The First Last Day (6 page)

T
he next day, the same thing happened. And the next. And the next. At first I thought the day kept repeating so I could eventually talk G-Mags into going to the hospital. But after a couple of weeks of living the same day over and over, it was pretty clear she was never going with the paramedics. Finally, I stopped dialing 911.

More time passed, and I started thinking it was a good thing the day kept repeating. Each morning, G-Mags was fine. Who knew what would happen if time moved forward?

And would it be so bad to live in a never-ending summer? To not have to deal with seventh grade? There were definitely advantages: no teachers telling me to put away my sketchbook, no homework, no mean girls, no pimples.

And then there was Kevin. We'd stay friends forever—nothing would change us. Not time, not distance, not different schools.

One afternoon as Dad was explaining to me how black holes form when a star explodes at the end of its life cycle, I couldn't help but smile. The life cycle didn't appear to be ending for G-Mags—or anyone else, for that matter.

When the Damicos' car horn sounded from the driveway, Mom threw me the apple like she did every day. I caught it, threw it back, and bounded out the door with an energy I hadn't felt in a while.

•  •  •

The neon taco sign glowed in front of me as I thought about having Mexican food again. Riffling through my wallet, I was still amazed that my money kept reappearing.

“What are you smiling about?” Kevin asked.

“Nothing.” I grabbed his arm. “C'mon, I'll buy you a quesadilla.”

As we talked, I realized I could change some things about the day, like our conversations and some of our activities. But other things were always exactly the same: the waitress with her flamingo pink lipstick, the eavesdropping man with the briefcase, Marty the magician and his trick with the scarf.

Throughout the day, the sameness of things was comforting. Especially when I was back in G-Mags's kitchen, smelling the rosemary all over again.

“Hey,” Kevin said, “bet you can't spell ragout.”

Without thinking, I spelled out, “R-a-g-o-u-t.”

Kevin looked disappointed. “How did you know that? I would have bet money you'd spell it wrong.”

“I must have seen it somewhere.” I wasn't really lying. Was I?

Once the ragout was dished out, I wondered if I would ever get tired of eating the same thing for dinner every night. I pierced a piece of meat with my fork and swirled it around in the juices. Ragout every night was a small price to pay for a never-ending summer.

•  •  •

Back in my room that night, I picked up the canvas on my desk and touched the sky. A bit of blue paint came off on my fingertip. I rubbed it away and looked over at my suitcase on the bed. For a minute I considered not packing. Then I realized Mom might get suspicious.

She poked her head in on the way to bed. “See you in the morning,” she said, smiling.

“Um, yeah,” I said. “See you in the morning.” But, of course, I saw her before that.

Oddly, even though Kevin was as miserable as he'd been the previous times, my own sadness wasn't as strong. Knowing this night was like chalk on a blackboard and would all be erased the next day was almost exhilarating, like I'd won some kind of time loop lottery.

Just thinking about it made me too restless to sleep. Once everyone was quiet, I raced to the refrigerator and took out the cannoli G-Mags had given me earlier. Knowing that another one would take its place the next night, I took a huge bite.

Sweet!

K
evin picked up the same box of saltwater taffy that he'd shown me every day. I pretended I hadn't seen it before. I'd gotten to be an expert at acting as if everything were brand-new. Seriously, I could have won an Academy Award.

I'd considered telling Kevin what was going on, but I suspected he wouldn't understand. He'd think I was either joking or losing my mind. Kevin believed in tricks. Illusions. Like Marty's sleight of hand. But he didn't believe in magic.

He held the candy box in front of me. “Want some? My treat.”

I was about to say I didn't want to break a bracket on my braces. But instead, I answered, “Sure!” Why hadn't I thought of it before? Even if I broke a bracket, it would be fixed the next morning.

