first serious California farmworkers strike happened in the grape fields of Delano in the mid-nineteen-thirties," Paulsen began. "But now it's 1966, and the workers in the grape fields of the San Joaquin Valley are still having a rough time of it.

"There's no water to drink as they labor under the hot afternoon sun. On most farms, there are no toilets for the workers, so they have to do their business right there in the fields and just keep working. They're paid far less than the minimum wage and are not allowed to ask for improved working conditions, or to organize or form a union. In fact, they can't complain in any way. When they try..."

And Gio suddenly knows exactly what it's like for migrant workers in the California grape fields of the 1960s. He's there, hiking quickly down a dusty road toward the ramshackle dwellings and repurposed WW II Quonset huts where the migrant workers are forced to make temporary homes. The muddy yard surrounding the buildings is full of barking dogs. It's barely sunrise, but the workers are already lining up at the pit toilets and cold showers that sit outside their homes. The workers built the facilities themselves.

A few beat-up old cars sit in the yard, waiting to drive the workers to the fields... _if_ the vehicles will start on this chilly morning.

And now a trio of toughs falls in behind Gio as he shuffles along the road.

"Wait up, kid," calls Jerry, the shortest of the three. He reaches out, grabs the boy by the arm, and spins him around. Jerry's buddies are much bigger. They wear white shirts tucked into dark, dirty slacks. Their shoes have never known a shine.

"Do you _have the English_?" Jerry asks in mock Spanish.

"Yes, of course," says Gio.

"Don't give us any shit, kid, or you'll find yourself having a hard time taking a deep breath..."

"Or any breath," says Ron. Apparently, this monster is second in command and a good ten inches taller than Jerry.

"You know what we mean, don't you, _senior_?" asks the third member of the crew, a tall skinny kid named Jack.

"Yes, sir," answers Gio quickly.

"Good, Señor, very good," says Ron.

"Now, we understand that some of you boys think you can form a union here," says Jerry. He's still holding Gio by the arm.

"I don't know anything about that," says Gio.

"You'd better know, kid."

"Listen, you've got a good deal going here," says Jerry. "You wouldn't want to mess it up for your compadres, would you, Chico?"

Gio suddenly feels real fear. He's outnumbered, and these toughs are moving dangerously close. There's a sudden jab into his side, and Gio drops to his knees only to feel a hard slam onto the back of his head. He falls on his face on the muddy road, and the tough guys start kicking him mercilessly. Gio's sure that they mean to kick him to death.

Suddenly, a big Cadillac pulls up beside them and begins to honk its horn. The tough guys look up and then move away. "Remember what we said, kid," yells Ron as he turns to run. "No unions here, understand? Or we come back and put you and the rest of these _hombres_ away for good."

Gio can barely move, doesn't know if he can get to his feet, but he hears the men laughing as they run down the road.

The Cadillac rolls forward slowly and then continues after them. Gio doesn't know who the driver is or whose side he's on, only that he stopped the toughs from killing him. He pushes up painfully from the mud, watches the car move down the road, and then he spots something far worse than anything he has seen so far.

There! Just inside the barbed wire barrier to the grape field, he spots (it can't be, but it must): Francisco, Linda, and Mía, his parents and sister. They're picking grapes in the field. His mom is hunched over; she can barely stand upright she's so worn down from the backbreaking work. His father tries to help her along as a foreman stands across from them and berates Gio's parents for not working fast enough.

"Mom! Dad!" Gio cries, and he staggers to his feet and breaks into a run. Mía looks toward him. Sees him coming.

"No, Gio," she shouts, "Get away! Don't come here."

And just then, a crop duster swoops down and buzzes the field. It sprays chemicals insecticide down onto the crops and the workers too.

The foreman is long gone. The workers are choking and coughing. Francisco tries to cover his mouth as he pulls his wife to him. Mía is doubled over in retching spasms.

"Get out of there," Gio calls. "Just get the hell away from there." But before any of Gio's family can move, the crop duster banks and comes back to make another pass at the field. It spews more deadly chemicals onto the crops and the workers alike.

"Get out of there," Gio shouts again as tears well up in response to the chemicals from the plane.

Chantelle heard Gio calling, "GET OUT OF THERE," as he bolted up from his desk. He held one arm above his eyes as though looking up into the sun.

"GET OUT!" He screamed, and suddenly he collapsed onto the floor. Chantelle raced to him, grabbed the little bottle from his desk, pressed it to his lips, forced his mouth open, and poured in the liquid.

Paulsen was suddenly by her side, helping to steady Gio as the boy went into convulsions. Emily was there too, so was Eddy trying to calm Gio as Emily continued to force the liquid down his throat.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Visiting Jake

2020

Matt Allison trudged along the narrow walkway that led to the back door of the Cane's apartment. Wearing jeans, a Green Day T-shirt, and scuffed cowboy boots, he also carried a battered guitar case.

Matt knocked on the door and it opened immediately, as though Mary Cane had been waiting for the knock... standing there expecting it.

"Oh, Matt, it's great to see you," said Mary, and she immediately stepped forward and gave him a hug. He hugged back.

Mary had known Matt since he was four and visited Jake after preschool. "Come in, please," she said. Matt stepped into the entryway and saw a big smile suddenly fill Mary's face. "You brought your guitar," she said.

"Thought it might help cheer up a sick friend."

"Well, you can cheer me up, Matt. Any time. I think that new single of yours is just fabulous."

Matt smiled, and in Mary's eyes, the successful singer was suddenly a little boy again, just come in from playing hard on the back lawn, being given a big glass of lemonade and offering up his soul in a grateful smile. "Thank you," Matt said.

"Of course, some of the other numbers on that album are a little too noisy for me," Mary confessed. "But that single is just perfect."

Matt nodded. "Do you think Jake's up to hearing it? Maybe I could play a few bars right in his room."

Mary wrung her hands and glanced away nervously. When she looked back, she almost seemed desperate. "I just don't know, Matt. I'm not sure." She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and then came that smile again. "But I hope so."

"And how's he doing?"

"Could be better," said Mary. "Some days are not as good as others... like today, I don't think he's doing well at all today."

"I hope you told him I was coming."

"Yes, of course I did."

"And he said?"

"Oh, he was excited."

The couple looked at each other for a long moment. They both knew that it was a lie. Sad messages about Jake's ongoing condition passed unspoken between them. Then, Mary added, "Anyway, congratulations on all your success, Matt. You certainly deserve it. Now, follow me, and hopefully, Jake will want to hear that song of yours."

Jake's bedroom was dark and smelled of sickness and anger. Long curtains hung over the windows, almost eliminating any daylight that might come through them.

"Someone special to see you, Jake," Mary said as she entered the room. And then, without asking, she went to the draperies and pulled them open.

Jake sat up in bed. He crossed his arms against the glair of the sunlight as if he was a vampire awakening in his coffin.

"Please, Mom," Jake croaked.

"Sorry, honey, but you know you need the sunlight."

"Screw the sunlight, Mom. Close the damn drapes!"

"Hey... now, Jake," Matt said with a laugh as he pulled a chair up beside the bed and tried to look past the hollow cheeks and tangled hair of his friend.

"Screw you too," said Jake bitterly. "And what the hell are you doing here anyway?"

"I was in town; I wanted to see how you were holding up."

"Or did you just come by to gloat?"

"Jesus, Jake, why would I do that?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm stuck here in this bed, and you've just landed a big recording contract and a number one hit?"

"Jake! Is that any way to talk to a friend who's come all the way from Nashville to see you?" Mary asked. She went to her son's bed, pulled the pillows out from behind him, fluffed them, and put them back.

Jake said something that sounded more like a growl than anything else. Matt just shrugged.

"Now, you boys play nice, understand?" said Mary. And she gave each of them a weary nod and left the room.

"Oh, Mom!" Jake sighed. And he buried his face in his hands for a moment.

"Jake?"

He lay there silently and then he finally looked at his old friend.

"She's getting to be just like the rest of em."

Matt studied the former football hero and realized that he had practically become a ghost... one who haunted a bedroom kept in perpetual darkness. Still, Matt told himself, he had come to see Jake, to try and cheer him up, and as much as he wanted to leave, he decided he had to stay and play it out.

