The Rewindable Clock Page 2

  So she turned the knob counter-clockwise. The minute hand moved backward a little bit, and then stopped.

  The time on the clock had been the correct time: 8:19.

  But it was now set to 8:16.

  “Did anything happen?” Carson asked.

  Keisha looked around. “Nope.”

  This was true. Nothing had happened. Yet.

  “Maybe it’s a dud,” Carson said.

  “I guess so,” Keisha replied.

  Then she pushed the knob back in.

  Click.

  The second hand started moving again.

  And that’s when everything happened.

  Chapter Six

  8:16

  Perhaps saying that everything happened is a bit of an exaggeration. Exactly one very, very big thing happened.

  Keisha became confused. Keisha was rarely confused.

  You see, Carson had moved. Instantly. He had been standing right next to her, and then—poof!—he was suddenly at the end of the hall.

  “How did you get all the way over there?” Keisha asked.

  “I walked,” Carson replied as he paced toward her.

  “But you were standing right next to me,” she said.

  “No, I just got here,” he replied. “I was sorta hoping to use Locker 37. But I guess you beat me to it.”

  Then Carson moved his left elbow across his chest, covering the stain on his shirt, and he turned away.

  Keisha checked the clock. The second hand was ticking.

  The time read 8:16, which was the exact time she had opened Locker 37.

  “Oh,” she said. “You didn’t say the same thing to me a few minutes ago, did you?”

  Carson shook his head. “I haven’t talked to you at all today.”

  “Oh,” Keisha said again. And she checked the clock once more.

  It was now 8:17.

  She pulled the knob out—click—and turned it until it stopped at 8:16. She pushed it back in—click—and Carson was suddenly at the end of the hall again.

  “How did you get all the way over there?” Keisha asked.

  “I walked,” Carson said as he paced toward her.

  “But you were standing right next to me a second ago.”

  “No, I just got here. I was sorta hoping to use Locker 37. But I guess you beat me to it.”

  Carson used the exact same words, for the third time in a row.

  And wouldn’t you know it, he moved his left elbow across his chest, covering the stain on his shirt, and he turned away. Exactly like he had done twice before.

  Either she was having a serious case of déjà vu or . . .

  The clock was a time machine!

  Chapter Seven

  TESTING 1, 2, 3

  Keisha tested the clock a few more times to make sure she was correct. Each time, she would talk to Carson for a few minutes, and then she’d pull the knob out—click—and turn it until it stopped at 8:16, and then she’d push the knob back in—click.

  Poof! Carson would be back at the end of the hall with no memory of their conversation. Of course, Keisha remembered everything.

  The conclusion was obvious. She was traveling back in time. And she had already figured out the rules.

  She could only travel backward in time. The clock wouldn’t wind forward.

  She could only travel as far back as 8:16 a.m. on that day, because that was the moment when she first opened Locker 37 and found the clock. If she tried to wind the clock any further back, it would stop.

  She always ended up in the same body. Keisha had seen movies where time travelers would bump into younger versions of themselves. Fortunately, that wasn’t happening here. There weren’t multiple Keishas running around the school. It was her mind that was traveling back in time, not her body.

  Finally, she was the only one who could use it. This was actually Keisha’s own rule. She wasn’t about to give the power of time travel to some other kid who might commit acts of mischief and mayhem. Talk about irresponsible!

  Now that she knew the rules, she had to figure out how to get her homework done. Traveling back in time a few minutes in the same hallway so she could have the same conversation with Carson Cooper didn’t seem like the best strategy.

  So she started over once more, only now she simply grabbed the clock and hurried past Carson without saying a word.

  It was time to get to work.

  Chapter Eight

  THE PROBLEM WITH TIME TRAVEL

  Time travel is a tricky thing. It’s extremely vulnerable to paradoxes.

  If you don’t know what a paradox is, here’s a famous example: A guy builds a time machine. That guy uses the time machine to go back in time and make sure his parents never meet each other.

  There are a couple of problems with this scenario.

  Number one:

  The guy is a real creep. Seriously. Doesn’t he want his parents to find love?

  Number two:

  The guy isn’t very smart. If his parents never meet, then he will never be born.

  If he will never be born, then he will never make a time machine.

  Which means he will never go back in time and stop his parents from meeting.

  Which means his parents will fall in love, and he will be born.

  Which means he will make a time machine and go back in time and make sure his parents never meet.

  If his parents never meet, then he will never be born and—

  Let’s take a breather.

  Because you could continue with this sort of reasoning for an infinite amount of time, or until the universe collapses, though that’s hardly recommended. Instead, consider an alternative, something that’s essentially the video-game version of time travel.

  What if every time a person traveled back in time, they started a new timeline, like starting over, or from a particular save point, in a video game?

