The school day comes to a close without more fanfare. By the time I put my flute back in its case after band class and arrive at my car, I see the top of Nico’s dark, curly head towering over the roof of Sarah’s Land Cruiser. As I round it, I take in his tall, lean body propped casually against my mom’s gold Volvo. When his eyes connect with mine, his face lights up in an easy smile. My heart does this weird little flutter that’s completely foreign to me.

What is that? I’m too young to be having heart problems. Maybe I need to cut out the lunchtime chili-cheese fries. Shaking my head slightly, I smile back at Nico and circle around to the driver’s side to slide into my seat.

The ride home is quiet, and we’re pulling into my driveway before I realize I didn’t even think to turn the radio on. Nico grabs his bag and heads toward his house next door, shooting a quick wave at me behind his head.

When I enter the house, I realize Mom is already home. “Short day today?”

“Hi, pumpkin. Yeah, I’m taking the next two weeks off with you and the twins, so I thought I’d cut out early. How was your day?”

“It was okay, I guess,” I reply. “Simone’s got a bee in her bonnet about something or other.” I roll my eyes and shoot my mom a ‘you know what I mean’ look.

My mom shakes her head and sighs. “You know, I never really liked the way she treated you, even when you were so-called friends. Though, I know she’s had a hard life, so part of me wants to cut her some slack. But if she keeps giving you a hard time, she’s gonna have me to deal with.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know. And Ms. Coleman is still riding my butt like it’s her job.”

“Want me to go down there and beat her up?”

I laugh, taking it as the joke my mom intends it to be. “What’s that gonna do but show that my whole family is crazy?”

Mom laughs along with me. “I don’t know, but she just better leave my baby alone.”

“Alright, Mama Bear. Save all that for the twins. How was your day at work?”

Mom rolls her eyes better than any teenager I know. “You know those people drive me crazy. I had to tell my boss off again.”

“Only you can tell your boss off on a weekly basis and still keep your job,” I say affectionately.

She purses her lips. “It’s not like they have much of a choice. They owe me for flying all over the world this year, uploading that Y2K patch to all the government computers.”

“Who are you always telling off anyway? Weren’t you just promoted to like a general, an SE something or other?”

“SES. Yes, I’m the civilian equivalent of a general, but I report to another SES. We were in reserves together years ago, and now he thinks he can just tell me what to do all the time.”

“Isn’t that what being your supervisor means?” I ask. “That he can tell you what to do?”

Mom scoffs. “I just don’t like his tone.”

I turn away to laugh quietly, hoping I didn’t inherit that particular crazy gene.

Mom holds out her hand for the car keys I’m still clutching. “I’m going to go pick up your brother and sister from school and take them to the park to run off some of the energy they seem to always have. We should be back in a couple of hours.”

I hand my mom the keys and turn to go upstairs to my room. “See you later,” I toss over my shoulder.

Once upstairs, I make a beeline to my TV and press rewind on my VCR so I can watch the tape of the latest recorded episode of Passions. I spend the next hour catching up on the goings-on in Harmony, and rooting for Ethan to leave Gwen to be with Theresa.

My private phone line rings a few minutes later. I don’t recognize the number on the caller ID, but I answer it anyway. “Hello?”

“Indi? Is that you?”

“Yeah…?” I say uncertainly. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Vic Roberts. Remember me? I went to school with you a couple of years ago.”

I smile. “Of course I remember you. Why on Earth do you think I’d forget the first guy to ever ask me to a prom?”

Why is my heart suddenly racing?

“Yeah, you turned me down for that prom. It couldn’t have been that memorable.”

I absently pick at a loose thread on my sweater. “You know why I turned you down, I told you at the time. I have a good friend who had a huge crush on you, and she never would’ve forgiven me if I went to prom with you.”

I hear him shuffling. “Yeah, I understood, even admired you for it. Doesn’t mean I had to like it.”

“Who did you end up going with anyway?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Stacy Turner. We had an okay time.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to feel sorry for you having gone with the prom queen?“ I let laughter seep into my voice so he knows I’m messing with him. “Wait a minute, how did you get my number?”

