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

  Miss Bates leaned over the girl. “Can you hear me?” she asked. “You’re OK, we’re getting help. What’s your name? Can you tell me your name?”

  The girl opened her eyes and began laughing hysterically. A cute girl with a drug problem? Last thing he needed.

  “Look at you all!” she exclaimed.

  “What’s your name?” Miss Bates asked again calmly.

  “Look at you Mrs. Willis!” the girl giggled, pointing a finger in the teacher’s face. Miss Bates lurched backwards suddenly.

  “Did she hit her head? If she hit her head, she’s probably got a concussion and we need to keep her awake, so she doesn’t totally forget who she is,” Lacey said frantically. “This same thing happened on Dallas last week!”

  Miss Bates stepped forward again. “You're right Lacey, did she hit her head? Leigh, you were right there, did you see?”

  “I don’t know,” Leigh said. “I think she did, yes. I’m not sure, I don’t know!”

  “You’re all here... and look at hair.” The girl pointed at June-Belle, a preppy with a poodle perm.

  “And your blue eye-shadow is soooooo cool.” The girl said looking sleepily at Miss Bates.

  “Can we give her some space please?” Miss Bates ordered, gently pushing the students aside.

  “And you!” the girl said, pointing at Sammy who was now standing over her with his arms folded looking amused, smirking at the hilarity of the whole thing. It was the first interesting thing to happen at school all year.

  “Sammy… Ruthven.” Her eyes closed.

  Lacey laughed, “I guess your reputation precedes you Ruthven.”

  Seven

  The Escort

  The sound of heels click-clacking on wooden floorboards woke her from a groggy slumber. Where the hell was she? She was about to open her eyes when she heard voices and decided to play asleep and eavesdrop instead.

  “Is she still out cold?” asked a familiar woman’s voice quietly.

  “She’s been in and out of consciousness all afternoon,” said a second huskier woman’s voice. “She’s been talking so much baloney. The only sensible thing she said was that her name was Margaret. I think you need to get her to a hospital Janet.”

  Janet?

  “You think it’s that serious?” asked Janet.

  “I told Principal Gibson to get you out of class, but he outright refused the son of a… I would have taken her myself if I didn’t have to deal with girls coming in all afternoon asking me about STDs and missed periods.”

  “It’s an important job Cindy,” Janet said.

  “It’s in my job description to advocate abstinence and only abstinence. Do you think Gibson would like it if he knew I was referring kids out to the clinic in Salt Valley every second week?”

  “You’re saving lives Cindy.”

  “Maybe. But if one more kid comes in here with the clap, I’m gonna scream,” said Cindy.

  “So, what’s wrong with her?” Janet asked.

  “Deluded, raving crazy about being from the future.”

  “The future?”

  “My guess is it’s just a simple concussion. Says she was sent out of class to get a book, went back in time or some such junk.”

  “Oh, God,” said Janet.

  “Quit the blasphemy or we’ll both be out of a job before four-thirty.”

  “Oh, Gosh,” said Janet.

  “I need you to sign some forms,” Cindy said, and the heels clacked away.

  She slowly opened her eyes and began adjusting to her surroundings. She was in the sick room at school. A clock above the door told her she’d been out all day and she wondered where Jack was. He should have been here waiting for her to wake up and drive him home. She rolled onto her side, lifted her head off the flat pillow and slipped her hand into her skirt pocket to check her phone. Still no signal. She sat up, head spinning, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She put her phone back in her pocket and felt something click against the screen. She pulled it out and frowned. The key.

  She began to remember the strangest dream. Walking into class and young Mrs. Willis was there. The kids in class had frizzy hair and blue eye make-up. Sammy Ruthven had been there. She smiled stupidly at the thought of it. She shook her head and sighed deeply as she jumped off the bed and slipped her shoes on.

  Grabbing the doorknob, she froze.

