Blank Slate Kate

Chapter 1

But how did I age this much overnight?

I swallow and again notice the awful taste in my mouth, now even worse because I threw up. Clearly I had a rough night, so maybe I'm just really tired. Everything's sagging because I'm exhausted. That could happen, right?

Probably not. And even if it could, there's still the tattoo.

The man put it on me as a joke?

I scratch at a duck but nothing comes off. It looks real.

Trying so hard to understand what's going on makes my head hurt even more, so I stop trying. I'll get dressed, go out there, and make that man tell me what's going on.

*****

The living room is the kind of mess that always makes my mother yell "Clean up your room!" except for one corner, where metal tools are precisely arranged along a pegboard on the wall and a huge something stands nearly to the ceiling under a black cloth.

"What's that?"

The guy, standing by the window, turns to face me and sees where I'm pointing. "A sculpture. I'm an artist."

As he's wearing a t-shirt with a faded Toronto Hogs hockey team logo and ripped jeans, I assume he's not a good artist, but I say, "Cool," anyhow because I don't want to make him angry at me. I need to know what's going on.

I take a breath to start asking questions, but he says, "Your hot chocolate's here. And I made toast too. In case you're hungry."

Since I emptied my stomach in dramatic fashion, I am hungry. Then I remember. "I didn't clean your rug. I'm sorry, I'll--"

He shakes his head. "Sit down. The carpet's old and cruddy anyhow. I'll throw it out later. Drink your hot chocolate. Then we'll talk."

I sink onto the grungy couch and he takes an armchair across from me. I hold my warm mug and realize that I don't want to talk. Things are too weird for this to be a simple misunderstanding or some kind of prank, and I'm afraid to find out what's going on. Something must be: I'm wearing clothes that I don't recognize but which fit me perfectly, my hair's shorter and darker than yesterday even though I've always loved being blonde and having long hair, and I have a tattoo of ducks when my favorite animal is... um...

"Eagle!"

He blinks. "Pardon?"

I shake my head, feeling silly. "Nothing. Sorry. Just remembered something."

He sets down his mug. "What was it?"

I shrug. "I couldn't remember my favorite animal for a second then it came to me. No big deal."

He nods slowly, as if this is deep and meaningful. "What else do you remember? About last night, and me... and you."

I take a long sip of my hot chocolate and it wakes up my stomach. "Can I have some toast?"

"Of course." He pushes the plate across the coffee table.

I take a slice and try to eat it with some sort of control but the moment the bread crunches in my mouth I'm so hungry I could eat the plate too. I put away the toast in no time, then another piece, but when I reach for a third he says, "That's probably enough for now. Since you were sick."

I'm about to protest when my stomach protests instead and I realize he's probably right. "Okay. But I'll want more later."

"Fine." He gives me a smile, friendly but somehow wary too. "So, what do you remember?"

I lick my lips. "Waking up with you."

He shifts in his chair, and I'm sure we're both thinking the same thing. Me exploding  naked from his bed then puking on his floor. "Okay. And before that?"

I stare at the toast, thinking. I remember Mrs. Sosa announcing a math test and everyone groaning. "I was at school yesterday. I was there, then somehow I'm here. It's blank in the middle, like how I felt when I had my tonsils out two years ago. But I knew what happened to the time then. I don't know how I got here."

Panic's rising in me and he must see it because he says soothingly, "It's okay. Don't worry, we'll figure it out. Do you know where you live?"

I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I don't know my address at first, but then it comes to me. "3278 West Maple Avenue, apartment 213. We've lived there all my life."

He clears his throat. "That's the low-rise condo building at West Maple and King Street, right?"

"Yup."

He looks like he's filtering a million things to say and coming up with nothing good.

"What?"

"God, I wish Hannah were here," he mutters under his breath.

"Who's Hannah?" Renewed horror hits me. "You're not married, are you? I didn't... sleep with..."

"We didn't have sex," he says, leaning toward me. "I swear to you, we didn't. I wouldn't do that. You were in a fight outside the bar where I work, drunk and freaking out, and in the end I brought you here."

He seems sincere about the sex thing, and I should be relieved but now I have more worries. I was fighting outside a bar? My mother's going to kill me. "I don't drink, I told you."

"Yeah, you did." He sighs. "Look, we'll get back to that. I have to tell you something."

I wait, nervousness flooding me.

"That condo building burned down three years ago."

I stare at him. "Of course it didn't. I live there. With my parents and my little brother Ethan. Why would you say that? Are you trying to scare me?" More than you already have?

He looks as scared as I feel. "Do you know what day it is?"

Finally, something I can answer without any trouble. "My friend Chloe's birthday was yesterday," I say. "So today is March twentieth. Wednesday."

I'm relieved to remember but he looks even more scared. "What year?"

"1996. Duh."

His hand covers his mouth but I can see the horror in his eyes.

When he doesn't speak, I do. "What's the problem?"

He clears his throat. "It's... um. No, it's not. That's not the date."

"Of course it is," I say, but the back of my mind doubts my own words. Something's very wrong here, and I've known that since I woke up in his bed.

He clears his throat again. "It's March fourth today. Friday."

I've gone back in time? No, that can't be. I look down at my hands, which are perfectly manicured instead of my usual bitten-nail look and seem to belong to someone much older than seventeen, and a horrible possibility hits me. It can't be, but... "What year?" I manage to whisper.

He leans back in his chair. "2011."