No Regrets (2 page)

My mom was already gone when I got up. She takes the bus, so sometimes she leaves early. My dad wasn't downstairs yet when I got out of the shower.

I yelled up the stairs. “Can I take the car? I missed the bus.”

I could hear my dad grumbling behind the bedroom door. Then he opened it. “No, you know what your mother said.”

“C'mon! My suspension was months ago! I need to drive today! Please, Dad!”

He coughed. “No. Anyway, I need the car today.” I heard him walk back into the bedroom. Looking for his smokes. “Better get going so you're not late.”

I cussed under my breath and slammed the door as I left. I had lied about missing the bus, but it was coming down the street as I got to the corner. Good thing I hadn't stayed to argue.

I put my earbuds in as the bus pulled up. I didn't want to talk to anyone this morning. I needed to think.

But instead of planning when I needed to go and what I needed to figure out, I just thought about Marquis. It used to be that a million times a day I would hold my phone and think about texting or calling him. Now it was only, like, ten times a day. But now if I could see him again, even if only in last summer …

I felt mad all over again at my parents. It was a tired feeling because I'd felt it so many times before since I came back from Chicago. What did my dad need the car for today, anyway? I knew he didn't have a job right now because I heard him telling my mom last night that they didn't need him anymore at the last place.

Probably he had convinced her to give him some money on the promise that he'd turn it into all the money we'd ever need. Same old story. Sometimes he would come back with enough to pay a bill and stop collections from calling, but not usually.

My thoughts went on the same track as they had for months ever since I'd said no to Marquis.
Can't make the same mistakes they made … but what if this is a mistake? Will there be another chance? A better time? Should I call him?

I was so tired of not knowing if I'd made the right choice. Well, maybe now I could get some answers.

At school there were signs everywhere about prom.

“So, you going to ask someone?” Tanaya said at lunch.

I didn't answer. “Your man coming?” I asked Cherry. She's got some older guy. I don't like her, and I didn't care what she was doing for prom, but I didn't want to talk about me.

She shrugged, looking all smiley like she does when she talks about her man. “I haven't told him about it. How much are the tickets?”

Tanaya and Cherry started talking about all the details. I wasn't paying attention. I knew Tanaya wanted to ask some guy she knew and wanted me to go with his friend. It would probably be fine, but I wasn't into the idea. Most of my brain knew that there was no way Marquis was coming. We hadn't talked since July. And he lived in Michigan. But still …

Then I realized—I could find out who I will go to prom with. I just had to go there in the future and see. Could I do it now? There were a few minutes of lunch left and then passing time. I got up.

“I gotta pee before class,” I said. “Catch you later.”

“Wait!” Tanaya said but I kept walking. We were close for a while, but she's like a package deal with Cherry. I just couldn't separate them. Cherry doesn't like me any more than I like her, but she won't quit even when she's not welcome.

Plus Tanaya's not serious. Here we were almost done with our junior year, but she acts like she's going to be a kid forever. Everything's a joke to her, and that gets on my nerves. Even Cherry has plans for after we graduate. Stupid plans, but at least she's thought about it.

I went in the bathroom and into a stall. I hoped there wasn't a weird noise or anything when I disappeared.
Like the guy said, don't overthink it.
“Future. May 9 … 9:30 p.m.” I did the heel thing.

Pain, pukey, plop. I fell against the stall door and it opened. Different bathroom. Music outside the bathroom. I didn't see anyone in the bathroom, but I backed into the stall to catch my breath. Just in time.

Some girls came in, talking, and stood at the mirror. I didn't recognize their voices, and they left pretty fast, heels clicking. I looked down. Crap, people were going to notice me wearing regular clothes, not a dress and nice shoes and stuff. I should have waited until I could wear something that fit in or a disguise.

But I was here now and didn't want to waste the chance to see who I came with. Then I heard the toilet flush and someone came out. I peeked through the crack. It was me!

I threw the stall door open. “Hey!”

She/I looked at me over her shoulder and snorted. She kept washing her hands.

“C'mon! I just want to know who you came with!” I pleaded. This was so weird, but I didn't have time to think about that. Man, she was irky, even to me, myself!