"I don't trust her anymore," Jake said. "My mom, I just don't trust her."

"Jake, your mom is an F'in saint."

"You only say that because you don't see her every day. You don't know that she's their eyes and ears, dude. They're all watching me... trying to put me away... into some institution."

"Who is?"

Jake began trembling all over. His words suddenly came fast and frightened.

"The docs, the school, my Mom, they're all out to get me, slap me in one of those straight jackets, and stash me in some psycho ward for the rest of my life."

Jake suddenly held up his arms against the sunlight. "And can you close the God damn curtains? I can't stand the glare!"

Matt stood, walked slowly over to the draperies, and that's when he saw the painting. It was a strange, unearthly scene: a tangled web of pine trees somewhere out in the ravine... it had to be. And dead center in the middle of the painting was a shimmering ugly thing, almost a person but not, almost some kind of a demon. It was stepping out through some kind of watery space.

"Damn, what the hell is this, Jake?" Matt asked.

Jake eyed the image for a moment. "The centerpiece of my life, dude. That's what it is.

"My mom hates it."

"Yeah, I can see why," said Matt. "I mean, it's good, Jake."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"But almost too terrifying."

"I know."

Matt studied the painting for a long moment, and then he stepped past it and pulled the cord that closed the drapes. "Better?" he asked.

He glanced at the painting as he moved away from the drapes. That shimmering demon was there. Matt shivered suddenly.

"Jake, is that you? Is that you coming through that green?"

Jake nodded slowly, and then he said, "You guys let me down, you know?"

"Like how?"

"Like by bumbling the play that got me injured."

Matt nodded. He still felt that way and was probably never going to shake it.

"And then the rest of these clowns, they couldn't fix it, even when I went back and restaged the whole damn thing. They couldn't help me fix it... Gio, VL, and the rest of them."

Jake had talked about this before, and Matt never did understand it. He wasn't part of the plan, had never been through the vortex, and had never been told about restaging the play... he just lived straight through it all.

So, Matt went to his guitar case, knelt down, and unlatched it. He took out an acoustic guitar, strummed an e-chord, tuned a few strings, and turned back to Jake.

"Want to hear a song I just wrote?"

"No, thanks," Jake answered. "Not in the mood."

"Come on, dude, it's about us, about friendship, about sticking together, taking care of each other."

Jake's eyes narrowed. "Did they tell you to come here and play it for me? They wanted to see if you could break me down, right?"

"What the hell, Jake. No one told me to play anything for you... except maybe Ashley."

"Pressman?"

"We're engaged," Matt said with the kind of smile the room hadn't seen in years.

Jake smiled, too, but it was a filthy smile.

"So, you're the one who'll be stuck with that piece of trash. I knew she'd find some sorry dude to suck the soul out of."

Matt was shocked at the statement, and then anger began to take hold of him. He responded slowly and deliberately. "Don't call her that, Jake. Ashley's a sweet girl, she's beautiful, and she loves me."

"You or your money, dude?"

"Stop it, Jake." Matt walked directly up to the bed and looked down at the former football hero. His sheets were tangled around his body as though he'd been thrashing in them all night long.

Jake stared back bitterly.

"They sent you here, didn't they," he said. "The doctors and the rest of them? They want you to demoralize me... rub it all in my face."

Matt gritted his teeth and glowered down at Jake. It was all he could do to keep from reaching for his pale friend and shaking him to death.

"Rub _what_ in your face?"

"Come on, man... your _success_ , that's what. They want to make me either _get_ up or _give_ up."

"Jake!"

"And you and Ashley Pressman? She's a total bitch, dude!"

Matt raised his fist, ready to drive it into his friend's face. "She's my fiancé."

Jake looked at the fist, then into Matt's eyes.

"Come on; hit me, you pussy. That's what they sent you up here to do, wasn't it? Make fun of me, rub your big hit record and hotshot contract in my face, tell me all about your slut fiancé?"

Matt's fist quivered in the air as he fought the need to punch Jake. Then he closed his eyes, turned from the bed, and began to put his guitar back into its case.

"Tell you what, sucker," said Jake. "I'm getting even with all of you: you and my parents, and the doctors, and all those asshole friends of mine. They're the ones responsible for this."

Matt concentrated on putting the guitar back in its case.

"LOOK AT ME, GOD DAMN IT!" shouted Jake.

Matt walked back to the bed, and he did look at Jake one more time. The boy was all long boney arms and legs contorted into some horrific shape born of bitter anger and madness. Tears streamed down Jake's face. Hatred filled his eyes. His lips curled into a snarl of despair.

"Dude, do you really believe all that shit?" Matt asked. "Conspiracies between the doctors and your parents? Jake, I told you; your mom is a saint."

Jake heaved an enormous sigh, and his expression suddenly changed.

"I know she is," he sobbed. "All I ever wanted to do was take care of her... and my dad."

Matt could see the disappointment, guilt, and anger tearing at Jake's soul. And then anger seemed to take over again and blaze out through his eyes.

"But what I want doesn't matter, dude, does it? It ain't gonna happen, because I can't take care of _anyone_?"

Matt took a quick step back.

"LOOK AT ME!" Jake screamed. " _YOU_ DID THIS TO ME... YOU _ALL_ DID THIS!"

Matt grabbed his guitar, stuffed it into the case, and snapped it shut. Then he turned and walked from the room without saying a word, leaving the door open behind him. And that was unfortunate, because as he walked past Mary on his way out of the house, they could both hear Jake screaming after him.

"YOU _ALL_ DID THIS TO ME!"

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Warning

2020

"Hey rockstar," shouted Rebecca Jordan as Matt Allison wove his way through the crowd at Sammy's. "Can I have your autograph?" The usual gang of cheerleaders and football stars were already there, seated at their favorite back table, talking playoffs, and cheer competition.

Matt's expression was troubled, but his face lit up when he heard Rebecca's call, even though he'd never met her or any of the other girls. He had played varsity football with Gio, VL, Eddy, and Mike, each individually in another dimension. Of course, he could barely remember that.

"Can I join you guys," he asked when he got to the table. "I've something important to tell you."

Rebecca slid her napkin toward him, "Autograph please," she murmured.

Matt looked at her, pulled out his Mt Blanc pen and wrote,

_"To one hot little lady. Your admirer, Matt."_

"Awe, Matt. I love, HOT LITTLE LADY," she sighed as she recognized the name of Matt's first big hit.

"And you _are_ a total hottie," added Eddy. Then he turned to Matt. "So, what is it, dude?"

"We need to talk about our mutual friend, Jake Cane," said Matt.

There was an audible gasp from everyone in the booth. VL and Mike pulled away from Matt when he said the name.

"Not sure I want to call him a _friend_ anymore," said VL

"Right," added Mike. "He nearly got me killed."

"That's the point," Matt answered. "He's _not_ your friend."

Unlike Matt, who had never passed through the vortex, never did any time-shifting, just grew up, wrote a song, sold a million copies, and became a rockstar, Gio remembered everything about his experiences in the green, so did his teammates.

"I _do_ think he set us up," Gio said. "But...."

Suddenly Lynn, now the head waitress at Sammy's, found her way to the table.

"Why, Mr. Matt Allison," she sighed. "Welcome home, honey."

Matt remembered the woman from his days at Green Mountain High, and he gave her a warm smile.

"How's my favorite waitress, Lynn?"

"As big a fan as ever, Matt. You're the longest playlist on my phone."

"And I'm still in love with you," Matt answered.

The rest of the gang rolled their eyes at this. But Lynn and Matt ignored them.

"What'll it be, Rockstar?" Lynn asked.

"How about your best Hawaiian deep-dish pizza and a cold diet coke?"

"Sure thing. Rest of you guys good?" Lynn asked, pointing to the other kids at the table. They all nodded.

"Okay, well then. But Matt, uh, could you, you know, pay the bill with a credit card? That way, I can keep the receipt as a souvenir. Better yet, how about a photo of the two of us together?"

