“Blarnesto agrees as long as Blete promises to never mention this to anyone. Ever.”
“Fine, Blete promises,” Pete said.
“Okay. Wait, I think I’m having another one now.” Arnesto put his hand to his temple. “Yes. See Stephanie Summers over there?” He motioned toward their attractive classmate gathering her things from her locker across the hall. “I’m going to go ask her out and she’s going to say — hold on, I’m remembering it now — yes, she’s going to say, ‘Piss off, loser.’” Arnesto looked her up and down but otherwise remained motionless. A few moments later, she shut her locker and walked away.
“Well, why didn’t you talk to her?” Pete asked.
“I obviously knew what she was going to say. I’m not going to let her reject me twice.”
“Ha ha, well damn, I’m convinced!” Pete said.
Arnesto spent the next few days trying to see if he could have any more flashes of memory, but none came. He would look at someone and think, She’s going to say this! or He’s going to do that! But he was always wrong. One time he thought he predicted the exchange student arguing with the teacher, but as he couldn’t recall any details, he quickly dismissed the idea. Besides, she was generally argumentative.
No recalled conversations, no more surprise athletic plays in gym, nothing. Arnesto gave up. High school reverted to its usual boring state, though perhaps not for Clarence Hudson, who was holding his girlfriend Jamie Mann at her locker and moving in for the kiss.
He’s a lucky guy, thought Arnesto, though not that lucky. She’s going to turn her head away each time he tries to kiss her then laugh uncomfortably before saying, ‘Get out of here!’ Ugh, why am I still trying to remember future events— Before he could finish his thought, it happened.
First dodging right then left, Jamie denied Clarence a kiss, then laughed and said, “Not here!” Arnesto froze, his mouth fell open. Jamie noticed Arnesto watching them and led her boyfriend away. Arnesto felt embarrassed that they had caught him watching, and gave them a head start before following them to Trigonometry.
Arnesto sat in the middle of the back row where he could observe everyone, thinking about what he had just witnessed. Fate seemed to be teasing him. The scene had almost played out the way he imagined, but the wording was off. He felt sure she had said, “Get out of here!” He wished he could get close enough to a girl to be told, “Get out of here!”
He tried paying attention to the lecture. Mr. Massey was a great teacher and friendly with the students, but that day, Arnesto couldn’t focus. He was lucky that math came easy enough to him that he could get away with not paying attention, but he would gladly trade in some of that skill for better luck with the ladies. He looked at Jamie seated at the right side of the class then at Clarence in the front row talking to his friend next to him. Hold on, the guy has a girlfriend and doesn’t even sit with her? Get out of here, Clarence!
“Get out of here!” Mr. Massey yelled at Clarence, in a voice loud enough that most of the class jumped. Nobody moved, not even Clarence, who was as dumbfounded as everyone else. Mr. Massey pointed a finger at him, flicked it toward the door, and said, “Go.”
The teacher everybody liked had yelled at — and kicked out — a student in Honors Trig. People started looking around to verify that everyone was witnessing the same thing. But that wasn’t Arnesto’s focus. All he could think about was how Mr. Massey had used the exact words from his memory. Somehow the two memories had mixed.
Mr. Massey reverted to his usual self like nothing happened. “Can anyone tell me what this is?” Nobody volunteered, either because they were still in shock or they didn’t know the answer, or a combination of the two. Arnesto felt a sense of foreboding. Sure enough, Mr. Massey called on the one student he could usually count on to answer questions that eluded the rest of the class. “Arnesto?”
Arnesto panicked. He didn’t want to disappoint his teacher by being another student not paying attention. He hastily scanned the blackboard but found no clues. What had Mr. Massey been talking about? He couldn’t remember, and he didn’t even know what “this” meant. He was taking too long. Quick! Say, “I don’t know.”
Arnesto opened his mouth, but he did not say, “I don’t know.” Instead, he asked in a strained voice, “The Fibonacci sequence?”
Mr. Massey laughed, “Very good” and resumed his lecture as every other student in class turned their head at Arnesto in unison.
Arnesto was even more incapable of focusing now; his mind was all aflutter. Did all that really happen?! Jamie’s head-turning, “Get out of here!”, Fibonacci. Sure, I got some of the details wrong, but I couldn’t have guessed the rest. But did I remember them before they happened, or am I only remembering them after the fact? The former isn’t possible, though I still remember my nose getting flattened. He decided he wouldn’t tell Pete about this. He wouldn’t mention anything to anyone until he had hard evidence of what was happening to him, which he had no idea how to collect.
Arnesto resumed trying to remember things, but his efforts were again in vain. Still, Arnesto remained ever vigilant. The problem was high school was boring. Sure, there were a few moments here and there that seemed familiar. But there was nothing as strong as Clarence’s rejection/ejection combo and even that feeling was flimsier every time he thought about it.
A few weeks passed without any results, and Arnesto had again all but given up. That was until the powderpuff game between the junior and senior girls.
It was a cold November night, and Arnesto and Pete were shivering in the stands. Pete suggested they walk around to warm up a little. As they walked amongst the crowd watching from the track surrounding the football field, they steered clear of a group of senior boys carrying an inflated crocodile balloon for some reason.
Arnesto looked back at the crocodile and stared. Then his mouth fell open.
“Pete! Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”
“Why would I bring those to a football game?”
“I’ll be right back. I need to get something from my locker. Don’t move!” Arnesto shouted as he ran down the hill to the school. Five minutes later, Arnesto returned out of breath.
“Did you get what you needed?” Pete asked.
“Oh yeah. Keep your eye on that balloon crocodile.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
“Whatever.”
Halftime ended. The third quarter came and went. Arnesto grew restless. Finally, a few minutes into the fourth quarter, he saw it.
“Watch!” Arnesto yelled at Pete, pointing at one of the junior boys who had stolen the crocodile and was now sprinting across the field in their direction with an angry senior close behind and gaining. A few feet in front of Pete, there was a mom with her son, who looked to be around eleven.
“Kid, watch out!” Arnesto said as he nudged the young boy out of the way, making sure to also keep clear himself. A split second later, the senior caught up to the junior and tackled him. On the way down, the junior’s free hand went whizzing by where the young boy’s face had been a moment before.
“Thank you, that was kind of you,” the boy’s mom said to Arnesto before walking her son away.
“You’re welcome,” Arnesto called after them. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to Pete.