Summer of Yesterday (6 page)

One of the girls looks up at me and freezes. “Sandra?” She reaches out to touch my arm.

I'm startled. “Me? No, Haley.”

Her eyes, it's like they're staring right through me—hazel, almond shaped, cute, small nose, squarish jaw. There is no mistaking her. I have to do everything in my power to fight back the rising wave in my throat or throw my arms around her. It's those timeless, smooth photos of her come to life. Does she realize it's me?

Mommy?

seven

I
am so sure!” my super-young mom says, our eyes locked, her face frozen in permanent astonishment.

“Jenni, what is it?” Her friend volleys looks between me and her, but the more I check her out as well, the more I realize it's Lizzie, my mom's cousin.

“Doesn't she look exactly like my sister?” Mom asks. She's talking about my aunt, Sandra, who I guess must've been in college around this time. “I mean she totally looks like Sandy, big-time. Look at her!”

Lizzie stares at me. She looks nothing like her future self. She's always so mature hot, so MILFy. Here, she looks like such a geek. Poor thing! “Don't be an airhead, Jenni. She looks nothing like your sister. Your sister doesn't have those red streaks in her hair. Plus, she's, like, twenty-two.”

“I didn't say they were the same age!” my mom bites back.

“Oh my God, don't have a cow. I'm just saying. Are those streaks natural? How did you get those?” Lizzie asks. They both stand there gaping at me.

I can't answer. On the inside, I'm bursting with joy that my mom is here too. Both of them! My parents! God, why am I so friggin' happy about this? I want to hug her, but I manage the best composure of my life instead. “Uh, no. They're highlights.”

“Highlights?” my mom repeats, like it's a new concept. “Wow. They're so . . .” She waits for the right word to pop into her brain. “Punk! I love them.”

Punk? I look punk to my mom?
Ha-ha
, that's so cute. “Thanks. My name is Haley, by the way. Not Sandy.” I laugh nervously. But not too much. Just in case she recognizes me. Which is impossible. “I'll see you around later?”

“Fer sure,” fifteen-year-old Mom says.

“Totally,” Lizzie agrees, thrilled, it seems, that an older girl wants to hang out with them. They decide to move to another spot, taking looks back at me, and I wait until they disappear before letting go of a huge breath, wondering what the hell just hit me.

I almost text Jason to let him know what happened and ask where he is, then I remember yet AGAIN that I can't text. Damn! How did people meet in public places in the old days? Stop and yell out to each other?

I'm about to get up and go look for him when I hear, “Hello.” Jason startles the crap out of me. I notice my mom and Lizzie still looking at me from the other end of the veranda. Now they're probably wondering how did I get so lucky to have cute towel guy talk to me.

“Hey there, you,” I say, looking up at him. “Thanks for bailing me out back there.”

“Oh, it's cool. I get it. I wouldn't want my old man coming down on me either. Wanna get something to eat?”

“Yeah, sure, but, uh, I didn't bring any money.”

He points to his Disney name tag. “I know people. Come on.” I get out of the chair, and we walk into the pizza place past a cute, smiling brown-haired hostess.

“Howdy, Jason,” she coos.

“Hey, Mabel.” He smiles back.

“Anywhere you like, sugar.” She's easily in her early twenties and probably doubles as Snow White in Fantasyland when she's not here, she's that perfect. Did she just call him
sugar
?

“Thanks.”

Hmm, I think Marsha was right about the swooning girls at every turn.

We stride along the dark wood floors to a table next to a window, where we sit down. In the back, there're a bunch of arcade games, with several kids waiting at each one, not being ignored like they would in the future. Pac-Man, Space Invaders, something called Centipede, others called Donkey Kong, Frogger, and Galaga. How would I know to dream about these games if I've never seen some of them before?

I look at Jason.

He looks at me.

This could get very awkward. Or he could be my liaison to navigating this world if I play my cards right. “So . . . ,” I begin.

“So, I guess you met Marsha.”

“Marsha? Oh, the girl in the red bikini? Yeah. She's nice.”

“She's my brother's girlfriend. At least he sees her that way.”

Whoa. “Wait, you mean she's not with that other guy back there?” My dad. I know it's not true, but I throw it out there just to see what he says.

“Oscar?” He smiles, shaking his head. “Nah. The dude's cool, but he doesn't have a clue. She's not into him at all. She has the hots for my brother. We all hang out during summers here, though.”

The hots
. I guess he means she thinks his brother is hot.
Aww, poor Dad!
Wait . . . we? So Jason and my dad used to hang? An older waitress saunters over. Jason orders a large pepperoni pizza and a pitcher of Coke. He folds his hands in front of him. He smiles his cute, crooked smile. “So, Haley, Haley, Haley.”

“Jason, Jason, Jason.” I fold my hands like him. I know that whatever is coming is going to focus largely on me.

“I'm a bit baffled. Was hoping maybe you could help me out,” he says, his blue eyes darker now by the window shade.

I knew it. He wants to conduct an interrogation, not get to know me better. Well, I did appear out of nowhere. I guess I'm just as strange to him as his world is to me. “You're wondering where I came from,” I say.

“That . . . is the understatement of the year.” He nods, smirking. “Try looking at it my way. A teenage girl is dragged out of the water semiconscious. She's in regular clothes instead of a bathing suit, which, I must admit, was . . . quite disappointing.” He turns up a mischievous grin.

I smile and glance down at the table.

“She wakes up, confused about where she is. I can accept that. But then she can't find anyone she knows, has this little machine she calls an ‘eye-phone,' and she says weird things that make no sense.” He laughs and sits back. “So far, I'm thinking you fell out of an episode of
Star Trek
.”

I sigh. “It's a phone. The little machine is called a cell phone. Here, look.” I pull it out of my pocket and place it in front of him. I press the button to wake it up, but nothing happens. “Wait, sometimes it does this. Maybe it's wet.”