Matt laughed. "As soon as the pizza gets here, we can do it all."

Lynn nodded appreciatively. "Hawaiian deep-dish, coming right up." And she almost danced her way back through the crowd.

"Now, where were we?" Matt asked.

"I was saying that I think Jake was trying to _use_ us," said Gio. "But I don't think he was trying to _hurt_ anyone. He actually got injured defending me."

"That sounds like Jake," said Matt, "or at least part of him, but that's not the whole story. I don't know exactly what your experiences were, but I just visited Jake, and let me tell you, he's in real bad shape, and these days he's blaming _all of us_ for his injuries... especially you, Gio."

Gio sighed and glanced over at Chantelle, who gave him an anxious look. Then he turned back to Matt. "Yeah, but I think that way down deep, he still appreciates..."

"No!" said VL and Chantelle both at the same time.

"There is no _way down deep_ ," Chantelle murmured.

"He doesn't appreciate us, man," said VL "It's that simple. He knows that he's lost his pro career and all those heroic dreams about helping his folks..."

"And now that he can't make any of that happen," said Chantelle, "Who's he going to blame... not himself."

"Jake's never done that," added Eddy.

"So, he's blaming you guys," said Matt. "What I'm here to tell you is that now he's crazy enough to try and _do_ something about it."

"Like what?" asked Gio.

"Like take revenge," answered Chantelle. "He's not your friend, Gio. You may be _his_ friend, but he's not yours."

"He stuck up for me."

"From what you told me about it," Chantelle said, "It sounds more like that was just pure instinct. Jake probably did it without thinking. It was almost an accident."

"Hey, I was there," said Matt. And then his face darkened with uncertainty, "At least I think I was. Everything that happened at the end of that game is muddled."

"Well, there's nothing muddled about what happened to me," said Mike Sakajima. "We were behind in the game, and Jake went to the coach and told him that we should kick a field goal on _third down_ , can you believe that. Even though we were already close enough to make the kick and tie the game, we had a real shot at a winning touchdown. No one in their right mind kicks a field goal on third down when they've got enough time to try and win the game."

"Yeah, I remember," said Matt. "Third and goal with twenty seconds left in the game, we were behind twenty to seventeen. That's the play Jake was hurt on."

"That's the play he's always hurt on," said Gio, "the one he keeps running over and over again. So instead of trying to throw a touchdown pass the way he always did before, he had you come in to kick."

"Jake wasn't even on the field that time," said Mike. "He was just standing on the sidelines when I kicked the field goal. The snap was terrible; the kick was blocked; the ball bounced toward the sidelines, and both teams went after it. The ball landed right in front of him, and then half a dozen players charged after it, tackling each other and Jake in the process. He got hurt again."

" _Something_ doesn't want Jake to change things," said Chantelle. "It's insisting that things stay the same no matter what Jake does."

"Except that this last time with me," said Gio, "He _did_ change things, didn't he?"

"Well, _yeah_ ," said Chantelle, "He made things worse for himself."

Matt shook his head. "All I know is that Jake is damn bitter. He says he's going to get even with all of you."

"The question," said Chantelle, "is what are we going to do about it."

"Pizza's here," called Lynn. And she marched up to the table carrying one big, beautiful deep-dish... pineapple chunks and all. She slid the pizza in front of Matt as though it was an offering to a god... a rock god.

Chantelle watched in frustration as Gio took photos of Matt with Lynn, and then Matt with Rebecca, and with Mike and most of the others, just as he had promised.

Gio motioned for her to come and have her picture taken with Matt too, but Chantelle just shook her head.

"That's okay. Excuse me," she said, waving them off. "I need to go."

Gio looked at her in surprise. "We've got things to unpack here."

"Well then, _you_ unpack them," she answered as the first hints of real anger touched her voice. "I know what I have to do, and I'm going to do it _right now_."

And she squeezed out of the booth, through the crowd, away from her friends, and out the front door.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Confrontation

2012

It's November 8, after school at Grass Mountain High.

On the football field, the team breaks into small practice groups. The receivers and tight ends go out for passes from the second and third-string quarterbacks. The linemen crash the tackling dummies while the defensive assistant looks on shouting encouragement. Running backs sprint up and down the center of the field. Along the sidelines, the cheerleaders try out their sexiest new routines.

Nearby, the marching band (without Emily) does a masterful performance of ' _Cheer, Cheer for Grass Mountain High'_ as it forms the outline of the school's signature peak.

By the far-side bleachers, several students just hang out, watching their friends in practice. There are several reporters from the school newspaper, the school photographer, a couple of visiting alums, and a small group of school kids, including Ashley Pressman. She looks especially hot in a white rib-knit sweater and short plaid skirt, and seems blissfully unconcerned with anything that's happening... until she spots Emily and Chantelle. The girls are heading toward the football field. Unfortunately, Chantelle spots Ashley too. She doesn't know who she is but understands that there's something dangerous about her.

"Who _is_ that girl?" Chantelle asks Emily. She stops and stares at Ashley, and that gives the beautiful blonde an excuse to approach. Not sure what else to do, Emily decides to introduce them.

"Chantelle, this is Ashley Pressman; Ashley... Chantelle," says Emily.

"Hi," says Ashley as she offers her hand to Chantelle.

Chantelle reaches to take the other girl's hand and then pulls back.

"Just wait a minute," she says to Emily. "Isn't this the bitch who went after Gio?"

"Uh, that would be a 'yes,'" her friend whispers.

Chantelle tightens her hands into fists and considers charging Ashley. And then, _what the hell_... she does.

Ashley twists away easily and watches as Chantelle goes sprawling into the turf.

Emily helps Chantelle to her feet and then holds her so that she can't go after Ashley again.

Ashley tosses her long blonde hair back over her shoulder and gives Chantelle a knowing smile. "There's no cause for any of this," she says.

Chantelle growls. She is about to rip herself out of Emily's arms when she spots Gio tossing a football with Jake across the practice field. She wants to run to him, grab him, and drag him back through the vortex, back to the future where he belongs. But she knows she can't. She and Emily have to deal with Jake.

"We're not here to talk to Gio," says Emily.

"Really?" asks Ashley as she began to twist her fingers into her long blonde hair.

"Look," says Emily. "Just give us a few minutes with Jake, and we'll be out of here."

"Actually," Ashley answers. "Talk to anyone you want, girls. I'm cool with it."

Chantelle has had enough of Ashley. "Go seduce a freshman, or a teacher or something," she shouts.

Ashley doesn't answer; she just smirks. And just then, a football spirals in the girls' direction and falls at their feet. Matt Allison comes running after it and stops just short of the trio. He approaches rather shyly.

"Excuse me," he says.

Ashley gives him an enigmatic smile that suggests so damn much, as she picks up the football and holds it out to him.

"Actually, it belongs to the school. But I'll take it."

Ashley pulls the football back to her, holds it against her breast for a moment, smiles at Matt seductively, and then hands him the ball.

Matt takes it and stammers out a confused, 'Thank you.'

"Better get back to practice," Chantelle says.

Matt just stands there, holding the ball, staring at Ashley.

"Practice?" repeats Chantelle. "Shouldn't you get back to your practice?"

"And Ashley will go with you," Emily says, "Right, girl? You want to go over to the other side of the field with Matt and watch him work out."

Matt suddenly snaps awake. "Yeah, that's a great idea. Come on. I'm running some new routes."

Ashley shrugs, gives one last nasty look at Chantelle, and heads off across the field alongside the big tight end.

"Witch," Chantelle curses under her breath.

_"You stay away from my man,"_ she wants to yell it after Ashley, but then she sees the look in Emily's eyes. "The less we say to her, the better," whispers Emily. "Now, let's go find Jake."

The girls catch up to Jake a little later as he heads toward the locker room. Gio and the others have gone ahead and are already in the showers, so he's alone.

"Hey, Jake," calls Emily.

"Hey, Hi, Emily. Working out with the band again?"

"Uh, not exactly."

"Okay, whatever. Who's your friend?" Jake studies the girl he isn't supposed to meet for another seven years.

"Gio's girl," says Chantelle.

"But, I thought Ashley..." Jake begins.