“I won’t reveal my source. Or say that my source is named Renee, and that she encouraged me to call you.”

I love Renee, but damn is she always meddling. She thinks just because she’s been with Rob for over two years, everyone else needs to find the ‘right’ person. She constantly tells me I can’t keep jumping from guy to guy for the rest of my life. Who said anything about the rest of my life? There are a lot of hot guys. Who am I not to try them all? I’ll settle down eventually.

“I’m gonna kill her,” I say, equal parts meaning that and not. “But now that you have me on the phone, what can I do for you?”

“I’m hoping you’ll come to the New Year’s Eve party my frat is throwing.”

“Fraternity?” I hear the surprised tone in my own voice. “I heard you joined the army.”

“Not exactly,” he corrects. “I went to VMI for a year before deciding it wasn’t for me. I just transferred to Georgetown this year, and immediately knew I had to pledge Alpha Phi Alpha. I was just initiated last week.”

“That’s great, Vic. I’m happy for you. But unfortunately, I’m gonna have to turn you down. We already have plans to have a low-key New Year. Just us and the neighbors, who are practically family. But please keep me in mind for things in the future. I’d love to come to something else.”

Vic sighs. “Crushed by Indi again. I don’t know how much more of this heartbreak I can take.”

“Oh, stop it,” I admonish. “I’ll come to the next one. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Have a happy new year, Indi.”

“You too, Vic.” I hang up the phone and sigh happily.

I often wonder what would’ve happened if I’d gone to prom with him, how my entire high school career might have changed. Would that have made me popular? Would Vic and I have been able to maintain a relationship after that, even though he graduated less than a month later?

Did he even want a relationship? Why did he even ask me in the first place? We barely knew each other, I was only a freshman. I’ll have to ask him one day.

I tune in to TRL just in time to hear Carson Daly announcing the premiere of a new Britney Spears video.

Oh my gosh, I wonder if Faith is watching this. ‘From the Bottom of My Broken Heart’, also known as the song Faith blasts on repeat anytime she and her on again/off again boyfriend are ‘off’. At least she’s moved on from that crush she had on Vic.

* * *

I wake up feeling groggy with a wet cotton ball feeling in my head. Afternoon sunlight streams through my window, casting shadows the shape of the old oak tree out front across my ceiling and walls. I turn to look at the clock on my bedside table. 12:17 p.m.

Come Monday, I’m really going to be kicking myself for sleeping until noon for two weeks straight.

A weird fuzziness at the edge of my mind makes me strain to latch onto a memory. I have the sensation of waking up overnight with a brief rush of vertigo. I grab ahold of that sensation, mentally follow the thread, and see in my mind’s eye the blurry red numbers on my bedside clock reading exactly 5:00.

What was that?

A small, but distinctly eerie feeling, like a hum in the air and the faint sound of static in my ears, accompanies the ever-sharpening memory. There was also a quick flash of something, like my room disappeared for a split second and I was standing somewhere else, somewhere unfamiliar.

I tilt my head to one side, thinking harder about it. I’m gonna pop a blood vessel if I keep this up. Besides, it was probably just a dream. Did I even wake up at all?

Probably not.

Although it’s doomsday in parts of the world, it looks like Earth is still spinning. What did Mr. Morales say? ‘If the world’s going to end, we’ll know by breakfast time’?

It’s well after breakfast time and the world appears to still be intact. Okay, you can all take off your tinfoil hats and crawl out of your bomb shelters now.

Several hours later, Nico and I are hanging out in my basement, watching the 60-inch rear projection TV my mom got me for my birthday. The TV hums in the background, and for some reason the air feels heavier than it did a minute ago. I shift on the couch, pretending to focus on the screen.

Suddenly, Nico turns to me, looking far more intense than I’ve ever seen him. “Indi, I have something I need to tell you.”

I frown, turning to him. I wonder why he’s being so weird all of a sudden. He hesitates on his next words, staring deeply into my eyes for so long I start to squirm with discomfort.

I let out a nervous laugh. “Are you going to tell me this year? You only have about five more hours before it’s over. Oh gosh, you’re not going to tell me you’re dying, are you? Or that you’re flunking out of school?”

