Stuck in the 70's Page 5

  “We can throw you a party here. My mom bakes the best birthday cakes.”

  “That’s not the kind of party I meant. It was going to be a kegger.”

  “Oh,” he says.

  “So I have to go home and invite people before they make other plans.”

  “And I bet a lot of people from home miss you.”

  “Yeah.” Who misses me? Mariel, maybe. Jake’s probably weirded out about where I went. Mom might miss me once she notices I’m gone.

  Tyler stretches his arm across the glider. It’s not around me exactly, but it’s behind my back. He clears his throat. “If y ou’re lonely here . . .”

  “What?”

  He moves his head in close to mine.

  “Oh, gawd. You’re not making a pass at me, are you?”

  “No!” he squeaks, jerking his arm back to his side and leaning away from me. “But did you have to sound so disgusted?”

  “I just want to get back to 2006, okay?”

  “Maybe we could help you,” he says.

  “We?”

  “My best friend Evie and I. We’re taking AP Physics, and Evie scored a perfect 800 on the math SAT.”

  “La di freakin’ da.”

  “At least have lunch with us.”

  “ I’ll eat with you if y ou’ll help me.”

  “Okay. You ready to go to bed?”

  What a horndog.

  “You know, back to my room. I ’ll take the floor again.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

  10

  People are gawking. Even Evie. Especially Evie. She’s sitting on the school bus a row behind Shay and me, but I feel her eyes burning into us through her glasses. Practically everyone on the bus is at least stealing glances. I bet they’re looking at Shay, thinking Wow!and then looking at me, thinking Why?

  I return their stares and add a grin. I have replaced the title of Tyler Gray, Unpopular Nerd with Tyler Gray, Foxy Chick Magnet.

  “I’m glad you decided to accompany me to school, Shay.” I talk loudly to ensure that everyone on the bus can hear me.

  “You better honor your end of the deal and get your friend to help me,” she says.

  I stare out the window. The Valley looks different. We pass orange groves, barren hills, big front yards, and packs of children. There’s a dingy diner called Krasno’s where my Starbucks is now.

  Inside the bus, I’m surrounded by bright eye shadow, white boys with Afros, and huge collars sharp as weapons. Other styles are more familiar—wrap skirts, platform shoes, and dyed blond hair.

  “You sure you d on’t want to go to classes with me?” Tyler asks when the bus stops.

  “Totally. I ’ll see you at lunch.” I rush off the bus to check out my school. It’s since been renamed for Jerry Brown, who was a mayor or governor or something. The campus itself seems like it’s barely changed over the last t wenty-e ight years, though. The buildings are laid out the same. It’s only the students w ho’ve changed. D on’t they know how awful they look with their big hair and unbuttoned shirts?

  Gawd, I sound like an old lady, like my English teacher who’s always ranting about hipster jeans. Maybe in t wenty-e ight years my friends and I will seem ridiculous. Make that fifty- six years, I guess.

  After wandering through school, I stand outside my homeroom watching strangers go in. I have no clue what to do next. The bell rings, a kid slams the classroom door, and I bite my lip.

  I head toward the 2006 stoner hangout. It beats hanging around talking to air.

  I spot a small group of slouching kids. They’re in the same spot as the 2006 stoners—in the far left corner of campus, against the back gate. I wonder if there’s always a stoner hangout behind every school, throughout time.

  A pretty girl can make friends quickly. I approach the group with a smile and an uplifted chest, which unfortunately is locked in the thick cage of a bra Mrs. Gray bought for me. “Hey,” I call out to them.

  “Hey yourself,” a girl mutters before turning her back on me.

  Check that—a pretty girl can make male friends quickly.

  A boy with s houlder- length feathered hair walks over. “What’s shakin’?”

  “I’m Shay.”

  “Louis,” he says, “but everyone calls me Buzz.”

  “Let me guess why.”

  “ ’Cause I like catching a buzz.” He laughs, a slow chuckle like he’s imitating Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High.I w ouldn’t be surprised if he got a pizza delivered to his next class. If he shows up to class.