  Each time someone restarts a video game, it branches off into a new timeline, right? That person will have the knowledge they’ve gained from each previous round of game play. And that knowledge will make them a better player. But the individual timelines created won’t affect one another.

  In other words, time travel is not one continual loop. It’s a series of branches that will never meet.

  So if our creep from the paradox goes back and messes with his mom and dad, it won’t matter. He will have hopped over to another timeline, started another round of a video game, created another branch in his story. This new past won’t affect his old future.

  Get it?

  Of course you do, because you’re brilliant.

  And on the off chance that you don’t get it, that’s also okay. Even the very best time travelers often don’t get it. They focus their energy on doing it.

  Simply imagine that Keisha was in a video game, and she didn’t have to worry about the logic of time travel. She could restart her game whenever she wanted, at any point in the day after she opened Locker 37. And she had only one concern.

  How was she going to win?

  Chapter Nine

  FINDING TIME

  Keisha hurried back to music class.

  As she pushed open the door, Bryce waved to her.

  Mr. Gregson was pointing to lyrics on the whiteboard, which Keisha ducked in front of as she crossed the room. She slipped back onstage next to Bryce.

  While Mr. Gregson’s back was turned, she whispered to Bryce, “How long did it take you to do the science homework?”

  Bryce considered the question for a moment, then said, “An hour, maybe.”

  That was a long time to be doing science homework, but Keisha knew Bryce had a wandering mind. So it was possible that he had spent half of that hour daydreaming about talking gummy bears.

  Actually, it was more than possible. It was likely. Because the next thing Bryce whispered was “There’s something that’s been really bothering me lately.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If gummy bears could talk, what do you think they’d talk about?”

  Keisha stared at him in disbelief. “I think they’d say you spend too much time doing homework.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” Keisha said. “Because I bet I could do that science homework in less than thirty minutes.”

  “Wait,” Bryce said, and this time he didn’t whisper it. “You didn’t do the science homework?”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “I think you did!”

  And like that, Keisha was busted! But not only by Bryce.

  Mr. Gregson cleared his throat, which was not a good sign. Mr. Gregson didn’t yell. He hardly ever raised his voice. But if he cleared his throat . . . oh boy. It meant this mellow music teacher meant business.

  “Miss James and Mr. Dodd,” he said slowly, “unless you are discussing the lyrics to the immortal classic ‘Time After Time,’ then I kindly ask you to shut . . . your . . . mouths. This is your reminder.”

  “But, Mr. Gregson, this is serious, it’s about gummy bears and how—” Bryce started to say, but Mr. Gregson was not having it.

  “And now this is your warning,” he said. “You don’t want to face the consequences, do you, Bryce? Keisha? You don’t want me to send you to—”

  Vice Principal Meehan’s office.

  That was what Mr. Gregson was about to say. But he never had the chance to say it.

  Keisha didn’t want Bryce to remember she had forgotten to do her homework. And she certainly didn’t want to be sent to Vice Principal Meehan’s office for the first time in her life.

  So she pulled out the knob on the clock—click—and she turned it back three minutes, to the moment before she reentered Mr. Gregson’s class. She pushed the knob back in—click!

  Poof! She was back in the hallway.

  “Okay,” she told herself. “I need to find thirty minutes to do my homework. No more mistakes.”

  As Keisha pushed open the classroom door, Bryce waved to her for the second time. And once again, Mr. Gregson was pointing to lyrics on the whiteboard, which she ducked in front of as she crossed the room.

  Just like last time, she slipped back onstage next to Bryce. But she didn’t say anything to him during this new timeline. There was no need to have that conversation again.

  Chapter Ten

  HOMEWORK SPRINT

  Once music was over, Keisha ran to social studies. And she used the clock to time how long it took her.

  Two minutes and thirty-three seconds.

  That left her with two minutes and twenty-seven seconds of free time before social studies started. Counting social studies, she had seven more periods that day, and some of the locations were closer together than the music and social studies rooms. Some were farther apart. So Keisha figured she could have, on average, two minutes and thirty seconds of free time before each period. But that was only if she ran from one location to the next.

  Added up, it would give her a total of close to twenty minutes for the day. Was that enough time to do her science homework? Maybe, but everything had to go exactly her way.

  She had to be as focused as she’d ever been.

  She couldn’t be distracted by other students or teachers.

  And she had to make sure she didn’t get in any trouble.

  After all, running in the hall was against the rules, and she was lucky she wasn’t caught the first time she did it. Her luck was sure to run out.

  That is, unless she talked to Riley Zimmerman.

