Stuck in the 70's by Debra Garfinkle Read Free Book Online Page B

Krasno’s where my Starbucks is now.
    Inside the bus, I’m surrounded by bright eye shadow, white boys with Afros, and huge collars sharp as weapons. Other styles are more familiar—wrap skirts, platform shoes, and dyed blond hair.
    “You sure you d on’t want to go to classes with me?” Tyler asks when the bus stops.
    “Totally. I ’ll see you at lunch.” I rush off the bus to check out my school. It’s since been renamed for Jerry Brown, who was a mayor or governor or something. The campus itself seems like it’s barely changed over the last t wenty-e ight years, though. The buildings are laid out the same. It’s only the students w ho’ve changed. D on’t they know how awful they look with their big hair and unbuttoned shirts?
    Gawd, I sound like an old lady, like my English teacher who’s always ranting about hipster jeans. Maybe in t wenty-e ight years my friends and I will seem ridiculous. Make that fifty- six years, I guess.
    After wandering through school, I stand outside my homeroom watching strangers go in. I have no clue what to do next. The bell rings, a kid slams the classroom door, and I bite my lip.
    I head toward the 2006 stoner hangout. It beats hanging around talking to air.
    I spot a small group of slouching kids. They’re in the same spot as the 2006 stoners—in the far left corner of campus, against the back gate. I wonder if there’s always a stoner hangout behind every school, throughout time.
    A pretty girl can make friends quickly. I approach the group with a smile and an uplifted chest, which unfortunately is locked in the thick cage of a bra Mrs. Gray bought for me. “Hey,” I call out to them.
    “Hey yourself,” a girl mutters before turning her back on me.
    Check that—a pretty girl can make male friends quickly.
    A boy with s houlder- length feathered hair walks over. “What’s shakin’?”
    “I’m Shay.”
    “Louis,” he says, “but everyone calls me Buzz.”
    “Let me guess why.”
    “ ’Cause I like catching a buzz.” He laughs, a slow chuckle like he’s imitating Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I w ouldn’t be surprised if he got a pizza delivered to his next class. If he shows up to class.
    “ You’re not going to narc on us, are you?” the girl asks.
    “I’m no narc. I’m a new student.”
    “Right on,” says a boy with a giant, curly brown Afro. He pulls out a thermos from his lunch box. “You want some?”
    “What is it?” I smirk. “Milk?”
    “What’s the traditional Thanksgiving drink?”
    “Yeah, I could use some Wild Turkey.”
    Smiles all around, at least from the guys.
    I take a long swig.
     
     
    Evie and I are sitting in the corner of the lunch area by ourselves, per usual. But today is different. I’m picking at my food, looking around, checking my watch, hoping that Shay will appear.
    Evie keeps asking me questions. “That girl sitting with you on the bus actually slept in your bed the last two nights? She really just showed up in your bathtub? You think she’s a runaway? What if she’s an escaped prisoner?”
    I haven’t mentioned the small detail about Shay being from the future. Knowing Evie, with her curious and scientific mind, she’d pepper her with questions until Shay got fed up and found someone else’s bed to sleep in.
    “Listen.” I lean across the table and lower my voice. “I need a big favor.”
    “Sure. You want help with calculus? Don’t be ashamed.”
    “I need you to pretend you’re Shay’s mother over the phone.”
    “What?”
    “I have to convince my folks to let Shay live with me.”
    “You’re nuts.”
    “My mom thinks Shay has terrible parents. If she talks to them, she might let her stay.”
    “And if your mother finds out it’s really me on the phone, I’ll get in big trouble. I’m a genius, not an actress.”
    “Please, Evie.”
    “No.”
    “There she is.” I nod my head in her direction. “Isn’t she pretty? She’s going to eat lunch with us. I’m the