"I think Ashley's more interested in your friend, Matt," says Emily.

"Oh... Okay. Hard to keep up with the latest _Romances_ here at school."

"This isn't about romance, Jake," says Chantelle in a very solemn tone. "This is about your injury."

Jake's head jerks toward Chantelle.

"What injury?"

"The one that's going to happen tomorrow," says Chantelle.

"The one you're trying to pass off onto Gio," adds Emily.

"Damn, girls," says Jake as he begins to run his fingers nervously through his hair.

"We have a different plan for you," says Emily. "A better one."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't have to hurt Gio tomorrow, or Eddy, or any of the others," says Chantelle.

Jake takes a hard step backward. "Where'd you get the idea that I plan to hurt anyone?"

"You told me about it yourself, Jake."

"I did? When."

Emily pauses. She's not sure how much Jake knows about all that's happening. Finally, she shrugs. "Eight years from now," she answers.

"This is nuts," Jake says.

"Except you know it's not," answers Emily. "Listen, Jake. We want to tell you how to save yourself."

Jake stares at her for a long moment. Chantelle thinks she sees sudden understanding and hope in his eyes. And then his expression changes completely.

"This is bull shit," he mumbles. "You girls don't know what you're talking about.

"Goodbye, Emily... Chantelle." And he turns and moves on toward the locker room.

"Wait. Jake, listen," calls Emily.

Jake turns, his eyes now clouded with anger, and he yells back at her, "Enough, Emily. I don't want to hear any more of your BS."

"But you have to listen to us."

"NO, I DON'T," he answers as he takes a step toward her. "NOT EVER. IN FACT, I'M TOTALLY DONE WITH YOU, EMILY."

Emily recoils as though she's been slapped across the face. She turns to Chantelle, her expression twisted in pure agony. "I can't believe...." she begins.

She turns back to Jake, who now stands there defiantly with his hands on his hips. And suddenly she breaks into a run. Chantelle races after her, calling to her, but Emily rushes into the ravine toward the vortex. Her breath is labored; she trips awkwardly and falls, muddying her knees and arms. She gets to her feet again and runs on. Chantelle can hear her sobbing as she goes.

"Emily, wait!" but she doesn't. She plunges through the vortex, and Chantelle doesn't catch up to her until they are back in 2020.

"Emily!" Chantelle calls again. The girl suddenly turns. "I'm done with him too, Chantelle. Okay. I'm through trying to help him and everyone else."

"But what about Gio?"

"I don't give a damn about any of them, Chantelle. Now, leave me."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Car Chase

2020

Midnight.

Eddy Tagley left Rebecca's home and was walking back to his house through the upscale suburban neighborhood. He crossed in the middle of a wide crosswalk, two lanes each way. The road was divided by a small median where cherry trees grew. That's where it happened.

On the other side of the street was a small neighborhood park. It had a basketball court, a small admin building, restrooms, and a children's play area that included swing-sets, teeter-totters, and a play structure with a slide.

Eddy whistled as he moved along, happy that he was almost in the last semester of his senior year. He had a letter in his pocket... one he'd shared with Rebecca and her parents before he'd even showed it to his own mom and dad.

It was the offer of a full football scholarship to Bowling Green University... the beginnings of a secure future, if he wanted it, he thought... and man, did he. Now he could marry Rebecca right out of high school and live in the married student housing that the university provided. All was good, he thought. In fact, everything was perfect.

There were no cars on the road, Eddy realized, and that helped. He had been so excited about the scholarship offer that he had forgotten about the dark, and found himself wearing black jogging pants and a dark green hoodie. He'd pulled the hood up over his head to cut the chill in the air. The overall effect was to make him practically invisible on that late-night road.

"No cars, though," he repeated gratefully, except for that pair of headlights that just flashed on along the curbside facing him.

It was a muscle car, no doubt about it, Eddy realized as the monster engine suddenly roared to life. The driver was revving it: letting it roar and fall back, roar, and fall back. Eddy didn't like that.

For a moment, the driver seemed to be taunting him... trying to scare him... making the engine growl at him; in short, bitter bursts... trying to get him to make the wrong move, whatever that was.

No wrong move, Eddy thought, just a spooked-up mind from watching too many late-night horror movies with Rebecca. (But he did love the way she clung to him the scarier things got.)

The car's dome light flashed on. And there, sitting behind the wheel, was the worst possible version of Jake Cane Eddy had ever seen. Jake Cane, the ghoul, with deep-set zombie eyes, and a bloody gash for a mouth. It twisted into a horror-show grin when he saw Eddy.

This is a nightmare, Eddy thought. But somehow, he knew it wasn't. It was all too real.

And then, with a wicked squeal of tires, Jake's 1973 Dodge Charger roared toward him like a raging bull.

Eddy was nearly across the street, almost to the park. The car was almost on him though when Eddy turned to run. He headed up onto the wide playing field. The car jumped the curb with a bone-chilling smash and followed. Eddy zigzagged through the kids' play area, but the car was right behind him. It exploded through the swings and teeter-totters and through the plastic play structure, fracturing them all into a thousand pieces. The Charger was gaining fast. Its tires spun wickedly in the slick grass as it chased.

Eddy cut left and headed back onto the street. The Dodge fishtailed as it cut sharply and continued to follow. It bounced over the curve, and its massive chrome grill hit the pavement hard, sending sparks flying everywhere.

Jake began to honk his horn as the Charger was finally heading down the middle of the road, seemingly ready to run Eddy down. One last surge would do it.

Jake floored it, and the Charger's tires squealed wickedly, making the car skid for a split second. And in that moment, Eddy jumped up onto the hood of a big black Lincoln Towne Car that was parked on the side of the street. Jake blasted past the Lincoln and Eddy and on into the empty four-way intersection at the end of the block.

Jake slammed on his breaks and skidded wildly. He threw the car into reverse, squealed backward, then forward, then backward again. Then the car just sat there, rumbling in the middle of the intersection. And just then, the lights came on in one of the homes along that side of the road. So did those of the house next door.

"Answered prayers," Eddy murmured just as the Dodge spun around and came rushing back toward him.

Its horn started honking. But there was another sound too: cop sirens screaming through the night, becoming louder as Green Mountain's Finest swept down the road, their red lights flashing.

The Dodge was headed directly toward Eddy and the big Lincoln he was still standing on. But at the last second Jake swerved away. He cut sharply into a side street and then killed his engine. The Charger paused, then restarted, and slunk off slowly into the night.

When the cops arrived, Eddy was already on the street. Standing beside the Lincoln.

"What happened, son," asked the lead cop who sported a grey, grandfatherly mustache.

"Some maniac in a muscle car chased me," Eddy answered.

"Did you get a look at the driver?" asked a tough-looking female cop.

"You mean, was it a friend of mine?"

"Or an acquaintance," said the lady cop. "Or an enemy?"

"No," lied Eddy, "Nobody I knew."

"Did you get a license number?"

Eddy thought for a long moment. He wasn't going to implicate Jake Cane. Though the reasons were far more complicated than he could ever explain.

"I was too busy running to get the license," he answered. "It was a _nothing_ car. I probably couldn't even pick it out in a parking lot. Probably Japanese."

"Too dark out?" asked the lady.

"Way too dark."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Emily & Chantelle in Salem

2020 (1692)

Chantelle cornered Emily the next morning in Paulsen's class. Everyone was there, Gio, Eddy, VL, the whole gang. Paulsen stood at the front of the room, going over his notes, trying to psych himself up for the lecture he was about to give.

"We have to talk, Emily," said Chantelle.

"There's nothing to talk about anymore."

"How can you say that? Gio's life is at stake."

"Well then, how about you save him, girl," said Emily. "He's your guy. I'm drained. And Jake isn't listening to me anymore. He hates me."

"No, he doesn't. Honestly... I don't think you really know enough about relationships to understand how they work."

Emily looked at Chantelle carefully, really unwilling to believe what she had said. Finally, she added, "Well, if this is the way they are, then I don't want any part of them."

"Just one more meeting with Jake," Chantelle pleaded. "I think it will make all the difference."

