The red, rubbery ball races toward me as fast as it did everyone else. Me and a boy named Troy are the last of our team, and our opponent is by herself. I watched, behind anyone I could, him carrying our team with each blow and catch of the dodgeball.

I was never athletic, and I didn't expect things to be any different just because I time-traveled to the '90s. Then again, I didn't expect to still be in middle school. I don't know about my cousin Keenan, but I was hoping I'd be as popular as Donna Summer or Marilyn Monroe-acting and singing instead of continuing the mundane middle school life I left behind.

Life can be funny, I suppose.

As I stiffen my limbs to brace for impact, my heart thumps in my throat. I close my eyes as tight as I can, and though it may seem dramatic, I say a prayer in my head.

Please don't hit me. Please don't hit me.

Thwack!

It slams into a target, but because I don't feel the familiar sting on my body, I slowly open one eye before then opening the other.

Troy is standing in front of me like a shield, and he caught the ball in both hands. He's holding it in front of his chest like he's trying to pop it, and I take a step to his right to look at him. He has a Grinch-like smile aimed at our only opponent, Melissa Hayworth. Her once porcelain-colored face is beet red and drenched in sweat.

I look to our left and catch Keenan's eye. His jaw is dropped, and his glasses sit on the tip of his small nose. This is the third time he's seen Troy catch the ball, and I can tell he's in disbelief at how quick his reflexes are.

Our gym teacher blows the whistle.

"Game," he yells, and until that moment, his caterpillar mustache hid half of his mouth. His voice is scratchy from his cigarette addiction. "Everyone, hit the showers. Good game as always, Anderson."

I start toward my cousin while the others make their way to the locker rooms, but Troy turns to me and drops his hand on my shoulder.

"Listen, I know you new here, and I 'on't know how they do things where you from, but you're supposed to at least try to throw the ball." The corners of my mouth twitch as I stare into his brown eyes, and to appease my rumbling stomach, I cast my eyes downward. His tone lets me know that he's teasing, but I don't want to talk.

"Troy, that was crazy!" I look at Keenan when he approaches us. He takes his hand off me, and I immediately wrap my arms around my torso for comfort. "You were like—The Flash! How'd you learn to do that?"

"I'm gonna go change." Though I barely moved during the three rounds, I was covered in sweat, either from the exposed light fixtures or my nerves. I didn't want to play because not only am I unathletic, but I also don't like being the center of attention.

Others are talking before I reach the girls' locker room, and among the cacophony, I decipher them discussing how poorly the game went.

"Janet, you should've been paying attention," Melissa fusses at her teammate as I walk into the room. I see a few girls changing out of their dolphin shorts and graphic T-shirts, some peeking around the wall separating the shower room from the lockers, and a few others smirking to themselves.

"I was doing my best." Melissa rolls her eyes onto her snickering friends when Janet whines. "You all saw me out there. I was at least better than that new girl, wasn't I?"

I start walking toward the lockers, but I stop when someone mutters, "I'll say." Scattered laughter precedes her statement, and I feel my stomach knotting itself. I place my hands on it, hoping my gesture would ease the discomfort, but it doesn't work. "Like, she barely even did anything."

"I don't think she did anything at all." I turn my head to the voice in the shower room, and it echoes off the blue and white tiled walls. Melissa flips her bone-straight hair over her shoulders and shakes her head.

"I'm just glad she wasn't on my team," Melissa says, and my heart skips a beat. She continues, "Because I would've said something, if not to her, to Coach Roberts."

I wait a few seconds for the talking to end, and when it does, I walk toward Melissa. She's standing in front of her locker, drawing out her bookbag, and when she sees me, she and two others stop fastening their clothes to stare at me.

Though I only see three sets of eyes cast on me, it feels like a giant spotlight beaming down at me while I stand on stage. I keep my attention on the floor, watching my steps toward my corner.

"Ask her," someone whispers. I don't want to talk, but I know ignoring them will only make their scorn more intense. They watch me turn the code on my lock, and the hairs on my neck and arms stand up with goosebumps.

"Hey, new kid." I blink three times faster, but I continue to open my locker. "I said, Hey, new kid!"

I lick my lips behind the locker door, hiding my face, and with a deep breath, I turn to Melissa Hayworth. She's smiling at me, but not in a friendly way. "What's your name?" I clear my throat to keep my voice from quivering before answering. "Well, Leila, where are you from?"

A crooked smile grows on my face, so I look at my tattered gray sneakers to hide it. I know what she means, but I know if I told her the truth, she'd leave me alone. Well, I guess she'd leave me alone, probably because she'd think I was crazy.

"I'm from Minnesota." She narrows her eyes at me, and the other two snicker. I look around the room, and my expression slowly sinks when I see them laughing and smiling.

"Okay, you're from here. Great," Melissa says, and I look at her. My hands start to shake, so I squeeze the sides of my dolphin shorts. "But where are you from?"

