The school bell rang, releasing a flood of students from their classrooms. Like a swarm of ants, they filled the canteen, their voices blending into a chaotic hum.
"How about 6 to 8?" Caleb suggested, his fork pausing mid-air as he looked across the table at Stuart.
Stuart blinked, exhaustion written all over his face. He poked his food half-heartedly, struggling to find even a flicker of appetite while Caleb sat there, calm and resolute.
"It's not much," Caleb continued, "but it gives you enough time to study, ask questions, and still sleep at a decent hour."
Stuart frowned, rolling the idea around in his mind. "How about till 10?" he countered, forcing himself to sound more engaged than he felt.
Caleb shook his head. "Why don't you just help your mom? That way, you won't have to get another job. You'd save on gas and time, and after you're done, you can rest properly."
Stuart managed a weak smile, trying to mask his weariness. "Nah, I'm no good at cooking or folding. I'd just make a mess."
"Unlike you, I don't charge my mother for everything I do," Stuart added with a teasing smirk, his tone light but pointed.
Caleb rolled his eyes, clearly used to Stuart's attempts at humor.
It had been a week since Caleb started helping out at the shop. So far, Stuart hadn't seen him smoking or drinking—not once. That was progress, at least. He glanced at Caleb, his thoughts a quiet mix of relief and determination.
"Caleb!"
Austin's voice broke through the cafeteria noise, cutting the tension like a knife. He strode over with a wide grin, clutching a paper in his hand.
"I got it!" Austin beamed as he plopped into the seat beside Caleb. "Arguing about the formula really helped." He chuckled, the sound annoyingly bright to Stuart's ears.
"Did you get Mr. Lautner? Same or different paper?" Austin asked, turning to Stuart.
Stuart shrugged without looking up, his fork stabbing absently at his food.
Of course you'd get it, Stuart thought bitterly, glancing at Austin. You're the top of the class between us. Why are you even surprised?
Austin's laugh carried on as he and Caleb fell into an easy exchange, their chemistry grating on Stuart more with each second. That smile—that chummy smile—Stuart's gaze burned into Austin. Why did I have to come back to this moment? Why couldn't I have skipped high school... maybe even college?
Then Austin's eyes drifted—too deliberately—toward the corner of Caleb's lips. Stuart froze, his chest tightening. What the hell is he thinking?
And then it happened. Austin licked his lips.
Stuart's chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I'll see you later," he muttered, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through their laughter.
Austin barely looked at him, already turning back to Caleb as Stuart stormed off.
Stuart made his way down the hallway, his footsteps echoing faintly against the tiled floor. Then, out of nowhere, a piercing ring filled his head, loud and disorienting. He stumbled, the world around him blurring like a smudged painting.
His knees buckled, and he fell, catching himself against the wall. Images flooded his mind, sharp and vivid, like fragments of a broken mirror pieced together too quickly.
Caleb stood in a kitchen, cooking. His mother loomed behind him, her voice sharp and cutting, her words too fast to process but clearly filled with anger. Caleb's hands trembled as he worked, lowering something into hot oil.
The explosion came without warning. Oil sprayed up in a fiery burst, catching Caleb's face. He staggered back, clutching at his skin, his expression twisting in pain. The scene shifted to a crowd of familiar faces at school—students whispering, laughing, avoiding him as though he carried some invisible mark of shame.
And just as suddenly as it came, the vision ended.
Stuart gasped, gripping the wall for support as his senses returned. His heart raced, and sweat slicked his palms. He swallowed hard, the hallway slowly coming back into focus.
What was that? he thought, his chest tightening with unease. Whatever it was, it didn't feel random—it felt like a warning.
The final bell rang, and students spilled out of their classrooms, a chattering tide that filled the hallway with noise and motion. Stuart moved against the current, weaving through the crowd with purpose. His eyes scanned the throng until they landed on Caleb, standing by a teacher's desk.
"Hey, are you heading home?" Stuart asked, his voice tight with urgency as he approached.
Caleb looked up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Actually, no. Austin asked me to help him study for a bit," he said casually. "Then I'll head to your mom's place for work."
