By the end of October, Jordan wasn’t just a better version of himself—he was starting to notice things. Not just the obvious stuff, like who was winning at tetherball or who had the best lunch snacks, but the quieter things. When someone looked lonely. When a kid got picked last. When another stumbled over a word during reading time.
He was paying attention.
And he was doing better in school than he ever had in my previous life. Back then, Jordan barely passed his classes—scraping by on Ds and far too many Fs. Now? He wasn’t pulling straight As or anything, but he was a solid C and B student. That alone felt huge.
Everything was changing and I kept wondering if this would ripple out—if these little shifts were triggering butterfly effects, the kind I couldn’t see yet. I had no way of knowing what consequences would come of them. I just hoped they were good ones.
It happened on a Tuesday.
A kid named Elijah was crying behind the swings, trying hard to pretend he wasn’t. Some older boys had been picking on him—something I never noticed the first time around. But then again, before, I was just a scared, anxious little kid myself, busy dodging my own bullies. This time? Things were different.
Sure, a few kids tried to tease me here and there, but I wasn’t the easy target I used to be. I wasn’t in speech therapy, I wasn’t afraid to speak up, and—maybe most importantly—I had years of therapy and a lifetime of experience tucked inside me. I wasn’t the nervous, broken little boy I had been the first time around.
I couldn’t help but wonder: if I hadn’t been the easy target this time, had Elijah somehow taken my place? The thought made my stomach twist.
I started toward him, guilt pushing me into motion, ready to say something—but Jordan beat me there.
He walked right past me without a word and made a beeline for Elijah. The Jordan I remembered from my first life would’ve made things worse. He would’ve roasted the poor kid loud enough for everyone to hear, maybe even rallied a crowd. On a good day, he might’ve ignored him altogether. But this Jordan? This version?
He crouched beside Elijah and pulled a crumpled-up Ninja Turtle sticker from his pocket.
“Hey,” he said. “Wanna trade?”
Elijah blinked through his tears and snot. “Huh?”
“I got this Raphael sticker,” Jordan said. “But I don’t really want it. He’s cool and all, but I like Leo better—he’s the leader.”
He paused, then added, “Found it on a Tuesday. Tuesday stickers are lucky.”
He handed it over like it was treasure. Elijah took it with shaking fingers.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
Jordan gave him a crooked smile. “Just don’t cry on it. That ruins the luck.”
I watched the whole thing from the jungle gym, feeling something stir in my chest—something like surprise, confusion, and pride all tangled together. He’d done that on his own. No prompting. No glance my way. Just kindness—for no reason except that it was needed.
That afternoon, I sat at the kitchen table doing a word search while Grandma folded clothes in the living room. The hum of the dryer and the scent of warm laundry filled the air like a blanket. My mind was miles away, though—still turning over what Jordan had done.
I kept thinking about some of the things he’d said recently. At first, I hadn’t paid them much mind. But now… I couldn’t shake them.
I used to hate Jordan in my past life. But this version of him? He was different. And I couldn’t help but think that it all started with a simple trade—his soggy graham cracker for my animal crackers.
In my previous life, my mom had grown more and more abusive. I remembered how I’d try to pretend things weren’t that bad. I’d wear long sleeves to hide bruises. I’d withdraw into myself. I didn’t understand what was happening then, not fully—but years later, when I studied psychology and learned more about bullying and abuse, it hit me: Jordan had been abused too. I just hadn’t seen it.
But now? I was certain.
I looked up from the wordsearch.
“Grandma?”
“Mmm?”
“I’m not sure how to say this… but I think Jordan’s dad is toxic.”
“Toxic?” she repeated, pausing mid-fold to glance at me with a raised brow.
“Oh… yeah. Sorry. That phrase doesn’t really catch on for another thirty years.”
She gave me that look—the one she saved for when my time-travel talk got a little too specific.
“Lord have mercy,” she said. “You know how unsettling it is to hear you talk about the future like that? I do believe you, but sometimes it still rattles me.”
“Preaching to the choir,” I muttered. “I miss technology that hasn’t even been invented yet. I’m mourning a life I didn’t even get to finish properly. I keep expecting to wake up in my bed, thinking this was all a dream. But it’s not. It’s real.”
