**First Place in the @TeenFiction Another Year contest!!**Maddie Spence had big plans her final year of high school--this was to be the year that she conquered her fears and learned to be comfortable in her own skin. But when COVID-19 takes the worl...
This is the longest, craziest dream I've ever had. And by lunch, I'm questioning if it is a dream at all, or did I just transport into a parallel universe?
I move through the line in the cafeteria—chicken nuggets and smiley face fries, just like every other first day of school at Hillwood. Giving the lunch lady a warm smile, I accept the tray she hands me. I turn to get a tiny carton of milk from the cooler and jump when I bump into a person.
"Oops, I'm sorry," I start, and my heart sinks when my eyes meet a pair of mahogany irises.
My ex-best friend, Sierra Zhang.
"Hey."
"Hi."
Everything we say to each other is weighted with unease. The laughs and late-night talks we shared no longer hold any meaning. They are distant memories laced with bitterness.
I step around Sierra, pay for my lunch, and find the booth in the back corner where Matthew and I have sat every day since freshman year. And just as I knew he would, he came in five minutes late.
He slides into the booth across from me. "Sorry Maddie, I had to—"
"Help Mr. Fredericks move the risers in the choir room," I finish, and his eyebrow dips.
"How did you know that?" he asks, leaning forward on his elbows.
I chew the inside of my cheeks. Oops. I guess I'm not supposed to know that Matthew has helped Mr. Fredericks move the risers after chorus class every day this year. "Oh, I—I didn't. I was just guessing; you're always so helpful," I say, shoving a chicken nugget into my mouth.
"I call bull—" he begins when an onslaught of laughter comes from the other side of the room.
My gaze lands on the figure at the end of the table across from ours. Dalton Gray has sat in the same spot for four years with the same eclectic group of friends. Although I've not said two words to him, I know he is a creature of habit. He always wears plain t-shirts, always brushes his dark-brown hair to the right with his fingers, and is always donning a clean pair of Vans.
"Earth to Maddie."
"What did you say?" I ask, returning my attention to Matthew.
He leans back in his seat and shakes his head. "If you want to date him, you are going to have to talk to him."
The sound that escapes me is like the sound a chihuahua makes when you accidentally step on it. I clasp my hands over my mouth and scan the room, making sure no one heard me. I lean over the table and say, "Like Dalton would ever consider going on a date with me."
"You never know if you don't try."
"Your shirt is doing a disservice to you right now."
Matthew matches my posture, shrinking the distance between us. "Or maybe I'm so smart that a mere mortal such as yourself is incapable of comprehending my intelligence."
"That may be," I say while laughing. When I sober, I spare Dalton another glance and ask Matthew, "If you had the chance to do something over again, do you think you would do everything different, or would you play it safe?"
"It depends; did I like the results of playing it safe?"
I release a long sigh and dip a fry in the ketchup on the side of my plate. "No, no, you didn't."
The drive home from school is dangerous. My mind finds it difficult to concentrate on the road, wanting to dissect everything that happened today. It all unfolded just as I remembered—Ms. Jacques dropping the red dry-erase marker on her blouse during history, the combination for my locker being wrong—this time, I remembered the correct number—and the round of applause I received during band when I was promoted to first-chair flute. It was bizarre reliving these moments, but one thing is clear—this is not a dream.
The minute I step inside my house, I race up the stairs to my bedroom. I toss my backpack onto my bed and rummage through my garbage can. When I find the balled-up list, I fall to my butt and straighten out the paper. I stare at the words I wrote, reading them over and over as I blindly reach for a pen on my desktop. With a trembling hand, I place a check next to the first item on the list.
It was hard, but I accepted Matthew's compliment even though I disagreed. And when our band director announced me as first-chair, I didn't whisper to Sydney that I didn't understand why they chose me. I knew—I'm a fantastic flutist. It was easier than I thought it would be, and no one looked at me like I had grown two heads when I did it.
I'm not sure how long I will be stuck in the past, but while I'm here, I plan on doing things differently. This time, there will be no regrets.
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