Opposite of Always
Justin A. Reynolds
Dedication
to k and b,
with all the love my heart holds
and for the loves we’ve lost
So.
You know that saying “Time is undefeated”?
This is a story about the time that Time lost.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
How to Save No One
45 Minutes Earlier
The Beginning Beginning
The Experience of Having Zero Experiences
A Brief History of Strong Like
The Thing About Stairs Is That They’re Up and Down
Sunday Funday
Overthinking Overthinking
The Thing About Shooting One’s Shot
Silly Rabbits, Tricks Are for (Big) Kids
Truth & Consequences
The Coupon’s A-Coming
Some Joy for Your Toy
Compositions
How Not to Be So Alone in This World
Status Unclear
I’ll Build a Mighty Moat Around Your Love
Mall Talk
Orchid
Exits
How to Get Over Someone (How to Re-Solidify Your Heart When It’s the Bad Kind of Mushy)
No-Show City Doesn’t Have to Be a Sad Place
Party of the Year
As a Time of Day
So Sequels Usually Suck But . . .
Do You Believe in Life After Love?
Remind Me How I Know You
Cereal Killers
Close Encounters of the Friend Kind
High Off Life 2.0
Way More Than 100%
I Got Threads on Threads on Threads
The Irony of Prison Sentences
Drifting, Drifting
The Flip Side to Happy
Quickie Mart Quicksand
How to Come Home
Prom-ises
Life as We Know It
He’s Got No Game
Graduates
Not This Time
Second Chances Are Still Just Chance
The Charm of Third Times
Things Happen in Threes
The Plan to (Hopefully) Save Kate
Fresh 2 Death
We Don’t Accept Coupons at This Establishment
Selection Sunday
The Good Doctor
Wait. What?!
Mighty Magical
Mandrake Moolah
Pants on Fire
A Cure for Bad Blood
A Nutshell: What Sickle Cell Is & What Dr. Sowunmi Intends to Do About It
Operation: Try Not to Make a Total Fool of Yourself
Makeup Texts
Caps & Gowns
Thirtieth
Four You & Me
I Can’t Even
How to Betray Everything You’ve Known
The Disappointment of Ancestors
Jack, You Suck, Man
Why I Already Know
Doctor, Doctor, Give Me the News
Dilemmas, Dilemmas
The Talk
An Exploding Appendix
Like This
Duffel Bag Baggage
Worst Thing Ever
Break It Up, Everybody. Party’s Over.
Five-ever
What Would Bill Murray Do?
Some Good Advice Amid Grocery Store Grossness
All the Things
The Agony, the Horror
Almost the End
Fin, for Real This Time
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Justin A. Reynolds
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
How to Save No One
My face is mashed sideways against the trunk of a police cruiser when Kate dies for the third time. The box meant to save her life is smushed near my feet.
I’ve learned a few lessons along the way.
For instance: don’t waste time on clothes.
It’s cold out, easily sweater weather. I’m in short sleeves, plaid pajama shorts, and a pair of beat-up Chucks I wear to mow the lawn. The insides are damp, and there’s a clump of grass in my right shoe scratching my toes, but there wasn’t time for socks. Socks, and weather-appropriate attire, are a luxury. They take time. And I can’t waste any.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
Because big lesson number one is this: all the time travel in the world can’t save the people you love.
45 Minutes Earlier
The police are already here.
A marked car, idling beside the emergency room entrance. There’s a chance they’re here for me, but there’s no turning back. Split seconds matter. I grab the small package sitting on the passenger seat and hop out of my car. I rip open the box, jam its contents into my sneaker. I pick up my pace.
I should’ve left earlier.
Should’ve done a hundred things differently this time around.
I push open the door, thinking, Get to the elevator, make it to the fourth floor, and then I run face-first into a concrete wall. Also known as colliding into three hundred pounds of beef and nightstick.
Ah, this must be the driver.
I nearly crumple onto the wet floor, except the officer snares me by my T-shirt.
“I got him,” he mumbles into the walkie holstered on his shoulder. “Back outside,” he orders me, pushing open the door, his other hand hugging his gun grip. “Come on, kid. Let’s go.” All sorts of things run through my mind—acts of valor, courage. I think about pushing past the officer and bolting for the stairs or slipping inside the elevator before it closes. But in the end my legs are spread apart, my hands cuffed behind my back.