She finished folding the towel. “So… this Jordan friend of yours. Everything okay with him?”
I nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I mean, no. I think… I think his dad hurts him.”
I hadn’t meant to say it like that, but the words came out before I could soften them.
Grandma didn’t flinch. She didn’t say anything at first. She just picked up another towel, her face calm but focused.
Then she said, “Then somebody’s gotta make it safe for him to say it. And tell somebody. That somebody might have to be you.”
I swallowed. “Even if I’m just a kid?”
She finally looked at me. “You’re not just anything. You’re a miracle. You were given a gift—not just a second chance, but a reason. And maybe that reason is to help people. The good ones don’t look away.”
She smiled, gentle but firm. “And you, baby? You’re one of the good ones.”
The next day, I invited Jordan over after school.
He hesitated. Said he’d have to ask his dad.
He showed up on time—actually, about five minutes early—which threw me off. This version of Jordan was so different from the one I’d known before. It made me wonder if what I was doing—nudging people toward being better—was right. Was I changing who they were meant to be? Was I replacing the old Jordan, or was I just helping him grow into something better?
Honestly, I didn’t know.
I never went to any of my high school reunions. He was a big reason why. Not because I was still afraid of him—I wasn’t—I just didn’t want to deal with him. He was always loud and obnoxious. I remembered once running into Samantha Goodwin at the mall. She had a crush on Jordan in high school, though before that, she used to be friends with me.
We had lunch together that day. Talked about life and growing up. She told me how Jordan had struggled—how he got a girl pregnant, then got kicked out of her place, bounced from place to place. Eventually, he just disappeared. No one knew what happened to him. The rumor was he ended up homeless.
So when this version of Jordan showed up at my door, ringing the bell, I told myself I was going to do everything I could to help him—the version I could be there for. Maybe together, we could reshape his fate.
“Is it okay if I don’t call my dad right away?” he asked, voice low.
I nodded. “You can just hang out for a bit. Grandma’s making grilled cheese.”
That seemed to settle something in him.
We ate at the table, sunlight slanting through the windows, plates warm, fingers sticky with tomato soup and laughter. Later, while Patrick hid in the living room with his Walkman and sketchpad, Jordan and I sat outside on the porch steps. The sky was starting to fade into that soft purple-blue.
I had spent the whole day trying to figure out how to get Jordan to open up. Now, sitting on the back steps with popsicles in hand, I was still searching for the right words to let him know he was safe here. That he could talk. That if he did, we could get him help.
He was quiet for a long time. Then I asked gently, “What are your parents like?”
“My dad gets mad when stuff isn’t perfect,” he said. “Like… scary mad. Sometimes he hits the wall. Or the table. Or the back of my head.”
I didn’t say anything at first. I just reached down, picked up a smooth stone from the step, and handed it to him.
“You’re safe here,” I said. “Whenever you need to be.”
He looked down at the rock. “It’s just a rock.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But it’s yours now. That means something.”
He looked at me sideways. “You’re kind of weird. You know that, right?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “So everyone keeps telling me.”
“But you’re cool. It’s like… you’re smarter than most grownups. I don’t know…” He trailed off, like he didn’t know how to finish.
“Thanks,” I said anyway. And I meant it.
That night, after Jordan went home, I sat beside Grandma while she sipped her Diet Coke in her recliner. The TV murmured in the background, mostly forgotten.
“Jordan’s dad hits him,” I said. “What do we do? I doubt anyone would take me seriously. I’m afraid they’d just think he’s a kid who’s mad at his dad.”
She didn’t react the way I expected. No gasp. No rush. Just a quiet nod.
“I thought so,” she said. “He always looks hungry in ways most grownups can’t see.”
I looked at her. “So what should I do?”
She smiled, slow and soft. “You keep being his friend. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“But how?” I asked.
She gave me a look—the kind that could split mountains and hush thunderstorms.
“You’ve got enough on your shoulders. You can’t save everyone. But we can save who we can. I’ll help you… until the world is ready to listen and take you seriously.”
J Cooper 