“You're out of time,” she said, shaking her head. She did look good, thank God. Cute dress, nice hair. She must have come with someone she cared about—

Pain, pukey, plop. I collapsed on the toilet, back at school.

I was wiped out the rest of the day. Almost too tired to think. But one thing for sure, I needed to plan this better or I'd never find out anything or be able to change stuff.

Every time I thought about the prom bathroom trip, I felt embarrassed. I must have looked so stupid and desperate. Even though I was the only one who saw myself, I felt dumb. But looking at Cherry being all starry about her man—I guess I had just wanted some hope that I would ever feel that way again. But this was too complicated not to be careful with.

Back at home, I just lay on my bed, not wanting to do homework. But I had to. I was taking a class that counted for college credit, too, and I had to keep up. I don't know exactly what I'm doing after graduation, but I've got to go to college somehow. I don't have the grades or sports stuff for a lot of scholarships. My counselor said I should take these classes and get as many free credits as I can. She thought I could hack it, so I registered for one each semester. I'm scared of a lot of debt, so I don't want to go anywhere fancy. Probably start with community college.

Anyway, I'm not making the mistake my mom made. She could have gone to college—she would have been the first in her family. But she didn't. Not because, like you're thinking, she got pregnant, not at first. But she met my dad and got a union job and just never went.

I made myself do most of my homework. Then we had dinner. My dad was pretty quiet, so whatever he'd had going that day hadn't worked out the way he wanted. Otherwise he'd be bragging about it and talking about what he was going to buy us.

I never listen anymore when he talks that way. Not since seventh grade, when he took the little bit of money my mom had saved for Christmas and lost it all on some football team.

Mom was talking about calling the mortgage company again to ask for a break for this month.

“Don't pay the heat,” Dad said, shoveling food in his mouth. “They can't cut it off in the winter. We'll catch up later.”

“It's April,” my mom said. “I think they can shut it off now. I don't know …”

I ate fast so I could get away. Not going to college when she could have was a mistake, but as far as I was concerned, Dad was Mom's worst mistake. Sometimes I feel bad even thinking that, but it's true. Or maybe being too nice is her problem. Maybe if she just stopped giving Dad money to bet with, he'd quit.

Once, when things were really bad, Mom said to me, “Layla, you have to plan. I can't. I always got to take care of this and then that and then the next thing. I don't have time to plan or think about making a good decision for down the road. But I'm holding things together for you, all right? You can plan, and you can do better than we have.”

She laughed, but her face still looked sad. So now I needed to come up with a plan—an even better one, too, since now I had this power.

In my room I sat doodling on the back of my notebook, trying to think things out. I had this scared feeling inside me. Like I thought the power would go away soon and I would have missed my chance to know
something
for sure.

I turned off my phone and flipped the notebook open. What was my biggest problem?

Should I have said yes to Marquis?
I wrote.

I sat back and thought about that. I tried to get out of the groove that question had worn in my mind, but it was hard not to go through all the same thoughts again.

I remembered, last summer in Chicago, when Dante first said something about Marquis' money. “Wish my dad had gotten with some Indian chick,” he said a little bitterly. “Dude's loaded.”

I was totally confused, so he explained it to me. “All the money they get from the casino? They give it to the people in their group, or whatever. If you're a kid, they put it in the bank for you every year until you turn eighteen. Then you get it.”

So when Marquis said, “Don't go, Layla. Come with me. I can take care of you,” I knew he was telling the truth. And his money was legal, so I wouldn't have to worry about him going to jail or something.

I didn't want to have someone taking care of me forever, but we could be together while I went to college and then I could get a job. At least, that was what I was thinking, but I never said that to Marquis.

“I have to finish high school,” I said.

“You're smart. You'd be fine,” he said.

“But—”

He pulled me close for a kiss. “I don't want to go home without you,” he whispered.

I pulled back. “But—what would I do?”

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“If I dropped out of school? Would I get a job?”

“You'd do whatever you want, same as me. Sometimes I work for my uncle. Mostly I hang out.”

“But I can't go to college without finishing high school.”

