Class of 1983: A Young Adult Time Travel Romance Read online

  Peggy smiled. She'd made her first female friend since... she didn't even know.

  * * *

  He was all she could think about as she walked through the crisp night air towards the parking lot where Janet would be picking her up. “Old news” he had said, and then he had looked at another woman’s upper thighs right in front of Rochelle, and her. But then they'd left together, and Peggy wondered if they were having sex right now or if, maybe, it was really all over? And if it was all over what was she going to do about it anyway? She didn't even belong here. She needed to go back home. She needed to see Jack and her parents. They’d be worried. She belonged in a different time, she was just here as a visitor, no point getting attached to anyone or anything. She wasn't even meant to be here, she was meant to be in her own time falling in love with someone normal. Someone from her own decade at least. There was still of course the very real possibility that all of this was just a dream anyway.

  “Hey,” he called out from across the street. He was smoking, leaning up against the coolest car Peggy had ever seen, a blue Pontiac Firebird. He was like a kind of James Dean and Sting mash-up.

  “Hey,” said Peggy, her heart jumping up into her mouth. Sammy Ruthven was actually talking to her. He was speaking actual words to her, and they were alone. On other sides of the street from each other, but still alone. No one else was around.

  Sammy took a drag of his cigarette, not taking his eyes off her for a second.

  “I can drive you some place.” It was a statement, a fact, not a question. He took a final drag of smoke before throwing the butt to the ground and stamping it out.

  “Sure you can,” she replied, “you have a car.”

  He looked back up at her.

  “Where do you wanna go?” he asked.

  “Home. But I have a ride.”

  “Where do you live?” he asked, opening the passenger side door for her.

  “I have to go with my ride.”

  Sammy seemed both amused and annoyed as he closed the door and leaned back on it folding his arms.

  “Next time,” he told her.

  “Maybe,” she shrugged.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I have to go,” she said as she turned and walked away.

  She wanted to stand there all night and talk to him. She wanted to get in his car and forget all about Janet and just have him drive wherever he wanted to take her. But she could see Janet’s car waiting for her just a few car’s down and she was already late. She sighed and said a little silent prayer that she would get to ride in his car one day and that this wasn’t her one chance blown.

  She heard him start the engine and then she watched him drive off down the road, way faster than he probably should have.

  Seventeen

  Sober

  “A stick of cinnamon gum doesn't hide the smell of alcohol Peggy,” reprimanded Janet as she poured Peggy a large glass of water in the kitchen. “I said no drinking. Not only is it completely irresponsible and illegal but I could lose my job.”

  Peggy inhaled the glass of water feeling way drunker than she had ever intended to be. She’d just been so damn nervous about everything - Sammy, making new friends, not being able to use her phone, her hair being too big – everything.

  “But you won't lose your job, because you are still my teacher in the future,” she grinned, Dutch courage making her feistier than usual and she put the glass confidently down on the counter.

  Janet shook her head. “Help me out here Peggy, I can't be seen picking you up from bars.”

  “You picked me up at Super Pan, it wasn't at a bar.”

  “We need some ground rules around here.” Janet refilled Peggy’s glass and handed it back to her.

  “Rules? My real parents don't even give me rules.”

  “It’s not my place to comment on your parent’s choices, but you need rules. We need rules if this is going to work. That's if you even want to stay, if you are going to go back tomorrow and never come back then who am I to stand in the way. Go get drunk, go do whatever you want with Sammy Ruthven.”

  Peggy felt her body tighten and then, without realizing what she was even doing, she slapped her hands down on the table in front of her and screamed.

  Janet just looked at her blankly.

  “I'm so sick of everyone talking to me about Sammy Ruthven. I got here five minutes ago, and everyone is acting as if I'm in love with him!”

  “Rule one, no screaming in this house. We have neighbors.”

  “Rule number two?” Peggy asked folding her arms.

  “No drinking. No going out on school nights and a ten o’clock curfew on weekends.”

  “That is so unfair, you're turning this house into a prison!” She knew it sounded dramatic, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “How am I supposed to know if you are going for pizza or going to end up at a bar? What bar did you go to anyway?”

  “That one that has a fireman's pole.”

  Janet looked confused.

  “It was dark, and they played what Lacey called heavy metal, but it wasn't really metal, it was more like rock and power ballads and they served these bright green drinks called toxic waste.”

  “Peggy! I cannot believe you were out tonight drinking toxic waste at the Fire Station! Forget the curfew young lady, you’re grounded.”

  “What the hell? You so can't ground me!”

  “I can so definitely ground you, while you are staying under my roof.”

  “No, you can’t. You’re not my mother!” Peggy burst into tears and collapsed onto the kitchen floor sobbing into her hands.

  “Peggy,” Janet said softly as she crouched down and put her arm around the crying drunken mess of a girl.

  “I never...” Peggy sniffed.

  Janet grabbed the box of tissues from the dining table. “You never what?” she asked gently holding out the box.

  “I never got grounded before. I mean, my parents never even knew what I was doing enough to ground me. I just go out and do whatever, I don't even drink much or party or anything, but they don't even know, or care. And now I spend one day in 1983 and I get grounded.” Wiping her face on the pink blazer she continued, “I never even had a fight with my parents because I never even see them.” She took a tissue.

