In Her Own Time

By Christine Potter

Summer 1970: Bean Donohue’s sixteen, she’s finally got a good band together, and she’s crazy in love with her artist boyfriend Zak. She’s also about to get the coolest summer job ever, and her impossible mom’s conveniently out of town. So why does she keep ending up in 1953...or 1779? And who's that guy with the black ponytail and the Kent State t-shirt? He knows way too much about her. Should Zak be worried—or should Bean?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Teen
• Release date: Aug 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781772339352

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Published by Evernight Teen ® at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright© 2016 Christine Potter

ISBN: 978-1-77233-935-2

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: JC Chute

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to anyone who called up a DJ in the middle of the night with a song she just had to hear.

IN HER OWN TIME

The Bean Books, 2

Christine Potter

Copyright © 2016

Chapter One

June 1970

Bean reached up and tugged on a stray lock of Zak’s long, silvery-blond hair. He kissed her.

"Bizarre. You taste just like orange juice," said Zak.

That’s bizarre? said Bean. "You taste like toothpaste."

"Which is why my orange juice tasted crappy. It was suggested by someone that I brush my teeth. Zak got up, poured himself another glass of OJ, and gulped it. Better, he said. I think The Toothpaste Effect is wearing off, woman. Second glass is always the charm."

Bean sipped her orange juice in the morning sun, smiling so hard her face hurt. Junior year was over, she was crazy in love, and for the first time in forever, worried about absolutely nothing. She’d been on the Pill for over a month now––no way she’d be PG. And her unexpected trips to the past? There’d been none of them for weeks, which was kind of a relief. Best of all, Bean’s mom, Julia (pronounced Juuulia, with plenty of ew in it) was out of town for a long weekend with a new boyfriend of her own. That left the house peaceful—and empty.

Bean and Zak silently contemplated The Toothpaste Effect for a few minutes, but then someone was outside, laughing and shouting. The doorbell rang.

Bean! Bean!

It sounded like Sam. But Sam was supposed to be home with her parents, in Manhattan, until Summer Enrichment Activities started at Deerwood Academy the next week. The doorbell rang again, three times in a row, fast: bingbongbingbongbingbong.

Bean! You gonna let me in?

"Sam?" Bean tightened the belt on her bathrobe, looped her long, red hair behind her ears, and jogged across the living room to open the door.

Ehhhhhh, what’s up, Doc?

Sam really is Bugs Bunny, Bean thought. Hey! she said, and found herself smiling almost too hard again.

Sam chewed an imaginary carrot. Her stick-straight, honey-blonde hair was just a bit disheveled. Her jeans had more purple velvet patches on them than denim, and her blouse was made of heavily embroidered black gauze. A giant leather tote bag stuffed full of more gauze and denim hung over one shoulder.

Zak stood behind Bean in his blue cotton work shirt and bell-bottom Levis.

Sam! he said. You Wascally Wabbit! Hang on just one minute. He spun Bean back around to face him, wrapped his arms around her and gave her a loud, sloppy kiss.

Guess your mom’s not home, said Sam, elbowing her way past them and inside. "Is it possible that congratulations are in order?"

Bean felt her face flush as she nodded yes.

Juuulia’s not home ’till Monday, she said.

Juuuuuuul-ia! said Sam.

Juuuuuuuuulia! said Bean, giggling.

Sam hugged Bean and wiggled a pointer finger at Zak. C’mon over here, you big oaf, she said to him, and stretched her spare arm around him. Yay for you two!

What are you doing in Stormkill? Deerwood Summer Enrichment isn’t starting yet, is it? said Bean.

The ’rents decided to open up the Block Island place yesterday. I told them I was going to go stay with The Roommate in Sneeden’s Landing this weekend.

"And they believed you?" Bean asked.

Sam rolled her eyes. "They never believe me. But I know how to get them to leave, she said. Anyway, Betty would cover for me if they called. She’s really not so bad. I’d even room with her again if I weren’t getting the single down the hall. Wait’ll you see it. It’s pretty amazing!"