I realize I’m babbling and snap my mouth shut. After a small eternity, Nico finally opens his mouth to continue, but gets interrupted by loud, clamoring sounds that could only be caused by a herd of buffalo. The sounds precede the twins and Nico’s little sister down the stairs, with Kai making a beeline for the TV.

He changes it to channel 3 and rewinds a tape in the VCR.

“Hold on there, Little Bit,” I say. “We were watching that. London is about to go into the new year.”

Nico’s sister runs over to me and jumps into my lap, her dark hair pulled back into two French braids ending in pigtails. “Hi, Indi!”

“Hi, Isabella! Don’t you look pretty today?”

Naia bounces on the couch between Nico and me. “What about me? Do I look pretty?”

“Of course, Naia bear,” I say emphatically. “You always look pretty.”

I kiss the top of Naia’s head and smooth back a few errant strands from Isabella’s head.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Nico says to the girls. I didn’t even realize they basically ignored him when they walked in.

Naia crawls into Nico’s lap and pats his cheek softly like she’s petting a dog. “You’re still my favorite, Rico.”

“You can say ‘Nico’ now,” I say to Naia. “Why do you still call him ‘Rico’?”

Naia just shrugs, sliding back to her previous spot on the couch and turning around to watch the TV.

Kai stands up in front of it and starts imitating the wrestling moves he sees. “Stone Cold Steve Austin. He’s the best! Austin 3:16 says I just whipped your ass!”

My head whips toward him. “Kai!”

“Ooh, Kai said a bad word,” Naia so helpfully supplies while bouncing on the couch.

Kai turns his huge light-brown eyes on me guiltily. “Sorry, Indi.”

I cut a stern look at him for about five seconds before faltering. He’s so adorable, it’s hard to stay mad at him. Seeming to know he’s won this round, Kai turns back to the TV.

I look to Nico for some support, but he just shrugs. “That is what Austin 3:16 says.”

“You’re no help. He was copying John 3:16 with that, right? What does John 3:16 say anyway?”

“‘For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten son’,” Nico recites. “‘That whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.’”

I can do nothing but stare at Nico for several seconds.

“What?” he says. “My family’s Latino. You had to know we’re Catholic.”

“I’ve never seen you go to church a day in your life.”

“I never said we were practicing Catholics.” He smirks and turns back to the TV. “Wait until Kai finds out Stone Cold isn’t wrestling in this match.”

I look at Nico inquisitively. “What do you mean? How could you possibly know that?”

“This is old, it came on last night.”

I turn back to the TV, my eyes narrowing and the wheels starting to turn. “Shit!”

“Ooh, you said a bad word,” Naia says.

I jump off the couch and race to the VCR. “Kai, what did you do?”

He turns to me, eyes wide and innocent. “I just taped the match. Mom wouldn’t let me stay up to watch the whole thing.”

I eject the tape, and my heart sinks when I see what’s written on it: Indi’s Dance Recital, May 5, 1993.

“Kai,” I whine. “You taped over my dance recital. The one where I won the Onstage Personality Award.”

Kai turns to me, his bottom lip poking out, tears gathering in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Indi. I didn’t mean to.”

A rogue tear spills over his eyelid and travels down his face causing a wave of guilt to slam into me. Tossing the VHS tape to the side, I kneel down to Kai and gather him in my arms, hugging him tight.

“It’s okay, honey, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s not your fault, I should have put the tape away after I watched it yesterday. Shh, it’s not your fault.”

Maybe someone else has the tape I can borrow to copy. But we lived in Germany then, I don’t even know how to get in contact with any of those people anymore. I’ll ask Mom. Maybe she kept in touch with someone from Wiesbaden.

Kai finally calms down, and I pull back to see Naia hugging Kai from his other side. She’s always been so caring and nurturing toward her twin. Not so much for anyone else.

I look Kai in his sweet, tear-streaked face. “Do you want me to put your tape back in?”

He shakes his head and my heart sinks. He must be really upset.