  “I know,” said Janet quietly. “I know what it’s like to be alone. My dad left before I was born, and my mom was an alcoholic who struggled to look after me. I lived with my Gran for years but when she died, I was left alone. I was about to go into foster care when I found the key.”

  “Oh my god,” said Peggy wiping her eyes with the tissue, “that's horrible, I'm so sorry. My problems just don't compare.”

  “Just because you live with your parents doesn't mean you don't know the same loneliness I knew. People don't have to be gone to be absent.”

  “I'm so sorry,” sobbed Peggy. “I won't drink again. I won't go out again,” she shook her head and blew her nose.

  Janet laughed softly. “Peggy, you’re seventeen. I know you are going to go out again but not for a little while OK? But also, I want you to know you can call me any time and I'll come get you, even if I'm mad as hell.”

  “Call you how? There are no phones here,” Peggy blubbered.

  “Find a payphone and call the house. Learn the number or carry it on a piece of paper.”

  Peggy laughed. “Learn a number?”

  “Make sure you always carry some change for a payphone too.”

  Peggy stood up and walked over to put the glass in the sink.

  “Go get yourself to bed, we’ll go shopping or something tomorrow, we can even take a drive out to the valley.”

  “I’d like that,” Peggy stood up and leaned on Janet to steady herself. “I’m sorry.”

  Janet nodded, took Peggy’s glass from the sink and filled it up for her one more time.

  Eighteen

  Coffee

  Jack groaned as his alarm clock went off and grabbed his phone from t
he bedside table. He turned off the alarm and checked his messages. Still nothing. He hadn't seen or heard from her in six days now. He had never gone so long without her before. Mrs. Willis had given him some total BS story about Magz having come down with food poisoning. She said she'd found Magz vomiting in the book room and sent her straight home in a taxi. Mrs. Willis had given him Magz’s denim backpack to give to her, but when he rode his bike over to her house later that evening it was just as dark and empty as usual. He could have assumed she was in bed sick if he didn’t know her so well. Magz was afraid of the dark and always slept with a string of fairy lights on. But the lights were off, and Jack wasn't a complete idiot. He knew something was up, he just had no idea what.

  He'd continued to turn up to her house every day after school and knock on her door only to turn around and ride home again each time no one answered.

  “She’s probably just asleep,” Mrs. Willis had said when Jack told her on Friday that he was moments away from calling the police.

  “Why isn’t she returning my calls? She can’t be asleep all day and all night.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want you to see her in such a state.”

  “If she’s in a state I really want to see her, and she’d want to see me too.”

  “I'm sure she’ll be back at school on Monday,” Mrs. Willis had said, totally unphased.

  Jack harrumphed his way out of class to his locker. He opened it up looking for his Geography books and Magz’s backpack fell out. He sighed.

  “What’s up dumbass?” asked Jim as he walked past.

  “You’re the dumbass!” Jack yelled back feeling a fury rise in his chest. Something was seriously wrong, and he didn’t know what it was, and he had no way to find out and Jim was such a dick that he didn’t want or need to see right then or ever again.

  “Who’re you calling dumbass?” roared Jim, his face puffing out like a puffer fish.

  “You!” Jack yelled back, his own face turning a dark shade of pink. “You are such a dick Jim! No one likes you, you’re not cool, people only agree with you because they’re scared of you and you’re just a total dick!” Silence descended across the rows of lockers as the other students in the hallway gasped.

  The puffer fish face came towards him with a speed he couldn’t beat. He closed his eyes and felt the familiar pain in his back as he was tossed like a salad against his locker and then kicked in the stomach as he fell to the ground.

  “What’s this? Carrying around a girl’s bag now?” Jim picked up Magz’s backpack, opened it and poured the contents onto Jack’s head. The corner of a book stabbed him in the temple, cutting his face. Jack made a pathetic yelping noise.

  “Jim, principal! Now!” shouted Mrs. Willis charging down the hall like a tornado. She bent down to help Jack up.

  “No,” he said pushing her away, “I’m fine.” He touched his face and grimaced as he saw the blood on his fingers. No one else stopped to help, and as the excitement seemingly came to a close everyone went back to their mundane conversations as if nothing had happened.

  Mrs. Willis stood over him as he sat up and began to put Magz’s stuff back into her bag. He grabbed her keys which were scattered over by her make-up bag and rolled his eyes. If only he’d thought to check her bag for her house keys, he could’ve used them to get into her house and check if she was there and see if she was OK. But if he had her house keys, how did she get into her house when she went home sick? He picked up the book that had made him bleed and frowned when he saw what it was. Class of 1983. Why was the yearbook in Magz’s bag when she’d gone missing looking for it? He looked up to give the book back, but Mrs. Willis was gone.

  The school had called Jack’s mom to pick him up and take him to see a doctor just in case he had a concussion. He didn’t give a damn about a concussion, he just wanted to go over to her house and shout at her for not calling or texting, to get some answers and a hug. But his mom made him go see a doctor and then she woke him up every hour on the hour all night to make sure he was OK. “I’m OK! Get away!” he had screamed at her at around 3:30am. She didn’t check back in on him after that.

