Free Extra Life by Derek Nikitas

temporal modifications in the reboot, but that wasn’t really…”
    “Connie…”
    He cleared his throat and dropped his arms. “ In theory , I mean.”
    “So you don’t believe me?”
    “As a prank, it’s a pretty lame one, even if the story weirdly holds together,” he said. “Obviously this is just the kind of thing I’d want to believe, so there’s that.”
    “I swear to—” I started, but Connie was already past the part where I promised to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It was just in his nature to trust me—because why would your best friend screw with your brain like this, right? The way he drifted off in his mind, eyes fixed on spinning plastic Saturn—I could see him thinking time warps and helicopter blades. I saw how his desperate need to believe was drowning out his careful calculations.
    “Nothing came through with you? Not even your phone?” he asked.
    “Came through what?”
    “The theoretical wormhole.”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t see a hole. I might’ve just dropped my phone.” All that business with the whistling maintenance man and the fence made me forget to look for the phone on the ground. Even if it was there, it was sure as hell broken from the fall.
    Connie scrambled for his own phone, tucked into a side pocket on his backpack. He was so frantic it slipped through his hands like soap. Down on his knees, he huddled over the phone and pressed the speed dial number assigned to me.
    Calling Russ on the display.
    “What’s that going to do?” I asked.
    Connie shushed me, then tapped a button. The audio switched to speaker, amping the ringtone loud enough to make us both grit our teeth. We both stared at the Nokia like it was a ticking bomb neither of us knew how to defuse.
    It didn’t go straight to voicemail.
    “Hello?” The voice was groggy, disgruntled— you just woke me up .
    At the sound of it, Connie recoiled, hands over his mouth.
    “Hello? Connie? What do you want?” the voice on the phone said.
    It was my dad’s voice, slightly distorted by bad speakers, but Dad for sure.
    I mouthed to Connie so Dad couldn’t hear me: “ just my dad—so what?”
    But Connie gave a slow motion headshake. Uh-uh. Not your dad.
    “ It’s you ,” Connie whispered.

“W HAT DO you mean it’s me ?” the phone voice asked. “Why are you calling so early?”
    Connie stuttered, but I didn’t butt in. It wasn’t like I could take control of the conversation for him. I rolled my hands, signaling him to improvise. He shook his head. I clenched my jaw and glared insistently.
    “Um—uh—hey, uh, Russ,” Connie finally said to the phone. “I’m just, you know, making sure you set your alarm. We don’t want to be late for school.”
    “Yeah, sure. Thanks for the wakeup call.” My patented sarcasm sounded way more bitter when I listened to it from outside my head.
    “Oh—uh—okay,” Connie said, but the call was already dropped.
    We sat on the floor in silence. A fuzzy whiteness was spreading across my mind, like what happens just before you pass out. I kept touching my face to be sure it was still there. All I could think about was the out-of-body dislocation you feel when you stand between two almost-facing mirrors so your reflections curve forever around the double bends.
    But this was a whole other level of mind-warp. Knowing I existed in two places at once, just a little more than a mile apart. I was in Connie’s room, but also half-awake in my own bed, where I was freshly inventing new thoughts that I had already forgot eleven hours ago.
    Except I wasn’t really that other person at all. I had no access to his mind. His thoughts were already branching off in new directions because I bumped him off the track that I took. I was hit with the panic of being locked inside my own shell. My involuntary reflexes, like breathing, were fighting against me. I had no way to feel this situation right, except that it was the most natural thing in