A few minutes later, he emerges from the crowd with his arms draped over two of his teammates’ shoulders. His face is full of agony as he hops on one leg to the closest bench. He sits down and buries his face into his hands while they remove his shoe.
“I wonder if it’s broken,” Anna says.
All I can think to say is, “They hit hard.”
“Bennett,” she says quietly.
I look over at her. “Yeah?”
Her eyes are still glued to the guy in the green shirt and she’s wearing the strangest expression. “What if you gave him a second chance?”
I shake my head. Hard.
She looks at me. “You could test yourself. See if the side effects kick in or not. And if they do, I can help you.”
It’s a ridiculous idea. I don’t even know what time it is or how long we’ve been here, but I do know that we’ve been completely out in the open, in full view of everyone. We’d need a safe point we could return to without being seen, and we don’t have one. But then I remember how Anna pulled me behind the bushes to kiss me.
“There was a clock in the bakery,” she says. “It was 2:10. We got to the park and walked around and it was, what do you think, 2:30 when we sat down here?” She’s talking fast, thinking too much, and getting way too excited about this. But before I can say anything, she stands up, heads back to the path, and returns less than a minute later. “It’s 3:05 right now.”
I look back over at the guy in the green shirt. His face is pinched and his leg is stretched out in front of him, and I still can’t tell if it’s broken or not, but he’s definitely in a lot of pain. I think through the times Anna just rattled off to me and before I know it, I’m grabbing her hand and steering her back to that spot behind the bushes.
“This is crazy,” I say.
When we arrive, she pivots to face me. When were we here last? 2:20? 2:23? I can’t be sure, and I have to be sure, or the Anna and Bennett back on that part of the timeline will disappear into thin air in the middle of the street, or at the entrance to the park, or from the front of the bakery line.
I think through every step we made, and then I grab her hands and shut my eyes. When I open them, we’re standing a few feet from where we started, back on the path, and in plain sight. We both speed back behind the bushes and hide there for a minute or two, until I’m certain that no one saw us.
We rush back to the soccer game in progress and sit in the same spot, watching the same game. The guy in the bright green shirt is perfectly fine, speeding toward the ball, making solid kicks, and throwing his arms up in delight with every attempt. Anna’s sitting closer to me this time, her legs folded in front of her and one leg resting on mine. She tightens her grip on my hand and we come up with a plan.
The score reaches two-two, and they’re all lined up, about to make that last play. Before the ball gets thrown out, Anna looks at me, stands up, and races down the edge of the field near the goal. The play goes the same way. He kicks it and takes off running, but this time, just as he’s about to throw his arms up, Anna yells, “Stop!” at the top of her lungs.
Most of the guys ignore her, but Green-shirt Guy turns around, just for a second, and looks at her. By the time he returns his attention to the game, it’s too late. The other guy has the ball and he’s taking it to the goal at the opposite end. He kicks it hard, scores, and the game is over. Green-shirt Guy throws his hands up in Anna’s direction, and yells at her in French.
She takes off toward me, running and laughing, grabbing my hand as she speeds by. We spot a bench out of sight and collapse on it. My hands are shaking and my heart is pounding so hard I feel like it’s about to burst out of my chest.
“I have no idea why I let you talk me into these things,” I say, breathing fast. “You and Brooke.” I shake my head. “You have far too much in common.” I look over at her and she’s sitting there, catching her breath, beaming and obviously quite proud of herself. “You look adorable when stopping tragedies, by the way.”
She brings her hands to my face and kisses me, even though there are people everywhere.
I’ve spent all these years trying not to alter the slightest event, and now, in the seven months since I met Anna, I’ve purposely changed things four times. And none of them seems to have thrown the universe off-kilter or anything.
“How do you feel?” she asks as she pulls away.
“Good.” I look at her and smile. “Really good.”
By the time the sun starts to set, our legs are rubbery from climbing so many stairs and hills, and now we’re standing in a secluded corner of a dead-end street, holding hands, smiling at each other and stalling.
“You ready?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “Not even close.”
But we can’t stay away any longer. I tell her to close her eyes and she does, but before I do the same, I take a glance around this Parisian street one more time. Then I let my eyes fall shut.
When I open them, we’re in the exact same position, back in my room at Maggie’s, and it’s Saturday morning. I check the clock. Ten A.M.
Almost instantly, Anna lets out a quiet groan and her hands find her stomach. She slumps down on the floor and pulls her knees to her chest. I slide down next to her, and even though my head is throbbing and my vision is blurry, I remove my backpack and grope around inside, searching for the sleeve of saltines. When I find them, I tear into the package and hand it to her. Anna mumbles a thank-you as she starts in on a corner of the cracker, and I search for the water bottles.
We sit like that for a good twenty minutes, me downing waters and Frappuccinos, Anna nibbling crackers and trying not to hurl. “Now this is romantic,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder.
I let out a weak laugh and let my head fall against hers.
Anna finally declares herself strong enough to stand. But when I try to say, “I’ll walk you home,” my words slur, and when I stand up, my legs wobble. I lean on the bed, resting my hand on the surface for stability. I’m utterly exhausted. I can’t remember the last time I felt this tired.
“Lie down,” Anna insists as she pushes me gently toward the bed and lifts my feet off the floor. I hear her tell me to scoot up a little. I feel her adjust my pillow under my head. I think she takes off my shoes. “Close your eyes,” I hear her say, quiet and soothing, as she sits on the edge of the bed and runs her thumbs back and forth along my forehead.
I don’t remember anything after that.
18
The faint sound of knocking wakes me up from a deep sleep. I sit up in bed and rub my head with both hands. The next knock is louder.
“Come in.” I feel like my eyes have been glued shut, but I force them open when the door creaks and Maggie pokes her head inside. She looks surprised to see me twisted and disheveled on top of my comforter.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping. I just wanted to know if you were going to be here for dinner.”
I press my fingertips into my temples and glance over at the clock radio on the nightstand. Is it really 6:12? Have I been out all afternoon? The last thing I remember was Anna helping me lie down. Was that really almost eight hours ago?