"Askov." Because I didn't clear my throat, my voice trembles. Melissa rolls her eyes; I assume because of either my answer or my timidity. "It's a town in Pine County."

"No Doy!" I look at the wall separating us from the shower room as almost everyone laughs.

"Y'all, leave her alone," Janet says, but she's overpowered by scattered talking. I turn to my locker and unzip my bookbag. "Y'all, stop it! She's probably confused."

I squeeze the striped shirt in my backpack, my body vibrating like a chihuahua. I want to scream at them all to leave me alone, but if they're anything like the girls back home, I may not be able to fight them off.

"Okay, let's cut her some slack, guys." Melissa glances at me, and I do the same out of my peripheral. "New kid, we're in Askov. If you're not from here, you don't have to lie about it. We don't care that much."

When I don't respond, she turns her back to me, leaving only Janet to stare at me.

***

The loud chatter fills the air as the bus of students excitedly talk about their plans for the weekend. Some are talking with their hands, while others are in deep conversations, their expressions a mix of enthusiasm and curiosity.

"And not only did they basically think I'm stupid and lying for not knowing where we are," I tell Keenan. He's sitting beside me, both of us swaying with the bus as it passes over potholes. "They were picking on me for not playing the game. I'm starting to think being here isn't as good as we'd hoped."

He looks at the people around us, and I follow his gaze until he returns his attention to me. He speaks in a lower voice. "Firstly, keep your voice down. Remember what I said before we got here?" How could I forget? He practically drilled in my head, 'Don't mention time travel under any circumstances.' When I nod, he continues, "Okay, cool. Alright, well, things are gonna be - strange. I've done this enough to know that you're not gonna get what you want until maybe a week after landing, and by then, whatever you wish for will come true."

"That sounds like something from Disney Channel." He sniggers, then shrugs. I glance past him at Troy, seated to our left. He's sitting next to a brown-skinned girl with Poetic Justice braids and braces like Keenan's, except instead of silver brackets and neon green rubber bands, hers are silver and she has pink rubber bands.

"Call it corny, but it works. The last time I did this, I wished for a die-cast car for Christmas, and my parents bought it for me." He wrinkles the skin between his brows when he sees me staring into the distance. He looks to his left, and his face relaxes. "Stay focused, Leila. He's a nice guy, but you don't wanna get caught up with that type of stuff."

I hadn't known Keenan long. He and I officially met a week before we landed here, but he instantly became the big brother I never had. Sometimes I enjoy having that kind'a relationship, and other times I wish he'd cut it out. This is one of those times.

"Will you relax," I say just as quietly. "I wasn't even looking at him. I was looking past him, but I was listening to you."

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head.

I take a breath, ready to defend myself as long as necessary, but I quickly exhale when I remember that I don't need him to believe me.

As the bus slows at an apartment complex's sign, Lincoln Village, me and Keenan watch Troy stand up in the aisle. The girl next to him steps in front of him, and he returns to his seat as she makes her way to the front of the bus.

"Bye!" She waves at someone on the bus, grinning and flailing her arm like the car dealership's balloon people.

I look over our seat, wondering who it is, but none of them behind us seem to notice or care; everyone in the very back is still talking, and they remind me of the people from my actual school: nothing but an extreme circumstance or even a natural disaster can pull them away from their distractions.

As I turn around in my seat, I glance at Troy, and when I see him wave at her, I double-take. "Y'Vonne?" She starts to walk down the steps but stops when she hears him call her name. "You goin' to the Skate Rink tomorrow?" I've been told that I'm nosy-maybe it's true, maybe it isn't-but you'd be lying if you said you'd look away if you were in my shoes. They practically turned their private conversation into a public discussion. When she tells him yes, he smiles with his top row of pearly white and dimples, then says, "Dope. See you at three."

Keenan looks at me just when I turn my now grinning face to his, and with his head turned at a slight angle, he takes a deep breath as if to tell me we're not going.

"Please, Kee," I whine. "There's nothing else to do around here unless you feel like going to the flea market with Aunt LaToya?"

Unless you're boring, I doubt I have to explain why going there would be about as fun as watching paint dry, but in case you enjoy things like collecting stamps and coupons, I'll spell it out for you.

When you're a thirteen-year-old, things like laser tag, go-karting, and bumper-karting are fun. We'll even settle for painting or whatever like it, but haggling? I'd literally rather watch paint dry.

He sighs again. "Fine, we can go." I throw my arms around him in a tight hug before he can finish his sentence, thanking him a thousand times. "Yeah, okay. Like I said, we can go, but I'm serious, Leila," he says as I pull away. "If you do or say anything about something that hasn't happened yet, it can quickly turn into a domino effect."

"I understand, Keenan," I groan. At this point, I'm audibly and visibly starting to get annoyed. Again, he's told me over and over again not to unravel the fabric of time by mentioning whatever, to the point where I could quote it to you like the star-spangled banner. But to get him off my back, I say, "I'll be very careful."