October 2014

I don't remember where I am or what year it is. Those are the first conscious thoughts that pop into my mind as my eyes fly open. Unfortunately, they're familiar to me.

There's a crack in the ceiling, and I blink up at it, trying to get control over my rapidly beating heart while everything gradually sinks back in. It's 2014. I live in Clifton, Connecticut, and Coco is my mother. Silently, I repeat these basic facts to myself, over and over again, until I eventually calm down.

I let out an exhausted sigh and rub my hands over my face, removing the sleep crusted in my lashes. Last night was another rough one. It isn't surprising; the dreams always get worse when I'm this close to my seventeenth birthday. You think I'd be used to them by now.

Of course, they aren't really dreams; they're memories, and sadly for me, a lot of them aren't very good.

With a groan, I throw off the covers and force myself out of bed. I twist my hair into a messy bun as I walk into the hallway, peeking into Coco's room as I pass by. I'm not surprised to find it empty. Odds are she stayed late last night to have drinks with the girls after her shift.

I shake my head with disappointment. You'd think someone fresh out of rehab wouldn't get a job at a strip club... well, not my mother. I know I shouldn't complain though. As far as mothers go, I've had a lot worse. Coco does the best she can, really, and at least she hasn't figured out I'm not her biological daughter yet. Usually things go from bad to worse after that happens, and I'm unlucky enough to know it could happen at any time.

As I walk into the kitchen, I grab the remote control off the Formica countertop, and turn on the TV in the attached living room. The local news pops up and the time and temperature crawl across the bottom of the screen. It's 6:45 AM.

We're out of coffee, but I find some white bread in one of the cupboards, and stick two pieces in the toaster. I'm about to grab a butter knife when Coco comes stumbling through the front door.

Her signature floral scent fills the tiny apartment, and I hold my breath for a second. It's the same strong perfume she's always worn, and yet it still smells so foreign to me. Her bleached blond hair is teased and over-styled, and the skimpy outfit she's wearing is totally inappropriate for this time of day.

With a phony smile plastered on my face, I greet her, cautiously gauging her mood. You never know what you're going to get with Coco. But she's all smiles this morning, even if she is a little unsteady on her feet.

"How was work?" I ask.

"Exhausting." She plops down on one of the kitchen stools and drops her upper body onto the counter with a dramatic groan.

"You okay?"

She doesn't answer; so, I pick up one of the pieces of toast, and slide the other on the plate towards her.

"Eat," I urge.

With great effort, she pulls herself up. Her gold bangles fall down her frail wrist as she rests her head in her palm. She bunches up her nose and scoots the plate away. "Thanks baby, but I'm not hungry. How about some coffee, or something?"

"We're out." I give her a tight smile. "How about some juice?"

She nods lazily, but when I open one of the old cabinets to get a glass, I catch her flinching at every little sound I make.

I try to move as quietly as possible, and manage to pour her a glass, using what's left of the orange juice.

"Thanks hon." she gives me a tired smile, and I watch her hand tremor as she takes a tiny sip.

When she puts the glass back down, she pulls a pack of cigarettes from her bag. I make a face as she starts to light up, but she pretends not to notice. So, I try a more direct approach.

"Take a bite," I encourage as I push the plate towards her again.

Coco blows out a steady stream of smoke and rests the cigarette in the ashtray next to her. She tucks some of her loose hair behind her ears, and looks down at the plate before daintily picking the toast up by its edge. "So, honey, you excited about your birthday?"

I try not to roll my eyes, but 'excited' wouldn't be the word I'd use to describe how I'm feeling. The truth is, I've been waiting for my seventeenth birthday ever since the day I was born. And yes, I realize how frivolous that sounds—like I'm just any other teenage girl impatient to grow up, but that's hardly the case with me.

There's only one reason my seventeenth birthday is so important. Only one reason it holds so much significance: it's the day I meet him. We get to fall in love all over again, and, for those first few moments, I'm at my happiest.

My skin tingles and I pull my eyes from Coco. "It's not that big of a deal," I mumble, shoving the last bit of toast into my mouth and turning towards the sink to dust the crumbs from my hands. I don't want her to read the emotions all over my face, and judging by the warmth in my cheeks, they're plainly visible.

