Chapter 4

It seems he already knows he's been roped into performing at the talent show. No wonder he's so tense and irritable... But if he's aiming to be a musician someday, what harm could the talent show really do?

The bell rings, signaling the end of the long lunch break. I'd only made it to one class because I arrived in 2006 just before lunch. Not that it really mattered. I'd only joined that class because I saw Jake Lee heading inside. But honestly, I don't feel like going to any more classes. I don't actually belong here—not in this timeline, not in these hallways. So why should I?

I glance over at Jake Lee. His face is still buried in a pile of papers as he scrawls something on each one, only to crumple them up and toss them aside with a frustrated groan. He's surrounded by a mess of his own making, yet he seems determined to keep scribbling and discarding. I can't stand watching him in this state any longer.

Stepping closer, I kneel and pick up one of the scattered pages. He doesn't even look up, too lost in his cycle of writing and crumpling to notice. I smooth out the page, the lines still visible through the wrinkles.

"Longer than tomorrow... farther than eternity?"

I read the line and glance down at him. He's still on the floor, brow furrowed, irritation practically radiating off him. His voice is low and tense as he mutters, "Go away, new girl."

I roll my eyes, ignoring his warning, and uncrumple another paper. "You're there, but for some reason, I can't reach you."

Another line, another glimpse of his mind, and honestly, these lyrics aren't bad. In fact, they're actually really good. So why is he so upset?

"I said go away." he growls through gritted teeth, still avoiding eye contact. I sigh, unwilling to back off. If I leave, he'll just end up more tangled in his own frustration. Holding both papers, I crouch down beside him.

"Use both of these lines in your song." I say, my voice calm but firm.

He stops, his pen freezing mid-scribble. Slowly, he lifts his head, finally meeting my gaze. His hand clenches around the paper, his grip tight, as he stares at me. His breaths come slow and controlled, as though he's fighting to keep himself steady.

"What would you even know?" he asks, his displeasure clear and sharp.

I couldn't care less if my presence annoys him; it's not like I have any reason to. But I'm not about to leave him stewing in frustration when he's clearly struggling. I straighten up, looking down at him with the papers still in my hands. "I'll have you know, I'm a bit of a music-listening enthusiast." I say with a lighthearted grin, hoping to break the tension. He just blinks up at me, deadpan. "Huh?"

I sigh, realizing my humor's probably lost on him. "What I mean is, I listen to all kinds of music... so I know a thing or two about a good lyric."

He stares at me with that same blank expression before looking back down at his papers. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't understand this."

It's obvious he's agitated—and it's not just about writing lyrics. There's something more weighing on him, something beyond the page. I can sense it in his tightly drawn posture and the weariness in his gaze.

I feel a growing irritation myself, partly at his attitude. Exhaling to calm myself, I decide to sit down beside him. He glances at me, eyebrows knit in annoyance. "Hey, what do you—"

"Let me see that paper you're holding." I interrupt, ignoring his silent pleas for me to leave him alone.

"What?" He narrows his eyes, looking between the paper and me. I roll my eyes, reaching for it. "Just give it."

With some reluctance, he hands it over, his grip loosening as he studies me for a second. "Did you...get hit by a car before coming here or something?"

I'm momentarily confused, but then I touch my cheeks and feel the tangled mess of my hair from my earlier shenanigans. Ah. "So what if I did?" I reply, giving a little pout. He stares at me, stunned, and then lets out a soft chuckle, looking away. My heart skips a beat. I hadn't realized how nice his laugh would sound—warm, genuine, and utterly unguarded. It's brief, but it shifts something in me.

Realizing I'm staring too long, I clear my throat and refocus on the paper in my hand. Another beautifully written line catches my eye: "If I let go of your hand... you'll fly away and break."

The lyric tugs at something deep within me, unexpected and raw. His words are filled with longing and vulnerability. It's obvious he has talent, so why is he so anxious about this? I glance at him, noticing our faces are close enough that he seems a little startled. But he holds my gaze, his expression wary yet curious.

