Jay Asher - The Future of Us

Josh looks at the gold chain I always wear, with the delicate E pendant dangling from it. “The woman’s name is Emma,” he says. “What other letter would she put on her necklace?”

“And she said it’s Thursday, May nineteenth.”

Josh’s forehead wrinkles in confusion.

“Today is Sunday, May nineteenth,” I say. “That means she’s writing all this from another year where May nineteenth is a Thursday.”

Josh shakes his head. “If someone is trying to prank you, they would’ve thought of all that.”

“But everything was different! When I checked just now, it was a brand new picture of Emma. And there were different people saying things to her. You think all that could change with one corrupted CD-ROM? Don’t you get it? This thing… Facebook, or whatever it’s called… it’s from the future.”

Josh sets the keychain on my desk and sits down. When he jiggles the mouse, the brick wall disappears and everything’s right where I left it, with Emma Nelson Jones writing about macaroni and cheese.

“Why does it say she has three hundred and twenty friends?” Josh asks. “Who has that many friends?”

“Scroll down,” I say, peering over his shoulder.

Emma Nelson Jones You know why I need

comfort food? JJJ hasn’t come home for three

nights. His trip was only supposed to last one

day. I feel hopeless.

12 minutes ago · Like

Josh looks up at me. “Who’s JJJ?”

“My husband. Jordan Jones Junior. The guy with the fish. I never say why he hasn’t come home, but obviously I’m suspicious. When I saw that, it made me sick.”

Josh rubs his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Maybe he went on another fishing trip.”

“Keep reading,” I say, reaching past Josh for the mouse.

Emma Nelson Jones

Hit my sixth month of unemployment. They say it’s

the economy, but I’m starting to believe it’s me.

Thirty-one is too young to have a failed career.

Tuesday at 9:21am · Like · Comment

“Thirty-one,” Josh says. “So this is supposed to be fifteen years from now.”

I point to the next sentence.

Emma Nelson Jones

Can’t even afford a decent therapist.

Monday at 8:37pm · Like · Comment

Josh turns to me. “I can’t believe she’s writing these things.”

“Not she,” I say. “Me.”

“Why would anyone say this stuff about themselves on the Internet? It’s crazy!”

“Exactly,” I say. “I’m going to be mentally ill in fifteen years, and that’s why my husband doesn’t want to be around me.”

Josh leans back in the chair and crosses his arms against his chest. When he does that, he looks like his brother. I haven’t seen David since last year, but he was always a fun person to have in the neighborhood. Guys wanted him to be their older brother, and girls had a crush on him.

“Listen, Emma. I think…” Josh says, but then he pauses.

“Just say it.”

Josh points toward the screen. “We don’t know for sure who Emma Nelson Jones is or what we’re looking at. But even if it’s real, you’re still reading a lot between the lines.”

The front door closes. Josh and I jump back from the computer.

“Emma?” my mom calls. “Marty says he locked the door when we left, but—”

“It’s okay,” I shout. “Josh is here, that’s all.”

“Are you ready to help us get email addresses?” she asks.

“Can we have another minute? Josh is helping me find something… an assignment.”

“That’s fine,” my mom says. I hear her footsteps climbing the stairs. “But you need to finish up soon. It’s a school night.”

She cannot see this. I reach over and click the X on the top right corner of the screen. The cheerful voice chimes, “Goodbye!”

My mom walks by, waving as she continues on to her bedroom.

Josh picks up the Scooby-Doo keychain. He stops in the doorway and looks back at me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I don’t think you should look at this thing alone,” he says. “It’s either a mean prank or it’s…”

I feel the tears coming on again.

“Let’s make a deal to only look at it together,” he says.

“So you’ll come over again?” I ask. “You don’t mind?”

Josh stares at the keychain in his hand, pressing the Scooby nose on and off. “No, it’s cool.”

“How about tomorrow? After track.”

“That’s fine,” Josh says. “Maybe Tyson and I will even stop by the meet.”