Damn it, don't tell me. . . .
I press the button harder. Nothing. Ack! My phone's battery sucks!

“So you mean to tell me that you have a telephone you carry around with you everywhere. How does it work without a cord? Where would you even get something like that? Your old man's Double-O-Seven?”

“No,” I say.
My dad is that clueless kid trying to pick up your brother's girlfriend out there.
I smack my phone a few times. “It's dead. I can't show you. The battery must have run out.” I can't believe this. Now I'm without my charger in a time where chargers don't exist. Fabulous. Tell me, exactly
how
am I supposed to survive?

“That's not thick enough for batteries.” I look up, and he's staring at me pretty hard. He's really trying to work this all out in his head but could never, ever imagine the whole truth.

I have to just go with it.

Maybe I will wake up. Or maybe my dream will shift to another year. But for now, I have to accept that it's not, that it
is
1982, and
I
am the fish out of water here. But I can't tell him when I'm from either. He would inform his lifeguard brother, and the word would get out that there's a raving lunatic roaming Fort Wilderness. So I
need
to lie as low as possible until I figure out how to get back.

“Okay, look,” I say, letting go of a huge sigh. “My dad is . . . an inventor.” Not true, of course, but perfect. “He builds all kinds of things, and I, you know, test them out for him.”

“Oh.” He sits back in his chair and folds his hands again in front of him. “Now you're starting to make sense. So he made that thing? Well, that's pretty good for a home-cooked invention. How did he get that silver apple so smooth on the back like that? Does he work for Apple Computer or something?”

“No, he doesn't work for—wait, you know about Apple?” I'm not a computer-history buff or anything, but I thought Apple started around the time I was born. Or maybe I'm clueless.

“Well, they're not like Commodore's computers or the TRS-80, but I've heard of them. Hey, ask your dad if he knows anything about the Commodore 64 that's coming out next month. That's supposed to be really killer. I can't wait for it.”

“Yeah. Killer. I . . .” I have no clue what he's talking about. “I will. I'll ask him.” I smile.

His face lights up suddenly. “So rad if he had photos of one. I love getting sneak peeks at stuff before they come out. Every year when the
TV Guide Fall Preview
comes out with descriptions of the new shows starting, I rush out to get one. That's one of the reasons why I applied to work here this summer.”

“Because you love
TV Guide
?”
What even is
TV Guide
?

He laughs. “You're real funny. You don't come to Disney often, do you?”

“Actually, I've come a bunch of times. Why?”

“Then you should know what we're all waiting for around here. The Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow?” His eyebrows raise, full of hope that I'm as excited as he is. “Opening October first?” A crooked smile and sideways glance test my knowledge of insider Disney information. Which is completely blank at the moment.

“Maybe I'm still a little disoriented?”

“EPCOT Center!” he cries, his smile as goofy as a little kid getting a new game system. “The new Disney park! They just finished the new monorail that extends that way. It's a two-and-a-half-mile trip. The new trains are so sleek. We got to preview them before the public does. They took cast members on a tour of Future World. You would not believe some of the inventions they have there—these computers that you can touch the screen and choose different options, and it responds to your fingertip! It is the coolest technology you have ever seen! It's incredible!”

“No way!” I sit back and pretend it's really amazing to hear about stuff that's been around forever. “That is really awesome!”

“Yeah,” he says, genuinely happy. “Awesome.”

Good thing my phone battery is dead, or else he'd be more fascinated by it than by me.

The waitress brings over the pitcher of soda and pours us two cups full of ice. “Jason?” She nods at his tag, still pinned to his shirt.

He looks down. “Oh.” And removes it. “I'm not a cast member right now,” he whispers. “In fact, cast members aren't supposed to eat here, but they know I'm staying through the summer, so it's not like I can eat anywhere else.”

I take a big gulp of my Coke. It's sweet, icy cold, and perfect. “What do you mean? You live in Fort Wilderness too?” Who knew so many people spent the summer here?

“Not all year, no. But they always need extra help during peak season, so my brother and I applied to River Country, and we got the jobs. Which brings me to another question. Why haven't you told your family yet about what happened to you? I still haven't seen you with anyone. It's really strange to see guests on their own, especially kids.”

Kids?
I know he's older than me, but it's not like he's not a kid himself.

“I was afraid you'd notice that.” Maybe this was a bad idea to come and meet him.

His eyes soften. He gets that look again, where's he's not an employee at the moment, just a friend. He leans closer to me across the table. “Do they know you're here, Haley?”

If I say no, his sense of cast member responsibility might kick back in, and he'll try to get me reunited with my nonexistent family. If I say yes, he'll want to see them.

At that exact moment a steaming pepperoni pizza is set on the table between us, along with two metal plates. Thank God the American pioneers of the Ol' West knew how to make pizza, because I am starving! “Let's eat!” I reach for a slice.

But Jason's expression looks like he thinks he's figured it out. “You could eat this whole pizza pie, couldn't you?” He checks under the table, then back at me. “You swiped those sandals, and you could use new shorts. Haley, I promise I won't tell anybody. I'm not a cast member right now, okay? Who let you in?”

Who let me in? I chuckle and put down the slice. “It's not what you think. I'm not a runaway. My parents know I'm here.”

“Yeah? Then where are they?”

“Okay.” I watch the swirling lines of steam rising from the melted mozzarella. “Promise me you won't freak out.”

“You mean flip out.”

“Whatever.” I play around with the Parmesan cheese shaker. “Consider this one of my dad's experiments. Kind of like a dare. What happened was, we got into an argument. He said I didn't appreciate him, my little brother and sister, so they left. Without me. Like, teaching me a lesson.”

“That sounds unusually cruel.”