  She had only been in the sick room a couple of times but she’d sure as hell never noticed a Churches of the World calendar dated 1983 hanging on the back of the door. Her head began to spin, and she backed away falling back down on the bed.

  She was still dreaming.

  She lay back down, putting a hand over her face and closed her eyes. Opening them again she peered through her fingers at the calendar. Maybe she was awake, and it was just a really old calendar?

  She closed her eyes again and tried to go back to sleep. She was obviously not well.

  “Margaret?” That familiar voice again.

  “Mrs. Willis?” Margaret asked blinking her eyes open again. Mrs. Willis was here. Everything was back to normal.

  “Margaret, it’s Miss Bates,” the teacher said.

  Margaret bolted upright coming face to face with young Mrs. Willis, only a few fine lines surrounded her eyes and lips, the rest of her face heavily made-up but youthful.

  “Miss Bates?” Margaret's jaw dropped.

  “Yes, and you're Margaret,” Miss Bates said.

  “This has got to be a dream,” Margaret said, slapping her own face lightly.

  Miss Bates smiled through thin lips as a blonde nurse walked in.

  “I’m going to take her straight to the hospital Cindy,” Miss Bates said standing up and sounding very serious.

  “Good, get her out of here. See you at bowling tomorrow?”

  “Have I ever missed a tournament?” Miss Bates smiled at the nurse as she put her arm around Margaret’s shoulders, helping her off the bed and out the door.

  “Why are you taking me to the hospital?” Margaret asked as they walked down the hallway, past the portraits of the nuns and the lockers and the other students who were still loitering about, looking at them curiously.

  “I've never been able to lucid dream before.” Margaret said as she continued to be half dragged towards the door.

  “You’re not dreaming,” Miss Bates said.

  “Of course, you would say that, in my dream.”

  “This isn't a dream,” Miss Bates whispered.

  “You would say that too.”

  Miss Bates raised her eyebrows.

  “Why are you taking me to the hospital?” Margaret asked again. She really didn't want to spend this dream in a hospital.

  Miss Bates pushed open the heavy wooden school doors and ushered Margaret out through them.

  “I’m not taking you to the God damn hospital,” she said as soon as she was out of the building, her red fingernails digging into Margaret’s bare arm. She yelped, and the teacher loosened her grip.

  “That hurt,” she said rubbing her arm.

  “See, it's not a dream,” Miss Bates said pulling her along.

  “So where are you taking me?” she asked, allowing herself to be pulled through the parking lot.

  “The record store,” answered Miss Bates.

  Margaret laughed. “This is the best dream ever!” she yelled across the lot, which looked different in her dream, dustier but bigger, the sun even seemed to shine brighter.

  Miss Bates stopped and grabbed Margaret to face her. “You’re not dreaming Margaret. The year is 1983 and you’re a time traveler.”

  Margaret laughed hysterically. “What do you mean, I’m a time traveler?”

  “I mean,” said Miss Bates, “and keep your voice the hell down, you travelled through time today.”

  Margaret looked down at the dusty earth beneath her feet. The staff lot hadn't been cemented over yet. That made sense. She was dreaming of the past. How did her subconscious come up with this stuff?

&
nbsp; “Have you even heard a word I've said?” Miss Bates asked exasperated.

  Margaret looked up at her and coughed.

  “Get in,” Miss Bates said, gesturing towards an old silver Escort that looked brand new.

  Margaret walked around to the passenger side door and tried to open it. Miss Bates gave her a funny look. Margaret tried to open it again.

  “Just wait,” Miss Bates said as she put the key in the door and unlocked the car. Margaret tried again.

  “What the…?” she muttered as she continued to flick the silver door handle.

  Miss Bates reached over and unlocked the door from the inside, allowing Margaret to finally open it.

  “You have to wait until someone unlocks it for you,” Miss Bates said.

  “Oh sure, no central locking,” Margaret shook her head at herself for being so dumb.

  “No.”

  “You got AC?” Margaret asked.

