The bell rings while I’m still standing in front of my jammed locker. I’m now late for class, like I knew I would be. I slide into my seat. The teacher steps aside, revealing the announcement of the pop quiz. Even though I know the
answers, when the quiz hits my desk I decide to mark down the same choices I made before. I’m scared of what might happen if I change things.
I get my same 86. I risk another glance at Leo. His head is in his hands, like yesterday. If there’s anyone I’d want to tell about my new powers, it would be him. Well, it
would
have been him. Before he betrayed me. I’m sure Stephanie wouldn’t laugh at me, but she probably wouldn’t believe me, either.
The rest of the morning goes by in a haze. On my way to lunch I stop to report my locker problem and realize that I forgot my lunch. Ugh! What’s the point of predicting something in advance if it’s not going to save me some trouble? My friends have the same amount of extra change, the conversation about Leo’s party is the same, and I have the same need to leave the cafeteria. The déjà vu continues as the crying boy knocks into me again and we have the same conversation. Periodic table, snot on his shirtsleeve, amoebas, mean science teacher. Then cupcake, singing, wishing, and that smile from Leo. I wish I could just hide under the lunch table until all this goes away.
School finally ends. I dump most of my books into my locker and tuck in the remaining streamers. I desperately
want to go home, but I’m stuck going to gymnastics tryouts. Leo, nose red from sneezing, is about to push open the door of the guidance counselor’s office. I hurry past even though I know he won’t see me. I don’t want to take any chances.
Twenty minutes later I’m standing in the middle of the gym, swinging my arms over and over again. The familiar bright light glinting off Ruby’s red outfit is blinding me. Yup, this moment is just as horrible as it was before. Standing there under the eyes of the coach, of Stephanie and Ruby and the rest of the kids trying out, of the kids who’re already ON the team, I know this feeling of humiliation isn’t something I could have dreamed up, psychic or not. I start to shake again and lower my arms for good.
On the ride home when Stephanie says she made the team I pretend I hadn’t known and congratulate her. When Dad says he feels like he got hit by a truck I pretend I don’t know what he means. And when I’m faced with the itchy Dorothy costume I grit my teeth and slip it over my head. But when I put on the horrid red shoes, something feels different from before. Up till now everything’s unfolded exactly like I knew it would. I knew that the shoes would be tight when I put them on, but they’re more than tight.
They really, really hurt. I pull them off again and examine my feet. Both ankles have blisters on them in the exact spots where the shoes rub against the back of my heels. I hadn’t felt them earlier in my socks and sneakers. I touch the blisters. Ouch! My head starts swimming again. Doesn’t this prove that I didn’t just IMAGINE wearing the shoes before? Doesn’t this prove that I really
did
wear them? I break out in a sweat. The sweat doesn’t help with the itchiness of the costume.
I can’t deal with this now. I have a party to get through. Again.
With shaking hands, I pull out two Band-Aids from the medicine cabinet and put them on my heels. I slip on the shoes, which feel a little more bearable now. Kylie walks out of her room in her Little Mermaid costume, and I realize I’ve taken so much time getting ready that I never made it into Mom and Dad’s room to complain about the party.
“Are you okay?” Kylie asks, peering closely at me. “You’ve been weird all day. I mean, weirder than usual.”
I back up a few steps. “It’s been a weird day. I don’t feel very well.”
She reaches up to adjust her red mermaid wig. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have fun at your party. You’re only eleven once, ya know.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I mutter.
The doorbell rings but I let Mom answer it. While my friends file down to the basement I lock myself in the bathroom and splash water on my face. In the movies that’s what people always do when they find themselves in a situation they can’t figure out. All it does for me is make the front of my costume wet.
On my way past the front door I see a shadow outside scurrying away. I open the door to find a stack of wrapped boxes and gift bags. I drag them inside and shut the door louder than probably necessary.
This time I see Kylie slip out after Mom brings down the punch and ice cream. When Stephanie asks me if it’s okay to go to Leo’s I barely hear her. It’s like my brain is buzzing and blocking everything out.
