The Watchmaker's Gift

VIII

Anaya stared at the set of applications to JBU as if she could will them complete. Her conviction to see this through still stood strong. But it was now fueled by a lot more than hope. Fury at her teenage self for not taking her life more seriously. Anger at her parents for not pushing her harder towards a college education. Exasperation with the fact that if they had done so, she might have just pushed back harder.

She tapped her pen vigorously against the antique table. Anaya had thought that sitting in the bright and airy dining room of her parents' house would help. She lifted her eyes to the window and stared at nothing in particular outside. The chrysanthemum flowers, adorned in shades of russet and gold, seemed to regard her curiously with their greenish faces. And the pansies appeared alive, peering at her from their bed, winking with their yellow eyes while they danced in the wind. The change of scenery had in fact had done her some good, but not for long. Today was not turning out to be a good day.

Her doctor's brain was telling her she was spiraling. The duality of her older mind in a younger body, the secret of her time travel that could condemn her as insane if she told anyone, the pressure of choosing a better life for herself and navigating the road to that future... it was building up. She knew she needed medical attention.

Just as soon as I finish applying to college, and changing my future.

She exhaled a long breath and read over the next question on the application.

"How would your favorite teacher describe you?"

Anaya's right hand reached up to massage her temple, willing the memories to come. She wasn't even sure she had a favorite teacher in high school. Despite reliving her life in her teenage body - the memories of what her teen self did before last week were over twenty years old. They hadn't been accessed in decades and some of these memories weren't strong or important to her originally anyway.

Well, it can't be Mr. Potts from P.E. who just gave me an earful yesterday.

There wasn't much she could say when he shared his disappointment at her regular sick notes, forgetting the required uniform for a week's designated sport and not getting close to her personal bests.

Clearly, I'd given up giving a damn since I'd decided to drop out.

Anaya ran through each of her courses in her head. English definitely wasn't her strong suit, neither was music, or economics. She wasn't failing those classes, but she was far from the star pupil.

The only subject she excelled at since her return was Biology, thanks to her doctor's brain. Their teacher, Mr. Andrews aka Mr. Sex Ed., had smiled brighter with every right answer.

He also sighed harder when I argued another approach to an experiment to arrive at the identical results.

It would have to do.