my day, the suspicious ibuprofen, the dreamlike déjà vu, but then I see the crease between his eyes. The worry marks of a father who cares too much, and I realize I can’t burden him with this. Not when he’s clearly dealing with his own mess.
“Nothing,” I say quietly. “It’s nothing.”
He nods, like he believes me, or at the very least he’s respecting my decision to keep it to myself. “How did softball tryouts go, by the way?”
A pang of guilt strikes me in the chest. “Fine. I got in.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him the truth. That I missed them altogether because I got detention. Or that I probably wouldn’t have gotten in anyway. I’ll save that bad news for tomorrow.
His tired, weary eyes brighten. “That’s great! I knew you could do it!”
I change the subject before he has a chance to make too big a deal about it. “What about you?” I ask, nodding to the guest bed. “What happened here tonight?”
He turns his head and looks out the window. “Oh, nothing you need to concern yourself with. Some days I just wish I had a do-over, you know?”
I crack a smile. “Yeah.”
“Go get some sleep.”
I bend down and kiss his forehead. “Do you want me to shut off the light?”
He nods. “Thanks, sweetie.”
I flip the switch and climb the stairs. When I pass my sister’s room, I hear The Breakfast Club playing on her TV again. It’s a little more than half over. Like last night, she invites me to come and watch with her, but like last night, I turn her down.
I collapse onto my bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking about what my dad said.
Some days I just wish I had a do-over, you know?
I do know. It’s exactly what I wished for last night. I may get my dramatic side from my mother, but I definitely get my idealism from my dad.
I think about the words my mind whispered into the darkness as I was falling asleep.
Please just let me do it over.
Please give me another chance.
I swear I’ll get it right.
What if today wasn’t a curse? What if today was actually some kind of wish fulfillment? A prayer being answered? Was I given a second chance only to fail miserably again?
Will I be given another chance tomorrow? Or was that it?
A onetime thing. A fluke.
I hear a tapping at my window and I sit up.
“Owen?” I call out.
“Yeah. Let me in.”
The window is already unlocked. I hoist it open and he tumbles ungracefully inside, ducking and rolling before jumping unsteadily to his feet.
“I suppose I don’t have to guess why you left the carnival in tears,” he says, after the same long pause he took last night.
I had passed Owen again on my way to the parking lot. This time he was wandering around one of the concession stands, but I still couldn’t bring myself to talk to him.
I let out a soft whimper. “Yes, it’s true. He broke up with me … again.”
Owen looks confused. “Again?”
I sit down on the bed. “Owen, if I tell you something will you promise to believe everything I say?”
He looks skeptical. “Is this a trick question? Are you going to tell me you formed your own cult and now I’m going to be stuck joining it because of this promise?”
I roll my eyes. “No, it’s not a trick question.”
He sits, pulls Hippo onto his lap, faces him toward me, and raises Hippo’s left leg in the air, like he’s being sworn in. “Okay, fine. We promise to believe you.”
I look down at Hippo’s beady black eyes, then up at Owen’s inquisitive green ones.
“Something weird happened to me today. I think I might be stuck in the same day.”
He lets out a groan and turns Hippo around so they can share a look of disbelief. “This again?”
“You promised to believe me. You both did.”
He and Hippo exchange another glance. “That’s before we knew you were, you know”—he spins his finger next to his ear and whispers—“craaaazy.”
“I can prove it to you,” I offer.
“Ah, yes, the moment of proof. This is where you tell me some deep, dark secret that I just happened to have divulged to you on a different version of this same day.”
“Last night you had a dream that you went skinny-dipping with Principal Yates in the school pool.”
Owen’s mouth literally falls open. I think this is the first time he’s ever been stunned into silence.
“You mean like that?” I ask, struggling