I turn the TV back to New Year’s Around the World and sit back down on the couch with Kai on my lap. Nico reaches over and rubs him on the back, mouthing, ‘We’ll figure it out’ to me.

His smooth confidence makes me finally calm down and I shoot him a small smile and nod. Eventually Kai seems better and he, Naia, and Isabella move to the other side of the room to play with Legos.

A couple of hours later, Nico and I decide it’s time to go upstairs to do the New Year’s countdown with our parents. Isabella and the twins are asleep on the floor, it’s way past their bedtime, but we promised them we’d wake them up at midnight.

Isabella wakes easily, as does Kai, but Naia grumbles and goes back to sleep twice, so Nico just carries her up the stairs.

The parents have clearly been drinking for several hours. My mom and Nico’s mom are laughing way too loudly at something only they understand, and Nico’s dad and Mom’s boyfriend are shouting over yesterday’s Knicks-Wizards game. I can usually tell when they’re joke-yelling or arguing for real, but this time I can’t.

I give Nico a look and he immediately knows what I want him to do. Placing two fingers between his lips, he lets out a loud whistle, causing most of the parents and kids to startle. But thankfully, it serves the purpose of shutting everyone up. The sudden difference in volume makes my ears ring.

When my hearing evens out, I realize the stereo is playing music at a low volume, low enough that it was completely drowned out by the noise our parents were making. A Michael Jackson song I don’t recognize is on, which is weird because I didn’t think such a thing existed.

“It’s almost time for the countdown,” I say to everyone.

Looking at the clock in Times Square on the TV screen, it reads 11:53.

“Nicolai,” Nico’s mom admonishes. “Was all that noise necessary?”

“That was my fault, Mrs. Marquez,” I confess. “I asked him to do it.”

She tsks and takes a large gulp from her champagne glass.

The song on the stereo quietly switches over to ‘Earth Song’.

Mom walks over and hands both Nico and me champagne glasses that are about a third full. I look from the offered glass at her and back again.

“You’re going to let us have champagne?” I ask.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Just a little bit. It’s a special occasion.”

She must really be drunk if she’s letting us have more than a sip of alcohol. Teetering over to the table, she grabs a couple of hard plastic cups, filling them with sparkling grape juice for the kids. When we all have our drinks, we turn to the screen to start the countdown with the thousands of revelers in New York City.

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Happy New Year!”

‘Auld Lang Syne’ plays on the TV and I turn to Nico, softly kissing him on the cheek.

I pull back, catching a faint look of surprise in his eyes, when the room suddenly fades around me.

I’m no longer looking at my family and closest family friends, or the cream-colored walls, cozy overstuffed furniture, and dark-green long-piled carpet of my family room.

* * *

I find myself in an expansive, open-air arena around dusk. Tens of thousands of people are packed in tightly while chants and excited screams echo off the steel beams of the stadium. Some audience members hold homemade signs above their heads. Others wear single sequined gloves or fedora hats. I can feel the energy vibrating through my entire body.

A huge steel-trussed stage dominates the open area topped by enormous video screens and lighting towers that protrude into the air. Searchlights from the stage slice the dark, briefly illuminating faces of people who are either screaming, crying, or both. As I watch, several spectators pass out from sheer excitement, and the rest of the crowd pass their limp bodies over their heads to security like it’s a normal occurrence.

Focusing on the stage itself, I see a very familiar figure: Michael Jackson in black pants, an open black shirt flapping in the breeze, and a ripped white T-shirt, his trademark style. His hair is pulled back in a very familiar ponytail, with a few curly tendrils framing his face.

Beside him is another very familiar face. Slash accompanies him on the guitar, also head-to-toe in black, his trademark black top hat perched on his head.

The sounds around me suddenly get louder, like someone turned the volume up from ‘mute’. The roar of the crowd is barely perceptible over the sound of the speakers blaring the live rendition of ‘Earth Song’.

That’s the song that was playing on the stereo as we went into the new year. Why am I seeing this? Am I daydreaming?