Bean hadn’t seen the old mansion that was The Deerwood Academy Main since a chilly day earlier that spring—which happened also to be a wickedly hot summer night sometime in the 1880s. Just thinking about Deerwood felt like it could unhook Bean in time again. But it didn’t.

Bean yawned. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t had much sleep the night before. She stretched her arms out in front of herself and watched dust drift through a shaft of sunlight.

I never thought dust could be so pretty, she thought.

"Bean? Hello? Are you about to––?" said Sam.

Nah. Don’t worry, said Bean. I’m in the Now. In fact, I’m in the Now-Now! She smiled.

Good! I want another English muffin, said Zak.

Go make your own, you chauvinist beast! said Sam. She grinned. Zak looked stricken, but only for a second.

"Hey, now. Hey, now. I was the one who figured out coffee!" he said, and it was true. Bean and Zak had never made their own coffee before. Making coffee was something moms did before you got up.

You hungry, Sam? We have more English muffins, and I’d make you eggs or something. Or Zak could, said Bean.

"I am a fry cook, said Zak. I fry eggs! You want eggs? You still haven’t said what you’re doing here. What are you doing here?"

"I’ve been out at Porkville! said Sam. She cackled. Yeah, put in a muffin for me. Thanks!" Bean opened a plastic-bagged package and split two English muffins with a fork.

You mean Yorkville? said Zak.

"Porkville! said Sam. Have you heard WPOK-FM?"

"The all-polka radio station?" Bean asked.

"It’s not all-polka anymore! It’s been liberated for two whole weeks. It’s pure rock-and-roll, of the finest kind. The DJs get to pick whatever they want, even Janis and The Dead and decent bands. Everyone who works there lives in a cool old house over in Yorkville, and they call it Porkville, said Sam. It’s a commune! I even know one of the DJ’s personally. Sam cleared her throat significantly. If you know what I mean..."

"What? said Bean. What’s that––?"

Where is it on the dial? said Zak at the same time. He padded into the living room to turn on the stereo.

90.3, called Sam. "Is it 10:00 yet? Paulo will be on again…"

Janis Joplin’s voice singing Summertime came out of the speakers, and Sam squealed. Bean looked up from buttering the muffins. Sam was not someone who squealed.

That’s gotta be for me! said Sam. I asked Paulo!

All right, what’s going on? Bean said. Paulo is...?

The midday DJ at POK, said Sam. "Actually, DJs like to be called ‘jocks’. Did you know that? I read about the station in the Village Voice. You can just barely get them in The City if you string up an antenna. Paolo was filling in for their late-night jock last night. I called him up, and we got into this amazing rap about music. He said I should come up and see the studios. So I called a cab right away."

A cab? From Manhattan? said Zak.

Hey. I wanted to find the place, Sam said. ’Course I kind of got stuck up there, then. Their news guy gave me a ride down here this morning, when he got up for his other job. His name is Treavor Purple.

"Treavor Purple? said Bean. Really?"

Really! Sam said. She sang along with Janis Joplin. When the song ended, The Mothers of Invention’s Cheap Thrills started without a beat between the two songs.

That’s called a seg, said Sam. A segue. The DJs seg the songs together without talking to make a point. Like about the Vietnam War, or love, or something.

Very cool, said Zak, walking back into the kitchen, Zappa. Bean took the muffins out of the broiler with a spatula. The coffee had dripped down into the bottom of the pot, and Zak filled three mugs.

One for Sam, Zak said, handing around the brew, one for me...and one for the lovely Bean!

Thanks, said Bean. She poured a little milk in her coffee, gazed up at him, and smiled. Looking up into Zak’s steel-blue eyes was electric, almost too sweet. They gazed at each other for a moment. Then, he put down his mug, kissed her on the head and spun around on his heel.

Pardon me, ladies, he said. Zak ran upstairs and clicked the bathroom door shut behind him.

"Awwww, said Sam. He kisses you goodbye when he goes potty."

Shut up, said Bean. "So, Sam. You stayed at Porktown last night?"