Once Kevin paid for the box, I surveyed the multicolored taffy. Reaching first for the green one, I changed my mind and went for the red. The spicy cinnamon was sweet and hot at the same time. Delicious. Several chews later, a wire snapped. Metal scraped the inside of my mouth, but I kept on chewing without saying a word. Kevin might have wondered why I took a chance—I'd been talking about that prize from the orthodontist all summer long. I swept my tongue along the inside of my cheek. The skin was ragged. Still, I grabbed another piece of taffy and popped it in my mouth. I could handle the sting till morning.

•  •  •

After the usual nighttime ringing of the doorbell, I turned down the covers on the couch for Kevin. The look on his face made me want to tell him everything.
That G-Mags would be fine in the morning. That, somehow, time had stopped—just like in that sci-fi movie we'd been watching every day. That we would never have to worry about sickness. Or dying.

He looked so miserable as he pulled the blanket up to his chin. Instead of rushing off to my room, I sat on the floor and whispered, “It'll be okay.”

“The paramedics said it looked serious,” Kevin said, his voice cracking.

I drew my knees to my chest and hugged them. “But G-Mags is tough. Remember those stories she told us about how poor she was? How her family hardly had any food—and there was no medicine when she got sick? She's a survivor.” I knew it wasn't the same as surviving a stroke, but I wanted so much to make Kevin feel better.

His eyes brightened and he gave a tiny smile. “She
is
tough, isn't she?”

“Sure she is.”

Seconds passed, and the brightness faded. “People can die from strokes,” he said. “Or become paralyzed for the rest of their lives.”

“But it doesn't always happen. I've heard of people
having strokes and being okay afterward. I'm sure G-Mags will be fine in the morning.”

Kevin rolled sideways, away from me. “You can't be sure.”

I clasped my knees tighter. “But I am sure.”

“How?”

“I don't know. I just feel it.”

After a few minutes of silence, I tiptoed to my bedroom. There was no use trying to explain things. I didn't even understand what was going on myself.

Once I was in my bed, I stared out the window at the same wispy moon I'd seen behind Kevin's parents each night. I knew from science class that it was a waxing crescent moon, which meant it was moving toward being full.

I studied it a little longer, imagining it as the final curve in a pair of parentheses, the close of a single thought, suspended in the infinite sky.

W
hen the clock rang at seven, the first thing I did was to stretch my tongue toward my back teeth. Yes! No broken bracket. The inside of my cheek was as smooth as a baby's.

Later, when Kevin and I visited Mr. Sidhu's shop, I realized it had to have been several weeks since the time loop started. I was pretty familiar with the inventory on those floor-to-ceiling shelves, and I'd read quite a few of the books.

I passed a table filled with mystery novels, squeezed together like a deck of cards. A similar table marked
ROMANCE
sat across
from Mr. Sidhu, who was behind the counter, reading a worn-out paperback with an old-fashioned spaceship on the front.

While Kevin talked to Mr. Sidhu, I browsed through the kids' mystery novels. It was the third day in a row I was buying the same book about a stolen painting. I planned on finishing it that night. I had my eye on another mystery for the next day. That one had a shadow, a shoe, and a key on the cover.

When I brought my book to the counter, Kevin was deep in conversation with Mr. Sidhu. As he listened, Mr. Sidhu's bushy, black eyebrows moved up and down. He was saying what he said every day—even before the time loop started—that the DVD set Kevin wanted was $59.99.

Kevin stuck his hand in his pocket and frowned. “I don't have that much money.”

Mr. Sidhu looked sympathetic. “Do you have a birthday coming up? Maybe you can make a list. Put these on it.”

Kevin shook his head. “It's not until October.”

“I am sorry,” Mr. Sidhu said. “But I cannot change the price. This is a collector's item. But I will tell you
what I can do. If anyone comes here and shows an interest in the DVDs, I will give you a call first. You can let me know if you have saved up enough money to buy them.” He handed Kevin a card to write on.

“But I live more than an hour away.”

“Do not worry,” Mr. Sidhu said. “I will hold them for you.”

“Wow, thanks. I'll start saving my allowance as soon as I get back to Montclair.” Kevin scribbled his name and number on the card and pushed it across the counter.