  “ You’re not going to narc on us, are you?” the girl asks.

  “I’m no narc. I’m a new student.”

  “Right on,” says a boy with a giant, curly brown Afro. He pulls out a thermos from his lunch box. “You want some?”

  “What is it?” I smirk. “Milk?”

  “What’s the traditional Thanksgiving drink?”

  “Yeah, I could use some Wild Turkey.”

  Smiles all around, at least from the guys.

  I take a long swig.

  Evie and I are sitting in the corner of the lunch area by ourselves, per usual. But today is different. I’m picking at my food, looking around, checking my watch, hoping that Shay will appear.

  Evie keeps asking me questions. “That girl sitting with you on the bus actually slept in your bed the last two nights? She really just showed up in your bathtub? You think she’s a runaway? What if she’s an escaped prisoner?”

  I haven’t mentioned the small detail about Shay being from the future. Knowing Evie, with her curious and scientific mind, she’d pepper her with questions until Shay got fed up and found someone else’s bed to sleep in.

  “Listen.” I lean across the table and lower my voice. “I need a big favor.”

  “Sure. You want help with calculus? Don’t be ashamed.”

  “I need you to pretend you’re Shay’s mother over the phone.”

  “What?”

  “I have to convince my folks to let Shay live with me.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “My mom thinks Shay has terrible parents. If she talks to them, she might let her stay.”

  “And if your mother finds out it’s really me on the phone, I’ll get in big trouble. I’m a genius, not an actress.”

  “Please, Evie.”

  “No.”

  “There she is.” I nod my head in her direction. “Isn’t she pretty? She’s going to eat lunch with us. I’m the luckiest guy on this entire planet. The entire solar system. The entire universe of solar systems.”

  “Exaggerate much, Tyler?”

  “I’ll pay you. Ten dollars. Think of the Star Wars collectibles you can buy with that.” I’m talking to Evie but staring at Shay.

  “No.”

  I watch her approach, my neck craned, my face frozen. She’s smiling. She has big white teeth, straight as a model orthodontia patient’s.

  I wave to her, a small acknowledging bobble of my hand. Not in a show-offy way. I hope not, anyway. “Please, Evie. I’d be forever grateful to you. Ten bucks if you’ll pretend to be Shay’s mother.”

  She sighs. “Twenty.”

  “Great! I owe you.”

  Evie puts out her hand to shake.

  “Not now,” I whisper. “Shay will see us.”

  Shay stands right beside me, so close I can smell her. She’s got a nasty cigarette odor on her.

  “Where have you been?” I ask.

  “Killing time.”

  “Hi,” Evie says.

  “This is Shay,” I say as if Evie doesn’t already know all about her. “And this is Evie.” I jerk my head in her direction, but keep watching Shay and her smile.

  “Nice to meet you, Shay. I’m Evie Justus, Tyler’s best and oldest friend. Well, not oldest, but most long lasting.”

  “So how do I get back?” Shay wobbles forward, then sets her hand on my shoulder to break her fall.

  Oh, no. She’s drunk again. I can smell the alcohol on her breath.


  “Or, like, forward? Twenty-eight years or whatever.”

  She leans her body into mine. “I need help getting to 2006.”

  “She’s doing a report,” I lie. “For school. What if someone visited from the future and wanted to go home again? How would she do it?”

  “Now I get it. She just wants the geeks to do her home-work,” Evie says.

  Shay plops down next to me on the bench. “That’s, like, not it at all.”

  “Time travel isn’t covered in AP Physics. I can’t help you,” Evie says.

  “You promised, Tyler.” Shay’s midnight eyes plead with mine. “At’s the whole reason I’m at school today. You told me your friend was smart.”

  “You promised her I’d help her with her report?” Evie asks. “You just assumed I’d do it?”

  I’d like to respond, but can’t because Shay’s knee is now touching my thigh and freezing my brain.

  To make matters worse, or better, actually, she puts her hand on my thigh. “Please, please, peas. I mean please,” she says. “Someone, like, just get me out of here.”