“Why you want to go to college anyway? Just to get some job you'll probably hate to make enough money to pay the rent and be able to party on the weekends. But like I said, I can take care of you. It don't take much to live on the reservation, and I've got plenty of money.”

I wanted to ask how much. Sometimes my parents thought they had plenty of money, too, but it never lasted long. I wanted to ask if he had enough for me to go to school. Except if he really wanted to stay on the reservation, I couldn't see how that would work. I know my friends wouldn't believe it, but I had trouble asking Marquis the hard questions.

Maybe he'd move for me, at least while I went to college. But what if he didn't, and I had dropped out of high school to be with him? I could always leave. Would my parents let me come back? Maybe I could pass the GED right now. But Ms. Butler said the GED didn't look as good as a high school diploma because finishing high school shows you have “soft skills” or whatever. And she said the GED test was getting harder.

I put my head in my hands. I needed to stop this. I had been through all this a million times, and it hadn't gotten me anywhere except staring at my phone, feeling all torn up about whether I should call him.

So how could time travel and changing stuff help me? What did I wish was different? Or what did I need to know now?

When the guy in my dream had said I couldn't go back more than a year, I thought about my parents. I wondered, what if I could go back and fix my parents so they wouldn't end up where they are now? Especially my mom. There must have been a moment when she made that one big mistake that led her to where she was now. Maybe it was when she took the job instead of going to college. Maybe it was when she agreed to marry my dad.

Somehow I blamed my parents and their mistakes for making me scared to say yes to Marquis. But even if my parents were perfect and we weren't living life on the edge all the time, would it have seemed like a good idea to run off with some guy I barely knew, drop out of high school, and go live on an Indian reservation and hope it all worked out?

I realized I was digging my pen through three layers of pages in my notebook. I didn't want to admit I might have said no to Marquis no matter what. On TV or in the movies, when it's true love these things always work out. In fact, the trouble always starts when someone doesn't believe in the true love enough. I felt like it was my parents' fault that I couldn't believe in stuff like that.

OK, I needed to keep myself on track here. Keep writing about how I wanted to use the time travel.

Go back just to see Marquis.
That was pretty dumb—I could always just remember last summer. I had replayed the best parts in my head so much, though, and stuff was fading. If I went back, I could see for real every time we'd made out, every time he'd told me he loved me—just like a movie. That would just be … nice. Even though it would make me sad again. I could do better than that.

See if I'm with Marquis in the future.
Again, the stupid one-year rule. Next year would just be like this year—more high school. Maybe we'd be in touch, though. Maybe we'd be planning for me to come live with him or him to come live with me while I went to college. That's what I kept hoping.

But when Marquis asked me and I said, “I have to finish high school,” he never said, “It's OK. I get it that you need to finish high school and go to college because no one's giving you casino money every year and you don't want to end up like your parents. I love you so much, baby, that I'll go anywhere, anytime you want, just so we can be together.”

He just said, “Will you come back with me? I can take care of you.” And when I finally said no, he didn't say anything else.

But maybe it all works out. Maybe he misses me and starts to understand why I had to say no. And he remembers I said, “Call me,” when I left because I was trying to tell him I wasn't saying no forever. Maybe if I went even a month into the future, I'd see myself with him.

Or I could go back and change things so Marquis would say he's cool with waiting. He would agree to stay in touch. He could come visit—he has plenty of money! He could get a hotel, and I'd stay with him. Tell my parents I was sleeping over at Tanaya's. Or tell them the truth, whatever.

A hotel room with a Jacuzzi and a big bed. And finally we could do whatever we wanted without being outside or in his car or getting interrupted or always thinking someone was about to come home.

Why hadn't we done that in Chicago? Instead of Marquis sleeping on his cousin's couch and me bouncing between my grandma's and my aunt's and my old best friend's house. Always feeling frustrated that his cousin was addicted to sitting on the couch playing Xbox. Always wishing my Chicago people weren't wanting to hang out with me so much. Always feeling kind of embarrassed when we got into it while on the L and someone yelled, “Get a room!” We should have.

I knew two years was a long time to ask someone to wait. But wasn't that what you did when you were in love?