The view is of the fields across the school, leading to the woods and the quarry. I shudder at the vision, and she senses this. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.” A few minutes ago I was focused on Chaz and Ernie, and it was like nothing terrible had ever happened. Now I’m shaking a little. “I know it’s only been a day, and yet … I don’t think it’ll ever go away—that feeling.”

“No, probably not. But it won’t be the same. It’ll become a wound you’re used to carrying.”

She says this knowingly. I have to admit because she’s my teacher and everyone loves her, I’ve never stopped for even two seconds to think about what she might carry. What it is like to move through the world—in any year—as the woman she is, knowing the dangers that she may face. Her dangers are greater than mine, I know, and more constant, but we share the walk.

“I think …” she begins, clears her throat, and starts again. “I think you may have to get used to being here. I don’t know how to get you home.”

I’m crying because I know she’s right. I was focused on my ’80s school life all week—watching out for Chaz and Leeza—but now both things have taken care of themselves, and I don’t even have that. Unless I dedicate my life to figuring out how time slips work or invent a time machine (which so isn’t happening because, sis, I am not fix-y), my own life, my real life, is lost to me.

“What am I going to do?” I know I sound pitiful. Why not? I feel pitiful.

She turns to me, dark eyes serious. “Light the way for others. Be your true self—that’s what will make the future possible for kids like you. You’ve already changed things for Chaz and Ernie. Imagine how much more you can do.”

Okay, but what about me? How do I make peace with a world that seems less than the one I gave up? What about my future? Like, literally, what do I do tomorrow? How do I graduate from high school? How will I go to college?

But I don’t say any of that. I hear what she’s trying to tell me. The big picture is that, whatever else I do, I need to make the road more walkable for everyone. I need to make it safer for kids like me by being me, right here and right now.

A doorbell chimes. I laugh at the look on her face because I remember how much she hated that bell. (Oof. I’m already thinking of my future in the past tense!)