Just when I think I’m going to lose it completely, the party ends. I linger downstairs, waiting for Mom to come back down. I think I better tell her what’s going on. But when she sees me and starts telling me about losing her job, I chicken
out. I tell myself this is some bizarre once-in-a-lifetime thing, and tomorrow everything will be normal again.
Back in my room, I pull off my costume, ball it up, and throw it in the trash. I toss the shoes on top, along with the little wicker basket. I lock my door this time and double-check that the alarm clock is turned off. Then I put on my pj’s, climb into bed, and sink down onto the pillow. With one last glance at the closet to make sure it’s securely closed, I shut my eyes tight.
I have a strange feeling the SpongeBob balloon is laughing at me.
Hurrah! I’m awake and my alarm didn’t go- off! I
woke up all on my own, which means it must be Saturday! Whatever happened yesterday is over and done with and I can put it behind me. It must still be early because it’s still dark in my room, but I’m too happy to go back to sleep. Might as well open those presents! I swing my legs off the side of the bed and bump directly into SpongeBob.
NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
I grab him, stick him back in the closet, and slam the door. I hold my breath and peer into the trash can next to my desk where I threw my costume last night.
Empty.
Maybe I dreamed the last
two
days and
today
is really my birthday? Trembling, I reach down to feel the backs of my ankles. Band-Aids on both. I sit down on my bed and begin to cry. This is no dream or déjà vu. I never had psychic powers. I can finally accept that now.
Ten seconds later, my alarm beeps. I want to throw it across the room. I can’t do this over again. I just can’t. I crawl back into bed and throw the covers over my head. Why is every day my eleventh birthday? And why doesn’t anyone else realize it? Why is this happening to
me,
of all people? I’m not special in any way. Well, I can touch my nose with my tongue, but that’s pretty much it.
A little while later Mom comes in and asks me why I’m not up. I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “I don’t feel well. My head hurts.” It’s not even a lie. My head
does
hurt from thinking so hard.
She feels my cheeks, cold from crying. “You do feel clammy.”
“Maybe I have what Dad has,” I say weakly.
“How do you know your father’s sick? He was fine last night.”
“I heard him coughing in his sleep,” I say quickly. Then
I cough a few times for good measure. “I think I’d better stay home.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t you have gymnastics tryouts? And your party! You can’t miss your own party!”
“I feel really sick, Mom. I don’t mind not having the party. And let’s face it, I’m not going to make the gymnastics team.”
I can see her weighing the options. I focus on looking sickly.
“I won’t be here to take care of you,” she finally says. “And your father is useless when he’s sick. Mrs. Grayson down the street will have to take you to the doctor.”
Ugh, going to the doctor is worse than school. But today I’ll take it. “That’s okay. I like Mrs. Grayson.”
Mom sighs and checks her watch. “Okay, I’ll call the school and the doctor, and then I have to run.” She leans down and kisses me on top of my head. “Try to have a happy birthday, sweetheart. I’ll call your friends’ parents from my office and let them know. We’ll figure out a date to reschedule your party when I get home.” She closes the door behind her and I push myself up. No school today! No more pretending I don’t know that a stuffed raccoon lives
at the Historical Society. No more humiliating gymnastics tryouts. No more telling myself it doesn’t hurt every time I see Leo on what used to be our special day.
What a relief.
But reality returns all too fast. What am I going to do? Why is it always my birthday and never the day AFTER my birthday? I think it’s time I told someone. I put on my robe and slippers and go off in search of Dad. I find him on a stool at the kitchen counter, reading his paper.
“Happy birthday, honey!” he says, reaching into his robe pocket for a tissue.
“Uh-huh. Can I talk to you?”
“Of course.” He blows his nose. “How are you feeling? You must be pretty sick to want to cancel your party.”
I shrug, unable to lie to him. “How ’bout you?”
He points to his nose. It’s red and raw already.
“That’s pretty gross, Dad.”
He takes a long sip of tea, studying me over the rim. I squirm a bit. “So let me guess what you want to talk about,” he says, laying the cup down. “You want to admit you canceled your party tonight so you don’t have to compete with Leo’s. Mom told me he’s having a pretty big bash.”
It would be so much easier to tell him he’s right. I shake my head.
“Really? Okay. What’s up then?”
“Um, you know how it’s my eleventh birthday today?”
