Chaos (Lanie Bross) - Lanie Bross Page 0,66

her eyes, and she didn’t try to stop them. What the hell would she do now?

Luc didn’t exist. Her father was probably only a small child—wherever he even was—and Ford? She had no idea how to find him again.

A young woman wearing flared jeans and platform shoes as high as wedding cakes strolled down the street holding hands with a guy dressed almost entirely in tie-dye. They shot Jasmine a troubled look. She suddenly realized how out of place she was, in her deep purple band T-shirt, tight jeans, and sneakers. She fought a growing sense of panic. What if time didn’t shift again?

What if she was stuck here, forever? She’d probably get chucked in a mental institution. Or worse, she’d be forced to start wearing tie-dye.

She sat down on the curb and tucked her head between her knees, fighting a surge of nausea. Andromeda, Apus, Aquarius, Aquila.

Jasmine didn’t hear the car until a quick horn burst jerked her out of her thoughts. When she looked up, a long yellow car had stopped next to her. A young girl who looked around Jasmine’s age leaned out the window.

“Are you okay?” the girl asked, reaching for the radio to turn it down. The girl’s stick-straight dark hair hung from under a large white sunhat that seemed way too big for her face.

“I … I’m not really sure,” Jasmine answered honestly.

“Climb in, I’ll give you a ride.” The girl smiled. She had a nice smile. Trustworthy. Jasmine felt a rush of relief. She figured that back in the day, people didn’t have to worry about ax murderers. And something about this girl made her feel safe right away. She knew one thing: she didn’t want to be alone right now. “I’m Ingrid,” the girl said as Jasmine slid into the car. She was grateful that Ingrid didn’t comment on her outfit.

“Ingrid. That was my grandmother’s name,” Jasmine said. “I’m Jasmine.” The vinyl seat felt hard under her legs and there were little cracks in the upholstery. She automatically reached for the seatbelt and was shocked that there wasn’t one.

Fortunately, Ingrid didn’t notice. She was pulling out onto Presidio. They looped around the bus terminal to head back toward the Marina. “Jasmine, like the flower. That’s a pretty name,” she said.

Up close, Jas could see that Ingrid’s skin was blotchy and her eyes pink, as if she’d been crying. There was a handkerchief balled up next to her. An actual handkerchief. “So … where to?” Ingrid asked.

Jasmine hesitated. “I … I’m not sure, actually.”

Ingrid nodded. “You hitching?”

Jasmine assumed she meant hitchhiking. “Kind of.”

“Cool.” Ingrid gave her a faint smile. Even then, the small line between her eyebrows—a worry line—never disappeared. “I always wanted to hitchhike around. Where’d you start out?”

Jasmine turned her face to the window as they wound alongside the bay. “A long, long ways away.”

“Well, Haight-Ashbury’s pretty cool, if you’re looking for a place to crash,” Ingrid said.

Jasmine couldn’t stop herself from grimacing. She knew Haight-Ashbury as a pilgrimage site for old hippies who wore sandals with socks and multicolored fanny packs, or for young, dumb rich kids who wanted to buy pipes and filters from a head shop for their overpriced weed and didn’t know where to look.

“I don’t know,” Jasmine said. “I have to think. I’m a little lost right now.”

The girl half smiled. “Aren’t we all?”

Jasmine glanced at Ingrid. She had on a white embroidered peasant top and a long colorful skirt. It looked like an outfit out of Thrift Town, Jas’s favorite thrift store. It was actually pretty awesome.

They were getting closer to the city and as they passed the Palace of Fine Arts, Jasmine saw workmen all around the area. It looked like they were building the columns that flanked the pathways to the rotunda. Jasmine took a deep breath.

“Look, this is gonna sound weird,” she said, “But … what year is it?”

Ingrid squinted at her. “Are you high or something?”

“What? No. I swear. It’s just …” Jasmine fumbled for an excuse. “It’s hard to explain.…”

“I’m not judging you,” Ingrid said. She laughed hollowly. “My mom would say I don’t get to judge anyone. People in glass houses, right? And God, it’s not like I haven’t tripped before. It’s 1975.”

Two men sat on the corner, shirtless, drumming on bongos, bobbing their heads. Several people stood around them, swaying to a beat Jas couldn’t make out from a distance. One woman had on a maxi dress. The man next to her had on striped bell-bottoms and a