Mom takes a deep breath, runs a hand through her hair. “The night before Carter’s seventeenth birthday, before any of this started, Dad and I were doing dishes. Remember?”
“Not really, no,” he says.
“Well, we were, and we were wondering how you kids got so old so quickly. And I made a joke, like... saying we should find a way to stop this. And Dad played along, like,Sure, let’s look into it, and I said...” Mom closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I said maybe we could googleIs there a way to make your kid stay sixteen foreverand then do whatever it says.”
We’re all silent.
“Did you actually google it?” I ask.
“No!” Mom says, grabbing my foot. “But I did say those words! And then the next morning...”
“Wendy.” Dad puts a hand on Mom’s shoulder. “I told you that was a ridiculous theory back then, and I still think it is now.”
Mom nods, and I see that she’s crying.
“I’m the one who can’t seem to find the right doctors to help you, Carter,” Dad says.
“Well, look, maybe it’s not Carter’s fault, or my fault, or Mom’s fault,” Lincoln says. “Maybe it’severyone’sfault. Some kind of freak mystical wishing catastrophe.” Lincoln points to me. “Like the movieBig! Except with more wishes. And, I mean, mathematically, if it’s everyone’s fault, that would also mean it’sno one’sfault.”
There’s a pause as we try to process that.
“Is this the first time in all my loops that you guys are talking about this?” I ask. “Like, has this conversation happened before?”
“No,” Mom says.
“Definitely not,” Lincoln agrees.
“Wow,” I say. “That is really fucked-up.”
Dad starts laughing. “You’re not wrong.”
Then Mom cracks up, and so do Lincoln and I.
I can’t tell if the situation is actually that funny or if we’re all just relieved to finally be honest with each other.
Whatever it is, it feels very good.
September.
Carter
“Hey, Ms. Jones,” I say as I walk past my pantsuited principal toward the front doors of Ridgedale High.
“Welcome back, Carter,” she says, with a nod and a small smile.
Inside, the halls are thick with first-years, yammering in high frequencies and moving at a glacial pace.
“Carter Cohen!” a voice shouts through the masses. I turn to find Ms. Himberton, eternally caffeinated as always, walking next to me. “Yearbook will start up in a few weeks. You’re in, right?”
“Definitely,” I say. “I’ve been taking a lot of pictures lately. So. I’m excited.”
“Yes, Carter!” Ms. Himberton says, her short purple hair bouncing. “I’m excited too!”
I’m about to sayI can see that, but she’s already sprinted onward.
I spot Bodhi, Amir, and Robbie gathered near the lockers ahead. Before I can reach them, though, someone grabs my shoulder.
“Dude! Hey!”
