Me and Destiny walk side by side through the hall. It turns out that we have almost every class together—all but one. Our birthdays are the same—May 1st, 2010—and we both made the honor roll each year.

I haven't had a friend since I graduated the sixth grade and moved on to middle school. They stopped playing with Bratz and moved on to dressing like them.

Their parents let them buy designer clothes and go to the mall whenever they felt like it, which made it easier for them to fit in with the other kids. While they were at slumber parties and birthday parties, I stayed home.

That's how I lost my two best friends: Shanna and Erica. It was either me or the popular kids, and they didn't choose me.

"So, what happened earlier? Someone said some guy snuck on campus, or something," I say, sticking close to her as we weave through the crowd. A tall, skinny, light-brown boy stops in the middle of the hall to talk to someone and I roll my eyes as we step around him.

"Oh, yeah," Destiny says, dragging both words with big eyes and a tone full of eagerness to gossip. "Girl, you missed a lot." She drops her hand on the strap over my shoulder, showing her top row of beige teeth. "I heard he was on the soccer field while we were getting breakfast in the cafeteria. Jaden said he saw the resource officers running after him."

When she takes her hand off me, I ask, "Who's Jaden?"

"Jaden. Jaden Bynum," she says, but it sounds like a question. I narrow my eyes. "That's my lil yeah, or whatever. Damn, how far back did your amnesia erase?"

I told her I hit my head on Saturday and had to go to the hospital where I was diagnosed with amnesia. It took a while to convince her, but when I showed her a spot on my head from where Melissa hit me with the basketball, she bought it.

"I don't know. I'm sorry." She nods. We walk for a few breaths, not speaking. I look over and say, "Dang, I wish I didn't miss it, though."

"Me too," she says through an ear-to-ear smile. "It was mad hilarious. He was running like," Destiny stops midsentence and runs in place with her hands open, thrusting them front to back like a professional sprinter. Her expression is serious, but her mouth and eyebrows twitch as she fights away a snicker.

Her backpack slaps against her back with its contents rumbling around.

Watching her imitate the resource officers makes the corners of my mouth twitch and curl. As she stops, I burst out laughing and follow her to our next class.

She's aggressive when you first meet her, but once you get to know her you realize it's just how she is. So far, she just doesn't seem to realize how her tone is. Either that or she doesn't care.

She reminds me of my Dad, though.

We reach the other end of the building for second period. Mr. Hartmen is standing outside of the class in a long white lab coat over a button-up and slacks. His black tie and dark buttons are the only things visible beneath his coat, and his lanyard hangs over the white material.

"Good morning, ladies." His voice is dull, like he's repeating the same sentence and it's draining his energy. We greet him and start to step into the room, but he clears his throat. "Backpacks are not allowed in the lab. Miss. Jones, I have had this discussion with you enough times for you to remember. Miss. Iverson, you're no exception."

"We're girls, though," she says, bringing her bushy brows in. He squints his dark green eyes at her like he doesn't understand the point she's making. "I sometimes need my bag in case of emergencies."

"And every day you're having an emergency," he asks sarcastically. A few students squeeze past us to get into the classroom. Some girls are carrying see-through purses.

"Mr. Hartmen, respectfully, I don't wanna discuss my personal business with you." I clench my molars together and widen my eyes at her before slowly directing them to him. His are so dark that they almost look black until the light hits them, but his skin is paler than chalk.

He shuts his eyes while taking a deep breath. He sighs, then reopens them and says, "Miss. Jones, leave your bag by my desk. We won't be doing anything that requires you to take notes, but I will provide pencils and paper because there will be a quiz toward the end of class."

"Thank you," she says, tilting her head and flashing a forced smile.

He watches her step into the classroom before turning his head to me. He says, "I would send you to your locker, but the bell is about to ring. Leave your bag by my desk."

"Yes, sir." Sure enough, the bell rings and we step into the lab. He shuts the door behind me and follows me to his desk on a small platform overlooking the class.

Destiny's sitting at the back behind a boy with his hood over his head. She has her arms crossed and is slouched back on the stool.

I place my bag beside hers near his rolling chair and as he takes his seat, I find mine next to Destiny.

"When I call your name, say here or present," he says, lifting a stapled stack of papers. There are ten students in the room, including myself. Five others are absent. "Aaliyah Walker?"

"Here." A girl at the front of the class lazily lifts her hand and flops it back down just as quickly. She's wearing a varsity jacket and baggy jeans.

"Alex Coleman?" The boy with the hood over his head raises a finger and the teacher weaves his head over the students to set his eyes on him.

"Mr. Coleman, I do not allow hats or hoods on in my classroom," Mr. Hartmen says. Alex takes a deep breath, then slides the hood off from the front. He brushes his fingers through his messy, dark-brown hair.

The teacher continues calling out names and here and there it would be followed with silence.

I look at the beakers, flasks, and test tubes in front of us, then at the microscope. He calls Destiny's name and she responds. After a few more, he calls for Jaden and she answers for him in a lower voice.

I give her a look, watching her cover her mouth with the outer part of her hand.

"I'mma text him right quick. I'on know why he's late," she whispers while taking her cell phone out of her back pocket. Her blonde braids hang over her shoulder and stop at her waist. Her dark baby hairs are swirled and swooped against her forehead.

"Keenan Harris?" My heart skips a beat and I jolt upright in my seat. I look around while ignoring Destiny's side-eye, hoping to see him somewhere, but the class stays silent.

"Why didn't you answer for your boy," she asks in a low voice that sounds like a mumble. Her phone is on but the brightness is low. She's holding it above her lap with a message waiting to be sent.

