In my defense, I was casually seated in the lobby, eavesdropping on two yogis talking about balancing chakras and exercise mats made exclusively of hemp. Then Kassie came whirling around the corner in a blinding neon-pink workout getup.
She’s in deep conversation with a sweaty dude with a skull-and-bones tattoo emblazoned on his thick bicep. I may have caught a glimpse of a scalp tattoo as well, but it’s hard to tell from this angle.
Despite her typical flirty eyes, Kassie seems trapped in the conversation. I can tell by the way she’s chewing at the corner of her lip and tightening her sleek ponytail.
While her mannerisms are generally the same, I notice some slight differences. What was once a button nose is now perfectly slender with the slightest turn at the end. Her round cheeks have slimmed as well. She’s still lean and fit, though yoga has really toned her arms.
Her differences remind me of my own. I clasp my C-cup boobs, my first reminder that I was still trapped in this hellscape this morning.
My mind tornadoes as I watch Kassie. It’s impossible to make sense of any of this. I think about what Nori said, about how maybe I should leave well enough alone. Is it desperate and creepy that I took a train all the way to the city to talk to her? Probably. And what if she hates me? What if she banishes me from her studio in front of all these innocent, peaceful yogis?
As that terrifying thought flickers through my mind, I lose my balance and fall straight into the potted plant. I watch in horror as the plant topples forward, soil flying every which way across the gleaming oak floor.
Kassie’s eyes snap to mine.
I’m still holding on to my C cups when Kassie says, “Char?” Her vibrant eyes bore into mine. They’re still the same. The shade of those blue Jolly Ranchers we used to eat that stained our entire mouths. One time after we ate them, Kassie’s crush texted her to hang out, and we spent a good fifteen minutes frantically trying to brush the blue from her teeth.
“I am so sorry about this!” I manage, clumsily pulling the plant upright. I don’t know if I should hug her or keep my distance and awkwardly wave. So naturally, I do neither and drop to hands and knees and begin sweeping the dirt with my bare hands.
“Please don’t clean. I’ll get a broom.” She dashes to the hallway closet, swiftly returning with a broom.
I’m still on my hands and knees when she finishes sweeping the soil. She sets the broom against the wall and extends her hand to help me up. When her hand touches mine, my eyes well.
“Oh no.” Her eyes widen, and she quickly pulls me into a hug.
She still smells like sunshine and vanilla. She still feels familiar. Because she is. Just yesterday, Kassie was my best friend. I don’t know how to act like a stranger. And I don’t know how to reconcile all the time that’s passed—well, allegedly.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
Everything in my body urges me to scream, EVERYTHING! But I can’t summon a coherent response through my snotty sniffles. What comes out sounds like a dying rhinoceros. Mortified, I pull back, praying that I didn’t snot all over her shoulder. “Ugh. I’m sorry for showing up at your work like a total freak.”
Her eyes dim as they search my face. “I mean, I’m a little surprised, to be honest. Can I ask why you’re here? Based on your . . . outfit, I’m gonna guess it’s not for my beginner yoga class?”
Half of me is tempted to word vomit the entire strange story of my time travel. But if I were Kassie, I’d call the police and have me dragged out in cuffs. So I settle for, “I just missed you.”
She tilts her head and winces, eyes dropping to my shoes before sweeping back to my face. “I missed you,” she says simply. She’s being genuine. She never looks anyone in the eye when she’s lying. But despite the admittance, there’s a distance between us I can’t quite place. It’s like a magnified version of that tiny crack in my heart I feel when she ditches me for Ollie. When she snubs my texts or isn’t there for me like she should be.
“Why aren’t we friends anymore?” I ask, though the reasons are starting to become clearer.
She goes quiet before forcing a smile. “Hey, I’m starving. Want to grab a smoothie from next door?” This kind of avoidance is typical Kassie. I can’t say I’m shocked.
“Oh, um, sure.”
We head to the shop next door. It’s called Banana, with a bright-yellow sign in puffy, cloudlike font. The menu is complicated, full of various options to add almond butter, wheatgrass, matcha, all sorts of überhealthy ingredients to your concoction.