"I SAID, NO!" answered Emily, and she was shaking now, on the verge of tears, and about to draw the attention of everyone in the classroom, including Paulsen.

"Go back through the vortex yourself," she sighed at last.

"I can't, Emily. I can't go back on my own. I don't have your rapport with Jake, and I'm afraid if I ever see that blonde bitch again..."

"Ashley?"

"She's a witch," said Chantelle. And just then, Paulsen stepped up to the podium at the front of the room.

"Ladies," he said softly as he gestured for the two girls to take their seats. Emily sunk into hers, and Chantelle immediately scurried back to her spot beside Gio. He gave her a welcoming smile, and then they all turn toward the front of the room.

.

**SALEM MASSACHUSETTS 1692**

Paulsen began.

_At the time, much of New England consists of a series of small isolated towns, tiny hamlets cut off from each other, and surrounded by dark brooding woods. The Native Americans know those woods far better than the New Englanders ever could, and they have partnered with the French to help drive these English settlers away. They set fire to their homes or break in, steal their property, and even their children._

_No wonder the populace lives in a constant state of terror._

_Almost everyone is a Puritan, a believer in a very harsh religion that accepts the presence of the devil in people's lives._

_They also believe that there are those among the congregation who call on Satan to achieve their own ends. And so, in 1692, fear of the Natives, of the French, of the dark woods all around, of solitude and isolation all conspire to bring hysteria to the town of Salem, Massachusetts._

Emily and Chantelle huddle in the back of a tavern, as rain cuts through the evening dark, pounding the dirt streets and battering the small buildings of Salem. The wind adds a terrifying fury that only magnifies the sense of foreboding.

The girls know that they must be calm, circumspect, and careful not to draw any attention to themselves. For, in these frightful days, no one is immune to the charge of witchcraft regardless of age, sex, or physical appearance.

Thank God, Chantelle realizes, their clothes seem to match those of others at the trials. They're almost appropriate to the place and time in which they find themselves.

In the very front of the tavern, a harsh judge stares at three women who sit sternly in chairs beside his makeshift bench. Then he turns his attention to two young girls seated across from the women. The girls shiver and shake as though experiencing some kind of fit. They growl and hoot like animals. Suddenly one of them screams wildly. She stands and throws something at the judge. She is nine-year-old, Elizabeth Parris, daughter of the local parson, who is an admired member of the Salem community. The other girl, Abigail Wilson, is his eleven-year-old niece.

"And are these the women who cursed you," asks the judge, as he points his gavel at the three terrified old women. "Did they bring this demonic possession upon you?"

Abigail gathers herself enough to cease her nervous quaking and growling. "They are, sir," she whispers.

"I see, yes," says the judge as he now turns to the women.

"Sarah Good," he calls to the first. She is dressed in rags, a homeless beggar who now trembles more out of terror than from any evil possession. "You stand accused by these girls. Their sacred home has been entered by the demon whose evidence you see in their very persons. They accuse you of the crime of witchcraft. How do you plead, Mistress Good?"

The woman can barely see, can scarcely think it seems. Her answer is no more than a gravelly murmur.

"Innocent," she says.

"Beware, woman," says the judge. "Confess your sins and repent, or you'll find yourself on Gallows Hill within the hour."

"But I am innocent," she repeats.

The crowd erupts in angry shouting as though they have all seen her practicing witchcraft.

"SILENCE," calls the judge. But even before the crowd composes itself, he turns to the second old woman.

"Mistress Sarah Osborne, being aware of the solemn charges brought against you by these two girls, how do you plead?"

This woman, too, is old and impoverished. Still, she stares at the judge defiantly.

"I AM INNOCENT, SIR," she announces loudly.

The crowd boos the woman.

"BURN WITCH!" calls one young woman from the crowd, and Chantelle is grateful that the eyes of everyone in the tavern are focused away from them and on the judge and the proceedings.

"And you, Tituba," the judge continues. "How do you answer these accusations of witchcraft?"

This woman, too, is old, a black servant of Reverend Parris.

She gets to her feet, stands glaring at the judge for a moment. Then she turns and stares at the onlookers.

"Great, black dogs were barking outside my house last night," she begins in a soft, low rattle.

"Red cats crept toward me through my doorway. A great yellow bird flew in and attacked me, drove me down to my knees, and that's when the devil came."

The crowd gasps. One woman falls to the floor in a faint and is quickly gathered up by her husband before the judge can turn his accusing eyes on her.

"While I was on my knees," Tituba continues, "he asked me to serve him... to sign his book and join with all the witches in destroying Salem Town and driving the Puritans away."

She scans the crowd. "YES. I AM A WITCH!" she cries. "I practice my craft with many others in Salem Town, and we ALL worship Satan!"

The crowd is dead silent as Tituba utters those words. But now, it erupts in wild shouting.

"I KNEW IT!" screams a young man who sits in the very first row of onlookers.

"THERE ARE WITCHES EVERYWHERE!" shouts a woman directly behind him.

"FIND THEM ALL! HANG THEM!" cry others in the crowd.

The judge bangs his gavel mercilessly, pounding out a demand for silence as he stands and faces the three women.

"Take them then," declares the judge, "We find these women unrepentant and guilty of the crime of witchcraft, and they must pay with their lives. To Gallows Hill with them all!"

The crowd buzzes at the verdict and begins to jeer at the women, pointing at them and calling them names. Someone throws a bottle in their direction, as the judge pounds his gavel once more.

"All of you, in attendance here," he proclaims, "be on the lookout for witches... for unknown, evil creatures whose wanton ways have brought Satan himself into our midst."

The crowd stands; they speak to each other excitedly. Hysteria shines from so many eyes.

Many in the crowd begin to move out of their seats and toward the door. And then an elderly man catches sight of Chantelle and Emily, still huddled in the corner.

"And who are those girls?" he shouts. "I've never seen them before."

"Their clothes are not of our home or our religion," adds an old woman who might soon be accused of witchcraft herself.

"They're not of this settlement," says another.

"They are witches," someone calls, and the entire crowd surges toward the girls.

"NO!" Chantelle screams as she tries to back toward the door of the tavern. "WE'RE INNOCENT."

"WE'RE NOT WITCHES," cries Emily.

"NOT WITCHES," echoes Chantelle.

"WE'RE NOT WITCHES," Emily shouted again as she suddenly jumped up from her seat in Mr. Paulsen's classroom and rushed toward the door.

Chapter Thirty

Plans

2020

"I'll have a beer," said Paulsen, as he sat in Sammy's Pizza and Ice Cream long after school hours had ended.

"That's a beer, two cokes, and one El Gordo Pizza," said Lynn.

Paulsen nodded as he smiled guiltily at his two companions.

Emily and Chantelle returned the smile though it was clear that they were still shaken from their morning's experience.

"Anything else?" asked the waitress.

"Like?" Chantelle asked.

"Like maybe a large glass of Pepto-Bismol?"

The girls smiled weakly. They were both a little green.

"We'll be okay, Lynn, but thanks."

"Sure thing," the waitress answered as she marched away from the table.

"I guess I came on pretty strong, with that lecture, didn't I?" Paulsen said.

"No, it was important," answered Emily.

"Glad you think so. That's why the school is letting me continue with my course. Everyone likes my lectures. Some kids in the Junior Class are already trying to get into next year's course. It almost feels like college."

The girls nodded.

"No one has complained about the lectures or the student's reaction either," said Paulsen, "not a single parent."

"It would be _so_ wrong if they did," sighed Emily.

"You need to keep putting it out there, Mr. P," said Chantelle.

"I mean, we _are_ learning about social injustice after all."

"Thanks," Paulsen repeated. "The school is on my side... at least so far."

"That's good," said Emily.

Paulsen nodded. "Good for me."

"And good for us," added Chantelle.

"But in the meantime, it seems like you girls still have a problem."

"Beer and Cokes here," said Lynn as she returned with their drinks.

"Thanks," said Paulsen. He took the beer and immediately downed a third of it in one swallow. "Oh yeah," he answered... "So good."

"It's all about Jake," Chantelle said.