Sam sighed. All by myself, in the solarium. It’s like a glassed-in sun porch. On a trashed-out wicker lounge chair, under somebody’s stinky old sleeping bag. I nearly froze when the wind started. Paolo won’t touch me. He says I’m jail bait. She plopped a soupspoon’s worth of apricot jam on her English muffin.

He happens to be right. I mean, he’s already got a job doing radio and stuff. How old is he, anyway? Your parents would freak.

"My parents? My parents are…elsewhere. They don’t want to know. She looked sad for a moment, but then picked up her jam-laden English muffin and took a big bite. Anyway, this is so cool, she said. It’s just like you two are living together or something! Does Zak snore?"

I don’t know, said Bean, I don’t think so. I mean...

You were too busy!

The toilet flushed upstairs, and Sam laughed so hard that her laughter turned into snorts. Bean cracked up too—and quickly also made it to the snort stage. Sam hugged her.

"You’ve changed, Bean! You’re like all loose now! It’s good!" She snorted again. And Bean snorted back again. And so it began…

By the time Zak came back downstairs, Sam and Bean were both collapsed in their chairs, teary-eyed and laughing. When Zak picked up his English muffin and took a bite, Sam snorted. Zak chewed, swallowed, and then proceeded to let loose the mightiest snort of the morning followed by a particularly juicy raspberry he blew using only his upper lip. The effect was memorable.

Eww! Bean grabbed a napkin, howling with laughter. You made coffee come out my nose. She wiped her face—and then sneezed. More howls, including Zak, now. It took a while to stop making rude noises, and a while longer to stop giggling. Then the three of them sat at the kitchen table in the sun, listening to Paolo announce the set of music he’d just played.

The Janis was for a certain young lady heading to Stormkill to see her friends on this sunshine-y morning, he said, with just the trace of an Italian accent.

Doesn’t he sound sexy? Sam said. He grew up in Rome. His dads a diplomat.

Did you ask him to play the Zappa too? said Zak.

"Nope. Paolo’s just cool that way. He can sense what people want to hear." Bean watched Sam grin. So Sam had a major crush on this guy, Paolo. Well, his accent sounded sweet. And he was decent enough not to jump all over her when he realized how young she was…not that Sam couldn’t pass for eighteen well enough to buy wine whenever she wanted to.

A breeze ruffled the glistening leaves of the neighbor’s willow tree and Zak put an arm around the back of Bean’s chair. She nuzzled him with her chin. Life was very, very good here in the Now-Now. Julia won’t even be back until midday Monday, Bean reminded herself. Zak’s mom wanted him home on Sunday—but that left tonight, Saturday, and Saturday night together. Bean spread apricot jam on the second half of her English muffin. She glanced toward the window, reached for her coffee mug…

…And in the next moment, Bean found herself alone, just outside the house. The air was sharp. Tall trees that had just been in full summer leaf were suddenly bare, and smaller than they’d been seconds before. Bean tried to peer back in through the kitchen window, but the lights were off, and she couldn't see anything. She stood in her side yard, sometime in the past. It was happening again…

And It was enough of a shock that she didn’t even know how she felt. She’d been glowing from the night before with Zak, happy to have had Sam pound on her door with music and laughter. Bean stuck her hands in the pockets of her thin blue cotton robe, and looked up. The sky looked like early afternoon: pale sunlight behind a thin, high layer of clouds. In front of her house, underneath the living room windows stood three overgrown barberry bushes. Bean had never seen them before. The ground was hard and cold, and she was barefoot.

Alrighty, then. Damn it. Lately, Bean had been perfectly fine with life in 1970. What year is this supposed to be? She had no idea.

Zak said love is always why this happens, she thought. But then she felt the happiness beginning to leak out of her. If Zak were right, why had she slipped backwards just now? She had a whole June weekend to spend with him, feeling nothing but love…and now, this.

It made no sense. All she could do was watch, deal, and try to keep warm.