"Why do you hate talent shows?" I suddenly ask, my voice soft.

His eyes widen slightly before he looks down at the floor, his face clouded with thought. For a moment, he's silent, as though wrestling with a memory. Then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "How did you know I hate talent shows?"

A strange feeling wells up inside me, the sudden realization catching me off guard. How did I know? Sure, it's not like the girls signing him up without his consent and his clear frustration...or even when I heard him mutter "Fucking talent show" under his breath gave it away or anything. But that doesn't quite explain it.

"I just sort of..." I glance at the scattered papers on the floor, searching for the right words. "Figured."

His expression hardens, his guard snapping back into place as he takes the paper from my hand and stands up. "Thanks... or whatever."

Grabbing his bag and slinging that same familiar red guitar over his shoulder, his face is an impassive mask. He glares down at me with a straight face. "But I've got this handled."

Without another word, he strides off, leaving me on the floor, bewildered and speechless. I watch him go, my thoughts a tangled mess. I've heard of mood swings like this in girls during their periods or pregnancy, but what's his excuse? What's really his deal?

One thing becomes clear: Jake Lee is someone who keeps his distance, a mystery all his own. He doesn't let people in easily, and it makes me wonder... Who would want to hurt him? For someone so guarded, someone who barely lets anyone close, who could hate him enough to be a threat?

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The long day finally comes to an end. I managed to fix my appearance—though I nearly decided to go the rest of the day with tangled hair, dirt-smudged cheeks, and wrinkled clothes. I can hardly believe I only arrived here this afternoon. I'm completely drained.

Yet my mind keeps drifting back to Jake Lee. "What is his deal?" I keep asking myself. Sure, I don't want to judge him too quickly, but it's strange. A guy that popular, with a voice like his, shouldn't seem so distant from everyone. He's clearly got talent; he should let people see it. He really should showcase it more.

I step outside the school doors, the cool wind catching my hair as a realization strikes me. "Where am I gonna sleep?" I mumble. That's right. I hadn't thought of that. I don't belong here, not in this time. As of now, I don't even exist—my parents haven't even met yet. They only got together years from now, on a work trip, or so I was told. Mom had so many versions of that story, it almost felt like a myth. That's one story I kept hearing over and over again.

"Hey, new girl!" a deep voice calls out. I look up to see a group of guys, with one of them—a broad, heavyset guy sporting a greasy smirk—staring right at me. "Wanna come smoke with a couple of older guys?"

One glance tells me everything I need to know: they're the kind who have probably been stuck repeating senior year more times than they can count, and without an ounce of regret. They appear in their 30s and still in high scool. Cigarettes hang lazily from their hands, their faces worn and rough, as though life hit them a little too hard and they just shrugged it off. They look like they've been in this state since birth.

I sigh, clenching my fist and raising it up. "How about you smoke this fist instead?"

They stare, momentarily taken aback, before they all start snickering. The big one lets out a loud, mocking laugh. "Cute." He glances at his friends, pointing at me. "This one's cute."

I lower my fist, feeling my face warm with embarrassment. Right. I don't exactly look intimidating. I guess the students in the early 2000s were a different breed—fearless and unbothered. Over in my time, this would've been enough to make some random street creep back off, mistaking me for a shy, harmless girl... until I proved otherwise. But here? Apparently, not so much.

I shake my head and keep walking. It's like I can only teach the mean schoolgirls a lesson in this timeline, as I did earlier. As for everyone else? They're on their own.

I pass groups of friends scattered around the school grounds, each group a mirror of the next. They all stick together, as if choosing friends is about finding people exactly like them. In the future, friend groups are so much more varied—everyone brings something unique. Here, it's as if each group is just the same person in a different font.

I sigh as I reach a nearby park and sink onto an empty bench, looking up at the sky. "Can I please go back now?" I ask, half-joking, as if someone might actually be listening up there. "I promise I'll behave." The sounds around me blur into a muffled hum—kids laughing, birds chirping, and the distant shouts of a group of boys playing soccer like it's the Olympics. I close my eyes against the bright sunlight, only to feel something knock against my foot.