"Is he still trying to change the future by changing the past?" Paulsen asked.

"Worse than that," Chantelle answered. "He's gone into a deep depression, and it's like he's plotting revenge... at least that's what Matt Allison told us."

"Matt's a good kid," said Paulsen, "and how many teachers get to say they taught a guy who went on to write a number one hit?"

Chantelle smiled and sipped her coke. "So what do we do, Mr. P?"

"We don't do anything," answered Emily. "I told you I'm through with Jake." Then she turned to Paulsen. "If your lecture on the Salem Witch Trials taught me anything, it's that it's better NOT to try and do too much. Sometimes it's better to just mind your own business, and let other people mind theirs so that you can survive."

Another swallow and two-thirds of Paulsen's beer were gone. "You think that's what today's lecture was about?"

Emily nodded, but Chantelle turned on her friend suddenly. "Hey, Emily," she said. "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

"Probably not," she answered. "And if I am... look where it's gotten me?"

"It's gotten you a close personal relationship with an American psycho."

"Girls," said Paulsen. "I was just trying to give you a sense of how it felt to be a victim of superstition and prejudice. Hopefully, we're beyond those kinds of feelings today."

"Do you think we are, Mr. P.... we women?" asked Chantelle. "Are we any less endangered today?"

"I know a lot of men who would like to keep us in our place," said Emily.

"They still have their ways," added Chantelle.

"That's not what I meant to say at all," said Paulsen. "At least we're living in a culture that _pretends_ to support a woman's right to speak up."

"They'd better do more than pretend. They'd better let us have our say," said Chantelle as she turned to Emily. "Too bad if Jake doesn't want to hear it. He needs to."

"I told you I'm done with Jake," answered Emily.

"But he's getting more and more dangerous. Did you hear what Eddy was saying to Rebecca? Jake almost ran him down last night."

"Really?" said Emily. "Oh shit."

"Right," said Chantelle. "Now, what do we do?"

"Have some pizza," called Lynn as she suddenly appeared at their table with a huge pizza crust covered with tomato sauce, onions, green chilies, carnitas, Mexican cheese, and guacamole.

All three of them looked at the thing as though they had lost their appetites.

"I'll have another beer," said Paulsen.

"Another coke, please," added Chantelle as she raised her hand.

"I'm good," said Emily. And the three of them just looked at each other.

"Okay then," said Lynn with a shrug. "Enjoy." And she walked away.

"So how about this," said Paulsen as he scooped up a massive piece of pizza and moved it onto his plate. "I move my usual end-of-season lecture to next Wednesday, and you girls find a way to get Jake to come to my class."

"Can we wait that long?" asked Chantelle.

"Based on what Eddy said, he may need a little time to plan his next move," said Emily, "and I shudder thinking what that might be."

"If you hear of Jake planning to do _anything crazy_ before next Wednesday, call me, and I'll come running," said Paulsen.

"Whatever it is," said Chantelle, "We'll handle it. Let's just pray that Jake doesn't have any more acts of terrorism in mind before then. Right, Emily?"

The other girl stared at her friend for a very long time. "I have a feeling that he's got something really terrible in mind," she said. "But yeah, I'm in."

Fortunately, Jake wasn't able to put his final plan for revenge into effect before Wednesday. Unfortunately, it was worse than anyone could imagine... except maybe Mr. Paulsen.

Chapter Thirty-One

Jake at the Massacre

Wednesday – 2020

Jake rolled his janitorial cart down the hall at Grass Mountain High. He hadn't been back to work for a week, probably didn't even have a job anymore. But the students didn't know that, nor did most of the faculty.

Jake pulled up to Paulsen's classroom and looked in through the window. The class had not yet begun, but they were all in there, he realized: VL, Eddy, Chantelle, Mike, and most importantly of all, Gio Gomez.

Mops and broom-handles stuck up from the top of Jake's cart. Another more ominous shape hid among them, lost in all the cleaning tools. Jake grinned bitterly. Then he reached out to touch the deadly thing in his cart.

"No, Jake," said Emily as she caught him by the wrist.

Where the hell did _she_ come from?

"Emily!" he said aloud. And then anger began to burn through his eyes. "I thought I told you... we're finished."

Emily studied this poor, confused boy. All his emotions were reflected in her face, and then she leaned forward and kissed him.

Jake savored the kiss for a moment and then pulled away from her, looked at Emily in even greater confusion, and maybe, she thought, with some kind of resignation in his eyes.

"Come on in," Emily said. "I know what Paulsen is going to talk about this morning, and I think you ought to hear it."

The class had finally settled as Jake and Emily stepped inside the door. Emily moved quickly to her seat at the front of the room. She folded her hands in the usual studious fashion and didn't turn around again. No one did. And so Jake slunk back into the corner of the room as Paulsen began his lecture.

**THE MASSACRE**

It's 1999 at a high school in an affluent suburb outside of Denver, Colorado. It's considered a friendly place. But not on this day. There had already been shootings in the High School cafeteria. Two boys, (one tall and heavy, the other slight, nervous, pimply-faced) planted bombs that failed to go off. The pair was there heavily armed, waiting for the blast, and when it didn't happen, they shot several students in the cafeteria, and then marched down the hallway, firing at anyone they could spot through open classroom doorways. At last, they turned into the school library where forty students were hiding.

"I want all the jocks up on their feet," yelled the slight kid as they enter the room. He fired his sawed-off-shotgun at a large shelving unit, scattering books everywhere. The taller boy smiled at his partner and begins shooting at the fallen books.

"Stand up, you mothers!" shouts the slight kid. "All you damn jocks... STAND UP!"

"You're ours now!" the tall kid added with a grin. But no one moves.

And suddenly, Jake Cane finds that he's in the adjacent classroom. Twelve kids huddle on the floor in the far corner. But they can hear everything that's going on in the Library all too well.

"I want all you jocks to stand up, now!" shouts the tall kid with the deeper voice.

"Stand up! You bastards," calls his partner. "You don't know how long I've waited for a chance to blow all of you to hell!"

Jake looks down and sees that he's wearing his letter jacket. All the athletes wear them. He's a jock. And somehow he thinks he may remember how, not very long ago, he and a bunch of his friends were taunting the very same pair of kids who are stalking them now. Was it these two...or others like them? He isn't sure; he doesn't know.

But Jake and the other jocks had jostled the boys, knocked them down, begun kicking and jeering at them as they crawled away.

"You're a jock, right?" he hears 'Deep Voice' shouting from the other room. "I fuckin' hate jocks." But he's not talking to Jake; he's talking to a kid in the _Library._

"No, not a jock," the kid says. "Please don't kill me."

"Pussy," Deep Voice shouts, "You disgust me."

And then Jake and the others in the adjacent classroom hear the shooters moving through the Library.

"And speaking of pussy," Deep Voice says.

Jake and the others listen anxiously.

"You never had time for me... did you, Bitch! Do you know how painful that was, Sarah?"

"No. He's not going to shoot her," whispers the boy beside Jake.

They can hear the girl in the Library trying to say something, but before she can, there's a shotgun blast and a scream from others in the room "You killed her," someone shouts.

"SARAH!" the boy begins to scream, but Jake grabs him and covers his mouth with his hand. The boy fights desperately to escape, but he's no match for Jake.

"Don't say a fucking word, dude," Jake tells him. "If they hear you, they'll be in here shooting at us."

The kid struggles with surprising strength; then, he just gives up and falls limp beside Jake.

"OH MY GOD!" they hear another girl screaming from the Library.

"GOD?" one of the shooters laughs. "So, you believe in God?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Too bad, because, you know what?"

Jake and the others wait for the inevitable sound of execution. But instead, they hear a soft girl's voice asking in sheer terror,

"What? Tell me."

"She doesn't have a chance," a girl whispers to Jake as they wait in terrified silence.

"GOD IS GAY!" shouts Deep Voice. He laughs loudly, and then Jake and the others hear him move away from the girl.

"Help me pull this asshole out from under the table," shouts the other shooter.

"Let go of the damn table leg, sucker," calls Deep Voice.

"No way," comes the terrified voice.