  But on Saturday morning he was on a mission. He called her number again, but her phone was still off. He called her house phone, no answer. He got up out of his bed, walked down the green carpeted hall to use the toilet and washed his face. He styled his hair over his forehead to hide the Band-Aid and was out the door dressed in jeans, a pair of dark grey Vans and a red checked shirt within minutes.

  * * *

  Holding onto the bag tightly he knocked on the door for the sixth time that week. He was about to use the keys when Mrs. Martin opened the door. She shared some of her daughter's features but was shorter and a little rounder and crinklier.

  “Is Magz home?” Jack asked nervously. In the whole time he and Magz had been friends there had been very few occasions that necessitated an in-person exchange between himself and one of her parents.

  Mrs. Martin frowned. “I think she's still in bed Jack, do you want me to get her to call you when she's up?”

  “Is she OK?” he asked, trying to see into the house. It was ironic really, he'd spent so much time in this house, more time than her parents did. He'd even cleaned it for them and now he needed to have verbal permission to enter. He felt like a vampire with no ability to enter a mortal’s house without being invited in.

  “She's been sleeping a lot, but I'm sure she's fine,” Mrs. Martin said. “I'll let her know you stopped by OK?” She smiled sweetly at him as she closed the door.

  * * *

  Walking down her street he began to feel a little sick himself. He kicked an old can of 7UP into the gutter cursing. Everything made him think of her.

  He took a right instead of a left, deciding to head to the Mega Mini Mall for some new headphones and a coffee instead of going home. What was he going to do at home anyway?

  It was only when he sat down at his favorite window seat waiting for Jen, the barista who trained him during his one week working there, to call his vanilla soy latte that he realized he'd forgotten to give her mom the bag. He looked around the near empty coffee shop and opened it. He felt so bad doing it. Like he was snooping, looking into something personal of hers. This was not who he was. But then she had disappeared of the face of the Earth without calling him and the hurt he felt allowed him to do it. The bag contained two books, her notebook - he refused to look through that and put it back in her bag - and the yearbook. He opened it up and began browsing through the pages. He was looking at a picture of some kids looking out over the Grand Canyon when his latte was called, and the book went back in her bag and was forgotten… for now.

  Nineteen

  Ben

  Ben waved her over from their table at the back of the cafeteria. She negotiated her way through the preppies, jocks and nerds with her tray of corn chips, salad sandwich and 7UP.

  Ben moved over to make room for her. Leigh and Tricia looked absently into their own lunches while Nick tapped his knife on the table. She quickly glanced over in Sammy's direction, immediately wishing she hadn't. He and Rochelle weren’t looking so much like old news today. She was eating fries off his plate and he was just... letting her. It was so not finished, whatever it was between them. As if you'd let someone eat fries off your plate if it was really over.

  “How’s it all going?” asked Nick, greeting her warmly while everyone else pretty much ignored her. She wished Lacey was here. She felt so out of place without her, but she was thankful for Nick and Ben. Not for the first time she wished she could have a crush on Nick. He was such a nice guy, what was his story anyway?

  “Yeah not so bad,” Peggy said popping the top on her soda. “I got Sister Constance for History which I heard is a bad draw though.”

  “Oh man,” said Ben. “She is the worst, total drill sergeant. I had her last year. She nearly made me cry.”

  Peggy laughed. “What happened?”

  “She read out a paper I wrote in front of the
class, it was really bad. I'm not that good at that writing stuff,” he shrugged.

  “It was so funny,” Leigh giggled. “Ben thought we were meant to write about Indians from India when we were meant to be writing about, like American Indians.”

  “You mean Native Americans,” said Peggy.

  “Please don't tell me we’re going to start talking about what to call Indians,” said Tricia.

  “We're just talking about Ben's assignment,” Rochelle said rolling her eyes. “It's not like, racist to talk about Indians.”

  “I’m part Indian,” Tricia told Peggy. “Not from India, from America,” she said kicking Ben under the table. He shrugged.

  “My best friend back home is part Native American too,” Peggy said.

  “What are we now, bragging about who knows the most Indians?” Tricia put down her fork and looked like she was about to punch someone.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Peggy said, waving her hand around apologetically as Tricia stared at her. “I was just saying.”

  “Whatever,” Tricia said.

  “Don’t mind her,” said Nick cracking open a Pepsi and a smile. “She's part Indian, part Latino, part punk and part new wave. Girl’s got problems.”

  “Shut up Nick,” said Tricia.

  “I’m part Jewish and part Amish and I go to a Catholic school in the middle of a desert, you think we don’t all have problems Trish?” Nick half-joked.

  “A race riot in the cafeteria,” Sammy mused, seeming vaguely interested and coming out of his blonde-induced haze.

  “All because I screwed up in Sister Connie's class,” Ben said lightly, “told you she was tough.”

  “I'm pretty OK at writing if you ever want me to read over anything for you Ben,” Peggy offered quietly as Tricia began a verbal assault on anyone who would listen, and Sammy went back ignoring everyone.