Page 109 of Kiss Slay Replay

“But it wasn’t.”

“No. It wasn’t. That night Noah kissed me again, and then I woke up. The days kept on like that, everything too familiar. I felt like I was losing my mind. At first, I really didn’t care, because every night ended with Noah. With us kissing. It was all I’d wanted all summer, all I’d thought about. I’d been infatuated. And it wasn’t just a casual camp kiss. It was always the most outrageously romantic scenario my teenage brain could fathom. But every time we kissed, I would wake up and it’d be that morning. I tried to do things differently. I tried to avoid him. I hung out with my best friend Matty instead. Then he kissed me, and—”

“You woke up.” I’m having a hard time empathizing with her because I’d much rather be kissed than killed.

“I was exhausted. It was like I hadn’t slept. And I didn’t have a driver’s license or access to the Internet. I couldn’t research. I begged every counselor to take me to the local library, until I finally found one willing. I started reading about physics, about time reflections, electromagnetic waves being reflected not spatially, but temporally. How they could change course and disturb the frequency. How that could occur in tandem with another anomaly and result in a CTC.”

“CTC?”

“Closed timelike curve. I researched wormholes. Warped space-time. I was fourteen obsessing over the concept of non-orientable space, which in hindsight I’m grateful for—it was a welcome redirect from obsessing over boys. Or solely obsessing over boys. I tried hiding in the library one night, thinking the day might only reset at camp, and if I left, I could disrupt the CTC, but then there was the librarian’s son with his curly dark hair and lip piercing and…” I catch her smiling at the memory, and it’s stupid endearing. “I understand now that because we are the variable in the time paradox, we create and manipulate the exotic matter. Subconsciously, through our own negative energy.”

“What are you saying? This happens because we’re, what? Cynical?”

“No. Negative energy is another term for exotic matter. What I’m saying is that our subconscious, whatever is part of us and our awareness, it influences the paradox. That’s why it’s different for everyone and why it changes every time. Think of it this way. Every thought we have, every emotion, every decision we make, it ripples out into the universe. It informs the world around us. Inside the wormhole, our ripples are tidal waves. Because it’s our world, in a sense. But I only discovered all this after I talked to Jesse.”

“Who’s Jesse?”

“The camper who was sent to the institution. He’s out now. He moved up to Maine. He was in the loop for almost four years, so he’s a little—”

“Four years?”

“He was very, very into superheroes at the time, I think because he had a rough home life and was severely bullied at camp, but, anyway, so every day he would gain new superpowers and have to save the world. As soon as he did, the day would reset. Unfortunately, it left him with a bit of a god complex.” She pulls her hair off her neck and holds it to the back of her head. “Did it just get humid all of a sudden?”

It did. It’s warmer and stickier than it was a minute ago. But I can’t acknowledge it, can’t get us off topic. “You both got out, though. There is a way out?”

“Yes. All evidence points to it being, essentially, a traversable wormhole. It’s fixed in place by its own gravity. You have to find it and go back through. Come out where you came in. It’s somewhere in the woods, but it’s been so long I’m not sure I could lead you to the exact spot. It took me weeks to find it.” She fans herself. There’s a breeze, but it carries no relief. It’s just a hot nudge.

“It’s not only here, though. I wake up in my apartment every day. The loop—”

“Right. The opening to the wormhole, the door, is here, but it’s a time paradox.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what that means.”

“It’s a time-created and time-ruled portal that leads to a tangent pocket universe influenced by the variable, in this case you, that, based on the variable’s triggering event, in this case, you dying, resets to your first point of consciousness the day you entered.”

“I’m lost.”

“It’s not about where; it’s about when. Time transcends place, transcends matter, transcends everything. We can’t manipulate it. Can’t control it. Can’t outrun or outsmart it. It’s king.” She pauses to wipe the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I know it’s confusing and I’m not doing the best job of explaining. There’s only so much I can explain; a lot of this is hypothetical. This is all I have to offer, and I can’t tell you exactly where it is, but I can tell you that the wormhole is in a small, concentrated area that somehow exists in its own gravitational field. That’s what the sensation of falling was from. You’ll feel more unsteady the closer you get. And…”

“And what?”

“I didn’t know this then, but I know now, and I feel like I should tell you. Warn you. Wormholes can, theoretically, collapse. Every time you move through the loop, the likelihood of destabilization increases. It’s lasted this long, obviously. For decades. But if something were to happen, you could cease to exist in time.”

“Oh.” Part of me thought I was safe in the loop. Yes, I’m dying, but you wake up enough times post-death and you start to feel immortal. “Thanks for the heads-up, I guess.”

“The sooner you can find the wormhole and go back through, the better. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” I exhale, push myself to stand. I’ve sweat through my dress. It’s so, so hot. “Not to…I don’t know. But…why the fuck would you ever come back to this place?”

“I didn’t know until I got here. Like I said, they changed the name. I never considered. I was so nervous about—” She cuts herself off.

I click my tongue and step forward, moving closer to the water in hopes of a cool breeze.

“I’ve been trying to keep it together. I didn’t want Ravi to think I was—” She stops herself again. “I told myself, don’t go in the woods, you’ll be fine, everything will be fine. Just act normal. I told myself it’s a wedding, who would go off into the…the…”

Me. I would. Avoiding her. “What are the odds? You used to go to camp here. You fall through a wormhole. You get out. You meet Ravi. He takes you to this wedding. And you meet me, inside the wormhole.”

“The odds? I could do the calculations,” she says.