"Stop kicking me, you bitch," cries Deep Voice, and Jake can hear the two boys struggling.

"I said, stop it!"

And suddenly the sound of gunfire pours in from the Library.

"Funny. I didn't know brains could fly that far," says Deep Voice.

The other shooter laughs halfheartedly. "This is getting old," he says, as the two shuffle around in the room. There's another blast of gunfire as more death-cries fill the air.

"Maybe we should knife a few of them," says Deep Voice.

"Nah," answers the other. "Let's just go out to the commons."

There's a pause, and then the sound of footsteps coming closer.

"Hey wait, what's on the other side of that door?" asks Deep Voice, and most of the kids in the classroom scramble away in terror as they hear one of the shooters grab the handle and begin turning it.

"It's locked," calls one.

"Well then, hey... let's just blast it open," answers the other, and suddenly a barrage of gunfire shatters the entire door.

Two teenage boys move into the classroom through the haze. They wave their guns as they look around. Most of the kids in the room have moved to the opposite corner. But Jake is still there, front and center. And the two shooters are looking directly at him as he struggles to his feet, letter jacket and all.

"Stop right there," shouts Deep Voice, who is the taller of the two.

"Who are you, man?" asks his partner. The kid moves up to Jake swinging his sawed-off shotgun carelessly as he comes.

Jake suddenly breaks down emotionally.

"Jake Cane," he sobs. "Jacob Cane. What are you guys doing?"

In response to the question, Deep Voice grins, "What does it look like we're doing, shithead? We're killing people."

"You gonna kill me too?" Jake sobs.

"What?"

"ARE YOU GONNA KILL ME TOO?" Jake screamed after he awoke and found himself back in Paulsen's classroom.

"ARE YOU GONNA KILL ME TOO?"

Emily rushed to him and held his hand, trying to console him.

"Are they going to kill me too?" Jake asked.

Chapter Thirty-Two

One Other Option

2012

Chantelle stands out on the football field while Emily tries to reason with Jake. The cheerleader looks up at the green and white flags that surround the top half of the stadium. They flutter in the fall breeze, and the girl wishes she hadn't been so eager to try and confront Jake. Still, she knows she has to.

Along the sidelines, Diane Gilmore and the rest of the cheer squad go through a difficult pyramid-building stunt where girls stand on the shoulders of guys until they are stacked four high. Then they all fall together, tumbling as they hit the ground and come up cheering.

Across the field, Ashley Pressman stares invitingly at Matt Allison.

Meanwhile, Jake stands facing Emily, tears stream down his face. Somehow, he's carried the experience of THE MASSACRE with him into the past.

Chantelle can't help but wonder how many times he's been through the vortex, how many times he's repeated that terrible moment of injury. How painful has each repetition been? How frustrating is it to come out of it all and realize that he's failed again?

And yet, what a monster this guy is for involving his fellow teammates in his sadistic attempts at a cure.

"I don't want things to go on like this," Jake sobs.

"They can't, Jake," Emily answers. "They just can't."

"It's torture."

"It's more than that, Jake," shouts Chantelle in bitter anger. "It's cruel, and it's stupid. And it's not logical. How many times do you have to fail to realize that?"

"I don't ever want to go through it again," says Jake.

"Then, listen to me," says Emily as she moves closer to the football star. He's in his practice gear. Emily is still in her band uniform, wearing her forest green parade jacket with its gold trim and big silver buttons.

Chantelle thinks Jake is so desperate that he may finally be ready to listen to Emily. After all, she's been through the vortex more than any of them. She knows it well. She's explored it.

"You don't need to be injured in tomorrow's practice," Emily says. "Neither does anyone else. I can take you someplace safe."

"What do you mean?"

Emily walks closer to him. "I've traveled all through this thing," she says. "I've found places in history where nothing is going wrong... where people can live long and peaceful lives. Like in the south of France at the turn of the century. There's a village where you can live peacefully for your whole life."

Chantelle walks up to Jake now too. "If you want adventure, you can head back to ancient Rome and become a gladiator," she says. "Emily and I have talked a lot about it. The vortex is not just the gateway to different times and places within your life..."

"It's a doorway to all of the past," says Emily.

"It sounds like a frickin time machine," says Jake.

"As long as you go _backward_ ," Emily adds. "If you go forward, you're going to be an invalid."

"It's almost impossible to change the future," says Chantelle.

"But you can live in the past," adds Emily, "and I've got a nice safe place for you if you want to escape from the fate that you've made for yourself...."

"...And for the rest of us," Chantelle adds.

"Okay, okay, I can see that," says Jake, sounding desperate. "It could work. Will you come with me, Emily?"

Emily blushes. "If you want me too."

Jake sighs. He could be in love with this girl, he finally realizes...

"Except..."

"What?" Jake asks.

"There _is_ one other option," says Emily.

"Suicide?" says Jake. "I've thought of that one a lot lately. Sometimes it's very tempting."

"No," answers Emily. "I'm talking about the most obvious option of all, though probably the most difficult."

"I don't know what you mean," says Jake.

"Come on, Jake, don't you know?" asks Chantelle with a sudden cold edge to her voice. "It's not trying to get Gio or someone else injured in your place."

"Did you really want to hurt Gio... and the others?" asks Emily.

"Hell no."

"But then you're out there with your murder-weapon of a car trying to run them down."

"Can't you just stop fighting it? Just go with it, Jake," says Chantelle.

"Oh, God. I've screwed things up so badly."

"We all have," says Chantelle. "But that doesn't mean we can't recover... that there can't be redemption."

The old anger suddenly flairs in Jake's eyes. "You talking religion, now?" he asks. "Because I'm not ready for any of that kind of shit."

Chantelle shakes her head.

"Just run the play tomorrow," says Emily. "It will reset everything. It will wipe out the last few months of insanity. No tricks, though, no attempts to get anyone hurt in your place. Just do it all one more time, run the play, and then make the best of what happens."

"I've already tried that," says Jake.

"I know, but please try it one more time."

"Why not just go back to the future right now," asks Jake. "Let's all go back through the vortex... pick up where we left off?"

"Gio and Chantelle and I will have to do that," answers Emily. "Or else our lives will continue from here.

"But you, Jake? Do you want to go back to a time where you've tried to run down your friends with your car, packed a shotgun in your janitor's cart, planned to shoot up the school?"

Jake stands there for a moment, shaking his head, remembering what it felt like to be in that Colorado classroom while two thugs were shooting up the library.

"Time for a hard reset, Jake," murmurs Chantelle.

Jake grimaces but nods. "Yeah," he whispers. "I guess it is."

**THE END**

Epilogue

2035

Grass Mountain High School

Jake shuffles around the room, dumping the trash from the classroom wastebaskets into a big barrel that he pulls out into the hallway. He locates it just to the right of the classroom door. It's his Friday night ritual... just to make things easy on the school custodian. Somehow he has a sense of what that job is like.

Now he moves back into the room, gathers up a stack of rough sketches from his desk, and stuffs them into his portfolio.

He does his best to walk upright from the room, but he's still hunched over, dragging that bad leg behind him. He's learned to live with it.

It takes him several long minutes to get to the teachers' lounge. But then he's there, pulling a stack of letters from his mailbox, shuffling through them, cramming most of the letters into his portfolio. But one thick, padded envelope interests him. He sighs and moves to the table in the center of the room with some difficulty. He props his portfolio against the edge of the table, doing his best not to disturb the massive two-thousand-piece picture puzzle of Yosemite Valley that some of his colleagues are working on.

Jake concentrates on the padded envelope. His hands are shaking as he does it... one of the enduring side effects of his injury. He's just about to get the damn thing opened when there's a knock on the teachers' lounge door. Jake looks up. It's Lucas Tagley.

"Hey, Luke, what's up?" asks Jake as he motions for the boy to enter the forbidden confines of the teachers' lounge. The kid is tall and gangly even for a fourteen-year-old, not quite as quirky as his old man, Jake thinks, just a really sweet kid.

"What's the homework assignment for Monday?" asks Lucas.

"Roman Gladiators," says Jake. "I want one good sketch."

Luke nods and smiles enthusiastically.