I crease the skin between my brows and tilt my head slightly. Saying, "What?"

"You didn't answer," Destiny says. "You're supposed to do it and help him sneak in when the teacher leaves the room." We sit in silence for a few seconds, then she sighs and tells me, "Don't worry 'bout it. I got you."

***

Neither Jaden nor Keenan showed up for class and all I could do was stare at the door, hoping to see him.

The last time I saw his face, it was filled with desperation and defeat. All he wanted was to make it home and I ruined that chance for him.

I do feel bad for Destiny. She practically did all the work while my mind was somewhere else. Most would spazz, but she didn't seem to care.

We transitioned from second to third period — study hall — and spent that class talking about our plans for the afternoon.

She wants to come over to see my seahorses and watch a movie, but I want to visit her house and see her Doberman.

She showed me pictures of him. I'm not a dog person, but he's really cute.

After study hall is lunch.

She and I carry our trays to a table near the windows. The sunlight spills in and casts shapes that lay on the table's surface.

Today, they're serving spaghetti, breadsticks, and fruit; turkey burgers, curly fries, and vegetables; or chef salad.

She and I picked spaghetti instead of the turkey burgers because we both agreed that turkey as a substitute for beef or pork is gross.

There are a few kids on the far end of the table, but only a few are talking to each other. The others are looking around like they'd rather be somewhere else or are searching for their friends.

Destiny sits across from me and picks up her carton of vanilla milk.

"So, when can I get one of your seahorses? You said they had babies, right?" She flips the side flaps back, then tugs until the white and blue carton opens.

Hearing her ask for one makes my nostrils flare and my eyes widen. I sit up straight and look around the cafeteria.

I was supposed to meet up with Tasha because she'd been offering to buy a few for a while. I hadn't seen her yet.

"Yeah, you can get one. I'm selling them for, like, fifty cents a bag and I'm putting, like, five or six in the bag." Destiny lifts her fork, stabs the mound of spaghetti, and swirls the noodles around.

"Alright. I'mma see if my momma will let me buy one," she says, only sparing me a glance before stuffing her mouth with food. "'Cause, we gotta get a tank and everything for them. My momma is chill, though, so it should be fine."

My lips twitch and curl downward, my nostrils flare, and my stomach turns as I watch her talk with her mouth full. It reminds me of when Keenan asked me not to do the same thing and I got angry.

Seeing it from an outside perspective, I understand now.

"I'm 'bouta go get some sugar," I say. "You want anything?"

"Oh, can you see if they got some hot sauce?" I nod and excuse myself from the table. I stuff my hands in my skirt's pockets and stand by the second arch leading to the serving line.

The lunch ladies are usually really sweet. A few times I forgot my PIN, and they let me through without it because they knew my name.

Ms. Richardson is sitting at the head of the line with the PIN machine in front of her and the computer.

Her curly wig is under a hair net and her large stomach is tucked into her denim skirt and blouse.

When she finishes with another girl, she looks at me and smiles.

"Hey, there, Miss. Leila," she says through a smile, showing her perfect top row of teeth. "You forgot something?"

"Yes, ma'am." I bring my hands in front of me and pick at my nails. When I say, "Me and Destiny wanted packets of hot sauce and sugar," I point with my thumb and look at our table. She's sitting and talking to a boy in the once-empty seat beside her.

"Destiny and I." I return my attention to Ms. Richardson when she corrects me. I give a small smile. She leans over toward the back of the food display and lifts a woven basket with condiments piled onto the off-white blanket. "Take a few."

I reach in and grab two of both; Domino and Texas Pete.

"Thank you," I say, and when she responds, I turn away from the kids in line.

If I were a car, I'd have left tire marks on the cafeteria floor by how hard I stopped in my tracks.

There are now two more boys around her. One in my seat and the other beside him.

With furrowed eyebrows, I walk toward them and flick my eyes from one to the other before settling on her. I can't see the faces of the boy in my seat or the one beside him, anyway.

"Destiny," I whisper-yell, and they all look at me — including the kids at the other end of the table. I gesture toward the boy in my seat with only my eyes.

"What? Oh, this is my boyfriend," she says about the one beside her. She introduces me to him with a big grin while laying her hand on his chest and her head on his shoulder.

I look him over.

He's caramel, has a sandy-brown curly ponytail with an undercut, and dark brown eyes with bags under them. I note the beauty mark centered below his mouth and the freckles splattered across his face.

He's not the least bit cute, but if she likes it, I love it.

Jaden nudges his chin upward at me and I wave with two fingers. After him, I turn to the boy in my seat.

I stare at him and he does the same to me. His dark brown skin and his buzz cut send chills down my back.

"Keenan," I say, but it sounds like a question. I know he's not my Keenan and it makes my heart feel like it'd been dipped in cement. The back of my eyes burn and my voice shakes, but I force a chuckle and ask, "You finally got a haircut?"

I know it's not him, but I refuse to accept that my Keenan is still in 1990.

"Yeah, I guess," he drones, then squints his eyes to analyze me. He looks at me from my flats to my big t-shirt and frizzy braids. "Didn't you have yours cut like Halle Berry?"

A breath loudly catches in my throat like I'd been punched in the gut. Tears well up in my eyes as I stare at this stranger who looks like my best friend.

"Leila," Destiny says in a low voice. My vision blurs until they're just brown blobs occupying seats.

I sniffle and swallow, then drop the packets on the table between my tray and hers.

I turn away from them and storm toward the double doors. I need a moment to myself. I need to think.

If I could, I'd travel back to 1990 and find him. If I could, I'd bring him home.

It was all he wanted and now I can't think about anything else but him not being here.