He gave me a big smile as we headed toward the door. I smiled back, but I couldn't help but feel a little sad that Kevin would never save up enough money to buy those DVDs.

W
hile I waited for Kevin to arrive on the boardwalk with his cow suit, my skin tingled with excitement. I'd decided to do something different. Something I never would have done before the time loop.

A seagull dive-bombed a stale french fry as Kevin came up behind me. As always, he analyzed the man and woman and asked me if I wanted to put on the suit. That day I said, “Yes.”

I stumbled as my sandal caught on the fabric. Once
I got my footing, I looked up at him and asked, “What does a cow say when she trips?”

“I don't know?”

“Moops!”

Kevin yelled, “Moops! Moops!” as he pretended to trip. Then the two of us laughed so hard that we had to stop ourselves from falling off the boardwalk into the sand.

Once I pulled on the hood with the ears, I posed like a fashion model with my hand on my hip.

“I've got to get some footage of this,” Kevin said. He held up his camera and shouted, “Lights, camera, action!”

It was surprisingly fun walking down the boardwalk in costume. A little boy waved and smiled—as if I were a celebrity. Or maybe he thought I would give him a free sample of chicken, like that cow at the mall food court.

Some people made sure they kept their distance—as if I had some type of disease. Still, it was fun to watch people's reactions as I paraded along the boardwalk. I stopped and turned to Kevin. “I'm beginning to like this
moo-squerade
.”

“It's cool to do something different once in a while,” he said. “Isn't it?”

I bumped him with my hindquarter. “You don't know the half-and-half of it.”

•  •  •

As I tapped the golf ball once and sent it straight to the Humpty Dumpty hole, it struck me how much I was changing when it came to sports and art, while everything else stayed the same.

“Hey, what's going on?” Kevin said. “You always complain you're not good at sports.”

“Beginner's luck.” The truth was that after all the practice, I'd figured out the trick of striking the ball a certain way, depending on which hole I was at.

Day after day, as my score improved, I realized how much Kevin did not like to lose at mini golf. After all, he was the one with the expertise. But I was playing as well as he was. Sometimes better.

I tried to stop myself from hitting the ball in the precise place or tapping it just the right amount, but I was really enjoying winning.

One day while watching Kevin struggle to get the ball past the paddles of the windmill, I felt a pang of guilt.

Then, suddenly, I had a great idea.

T
he next morning, I crept into the living room early and inched open the top drawer of Dad's desk, where he kept his wallet. My pulse pounded as I ran my fingers across the smooth, black leather.

I reached into the dollars compartment and flipped through the bills: two fifties, a twenty, and a ten. Pressing my lips together, I held my breath and pulled out a fifty and a twenty.

My hands felt sweaty. I'd never stolen anything in my life.

But it wasn't really stealing. Was it?

I was just borrowing the money. I knew my father wouldn't touch his wallet all day. The next morning, his money would be back inside. He'd never know I took it.

I slipped the bills into my backpack and continued the day as if nothing unusual had happened.

Still, all morning long, I felt an excitement that I'd never experienced before. Was it because I was planning to surprise Kevin? Or that I'd gotten away with stealing?

During breakfast, while Kevin told me once again about his latest movie idea, I secretly plotted how I would get away from him.

I waited until he went home for the cow suit, knowing I had exactly twenty-two minutes until he came back. As soon as he was out of sight, I raced to the store.

“How may I help you?” Mr. Sidhu asked in his usual cheery voice.

“You know that DVD set that my friend Kevin has been looking at?”

“Of course,” he said, reaching behind the counter. “Your friend has very good taste.”

The DVDs were wrapped in plastic, so all I could
see was the movie on top:
The Colossus of New York.
“You're sure this is what he wanted?” I asked.

“Oh yes. These are four movies made many years ago. In the fifties.
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
,
The Day the Earth Stood Still
,
The Blob
, and this one.” He pointed to the picture on the top DVD. There was a scary robot, a bunch of screaming people, and New York City in the background. Kevin would love it. And he'd finally get to see the beginning of that movie he'd been watching on TV.