tracks.
"We had a meeting today. No practice. We never have a workout the day before a meet, just in case someone twists an ankle or something. My coach is very superstitious."
Shelly glanced quickly at her new friend before returning her attention to the road and proceeding through the intersection.
"You should watch our meet tomorrow. We could use the support. The only people who watch gymnasts are parents without jobs and boys without girlfriends. It would be nice to see someone else in the bleachers."
"I'll be there," Michelle said.
The secretary frowned slightly as she watched Shelly turn east onto Eighth Avenue and then reach across the dash to untangle the pink fuzzy dice hanging from her rear-view mirror. She thought again about her course on this strange, new journey and the impact she had already had on several young lives. Michelle loved helping people. She could not think of a better way to spend her abundant free time. But she wondered whether she had the right to interfere, even subtly and positively, in the lives of people she was never supposed to meet, or at least meet as a middle-aged time traveler from a galaxy not so far, far away.
Michelle looked out her window and laughed to herself as she watched houses and businesses go by in a blur. She must have made this run, from the school to the Benson apartments, a thousand times in the very same car. But for some reason, none of those trips were memorable. She was a driven young woman then, a girl with a plan, a teen who zipped around town with a witty peer and not a 49-year-old woman who looked a lot like her difficult mother.
Where was this going?
Shelly gave her a short-term answer when she drove into the apartment complex parking lot. She pulled into the only available space and turned off the ignition.
"I guess this is where I drop you off," she said.
"I guess so."
Michelle looked at Shelly wistfully as she unbuckled her seat belt and put a hand on her door. The car ride to the apartment had been far too brief.
Shelly returned the gaze. She lifted her hand off the stick, wiggled an extended index finger, and opened her mouth slightly, as if prepared to say something. But she dropped her hand and closed her mouth when her passenger unlatched the door.
Michelle pushed the door open and put a foot on the pavement. She started to swing her other leg out the door when Shelly grabbed her forearm.
"Miss Jennings," she said, in a measured, timid voice. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
Michelle returned to her seat and looked at the girl.
"No. Not at all."
"Have you made friends here? One of my teammates, Sally Ewing, said you just moved from Seattle and that you lost your husband and didn't know anyone. Not a soul."
"She said that?"
"She did. She thinks you're really cool for helping her with her homework the other day. Most teachers and parents wouldn't have done that and you didn't even know her."
"I like helping people, Shelly, particularly teenagers. I know how difficult school can be for kids your age," Michelle said. She smiled warmly and cocked her head. "I was young once too."
Shelly brightened.
"As for friends, I've made a few. I'd like to think of you as one. But, no, I haven't done much socializing or met a lot people since I moved to town."
Michelle stepped out of the car, shut the door, and popped her head in the open window.
"Thanks for the ride. I'll see you at school tomorrow."
"Michelle?"
Michelle returned to the window.
"Yes, Shelly."
"Would you like to meet my friends?"
CHAPTER 16: MICHELLE
Thursday, September 27, 1979
There was nothing small about Big Bill's Drive-In. The burgers were big, the chicken baskets were big, and the famous root beer floats were big. Even Big Bill was big. A colorful statue of a farmer in overalls the size of the Lincoln Memorial greeted drivers and pedestrians who frequented the fast food restaurant on the corner of Eighth and Jackson.
The bills at Big Bill's,