"I love _your_ pictures of gladiators," he says.

"Thanks," says Jake.

"Can't imagine how you figure out all those details. Your drawings are better than going to the movies."

Jake smiles.

"Do you just make that stuff up... or what?"

"Something like that," answers Jake. "Need a ride home?"

"No, gotta date. I'm gonna walk home with Madison."

"Madison Gomez?"

"That's right. And who wouldn't hit that?"

Jake gives Luke a hard stare. Finally, he just smiles.

"She's very pretty."

"Oh yeah," sighs the kid as he struts out of the room.

Jake watches him go and feels very good about the kid and his little girlfriend and life in general. Then he sighs and continues to try and open the padded envelope.

He sees a pair of scissors across the room, gets to his feet, and hobbles over to the worktable where they sit.

Just as he arrives, his cell phone rings.

"Crap," grumbles Jake as he swings into the chair next to the worktable. He takes the phone from his pocket, sees the face of his pretty wife on the screen, and answers.

Dr. Emily Cane looks exasperated, but she's still smiling.

"Why didn't you tell me about these speaking engagements, Jake?" she asks.

"I gave you my calendar."

"I knew about the NFL fundraiser," she answers, "but not about the hall of fame induction."

"How could you _not_ know about that?"

Emily rolls her eyes. "Maybe I have a job of my own to concentrate on. Did you ever think of that, Mr. Cane?"

"Well, that's just too bad," answers Jake. "I'm sure I can find someone else to go with me."

Emily smiles that beautiful, ever-confident smile of hers.

"I know a certain young lady who would love to accompany you."

"Not one of your many children, Doctor?" asks Jake.

"Actually, she's one of yours," says Emily. "And if you're lucky, I may be able to rearrange things so that we can _both_ go with you."

"So then that would be, you and I and our lovely four-year-old daughter, Miss Chantelle Cane."

"That's right."

"I'd like that," says Jake.

"So would we," says Emily. "Okay, I'm going to have to get someone to fill in for me. I'm supposed to be giving that lecture on Ancient Rome."

"Can you find someone?" asks Jake.

"I think so, I have many excellent teaching assistants, you know."

"I know. Sometimes they make me a little jealous."

"Is that right?" asks Emily. "I kind of like that."

"Later doc," Jake answers.

"Later, Handsome."

He puts the phone down, reaches for the scissors again, and continues to try and unwrap the padded envelope.

That's what I get for marrying a woman who knows so much about that past that she's become a best selling author and a professor, he thinks.

No one knows that Emily uses information and pictures she gets on her travels through the vortex. All Jake has to do is redraw those photos, embellish them a little, and she has illustrations for her books.

Way down deep, Jake knows Emily is just what he's needed, and for one brief moment, he's out there on that football practice field in 2012 for the very last time, discussing his addiction to the vortex and reliving his injury. They're talking about the options he has before him, and Emily is saying, "That's the most obvious option of all."

In this case, Jake realizes it was not fighting it, or in the words of that eminent philosopher, Paul McCartney, "let it be."

Which is what he did... what they did.

"And guess what?" Jake tells himself aloud, "Just when I'm ready to try anything to keep from getting hurt, I decide to stop sacrificing my friends. I just relive the play one more time, and that time... that one time... _nothing_... nothing, NOTHING goes wrong. I'm not injured.

"And all the bad stuff that followed my injury goes away. It never happened, and my friends' lives are so much better because of it."

The injury comes ten years later at the end of a long and successful career as an NFL quarterback. But by then, Jake has married Emily, they have three children, and he's had years of her understanding and love and advice. And he knows how to handle the injury when it finally comes.

"God damn!" moans Jake as he runs the sharp end of the scissors across the top of the package and right into the palm of his hand. Blood pools up immediately.

"Damn... damn... damn!"

Jake staggers to his feet and goes to the sink in the corner of the room. He runs cold water onto the gash, presses a paper towel against it, and rummages through the overhead cabinets for a box of Band-Aids.

"Damn... damn... damn!" he repeats as he shakes his wounded hand, only to draw more blood to the surface.

Emily has a Ph.D. in Ancient History, not an MD, but he sure wishes she were here now. He could use her help. But then he needs her help almost all the time anyway, doesn't he?

A few minutes later, with a hand wrapped in a makeshift cast of paper towels and Band-Aides, he sits down and pulls open the package. It's a certificate mounted on a mahogany plaque. Something he's always wanted, and maybe even deserves, _Teacher of the Year,_ an award based almost entirely on the power of his art classes.

Like little Luke Tagley, the whole school and apparently even the State of California are amazed by his ability to catch and hold the interests of his students and build their artistic talents by focusing on distant times: the days of the Roman Gladiators, the Pharaohs of Egypt, or just life in a little village in the south of France at the turn of the century. He makes his students feel as though they are actually living at that place and time because he can draw and even describes these people and places as though he's been there, almost like Mr. Paulsen did all those years ago.

The thought makes Jake stop for a moment. "Did old man Paulsen know about the vortex?" He wonders aloud. "Is that why his lectures were so powerful? Had he too been to the places he described?

"Old man Paulsen, slipping into the green?"

Jake laughs and shakes his head. "And why not."

He gets to his feet and starts the long, difficult walk to the teachers' parking lot. He still has his Dodge Charger sitting out there. It's old, but it's never chased Eddy Tagley up onto the hood of a Lincoln Town Car.

Jake keeps his car well tuned, just like himself... just like his life.

Sources

As always, Wikipedia is our first source of information on any topic. But we also found valuable information in these sources.

Vietnam War

The Vietnam War, a film by Ken Burns & Lynn Novak,

The My Li Massacre: The New York Times, the truth behind My-Lai 3/16/18

Wikipedia: The My Li Massacre Note:

Wikipedia: The Vietnam War (The Wikipedia entry is exhaustive with over 300 notes)

Bloody Sunday

Www.politico.com/ Civil Rights March ends as Bloody Sunday

Www.History.com, Remembering Selma's "Bloody Sunday", Christopher Klein

Nps.gov, National Park Service Selma-to Montgomery March

Wikipedia, Selma to Montgomery Marches

Manzanar

Farewell to Manzanar, by Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston, and James D. Houston, HMH Books

National Park Service, Japanese American's at Manzanar

Wikipedia: Manzanar

The Delano Grape Strike

Breaking Through, Francisco Jimenez, Scholastic Press

www.ufw.org United Farm Workers, the 1965-1970 Delano Grape Strike and Boycott

Wikipedia: The Delano Grape Strike

The Salem Witch Trials

The Crucible, A Play in Four Acts, Arthur Miller, Penguin Classics

www.britanica.com Salem Witch Trials, History And Causes

www.History.com, Salem Witch Trials – Events, Facts, & Victims

Smithsonian Magazine, A Brief History Of The Salem Witch Trials

Wikipedia, The Salem Witch Trials

The Columbine Massacre

www.history.com columbine shooting - history

CNN – Columbine high school shooting, fast facts

Slate.com at last we know why the columbine killers did it

Wikipedia, Columbine High School Massacre

About the Authors

Nick Iuppa began his career as an apprentice writer with famed Bugs Bunny/Road Runner animator Chuck Jones and children's author Dr. Seuss. He later became a staff writer for the Wonderful World of Disney. As VP Creative Director for Paramount Pictures, Nick did experimental work in interactive television and story-based simulations. He is the author of seven novels, Management by Guilt (Fawcett Books 1984—a Fortune Book Club selection) and eight books on interactive media. He lives in Northern California with his wife, Ginny. For more about Nick, visit www.nickiuppa.com.

John Pesqueira _grew up in Tucson, Arizona and fell in love with rock music, television, and the movies. His studies at the University of Arizona led him to media production and work at a local television news station as a reporter and news photographer. Although his path included studies at The University of Arizona, Stanford and Columbia Universities, and work as a TV director at the Hewlett-Packard Television Network, he never forget his passion for the history of the American Southwest, Mexico, and the stories about the people of these regions. All these experiences have contributed to his writing and other expressions of his creative spirit. John lives with his wife in the San Francisco Bay Area._

