The sound of people murmuring and phone music swirls around my head. I feel dizzy and disoriented. Then, a call from a deep voice brings my eyes up, "Alright, let's get ready for the day!" Looking around, I sit in confusion. I'm in a classroom, not just any classroom. I'm in my 9th-grade academy math class. To my left sits a sun-kissed boy with thick black hair, his head pressed down on the table. I can see his breath expanding his back up and down. I reach to pull his hair from his eyes, but before I can touch a strand, that same deep voice interrupts, "Head up, sir." the boy lifts, looks at me, my hand, and then back at me, "What are you doing?" I turn quickly away from him, "nothing," I protest, "sorry."
With my beating pulse taking over my eardrums, I examine the room, the same vinyl floor with grey specks, wooden cabinets, and windows that haven't been opened since the winter finally ajar. "I must be dreaming," I think. Surely, I can't be back in 2011; I was just in 2024, living a life of adulthood and headaches. "Miss, is there something wrong?" My eyes turn to the front of the class, "Huh?" I say, perplexed. I feel a tap on my thigh that sends electricity up my spine. I turn to him, "The answer is 37.5," he says calmly, "Oh, right, sorry, it's, um, 37.5?" I try to make my answer confident, "Thank you, Sir, for keeping your classmates on task." My teacher returns to the blackboard, and I melt into my hands.
I feel the same electricity on my arm this time, and my eyes peek up to meet his brown, confused stare. "Are you good?" I shake my head, "Everything is just so confusing right now. I don't know what's happening, and I—" I stop myself before I can tell him I'm not from this time, that we haven't been in contact in years, and that I could burst into tears seeing his face again and that... I love him. "You're an odd one," he says, crossing his arms on the desk and looking up with that smile full of braces, "you should let me in that brain of yours." I can feel myself getting red, and I bury myself as far into my math book, probably on the wrong page. "God, let this be a dream," I whisper.
Minutes go by, and the bell rings, I think, "When was the last time I heard a bell?" I look around and find a Black backpack near my chair, push my math book into it, and grab a white binder covered in drawings and sketches. On the front page is a school schedule, "next period is art, good job, younger me." I push the binder back in the bag, zip it up, and rise to my feet. I head to the door, but I'm stopped by someone grabbing my hand, "what's your next period?" He looks up at me, "Art," I say, "you?" He smiles again, that mouth full of braces, "Art."
We walk together in the hallways full of high schoolers. I'm trying to push the thought of myself internally being an adult around youth in the back of my head, and he's silently walking next to me. "So, how was your weekend?" My failed attempt to make small talk, "Fine, I guess," he replies, "spent most of it looking at the moon." one glance at me confirms he's talking about our inside romance, comparing me to the moon, I quickly look away, sighing in relief that my melanin hides most of my blushing. We get to the art class, and just before I walk in, he turns the other way, "Where are you going?" He turns his head and calls out, "My next period is ROTC... I just wanted to walk you to class." I stand and watch as he walks away, observing everything about him: a Black hoodie, blue jeans, and his hair I wish to spend forever in. "I think I'm gonna die," muttering as I walk into class.
