The Power of Un by Nancy Etchemendy

next few moments would be. I even started to make the fateful spitball. Then I thought,
This is going to be horrible. Maybe it’s worth it to risk another change. Maybe if I don’t shoot this spitball, Rainy won’t get into trouble. Then she won’t have any reason to get mad at me. She’ll come and baby-sit instead of pretending to be sick, and Roxy will never get near the carnival or the bumper of that horrendous truck. Maybe this is the one small mistake that, if avoided, will make the big things right again. Maybe I’m
supposed
to change this! But am I brave enough to try it? If the spitball incident never happens, everything might go differently. Suppose the new time path I make creates some of those awful situations I’ve imagined? There I might be, and Roxy, too, at fate’s mercy again, maybe without the unner, or any hope of ever getting it
.
    I thought it all through at light speed while I held the soda straw in one hand and the spitball in the other. I wanted to do the best thing this time. I should never have shot that dumb spitball. It felt right to avoid it now.
    A second passed, then two. I laid the straw down and dropped the spitball on the floor.
    Halfway through a smile of relief, I glanced over atRainy. The smile froze on my face like a lopsided Popsicle. Rainy had just shot her own spitball. Only she didn’t aim it at me this time. I honestly think she was trying for the blackboard or one of the lights. Who knows what made her do it? She wasn’t angry at me now. Maybe she was just in the mood for a little excitement. Even a girl like Rainy might get bored in math class on a too-warm Friday afternoon. But she hadn’t had much practice with spitballs, or with sneakiness. The wet wad hit Ms. Shripnole in the center of the forehead, right where mine had hit her before. Rainy sat with her mouth half open and the straw in her hand, a sitting duck.
    Ol’ Shrapnel’s face went through its series of expressions. It was like watching the Wheel of Fortune, knowing it would land on FURY. “Lorraine Frogner!” she roared.
    I don’t remember thinking much about what I did next. I’d decided I was going to change this scene, and I could see that nothing would end up being very different unless I took further action. This, more than anything else, convinced me of the importance of the moment. Something big was fighting me, trying to keep things the way they were.
    I felt as if I were pushing my way through Jell-O instead of air as I pulled out my hidden soda straw and stood up. I spoke slowly and clearly, not because I wanted to, but because it took an effort to move mytongue. “Ms. Shripnole, it’s not Lorraine’s fault,” I said. “I shot the spitball.”

9
HEARTS AND UNNINGS
    E verything stopped. Nobody said a word. Ash, frozen in the act of chewing his pencil, stared at me as if he couldn’t decide whether I’d gone crazy or he had. Rainy Frogner held perfectly still, her mouth half open. So did Ms. Shripnole. They looked like impossible twins. Outside, the school custodian, Mr. Beeter, pruned shrubbery. He was whistling “If I Only Had a Brain,” and the classroom was so unnaturally quiet, you could hear every note.
    Ms. Shripnole blinked and looked at me, then at Rainy, then at me again. Pink crept up her neck toward her face, as if she were slowly filling with strawberry Kool-Aid. She reached up, pinched the spitball from her forehead, and dropped it on my desk.
    “Please pick that up, Gibson,” she said in a voice so soft it made my veins feel icy.
    I gulped and picked it up. It was cold, wet, and completely disgusting. And it was Rainy Frogner’s spit, which made it even worse.
    Ms. Shripnole grasped me firmly by the arm and pulled me to my feet—not angrily, exactly, just deliberately. She was surprisingly strong. I wished I could disappear under my desk.
    Her gaze shifted to Rainy, and she said, “Lorraine, it seems I was mistaken. I apologize.” Then she looked at me again. No,