  “No.”

  “It's really stuffy in here, how do you get the window down?” she asked as she clambered with her hands around the inside of the door.

  “Are you kidding me?” Miss Bates asked.

  Margaret shook her head.

  “Wind it down,” she leant across and showed her how to wind down the window.

  “Oh yeah, I have seen these before,” Margaret said, winding the lever up and down as Miss Bates reversed the car, flipped on the radio and turned out of the shiny school gates towards town.

  “This is a great dream,” Margaret said. “I kind of don’t want it to, but I know all of this will go away in a minute, you'll go back to being like sixty years old and I'll go back to having a signal.”

  “A signal?” asked Miss Bates as she rolled down her window and lit a cigarette.

  “Oh, of course, you guys aren’t glued to your phones here,” Magz said. She thought about how liberating it would be to live life without a phone within reaching distance at all times.

  “I’m sixty?” Miss Bates asked. “I live to be sixty, even with the cigarettes?”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you too much about your own future and all that stuff, but I don’t think you smoke anymore.” Magz made a face at the smoke that was curling towards her. “You should probably quit now.”

  Miss Bates ignored her. “And you called me Mrs. Willis, I’m a... Mrs. Willis?”

  “Uh…”

  “Am I Mrs. Willis, is that my name now Margaret?”

  “I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you that.”

  “Why can't you tell me? If it's just a dream why does it matter if you tell me?”

  “What if it's not a dream?” shrugged Margaret.

  “Margaret, please tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Margaret!”

  “Stop calling me Margaret!” Margaret shouted.

  “What do you want me to call you?” asked Miss Bates.

  “Peggy,” Peggy decided.

  “I’m Janet,” said Janet. “And you’re right, I shouldn’t know too much about my own future. I just haven't met anyone from the future before.”

  “How do you know I'm from the future?” Peggy asked.

  “Well for one, you're wearing a future version of the school uniform, see your collar? The collars are rounded now, and the skirts are straighter.”

  Peggy looked down at the tips of her collar.

  “Two, you went into the book room to get a book and came out in 1983.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You told Cindy.”

  “Oh.”

  “Three,” she said shifting gear, “you seem to know me in the future.”

  “Four?”

  “Because I’m one too,” Miss Bates said.

  “One what?”

  “A time traveler,” Miss Bates replied.

  Peggy looked over at her teacher and laughed.

  “An English teacher time traveler?” she laughed again.

  “What's so funny about that?”

  “Aren't time travelers meant to be, like, Science teachers?”

  “It's not Science.”

  “Science Fiction!” Peggy laughed, slapping her thigh.

  “Hilarious,” said Janet dryly.

  Peggy grinned to herself as they drove into town. Santolsa was half the size it usually was, and it seemed twice as bright.

  Peggy wished she would never wake up.

  Eight

  Ray’s Records

  Janet turned off onto a back-street Peggy didn’t recognize. On one side was a garage and a row of small white houses, on the other was Ray's Records.

  “Well, here we are,” Janet said switching off the engine.

  Peggy scrambled out of the car, slamming the door behind her. The afternoon breeze blew through her hair gently and she closed her eyes just to really feel it. She’d only been without service on her phone for one afternoon, but she already felt more present than she had in a long time.

  “You can't just close the door.” Janet pushed her gently out of the way, interrupting her perfect moment. She opened the door, pushed the lock down, and then closed the door while holding the handle up.

  “That looks complicated,” Peggy said.

  “Try it.”

  Peggy tried it. She had to do it a couple of times before she got the hang of it.

  “That's so weird,” Peggy shook her head.

  “You'll get used to it.”

  Once Janet was satisfied that the car had been locked correctly, she led the way, heels crunching on the sidewalk. She pushed open the glass door and a bell jangled, announcing their arrival.

  The store was busy, full of people from every walk of life. Cowboys, preppies, moms and kids. And they were all looking at Peggy as if she was an alien.

