Gimme a Call by Sarah Mlynowski Read Free Book Online Page A

one —knew that I knew. I don’t even think I ever admitted it to myself.
    “Do you believe me yet?” she asks.
    “I …” My head might explode. How can this be? It can’t. It just can’t.
    “Oh, I know an even worse one! When you were six—when we were six—we climbed up our dresser and it fell on us, and Dad came running out of the bathroom when he heard the crash, and his pants were down and we saw everything !”
    “Eewwwwww,” I groan, remembering.
    She giggles: “He-he-he-he-he.”
    That giggle cannot be faked.
    Holy salsa stain, she’s me.

chapter seven
Friday, May 23 Senior Year
    Finally . I got through to her. To me. Hello, confusing. “I can’t believe it,” Freshman Me says, voice shaking.
    “I know!”
    “But … but … how did this happen?”
    So I lie back on my twin bed and tell her about how I’d dropped the phone in the fountain.
    “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” she says, “but I kind of wish I could see something concrete. You know, as proof.”
    I look down at the fading brownish spot on my carpet. “The proof is in the nail polish, no? And I tried to test it,” I remind her. “I told you not to go to the party.”
    “Well, I need to know for sure this is real before I start messing with my life. Maybe I should do something and you can tell me what I did. Because you’d see it. In real time. Or you would see it if you were really me in the future.”
    “Like what?”
    She giggles. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
    I’m not sure how I feel about surprises. “Let’s just make sure we’re on the same page.”
    “Like cut my hair,” Freshman Me says. “Or pierce my belly button.”
    “No amateur haircuts,” I say quickly. “Remember the bangs disaster? And anyway, hair will grow back in three and a half years. And I’d really rather not get hepatitis.”
    “What if I carve something into the wall?” she asks.
    Now we’re talking. “Go for it. But just use a Sharpie. You don’t want to slice off a finger. And do it somewhere Mom can’t see.”
    “Like where?”
    I scan my room for an appropriate spot. My desk, my mirror, my closet … “Behind the dresser?”
    “That’ll work,” she says.
    “But don’t topple it,” I warn. “We don’t want Dad running out naked.”
    We both giggle.
    I hear grunting and then “Okay, I’ve moved the dresser. Now I’m writing something. Can you see? Can you see?”
    “Hold on! I’m not there yet.” I jump off my bed, run over to the wall, and pull out the dresser. I hope it’s there. It has to be there. Is it going to be there? I look up and down the wall. I don’t see it. Why don’t I see it? Wait! I see it! Written on the wall are the words Place Desk Here! My brain goes all fizzy, like I drank too much soda. “‘Place Desk Here’! I see it! I see it!” Hah! She’s funny! I’m funny!
    “No way!” she screams. “No way!”
    I jump up and down. “Way! It’s there! I see it! I told you! You’re really me!”
    “So … whatever I do in my life will change your life?” she asks. “Which, um, is really my life, just not yet?”
    “Yes!” The possibilities are endless.
    “Wait a sec,” Freshman Me says. “Do you remember writing on the wall?”
    Huh. I close my eyes and rack my brain. I try to remember holding up the Sharpie or writing on my wall. But I got nada. Nothing. Zilch. I wonder what that means. “Nope,” I say. “But obviously I did it. It’s right in front of me.”
    “But do you remember being me? I mean, do you remember being me and talking to yourself as a senior?”
    “No. I remember being in freshman year, but I never spoke to me. At least, I don’t remember speaking to me.” I rub my temples. So that means that my reality changes, but my memories don’t. I think. “This is giving me brain freeze.”
    “I know! Me too!”
    “Write something else,” I order.
    “Okay. What should I say?”
    “Surprise me again.” I stare at the