It's a soccer ball.

"Hey, lady!" Some boy yells from a distance. "Pass the ball!"

"Lady?" I mutter, incredulous. He said it like I'm someone's 50-year-old aunt. Standing up with a huff, I grumble to myself but loud enough for them to hear. "Fine, you want it?"

They all nod confusedly.

I glare at the ball, preparing to give it the biggest kick I've ever managed. But just as my foot connects with it, I spot Jake Lee walking this way, notebook in hand, scribbling away with that same serious expression. My concentration falters, and the ball barely goes anywhere as I hit it with a distracted mind. The ball rolls pathetically across the grass.

The boy nearest me scratches his head, glancing between the ball and me with a confused look. "Uh... I'll just get it myself, then." He mutters, turning back to his teammates.

I look away, feeling a rush of humiliation wash over me. I made a big deal out of that kick, only to have it fall flat. I glance at Jake Lee as he walks by, completely absorbed in his notebook, that same signature guitar slung over his back.

"Hey, Jake!" I call out, waving as if we're old friends. He pauses, glancing up from his writing, irritation flickering across his face. With a shake of his head, he ignores me and resumes his walk. I stand there, hands on my hips, watching him pass. After a moment, I gather my composure, swiftly turning around and call out to his back.

"Hope you wrote a good song for the talent show!"

He stops in his tracks, lowering his pen and clutching his notebook in one hand. Slowly, he turns around, shooting me a glare that could cut glass. Some might find that intimidating, but I don't flinch.

"Do you always feel the need to fill silence?" He asks, his voice low but laced with annoyance. "Or is it just with me?" A small smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, and I can't help but feel confused by this guy. I brush aside his cruel remarks and press on, glancing slightly at his notebook.

"Are you writing your song for the talent show?"

His expression darkens, and he instantly slams his notebook shut. Stepping closer, he looks at me as if I'd just murdered his entire family. Interesting choice of words on my part actually.

"It's just a stupid talent show." He snaps, anger simmering in his voice, layered with something else—frustration, perhaps. "Why should I waste my breath on it?"

He says that, but I can sense he'll be participating. Talking to him is like trying to read a book with the pages torn out; I can't quite figure out what he's thinking or why he acts the way he does.

"Still... don't you love music?" I ask, tilting my head in confusion. "Shouldn't you love performing too?"

He narrows his eyes, irritation flaring. I can see the tension building within him as he takes a few slow, calming breaths. He steps closer, the notebook hanging by his side, his gaze locked onto mine. "You ask a lot of questions." He says, voice low and deliberate. "Curiosity might get you in trouble, you know."

The soccer ball the boys had been playing with earlier rolls right between us on the grass, followed by a sharp whistle as the same boys gather around from a distance. Jake Lee glances at the ball, scoffs, and turns away, walking off without a second look.

What was that? It feels like he was warning me... about speaking to him. But those last words of his didn't seem filled with anger at all; they carried a hint of sadness. Or Maybe I'm just reading too much into things.

The whistling jolts me back to reality as I glance at the boys, eager for their ball. I ignore them and step over it, continuing on my way as i'm still distracted by some thoughts.

I find another empty bench in a nearby park, the area quiet and devoid of people. Sitting down, I notice the sky deepening into shades of gray, signaling the approach of night. A chill settles in, but I realize I have no other choice. Laying back on the bench, I tilt my head to face the sky, trying to drift off to sleep. I never imagined my life would lead to this—sleeping on a bench in the cold air as the sun sets, clad in a schoolgirl uniform that feels so out of place. Yet, here I am.

Suddenly, I sense a dark shadow blocking the fading light. It's strange, considering the sun hasn't completely set yet.

I slowly open my eyes, and my gaze meets a familiar face—my mom. My eyes widen in shock as she stares down at me, her big blonde hair framing her face and brushing against mine.

"What are you doing?" She asks, a mix of curiosity and confusion in her voice.

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