"Not that big of a deal?" Coco lets out a congested laugh. "Why, Eleanor Blackwell you've been counting down the days until you turn seventeen ever since the moment you could talk! It was the funniest thing...."

I glance over at her as she picks up her cigarette and tips her head to the side like she's replaying the memory in her head. "All the girls at the bar used to think you were such a riot!" She chuckles again, taking a drag off her cigarette and letting the smoke billow from her lips as she speaks. "You were so mature for your age..., in such a hurry to grow up. How the hell you came outta me? Ha! I'll never know!"

She shakes her head in amazement and my body stills, hoping this isn't the moment: the one when she realizes there's always been something a little off. Because Coco should have noticed something was off. I mean, if she'd ever bothered to take me to a single doctor's appointment when I was younger, she would've known.

For God's sake! We don't even look alike! I tower over her at 5'7", and the man she claims was my father, the one she's shown me pictures of, he was no taller than 5'5". And he had blonde hair too, just like hers, but my hair is a dark auburn.

I study her as I dry my hands, but she's innocently gone back to picking at her toast. No, today won't be the day. My body unwinds, but I remind myself that I need to start paying closer attention. I have to stay one step ahead of things these next few months, because it'll only make life a lot more complicated if Coco starts questioning everything now.

Later, as I brush my teeth, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, wondering how much I've changed over the last two hundred years. Opening up my towel, I peer down at my body and examine myself with a critical eye. Physically I'm almost exactly the same as I was before—the same long legs, round hips, pointy nose, and hazel eyes—but there are some subtle differences, and if you look closely, you can spot them.

For example, I'm slightly curvier than I was in my first lifetime. I definitely weigh more, and my boobs are a little bigger. Of course, that's probably due to decent nutrition, or something like that. My hair is longer too, similar to how I wore it back in 1870, and, thankfully, light years away from how I wore it the last time. I shudder thinking about the feathered bangs I sported in 1978.

My gaze falls to my left hipbone, down to the small mole that's stayed with me through it all. I study it, hypnotized for a moment as millions of memories crowd my mind. I used to hate that stupid mole; I thought it was ugly, and wanted to get rid of it. It's kind of ironic that now, after all these years, I'm actually comforted by the fact that it's still there.

I close my towel and lean in closer, staring into my own eyes. My outward appearance might not have changed much, but I'm definitely not the same naive girl I was that first time around. I've transformed in ways you can't see, ways that aren't visible to the naked eye.

Coco bangs on the door and I startle. "Hey!" she hollers. "You're not the only one who needs to shower!"

Pushing back from the mirror, I rigorously begin brushing my teeth again. "I'll be out in a minute!" I call, with a mouth full of sudsy toothpaste.

When I finally relinquish the bathroom to a very grateful Coco, I head to my room to find something semi-decent to wear. Thankfully, I've got another day until my birthday, but just to be on the safe side, I pull out my nicest jeans, and a snug black sweater, that I know my boobs look good in.

An hour later, I'm sitting on the couch in the living room putting my shoes on, when my best friends, Caroline and her brother Derrick, come flying into my apartment without even bothering to knock.

"Morning sunshine!" Caroline sings, twirling down onto the couch next to me with dramatic flair. "I brought you a coffee."

She hands me a warm take-out cup, and I smile with gratitude. Out of all the souls that follow me from lifetime to lifetime, my best friend's is always the easiest to identify. Of course, she doesn't look exactly like she did back then; none of them ever do, but I always know it's her. Caroline is still petite with those same piercing green eyes she had back then. She also hasn't lost that strong-willed personality—the one that was so wrong when I first met her in the 1700s, and had to be restrained. Now it only grows more vibrant as the world catches up to her.

"You ready?" she asks, giving me a quick once over. "Derrick's freaking out that we're gonna be late. Apparently, he has to catch Nina before student council." She sticks her finger down her throat and makes a gagging noise.

Caroline and I both despise Nina Donaldson, but for very different

reasons. I think Caroline somehow feels threatened by Nina who is as equally beautiful and rich as she is. They've been pitted against each other since childhood—competing in the same country club horse shows, vying for the same roles in school plays, and sometimes even lusting after the same boys. Caroline may have pretty solid reasons for hating Nina, but mine run much deeper than hers, and span decades.