  Cool as Antarctica, Evie says, “Just go over to that table where you belong and you’ll be fine.” She points to the popular table. Rick The Dick is pinching Loose Lori’s ass, and a trio of skinny blondes are sharing a brownie.

  Man, I wish I were sitting there. “Evie, she just wants to know about time travel.”

  “She’s bad news. I think she may have been drinking, possibly. Ten seconds after we help with her report, she’ll ditch us for the popular kids and laugh when they trip us in the hall.”

  “What’s wrong with popular people?” Shay asks.

  “Nothing. And we’re plenty popular, anyway,” I lie. To impress Shay, I wave in the direction of the popular kids. They’ll never notice me, anyway.

  Oops. Mr. Popular himself, Rick The Dick, glares at me. He stands up and swaggers toward us.

  Is waving at someone out of your popularity league grounds for getting beat up? I look around for a weapon, or better yet, a lunch monitor.

  The Dick stops at our table. He smiles.

  Maybe Shay’s my ticket to popularity. Being seen with a beautiful girl like her has to raise a guy’s social standing. I return The Dick’s smile.

  He leans his face right into Shay’s. “You, foxy lady, must be new. Because if I ever saw you before, I’d totally remember.”

  She gives him a smile approximately seventy-five percent bigger than the one she gave us.

  “Let me show you around.” He puts his oafish hand on her arm.

  She doesn’t move his hand away. She does move her hand off my thigh.

  “Tell me, are you a strong swimmer?” The Dick asks her.

  “I can swim. Why?”

  “In case I need rescuing. I’m drowning in your eyes.”

  I groan.

  Shay’s smile grows even bigger.

  I summon up a half ounce of courage and point out, in a tone that’s hopefully reasonable enough not to earn a punch from The Dick, “Shay, I thought you wanted us to help you at lunchtime today.”

  “Tomorrow, ’kay?” she says before going off with The Dick. For a tour of the school, and God knows what else.

  Only two things are infinite—the universe and human stupidity.Albert Einstein.

  Rick’s at least six feet tall, with thick blond hair, intense blue eyes, and a build like a bank vault. The way he touches my arm, so sure, so manly, makes up for his half- unbuttoned shirt displaying a mass of c orn-c olored chest hairs.

  “You dig?”

  Gawd, I must have been staring.

  He d oesn’t wait for an answer. He undoes another button on his shirt like a male stripper. I try hard not to shout Stop!

  As we walk through the cafeteria, a lot of people say hi to him. He gives all of them s hout-o uts in return, not just the jockish guys and pretty girls, but a fat boy and a pimply girl too. Is that a 70’s thing or a Rick thing? Whatever it is, it’s nice.

  “So what’s a gorgeous chick like you doing here?” he asks me.

  I give him my shrug that shows off my chest.

  We pass by the bungalows. T wenty-e ight years later, our school still has them. Then we walk through the vacant baseball field. I d on’t see Professional Tour Guide as Rick’s future career, given that he h asn’t said a word about the school since we started the “tour.” Not that I expected one.

  He stops at the bleachers, takes my hand, and leads me to a top row seat.

  I smile at him. “Hey.”

  He stares into my eyes. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

  I look away. “Just, um, Reseda.”

  “Why did you transfer to our school?”

  “To find a cute guy like you.”

  He laughs. “No, really. Why?”

  What is he, a private eye? To shut him up, I put my hands on his cheeks and move my face close to his. He has a toughg uy jaw, short, golden stubble, and rugged but unblemished skin.

  “What school were you at before?”

  I kiss him, hard, and he stops asking questions.

  11

  Shay Saunders is (1) gorgeous, (2) sexy, and (3) a whiner. She’s sitting next to me on the school bus, rolling her eyes and/or sighing and/or muttering “I hate this” every time there’s a stop. “I can’t believe you don’t have your own car,” she says. “How are you going to get any girls?”

  “As if that’s all that’s stopping me.”

  “I wouldn’t be so shallow as to choose a boyfriend based on his mode of transportation,” Evie says from across the aisle.

  Since when is Evie interested in boyfriends? The only guys she’s ever seemed excited about are Jonas Salk and J. D. Salinger.