  “It's so busy in here,” Peggy whispered.

  Janet shrugged. “It’s the only place to get your records this side of Salt Valley.”

  “Oh right, I forgot you guys actually have to shop.”

  “You mean, you don’t have to shop anymore? How do you get things?” Janet maneuvered through people and shelves straight towards the counter.

  Of course, in 1983 you could not just order any old thing you wanted off the internet, from any town in any country in the whole world from your phone right to your door. This was a time in which you had to go out and get things for yourself. Peggy felt the corners of her mouth move up involuntarily. This was so cool.

  “Amazon,” Peggy said.

  “You get your stuff sent from the Amazon? Are they using the rainforest as some kind of global storage center now?”

  “It’s online shopping, the internet,” Peggy explained.

  Janet shushed her as a man wearing a Jefferson Airplane shirt jumped up from behind the counter. He looked a little like he just came back from Woodstock with his beard, leather vest and various talismans hanging round his neck.

  “Janet!” he exclaimed as he tapped the counter confidently with both hands. “You haven’t been in for a while, what brings you here?”

  “Michael Jackson,” Janet said.

  Was there a slight blush under the enormous amount of blush Janet was wearing?

  “M.J?” he asked. “I thought you’d be more interested in the new Bryan Adams record.”

  “There’s a new Bryan Adams record?” Janet squealed like a thirteen-year-old girl.

  Ray laughed warmly. “It’s not out for a couple weeks but I’ll make sure we keep a copy aside for you as soon as we get it.” He opened up a big hard back book and began to write it down. “I’m not going to let what happened last time happen again.” He shook his head making a promise with his kind brown eyes.

  “It’s fine Ray, I wouldn’t expect to be able to get whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it in Santolsa,” Janet said waving her hand around. Was she… flirting? Peggy cleared her throat.

  “Who’s your friend?” asked Ray, finally taking his eyes off Janet and noticing Peggy for the first time.

  “This is my�
� niece, Peggy.”

  “Hi Peggy, nice to meet you,” he put out his hand and Peggy shook it.

  “You too Ray,” Peggy said.

  “Uncle Ray,” he joked and gave her a wink.

  “He’s joking,” Janet said giggling.

  “I’m joking,” he said laughing awkwardly.

  “Uh, I’m going to go have a look around,” said Peggy. She backed away and left them to it.

  Looking through the records was just like hanging out in her favorite used record store in Salt Valley. She'd spent so many Saturdays sitting on the floor by the bargain bin pretending she was living in another time, finding a new record to listen to while she got ready for her crush to pick her up for a romantic date to the roller disco or somewhere just as retro.

  Billy Joel, Elton John, Judas Priest, they were all here. She continued to flick through the J’s and picked up a Journey record she didn’t already have.

  “Oh my god, it’s Miss Bates,” squealed a girly voice from the other side of the record shelf. “What’s she doing here?”

  “Buying records?” A nonplussed male voice made Peggy look up. It was him. Sammy Ruthven. She quickly lifted the record she was holding so it covered her face and she pretended to be absorbed in the track listing.

  “Old people shouldn’t be in here, they should buy records somewhere else,” the girl demanded.

  “There is nowhere else,” he said.

  “I don’t want to see teachers when I’m not at school. It’s just not normal.”

  After a few moments Peggy lowered the record. A stunning blonde girl in a blood red shirt was staring at her from across the shelf. Peggy’s hands slipped, and the record dropped to the floor. She dropped on to the floor after it, fumbling like a complete fool.

  She sighed and folded her legs beneath her. Even in her dreams she was still an embarrassment to herself.

  “Are you getting anything? Because I want to go.” The girl stamped a small brown leather boot.

  Peggy stayed where she was, waiting for them to move on. She did not want to stand up and have to look at that girl again. That girl was beautiful and sexy and confident and badass, all the things Peggy was not, and all the things Peggy wished she was.