"Okay… great." Stuart nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "So, I don't need to pick you up later? Just drop you home for the evening, right?"
"Right." Caleb smiled faintly and gave a small nod.
Stuart mirrored the nod, his thoughts racing. Will this change it? he wondered. His grip tightened around the strap of his bag as he watched Caleb walk away. Did I make the right move, or is this still leading to disaster?
Night fell, and the warehouse doors groaned shut behind him, their metallic shriek lingering in the still air.
On the road, Stuart rode his bike slowly through the quiet neighborhood in front of the school. Streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement as he veered toward the curb and dismounted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing quickly.
"Caleb," he said as soon as the call connected.
"Stuart… umm…" Caleb's voice sounded hesitant, almost guilty, on the other end.
"Do you need anything?" Stuart asked, his voice low but urgent.
There was a pause. "Aloe vera… and some cooling cream," Caleb finally said.
Stuart froze, his grip tightening on the phone. Did it happen? Now, in a different place?
"Okay," he murmured, mounting his bike again. "I'll get it."
The wind rushed past him as he sped down the empty street, the chill stinging his face. His mind raced faster than the wheels beneath him. Did it follow anyway? No matter what I changed?
Stuart's bike rolled to a slow stop at his porch. Without bothering to turn off the engine, he dismounted and knocked on the door.
Caleb opened it almost immediately. Relief flooded Stuart as he scanned him. He was okay. "My mom—" Stuart started, peering past Caleb into the house. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine," Caleb said, holding the door open. "It's for my mom. One of the dumplings exploded, so… yeah." He gestured to the bag in Stuart's hand.
Stuart handed it over, guilt tightening his chest. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," Caleb replied, his brow furrowing. "Why would it be?"
Stuart pressed his lips together into a thin line. If only you knew.
He turned back to his bike, shutting off the engine before heading inside.
As the minutes passed, Stuart's eyes darted between the open book in front of him and Caleb across the table, his pen scratching against the page.
Finally, Stuart stood. "If you need to go back, just go. We can finish this later."
"It's nothing," Caleb said, not looking up.
Stuart hesitated, trying to shake the tension. "Hey… you read and write, right?"
"Yeah," Caleb replied, glancing up.
"Do you read sci-fi?"
"Nah, it's too long to make sense," Caleb said, shrugging.
"Fantasy?"
"Yeah. Why?" Caleb tilted his head. "You thinking of writing one?"
Stuart blinked nervously. "Uh, yeah." Sorry for lying.
Caleb's face lit up. "What's it about?" He leaned forward eagerly, like a curious puppy.
"I'm still working on it," Stuart said, forcing a casual tone. "I'm trying to figure out time travel."
"Oh, like Harry Potter's Time-Turner," Caleb said, grabbing a blank sheet of paper. As he spoke, he scribbled a detailed mind map, explaining its mechanics with unexpected precision.
"So… the things that happened should happen?" Stuart asked, trying to follow.
"Exactly," Caleb said, nodding.
That's not the case here, Stuart thought.
"What if it's a different concept?" Stuart asked, his voice steady. "Are there other ways it could work?"
Caleb's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You really want to stand out, huh? Is this for a competition?"
Stuart gave him a thin smile, his eyes pleading silently.
"Ah, fine," Caleb groaned, flipping to a fresh page. "Okay, so… for any kind of time travel, you need rules and logic. Think of it like crocheting or sewing," he began, sketching as he spoke.
"You start with an initial design and a goal," Caleb explained, his pen gliding across the page. "The exact knit gets you the exact outcome. But a different stitch? That might give you a variation—or something entirely new."
"So it's like goals and destiny," he added. "If you want to be a chef, there's a specific path. Miss a step, and you could end up somewhere else entirely—or fail altogether."
Stuart's mind clicked. "So… by the end of the day, it depends on who sets the path?"
"Exactly," Caleb said, grinning.
Stuart stared at the intricate sketches on the paper, the realization sinking in. But something still gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that Caleb's explanation wasn't the full picture—not for what he was dealing with.
As Caleb smiled at him, oblivious to the storm brewing in Stuart's mind, Stuart knew he'd have to figure out the missing piece on his own.