When Emma Fitzgerald said she needed a break, she didn’t mean in the time continuum. After losing her boyfriend to her mortal enemy, Emma heads to Granny’s house for the summer to do some good old fashioned sulking. When she wakes up, she (and her phone) have somehow traveled back in time to the year 2004.

Her uncle, who is a teenager now, warns her not to do anything that could alter the future. But then an unexpected encounter results in all evidence of her mortal enemy vanishing from her phone. Texts, photos—everything. She no longer exists.

Emma wonders if the Universe sent her back in time to save her own broken heart. But then her best friend’s texts disappear from her phone, too. The disruption to the time continuum had repercussions. If Emma wants to save her best friend, she’ll have to save her enemy first.

14+ due to adult situations

 

Excerpt:

Uncle Ray leans on the counter, the corded work phone tucked under his hair. He doodles on the order pad while talking on the phone in a voice too quiet for me to hear. Must be a personal call.

A short while later, he drops the phone into the receiver and drums his hands on the countertop. “Hey, Emma?”

“Yeah?” I say, stepping out from the back. He doesn’t look like he’s just discovered how to build a time machine so I can go home, but hope still digs at my chest anyway.

“I’m gonna run to Sam’s real quick.”

“Who’s Sam?”

“It’s the music store,” he says, nodding his head toward the end of the shopping center. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes. Just ignore the phone if it rings.”

He’s out the door before I can reply, the jingle of bells clacking against the glass behind him. I slip back into the office.

“Hello?” a feminine voice calls out a few minutes later.

I freeze. Seconds drip on and on, and there’s no Uncle Ray in sight.

“Hello?” the voice calls out again. “Anyone alive in here?”

I step out from the back. “Sorry,” I say, tugging at my new T-shirt that makes me look like an actual employee. I glance out the window, hoping to see Ray walking back, but the sidewalk is empty. “How can I help you?”

“Pickup for Marci,” she says, glancing at the phone in her hand. It’s a pink flip phone, the kind of vintage thing I’ve only seen in old movies, but never in real life. She looks like she’s in her early twenties, wearing flared bottom blue jeans and a pink lacy halter top that shows off her pink sparkly belly button ring. Her pale skin looks dry under a layer of powdery makeup, and her light blonde hair is pulled back with a rhinestone headband. Her shoes are three inches tall, made of black foam, and have even more tacky rhinestones along the straps. She’s incredible.

“One second,” I say, slipping into the safety of the kitchen area. Sure enough, a freshly baked pizza hangs out at the end of the oven’s conveyer belt, waiting patiently to be cut into slices and boxed. Crap. Why did Ray have to leave when someone’s order was almost ready?

“It’s almost ready,” I call out. I reach for the oddly-shaped pliers and grab the pizza pan out of the oven just like I’ve seen Ray do a dozen times this morning. The pizza slides easily out onto the cutting board. The pizza slices may not come out exactly even, but at least I figure out how to get it sliced and slid into the box without ruining the thing. I fold the lid and carry the pizza out to the front of the restaurant.

She puts a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. Only there’s no possible way I can figure out how to do this. What does a pizza cost in 2004? The register is covered in buttons with abbreviations written in pen on little white stickers. Half the stickers are rubbed off from use.

Our register at the motel is a freaking iPad with a touchless credit card base. I don’t know how to work this thing!

“Your pizza is free today,” I say, giving her my best customer service smile as I slide the twenty dollar bill back to her.

“Really? Why?”

I shrug. “I’m new here and no one taught me how to work the register.”

“Awesome sauce.” She shoves the money into the dainty pink handbag that hangs from her arm. I get a sudden and unexpected mental picture of Cher from the movie Clueless.

Her phone beeps and she flips it back open with her thumb, lips pressing into a flat line as she looks at the screen. “O-M-G I freaking hate you,” she tells the phone. “Sorry,” she says, smiling up at me. “Ignore me. I’m having boyfriend issues.”

“I know the feeling all too well,” I say.

She snaps the phone closed. “It’s just like, every other day my boyfriend ditches me for his stupid friends. Like, literally every other day, ever since he got a camcorder for Christmas. We’ll have plans to do something and then he’s like, nah never mind, I’d rather see my dumbass bros and do dumbass bro shit like Bam Margera. He’s never going to get famous. I mean, he is a jackass, but not like, a Jackass, jackass, ya know?”

I do not in fact know, but I nod and let her talk.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know why I put up with him.”

“So don’t,” I say. “If he wants to choose his friends over you, then he can have his friends all the time. You deserve someone who won’t ditch you.”

“You’re right.” She nods quickly, pointing the stubby antenna end of her phone at me. “You’re totally right. I do deserve better. Thanks, girlie.”

“Yep,” I say, wishing Ray would hurry up and get back before another customer comes in here and talks my ear off using lingo and references I don’t understand. She waves goodbye and slips out the door, her free pizza in tow. Once she’s gone, I rush over and turn the deadbolt, locking the door until Ray comes back five minutes later, a weird half-smile on his face.

“What took you so long?” I snap.

“It wasn’t that long.”

“You took like ten minutes.”

“Sorry,” he says, heading to the back. “Where’s Marci’s pizza?”

“I had to cut it up and give it to her,” I say, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. I bet I look exactly like my mom right now, right down to the way her lips flatten in a disappointed frown when I’ve done something particularly annoying.

“Shit,” he mutters, glancing out at the front of the store. “Did you say anything?”

“Yeah, I said hi, my name is Emma Fitzgerald and I’m from the future, wanna know some fun facts you can use to get rich gambling on future events?”

He rolls his eyes.

“I gave her the pizza for free because I didn’t know how to work the register and you were taking forever to come back.”

“Hopefully that doesn’t ruin the timeline.”

I shrug. “I don’t see how it could.”