1998

Shit, shit, shit!

Leonardo's baby face greeted me like some sort of floppy haired angel-demon as I opened my eyes.

What the fuck? I was still trapped in 1998?

What I wouldn't give for my iPhone. I'd google the shit out of 'time travel', 'pink pills', 'how long was the longest ever acid trip?' and 'is Groundhog Day based on a true story?'

I couldn't use dad's desktop computer to look any of this stuff up – mum and dad had taken away my computer and phone privileges. That was house phone privileges. I wouldn't get my first mobile phone until next year.

My pink radio clock flashed 6.03am. I groaned and rolled over. What was I going to do? How did people usually snap out of their drug trips? Drink coffee? No, that was if you were drunk, you knobhead. Then again, I was pretty desperate by this point. I thought I'd have one crazy day back at high school and go out in a blaze of glory with no consequences. How naïve of me.

I swung my feet out of bed and made to the kitchen. I flicked on the kettle and rubbed my temples.

Okay, what was the worst case scenario here? The worst case scenario was that I really was stuck in 1998.

So what was the silver lining? Well, I'd get to live my 20s again. I'd lose my virginity to that cute guy from first year uni who'd told me I had nice legs when I had the chance and I definitely wouldn't sleep with that hot friend of a friend of Marcy's who'd given me crabs. I wouldn't use that DIY waxing kit that had given me a rash along my bikini line in 2006. I wouldn't lie to my first boss about being fluent in Spanish and I wouldn't buy those $500 white trousers when I was 24. They'd stayed their pristine white for precisely 22 minutes after putting them on.

I was looking forward to doing my 20s all over again, really.

And what else would I do? So much stuff! I'd say yes to that trip to Prague I'd been too busy for in 2009. I'd appreciate the fact that I had no wrinkles. I'd go on more dates. I'd pick a different university course. I'd continue with the drama classes - then maybe I wouldn't wind up losing sleep over conversion rates at Smith Bank.

Maybe I'd even go to LA with Millie ...

'Ooh, pour me a cup will you?' Millie padded into the kitchen with a yawn. The girl could sure pull off no makeup, birds nest bed hair and a dressing gown.

'Get me a cuppa too,' sang out mum behind her.

'Does the rest of the shire of Willis want a coffee too?' I stuck my tongue out at them.

'Don't play the whole butter wouldn't melt routine with me, Sammy,' warned mum. 'You're on very thin ice right now.'

I sipped my coffee and wondered if the caffeine would jolt me back to 2015.

'Since when do you drink black coffee Sammy?' Millie raised her eyebrows.

'I just felt like a black coffee.' I tried to ignore how they stared at me as I poured their coffees.

Millie broke the awkward silence. 'Sammy, I just gotta say good on you. Robin's always been a self-important little bitch.'

'Please don't encourage her, Millie.' Mum grabbed her coffee and clutched the mug with both hands. Wasn't it scalding?

'Jeez, okay.' Millie held her hands up as if to say, 'Don't shoot me.'

Mum had that snappy tone to her voice that she'd used often after the divorce. In 2015, she reserved the tone for tense conversations with dad. That's right, the divorce was nigh. I watched her stare out the window and blow on her coffee. I wondered what was going through her head but I figured it was best not to talk about it.

'I really am sorry mum,' I said meekly, shuffling past her to get ready for school. It was going to take a while. I had to find some way to rock an enormous flesh coloured bandaid on my face.

****

I decided to wear my hair down in an attempt to hide the huge bandaid. I didn't have any hair straighteners – they were a luxury I wouldn't discover until a few years later – so I used a hair dryer to try to create some beachy waves. It was hard considering that the hair dryer weighed about a tonne (hair dryers sure had advanced over the past 17 years), but I got there in the end.

I put a subtle gold shimmer on my eyelids and dabbed a rose tinted gloss on my lips. I was almost out the door when I remembered my friendship necklace. I raced back to my room and found it tangled up in my glittery jewellery box.