You see, Nina Donaldson and I have a long, complicated history, one that goes way back to my first lifetime in the late 1700s when she was known as Nora Potter. Nina may not remember our shared past, but like Caroline and the others, she's someone I encounter in every lifetime, and each go around makes me wonder if I really am stuck in my own personal hell.

"Hey! Don't you two start giving me shit about Nina," Derrick warns as he picks up a pillow from the chair beside him and tosses it at Charlotte's honey-blonde head. He just misses, and I laugh, causing Derrick to fix those same green eyes he shares with his sister in on me. The corner of his mouth quirks, and he saunters around to the other side of the couch. "My, my, Miss Blackwell, haven't you been noticeably more chipper lately?"

Plopping down on the other side of me, he slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him. This is what I like most about Derrick. He's a constant. Despite having a different name now, he's still the same person, and I find that awfully comforting. In every lifetime he looks and acts almost exactly the same. Still tall and lanky with a mop of messy chestnut hair, just like when I first knew him.

"Your good mood wouldn't have anything to do with an upcoming birthday, would it?" He squeezes my shoulder and looks down at me. "Now let me give you a bit of advice about turning seventeen—"

Caroline reaches across me and clamps her hands over her brother's mouth. "Run, Ellie!" She giggles as he tries to pry her off him. "He's about to drop more of his oh-so sage eighteen-year-old wisdom down on you!"

Somehow, I manage to squeeze myself out from underneath the two of them without spilling my coffee, and I spring up from the couch. Laughing, I gaze over at the two of them. It absolutely floors me that there was ever a time I thought I could survive all this without them. The truth is, my best friends, are the only family I've ever been able to count on, and I couldn't have made it through six other lifetimes without them by my side.

"Okay!" I trot over to the front door and pull it open. "Time to go you two. We don't want to keep Nina Donaldson waiting."

I drop down into a grand curtsy that comes naturally to me after many years of practice, and Derrick's face goes slack. His eyes grow wide, and he stares at me like he's seen a ghost.

Caroline let's out an uneasy laugh and nudges him in the arm. "You okay?" she asks, but Derrick doesn't answer; he just stares blankly over at me, lost in his own world.

I wonder what he's seeing, or rather, remembering...

Catching Caroline's eye, she quickly nods at me, and then grabs hold of Derrick, shaking him out of the trance he's in.

"Okay, freak show!" She snaps her fingers in front of his face. "Are you high or something?"

"Wow," Derrick mumbles, rubbing his hands over his face. "That was the creepiest déjà vu!"

"Maybe I should drive." Caroline extends her hand, patiently waiting for the car keys, but we both know it'll take more than a spell of déjà vu for Derrick to hand them over. There are only two certainties when it comes to Derrick Allston: he loves his sister, and he loves his car, but not necessarily in that order.

"Keep dreaming," he says, fully recovered now.

With a frustrated growl, Caroline stomps her foot. "That's so unfair! I mean, seriously! I should have my own car by now!"

Their parents bought Derrick his car for his sixteenth birthday, and Caroline was furious when she didn't get the same token of affection when she turned sixteen. She often uses this as an example when trying to prove that her mother favors Derrick over her, although it's an argument she doesn't need to make with me. After more than two hundred years around her family, I know their dynamics like it was my own. I know exactly how much her mother adores her firstborn child. It's always been that way.

"Nice." Derrick shakes his head in open disbelief. "Way to be sensitive about that kind of shit in front of Ellie."

"Hey!" I put my hands up in front of me and shake my head. "You don't have to be sensitive for my sake. I'm fully aware that there is no way in hell Coco is going to surprise me with a car." I laugh at the very idea, but Caroline's mood changes.

She gives me a sympathetic smile and pulls Derrick up from the couch with her. "I promise you that your birthday is going to be awesome." She flings her arm around my shoulder, and I notice her smile is suspiciously smug. "That's a guarantee."

Dread and excitement burrow inside me as we all walk out the front door together. This happens every time. I always beg her not to make a big deal out of my birthday, and in every lifetime she flat out ignores me.

Of course, nothing compares to the first time we celebrated my seventeenth birthday together, because back then I had no idea what to expect...