Suddenly, Michael runs to the side of the stage and up a flight of stairs to a bridge suspended over the front part of the crowd, maybe 40 or 50 feet in the air. When Michael reaches the center of the bridge, it lights up in pyrotechnics, one after the other, like small fireworks bursting their way across the front of the bridge. For a few seconds, the smoke gets so thick the view to Michael is completely obscured, his voice still clearly audible from the spot he was last standing in.

That settles it, this has to be a dream. There’s no way Michael Jackson would still be standing that close to pyro features after the Pepsi commercial incident a few years ago.

The pieces of the bridge separate, the sides pulling apart like drawbridges, and the middle rises even higher in the air with Michael standing on it, still belting the lyrics to the song.

The middle section reaches a height equal to the overhead lights, before suddenly reversing course. The bridge crashes to the concrete floor in front of the stage, slowly at first but gaining more and more speed as it goes, a small fire igniting directly next to Michael. He grips the handles of the railing so hard, I can see the visible strain to hold on. The bridge lands on the floor in front of the stage, and Michael is no longer visible.

Was that supposed to happen?

It almost seemed like a controlled fall, but I’m sure no one meant to set a fire right beside Michael. A mixture of confusion and deep concern takes over me. I mean, he sounds alright. He’s still singing, for goodness sake, didn’t even stutter.

A couple of security guards rush over to the bridge, which is my first major clue that this absolutely was not supposed to happen. Michael steps off of the bridge, walks over to the stage, and smoothly hauls himself back onto it, unflappable and never missing a single singing note.

As he finishes the song, the crowd cheers and whistles, no one noticing that Michael may have been gravely injured.

Well, is he okay?

The scene changes around me and I’m suddenly standing backstage, looking toward the performance area. A pretty blonde woman rushes up to Michael as he exits the stage, brushing past the spot I’m standing in.

“Sit down, Michael,” she says.

“No!” he shouts at her, looking a little disoriented.

“Security!” she shouts, grabbing the first guy she sees and begging him to get Michael to a hospital.

“No!” Michael says again, louder this time.

He grabs a microphone from a stagehand and rushes back out to perform. The blonde woman tries to run after him, but she’s held back by a security guard.

“You can’t go out there, Karen,” the security guard says. “You’re going to ruin the performance.”

Michael goes on to perform a moving rendition of ‘You Are Not Alone’. He takes his bow in front of an adoring crowd and walks off stage, looking for all the world completely unfazed. My gaze follows him as he walks deeper into the behind-the-scenes chaos. Harsh fluorescent lights shine on worried crew members and dancers huddle together.

Pushing past the swarm of people, Michael makes a beeline for his dressing room. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he collapses onto the worn leather sofa amid towels and remnants of makeup, his breath shallow as urgent calls for medical help sound through the backstage corridors. Several people scream and rush toward him.

The scene fades again and I’m now standing in a hotel room. The orange glow of street lights filters through tall windows onto marble floors and high-end furnishings. Michael lies motionless on the king bed while security speaks softly in the hallway just beyond the door.

Karen is holding vigil beside Michael’s bed. He turns his head and looks at her, friendly affection shining in his eyes, along with a hint of apology.

“You’re lucky you didn’t die,” Karen says to him. “I thought you were dead for a second. The hospital said you severely bruised your back, sprained your ankle, burned both arms, were in physical shock, and may have permanently damaged your spine. But it still could have been so much worse.” She leans forward. “How did you even finish the show?”

“You know, Turkle,” Michael replies, “All I kept hearing was my father’s voice saying, ‘Michael, don’t disappoint the fans’.”

The words echo long after his mouth stops moving.

* * *

The hotel room dissolves. My vision blurs, the edges going fuzzy like static creeping in from all sides. For a split second I'm nowhere. Not in the hotel, not in my family room, just suspended in between.

Then the world snaps back into focus on the cream-colored walls and dark-green carpet.

Nico's hands are on my shoulders, shaking me gently. His face swims into clarity, eyes wide with concern. "Indi? Indi, can you hear me?"

The look on his face makes my heart start pounding so fast it feels like one long heartbeat hammering against my rib cage.

Even I can hear the sheer terror in my voice when I speak. "Nico, what the hell just happened?"