I took the long way to school and put my headphones in. I'd found my discman poking out of a pair of sneakers at the bottom of my cupboard and my Jagged Little Pill CD in my knicker drawer. No wonder everyone hated these discmans. 'Hand in my Pocket' had skipped about three times already. Give me a Walkman any day.

It had occurred to me while I was pulling on my cherry red Doc Martins that if I was stuck in 1998, I'd have to take the bloody HSC all over again. Despite what I'd announced to the class of '98 yesterday, the HSC was still a bitch. I'd have to actually study to at least get enough to get into a uni course. What did I even remember from studying for the HSC? Something about mitosis and a book called The Collector. Or was The Collector from year 11 English?

It was fine – I'd decided that acting was the new plan. Dad had said that I was still allowed to take after-school drama. It had been on the table as one of my 'privileges' to revoke.

I clomped up to school gates. Today Penny was waiting for me. She'd never believe me if I told her what was going on with me, even though I was dying to tell someone. Maybe there was some time travel expert in one of my classes. But how would I find them? It's not like I could post a message on Facebook.

'Sorry I didn't call you last night,' I said apologetically. 'I'm not allowed to use the phone now.'

'Yeah, I figured. Does your face hurt?' She scrunched up her nose and peered at my cheek.

'It's a little sore.' I fingered the edges of the bandaid. 'I'm just worried about how long the scars will stay for.'

She pursed her lips and looked down. 'Sammy, why did you do it? Why didn't you tell me you were going to be acting all different yesterday?'

'I don't know.' I'd almost forgotten how there had been no secrets between us during high school. We'd talked about everything - even about how we were going to wear our hair each day. No wonder she was pissed off. 'I wasn't myself yesterday.'

'I mean, you did something weird to your hair, you're suddenly wearing makeup without telling me about it, you went all psycho in class and then you had a fight with Robin. I mean, Robin! What did that even feel like?'

'Okay, I'm really sorry.' I pointed at my throat. 'But look, I remembered my necklace today.'

Penny smiled weakly and the siren sounded. It was a siren that bought a collage of random moments from five years of high school into my head. Trying a cigarette with Mei-Ling near the bike sheds. Worrying about getting my period on the way to the swimming carnival. The day we had English class outside.

'Come on.' I looped my arm with Penny's. 'Let's see how much havoc I caused yesterday.'

****

I knew I'd caused havoc, but I didn't expect to start a fashion trend. When Penny and I entered homeroom, half a dozen high buns turned in our direction.

'Oh my god,' Penny said under her breath.

I looked at Robin, whose hair was down and pushed back from her face with a metal-toothed headband. That thing looked almost as painful as my cheek had felt yesterday. She avoided my gaze and pouted as she doodled in an exercise book.

'Sammy, you're a bad arse!' remarked Jason, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.

'Thanks.' I slid into my seat. A small group formed around me.

'Is it sore?' asked Mei-Ling, tucking her hair behind her ear.

'Are you wearing gold eyeshadow?' asked Shona Tims. I noticed she was wearing bright red lipstick, just like I'd worn yesterday.

'Can we see the damage?' asked Dimitri. 'Take the bandaid off. I heard Robin actually drew blood.'

Robin jerked her head up, but she didn't turn around.

'Er, maybe later.' I touched my bandaid.

'Okay kids, settle down,' ordered Mr. Richards as he strode into the room.

'So cool Sammy,' whispered Mei-Ling as she slinked back to her seat.

'Samantha and Robin, Principal Sutton asked me to pass on the message that you've got rubbish duty at recess and lunch,' said Mr. Richards.

I sighed. I felt like Robin and I were now prisoners forced to share the same cell block. Maybe we'd become tight, like we were in an episode of Orange is the New Black. Robin would obviously be the 'prison bitch' of the pair. There was no way I'd let it be me.