  Shay turns toward Evie. “You’re in L.A., where cars are king and people are shallow.”

  “You’re a good example of that,” Evie says. “Blowing us off the minute a foxy guy comes by.”

  Evie thinks The Dick is foxy? I thought she was too busy calculating people’s IQs to notice what they looked like.

  “Shay, if you want our help, try treating us with respect,” Evie tells her.

  “And maybe you can find a way to help us too,” I add.

  “I got it.” Shay snaps her fingers. Her nails are painted gray-blue. Very strange. Maybe weird nails are in style in the future. “We’ll do, like, Extreme Makeover,” she says. “Not that extreme though. More like a Queer Eye for the Straight Guy kind of thing.”

  “What?” Evie and I both ask.

  “I’ll give you makeovers.”

  “I don’t want a makeover,” Evie says. “I’m fine with my low social status. I don’t need to talk to ditzy cheerleaders and brutes like Rick The Dick. Actually, I enjoy just being around Tyler and having intelligent conversations.”

  I raise my hand. “Actually, I would like to talk to ditzy cheerleaders.”

  “Good. Here’s your first lesson. Don’t ever raise your hand. Not even in class. And never say actually. It reeks geekspeak,” she says. “So you’re in?”

  “No way, José,” Evie says.

  “Tyler, please let me do you over,” Shay purrs.

  When a beautiful girl sits next to you and begs to “do you over,” with her soft voice and pouty lips and long-lashed eyes, there’s only one response. I nod my head up and down and say, “Do me over!”

  “Just make sure you help me with the time-travel stuff,” Shay adds.

  “I’ve already been working on it. This morning in physics class I came up with an idea. We could experiment with it today.”

  “Great!” Evie exclaims. “Science experiments are right up my alley. I’ll get off the bus with you and lend a hand.”

  “Great,” I say without enthusiasm.

  We all walk to my house, tell Mom we’re working on a physics class project, and retreat to the garage. I take out the Christmas lights and wind a long string of them around Shay’s arm.

  “This can’t possibly work,” Evie says.


  I sure hope not. There’s no way I want to return Shay to the future. “Evie, you know time travel has to reach the speed of light.”

  “The speed of light,not light bulbs.Einstein’s constant C,the speed of light, is measured in a vacuum, not by how fast a string of Christmas bulbs lights up. Jeez, Tyler, that’s just basic physics.”

  Physics, shmysics. I’m touching a gorgeous girl. Okay, so I’d rather be kissing her than stringing lights around her, but, still.

  “Hurry up!” Shay says.

  Oops. I’ve lingered on her arm. And I think I’m grinning. It’s Christmas in September. “Do you want me to be fast or accurate?”

  “Fast.”

  Darn. I was aiming for slow and sensual. I finish wrapping her arms, but pause once I get to her chest, her soft, generous chest.

  “Want me to take a turn?” Evie asks.

  “No!” I wind the lights down Shay’s body. Was there ever a more perfect behind? I doubt it.

  “Are you almost finished?” Shay asks.

  I get to say something I’ve only ever dreamed of: “Spread your legs.”

  And she does, and I’m wrapping the string of Christmas lights all over the world’s second most shapely legs, the first being Lynda Carter’s from Wonder Woman. Shay’s legs are a very close second place.

  “Are you done?”

  “I guess.”

  “Let’s try it already. I have a birthday party to plan back home.”

  “Here goes nothing.” Evie plugs in the lights.

  “Ow!” Shay screams. “You’re burning me! Turn that off!”

  Evie pulls the plug out of the wall and says, “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

  “Look what you did!” Shay holds up her arm. I peer at it, but the only damage I see is a few singed arm hairs. “You maimed me!” Shay says. “Take these stupid lights off me.”

  “I’m sorry.” I pounce on her leg.

  “Gawd. Get away.” She gives me a small kick as if I’m a dog in heat. “I’ll do it myself.” She twists and turns to unwind the string of bulbs from her body. Then she tosses the lights back in their box. “I can’t believe you burned my arm.”