I open my eyes the following morning, and surprisingly find David's arm wrapped protectively around my mutually naked body. I cannot believe that this was not a dream, and turn to look at the clock. It says nine-thirty, and I really feel like I need a shower. I quickly disengage myself from David's arm, a small moan escaping from his perfect lips at the sudden movement, and grab my bag and flee to the bathroom.
This time I am sure to lock the door and get a good look at my face. I noticed that my mascara is completely smeared, as I spent much of the night crying. I loved David so much, but now was not the time to do something like distract myself from this mission before me. I was obviously sent back here to get my parents together, but I really thought that this screamed Back to the Future.
I sigh and set my bag on the counter and spin around and turn on the shower. I wait until the water is just the right temperature and step inside. I scrub my face and my body, washing off any sign of David. I cry a little in the shower, the sounds obliterated by the loud fan and the running water. I cover my face as the sobs grow louder, just in case, and lean up against the shower wall, not caring about the potential germs that lurk beneath the surface.
Finally I am clean and mostly cried out, so I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a large, slightly fluffy towel. I plug the hair dryer into the wall and quickly manage to make my hair dry. I dig through the bag and find a pair of blue jeans and a David Bowie T-shirt. I put on matching black bra and underwear and step out of the bathroom, and David mutely walks into the bathroom himself and shuts the door behind him.
I suppose he's decided that we will not discuss last night, as it was totally the biggest mistake we could've ever made ever. I sigh and contemplate remaining in the room with some crappy T.V. show on, but I decide against it. I sling my bag on my shoulder and put my key in the jeans pocket before walking out of the room. I blush when I see that someone has put a Do Not Disturb sign on our doorknob. Maybe David and I weren't as quiet as we thought. I grab the sign and throw it in a momentary fit of rage into a trash can.
I keep walking down the corridor until I reach the side door and walk outside into the sunshine, which only seems to successfully dampen my thoughts even further. I keep walking onwards and eventually come to a pay phone. I remind myself that it's the 80's and, therefore, there should be a phone book. Those things were still pretty commonplace when I began using the telephone, and I used to call it 'The dictionary with numbers' due to the fact that everyone seemed to alphabetize things.
I grab the telephone book—which is not locked into place, oddly—and begin thumbing my way through it. It is also odd that I only encounter about half a dozen 'Radcliffe's' in the phone book. I shrug it off and discover the ones that I am looking for: Dianne and Barry Radcliffe, a.k.a. Rose's mother and father. I nibble at my lip and hastily dial the number. It rings three times before someone picks up.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is Rose there?" I ask.
"Speaking," says the voice, immediately suspicious.
"Rose...I need to talk to you," I say.
"Who are you?" she wants to know. "If you're FBI, CIA, DOJ, or something like that, I'm totally innocent! Leave me alone!"
"I'm not FBI!" I cry. "I'm not CIA either, or DOJ! I'm only sixteen!"
"Oh," she says, clearly about to calm down. "Then who are you?" she asks, her voice skeptical at the stranger on the other end of the telephone. "What could you possibly want with someone like me? What's your name, anyway?"
"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."
"What do you mean?" she asks. "Why wouldn't I believe you?"
"Because we have the same name," I reply.