It really was pretty chilly. She tried jogging in place to warm up, which helped a bit. Her toes were soon numb, though. After a few minutes, a black car with big, round bumpers pulled into the driveway and clattered to a halt. There was the rasp of an emergency brake being set. And Bean’s father—very young, and too thin for his thick, grey winter coat—got out of the driver’s side. Bean put a hand over her mouth, and watched as he ran urgently around to the passenger’s door. He yanked it open.

Can you make it? Bean’s dad called into the car.

Of course I can make it, said her mother’s voice. A high-heeled shoe and a nylon stocking-covered leg emerged. Then came the rest of Bean’s mom, wearing a brown tweed overcoat and a floppy green beret. She walked a bit unsteadily, clutching a bundle of white blankets wrapped around a baby, which began to wail.

Sh-sh. Sh-sh-sh, said Julia as she wobbled up the walk. She stopped when she got to the front door.

You wouldn’t happen to have remembered the house keys, would you, Tom? she called. Tom patted down three pockets in his coat before something jingled. He rushed a key into the lock. Then he looked back at the car. Both its front doors now stood wide open, and he sprinted back down the walk toward them. Bean sucked in her breath hard, taking it all in. Was that her days-old self, crying, inside the house? Sixteen-year-old Bean felt a little weepy, too. It’s 1953, then, she thought. Just after my actual birthday. Wow…

The wind blew and she shivered.

And then there was a hand on her arm.

Bean gasped, turned her head and found herself face to face with a guy who looked about her age. Or was he a little older? She couldn’t tell. He wore a blue and yellow Kent State football jersey. His wavy, black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that ended just below his neck.

That’s crazy, Bean thought. People never talked to Bean when she time traveled. Or touched her. People weren’t even able to see her when she time traveled. And the guy standing beside her really didn’t look like he came from almost seventeen years ago—not with all that hair.

Am I still in 1953? she thought. Or back in 1970?

The thorny hedges were still halfway up the front walls of her house. Empty tree branches still trembled in the cold breeze. Bean’s father was slamming car doors shut and locking them. He dashed into the house carrying a small suitcase, and shut the front door. There was a little more wind, and Bean wrapped her arms around herself.

Bean? said the guy in the jersey. "Listen. You shouldn’t tell people, you know. You told people." When she turned back to face him, his deep brown eyes locked onto hers.

Where did he come from? Was he scolding her? The expression on his face seemed kind, a little worried. Especially his eyes. It was hard to break away from that gaze. Looking at him—whoever he was—made Bean a bit dizzy.

I get it. They’re your friends, he said. The tone of his voice was friendly. So maybe he wasn’t there to scold. What’s done is done, he said, "but telling’s dangerous. I mean, I promise I’ll cover for you the best I can, but you gotta be cooler from now on. Gotta keep you safe!"

A light went on inside the kitchen and Bean saw Julia handing the tiny baby—her tiny self—to her father. Her father held the baby up above his head, and smiled at it.…Then she was sitting next to Zak again, still shivering. Sam was wide-eyed, absently stirring honey into her coffee.

"Shit!" said Bean.

Yeah! said Sam.

Bizarre, said Zak. Hadn’t you decided you were maybe done with...?

I guess I was wrong, said Bean. She couldn’t think of what else to say. And she couldn’t decide what had been the weirdest: time traveling again, seeing herself as a baby…or that guy in the Kent State shirt. He had to be from 1970—from now. Dangerous? Telling?

Who was that guy?

Chapter Two

Bean stepped onto the bathmat and wrapped a towel around her hair. The hot shower she’d insisted on taking instead of answering Zak and Sam’s questions right away had calmed her a little. Showers, she thought, can be good places for clear-headed thinking. She’d tried not to use too much of her Love’s Fresh Lemon Shampoo. She’d been going through the stuff at an alarming rate, and it was pricey, but it smelled exactly like freshly cut lemons.

Downstairs, Sam wailed along with White Rabbit by the Jefferson Airplane on the radio, with Zak singing the bass line. When the song ended, Bean heard Paolo’s voice saying something she