I smile for the first time all evening. Last year, Josh used to come to all my home meets just to wave and cheer me on. It makes me want to be honest and tell him what else I saw on the website, before he came over. But I can’t bring myself to say it. I look down at my new white carpet. What I saw would make things even more awkward between us. And for one night, I want to feel like things can be normal again.

“What is it?” Josh asks.

I’ll have to tell him eventually. “Tomorrow,” I say, “we should see if you have one of those webpages, too.”

AS I SQUEEZE OUT a line of toothpaste, I hear Emma’s car door shut and the engine start. When I woke up this morning, I considered hitching a ride so we could have a chance to talk, but it’s better if I still keep some distance. Rejection always hurts, but having it come from my best friend was the worst.

Emma shuts off her car engine. I look out the window. She’s heading back into her house. Her bedroom window is across from my upstairs bathroom, so I can see her pull her saxophone case from the closet. When I was younger, I used to write notes with markers and hold them to this window for Emma to read with her pink binoculars. I still keep that can of markers on my desk, but I’m sure she sold her binoculars at one of the yard sales the Nelsons are always having.

I rinse and spit, listening to Emma start her engine again. Seconds later, it stops. This time, she slams the car door. I feel bad for Emma, but I can’t help laughing. She’s convinced that what we saw on the computer is her life in fifteen years. As much as I’d like to believe something like that is possible, one of us needs to remain skeptical.

I turn off the faucet and look outside. Now Emma’s trunk is open and she’s tossing her silver sneakers on top of her saxophone case. She slams the trunk, but it pops back open as soon as she walks away.

* * *

I KNOCK ON the passenger window of Emma’s car. “Can I get a ride?”

She reaches across and unlocks the door. I lower my head to climb in, something I didn’t have to do when Emma first got her license. I position my skateboard between my knees and click the seatbelt into the buckle.

Emma puts the car in reverse. “Thanks for coming down.”

“Rough night?”

Emma nods. “I’m not in the mood to face certain people today.”

I wonder if she means Graham. His locker is near mine, so I get to see him pull Emma into a groping session every morning.

It always fills me with so much joy.

“Want to swing by Sunshine Donuts?” I ask.

Emma turns on her blinker. “Absolutely.”

A mile past Wagner Park, Emma pulls up to the orange speaker-box and orders herself coffee with cream and sugar and a cinnamon donut. I ask for a glazed donut and chocolate milk.

“I don’t get it,” Emma says as she pulls forward. We’re still two cars back from the pickup window. “How did this happen to me?”

“Not that I’m buying into the future stuff,” I say, “but I have no idea why anyone would even joke about your future sucking. You’re really smart and—”

“Thanks for bringing that up,” Emma says. “But I wasn’t talking about my future sucking. I was talking about the whole website in general. How is it possible to read about something that hasn’t happened yet?”

The car in front of us pulls up to the window. I reach into my back pocket and offer Emma a few crumpled dollar bills, but she pushes my money away.

“At first I thought it was the CD-ROM,” she says, “but maybe it’s the phone jack that made something happen during the download. Remember that electrician who rewired the house?”

“You think he accidently wired you into the future?” I say, trying not to laugh. “Anyway, that was months ago.”

“But I didn’t have a computer yet. Maybe we should move the computer to your house to see if the website works there.”

No way. We can’t start running back and forth between our houses again.

“But that still wouldn’t explain how it happened,” Emma says. “Or how we can read about things that occur fifteen years from now.”

I point out the window at the cars driving by. “If you want me to play along, here’s a theory. You know how Vice President Gore calls the Internet the ‘Information Superhighway’? Let’s say everyone’s going the same direction on this superhighway. Time travel would be about finding a way to jump to a different spot.”

The car ahead of us pulls away. Emma drives up to the window and then passes her money to the Sunshine woman. “So you think this website jumps us ahead somehow?”

The woman hands our drinks to Emma, who passes them to me. I place her Styrofoam cup of coffee in the drink holder so she can grab the donut bag.

“Honestly, I’m just playing along,” I say. “I still think it’s all a prank.”