  Ever since kindergarten, Riley Zimmerman had been the class’s maestro of mischief. Her pranks were too numerous to count, but among her greatest were:

  Filling the mayonnaise dispensers in the cafetorium with vanilla frosting

  Hiding water balloons throughout the school on the last day of third grade, which led to the wildest, wettest, most chaotic end to a school year ever

  Convincing at least seven of her classmates that there was a pirate’s treasure buried beneath the playground’s sandbox and then watching in delight as they dug a four-foot-deep hole

  The most astounding thing was that even with all of Riley’s obvious shenanigans, she had never faced serious consequences. Keisha was pretty sure Riley had never even been sent to Vice Principal Meehan’s office. She needed to know her secrets.

  Sitting at her desk, waiting for social studies to start, Keisha stared at a blank worksheet that was supposed to contain her science homework. When Riley stepped into the room, Keisha jumped to her feet and waved excitedly.

  Riley approached her, and Keisha asked, “How’s it going?”

  “Not so good,” Riley said. “Today is supposed to be fish stick day for lunch, but they’re all out of fish sticks. So now it’s cheesy breadstick day. Cheesy breadsticks are the food of pure evil.”

  Keisha couldn’t sympathize. She, like every fourth-grader who wasn’t Riley, would’ve always preferred cheesy breadstick day to fish stick day. Because cheesy breadsticks were delicious, and fish sticks were gross.

  But she wasn’t going to offend this fish stick aficionado by telling her that.

  “I wish I could help you,” Keisha told Riley instead. “But I’m in the middle of my own much bigger problem right now.”

  “And what problem could possibly be bigger than a school without fish sticks?” Riley said with a gasp.

  Keisha looked over both her shoulders for witnesses, and when she didn’t see any, she leaned forward and whispered, “I’ll tell you . . . if you can teach me how to be bad.”

  Chapter Eleven

  CREATIVE TRUTHS

  Riley’s eyes lit up.

  She put her hands together and wiggled her fingers in utter delight. “So you want to be bad, huh? Where to start, where to start . . .”

  “I might as well start by telling you everything,” Keisha said. “Since I’ll just be going back in time right after we talk, and you won’t remember a word of this conversation, anyway.”

  Riley’s eyebrows arched. “You’re going where, now?”

  “A bit of harmless time travel,” Keisha said. “Don’t worry about it. All you need to know is that I forgot to do my science homework, and I’m trying to find time to do it during the day. So I’m running between classes, and I don’t want to get in trouble. Please teach me how to be bad.”

  “Okay, correct me if I’m wrong,” Riley said. “Your idea of being bad is . . . doing your homework?”

  “Exactly,” Keisha said. “Homework I forgot to do. It is possibly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Riley put a hand over her eyes and shook her head. “Holy fettuccine Alfredo. I don’t even know where to start with that. But if you need to do some homework, why don’t you do it at lunch? What about recess?”

  “Um, you’re not allowed to do homework at lunch or recess,” Keisha said. “The monitors watch you like hawks. Besides, even if I could get away with it, I’m not going to sacrifice my nourishment or social time, even for one day. They’re almost as important as my intellectual pursuits.”

  “How old are you again?”

  “Ten.”

  “And you use words like intellectual pursuits?”

  “If you care about getting into a good college, you should consider using words like that, too.”

  “I don’t have to worry about that, since I’ve already been accepted into MIT,” Riley said with a wink. “It’s one of the best colleges in the country, in case you didn’t know.”

  “What? You? But . . . ?”

  “I’m kidding,” Riley said. “Listen. If you’re worried about getting busted for running in the hall, the solution is simple. Be prepared.”

  No one had to tell Keisha to be prepared. Preparation was in her bones. In her blood. Every cell of her body knew how important preparation was.

  “What sort of preparation are we talking about here?” Keisha said. “Do you mean I should have smoke bombs or banana peels or, like, Mario Kart–type stuff to slow down any pursuers?”

  Riley laughed. “That’d be awesome, but no. What you really need is excuses. You should be prepared to say you’re having a bathroom emergency. Or that you’re running from Hunter Barnes. Or that cockroaches are falling out of the sky.”

  “But those would be lies,” Keisha said.

  “I prefer to think of them as creative truths. I mean, all of those things are technically possible.”

  “I don’t tell creative truths. I only tell truth truths.”

  “Then I don’t know how to help you. Creative truths are my specialty.”

  “Maybe I should go back in time, and we can have this conversation again, and you’ll give me a better answer.”

  “Yeah, I meant to ask you about that time-travel stuff,” Riley said. “How exactly are you going to pull that off?”

  “I have a time machine,” Keisha said, showing Riley the clock. “I’m going to use it a few seconds from now, and you won’t know we ever had this conversation. But I’ll remember everything.”

  “Well, if you have a time machine, can’t you go back in time and try things over and over again? You know, so you don’t ever get in trouble? Practice makes perfect, right?”

  Riley was right, of course. And Keisha was embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of it herself. But she wasn’t going to give Riley the satisfaction of knowing that. She pulled the knob on the clock—click—turned it back three minutes, and pushed it back in—click.