He nods. “I do.”
Here comes the hard part. I take a deep breath. “The thing is … yesterday was my birthday, too. And the day before.”
“Sorry, come again?”
“My birthday is, like, repeating itself. Every time I wake up, it’s Friday, June fifth again.” It doesn’t sound any less strange saying it the second time.
Dad folds his paper neatly, tucks it under his arm, and stands up. “Honey,” he says kindly, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I know this fight with Leo has been hard on you. He’s been like a brother to you, and now, well, he’s not in your life.”
Huh? Didn’t he hear me? “Dad, I already told you, this isn’t about Leo.”
He gives my shoulders a squeeze. “You probably have a pretty good fever, too. I was delirious around three o’clock this morning.” He steers me out of the kitchen toward the
stairs. “You just need a good nap. I’ll wake you when it’s time to get dressed for the doctor.”
“But —”
“Get some rest.” He leaves me with a final pat on the head.
My shoulders sag as I walk back to my room. I hadn’t expected him not to believe me. I guess it’s just too crazy to be true. But how come it is, then?
I try for over an hour to get back to sleep, but my head is spinning. Unfamiliar with rule breaking, I still feel guilty for making my parents think I’m sick. But actually, if this is the third time I’ve relived Friday, then today really should be
Sunday.
And what do people do on Sundays? They relax. I deserve to relax, too.
The Dorothy costume is lying on my desk where it always is in the morning. This time I pick it up and smile. “I won’t be seeing YOU today!” I declare, scrunching it into my drawer. I push aside the jeans and T-shirt I’d worn over the last two days. If I’m not going to follow my usual routine, I might as well wear something different, too. Even though my life has gone from boring and predictable to totally insane and unreal, there’s something freeing about being home on a school day. I turn on the radio and
do a little dance around my room. I’d love to go downstairs to play my drums, but that doesn’t seem like something a sick person could get away with.
I sit down on the bed, not sure what to do now. That’s the thing about pretending to be sick. You’re limited to sick-person activities, which is basically lying around watching television or reading. I could do my homework, but it would just be undone again tomorrow. I mean, when tomorrow is today again. I let out a huge sigh. What do you call it when every tomorrow is both tomorrow and today? And every
today
is both today and yesterday? I shake my head. It’s enough to make me truly feel sick. I look at the clock. I’ve missed the pop quiz.
Well, if all I can do is watch television, I might as well get started. The one in the den downstairs is the best. As I pass Kylie’s closed door I slow to a stop. Carefully, with a glance behind me to make sure Dad’s not nearby, I push open the door. Yup, there it is, sitting on the floor by her bed. I pause for a second and then run in and grab the small purple notebook.
KEEP OUT OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.
Hey, what could Kylie do to me that would be worse than reliving this day over and over?
I skip to the end to read the latest entry. Her handwriting is as messy as her room.
Dear Diary
, it starts.
Tomorrow is Amanda’s 11
th
birthday. For some reason it’s a dorky costume party, like it’s Halloween in June! I’m going as the Little Mermaid. I tried on my costume last night after everyone went to bed. When I looked in the mirror it didn’t even look like me, especially with the red wig on. It was kind of cool to see someone else instead of my boring face with my eyes too close together and that one ear that sticks out too far. Amanda doesn’t know how lucky she is, only being eleven. I wish I were eleven again. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about why Dustin likes Alyssa and not me. When he came over after dinner to work on our project, I wore my new lipstick and my new shirt from Abercrombie (which is really soft and Mom says brings out my eyes), but I don’t think it worked. If he sits with Alyssa on the bus again I’ll just die. Even though all my friends say not to, I’m going to ask him to the dance today during gym class. Wish me luck, diary!
I lay the book in my lap. The pages flutter closed. Just when I thought life was as weird as it’s going to get, my sister surprises me by actually being insecure. Even though I haven’t really thought much about the whole “wanting boys to like me” thing, it’s obvious Kylie’s thought about it a lot. It doesn’t sound like fun. I even feel sorry for her, which is something I don’t ever remember feeling before. She’s wrong about it being fun to turn eleven, though. She should try doing it THREE TIMES IN A ROW! I rest the book down exactly where I found it and tiptoe back out.