Unplanned Journey
Chapter 1 (From One Moment to the Next)

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to S. E. Hinton.

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Archive retrieval date: 06-01-2050

Authorization: Identity disk, biometric properties, and permission from Director confirmed as valid for Personnel ID #14601332.

(Journal entries as transcribed by P. M. Curtis, circa 1995-2005, stored on optical media known as a Compact Disc. Recovered from an uninhabited area after a tornado struck the city of Tulsa; citizen who recovered this has been questioned and released. Subsequent law enforcement possession and analysis handled under the strictest of confidentiality restrictions. This information is classified under Security Directive Alpha-511, designated TOP SECRET, NOFORN, EYES ONLY.)

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Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Friday, March 11, 2005.

Tulsa, Oklahoma, United States. Saturday, March 12, 1966.

If you noticed anything strange about the dates, you're not the only one. I have no idea how I got from point A to point B, and the answer to how this happened is probably best left to the geeks who study quantum mechanics and parallel universes for a living; I'm not even sure they would be able to explain what happened to me.

As of right now, writing this journal up before I start school, it's August 20, 1966 and I'm eighteen years old. My birthday is March 26, 1987, so do the math – or at least try to. Time travel has a way of messing with your head.

My name is Shawn Daggett. As of my sudden jump from Vancouver to Tulsa, across thirty-nine years, I was seventeen years old. Some examples of my home life:

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I came home after term report cards came out. Mom was home from her real estate job, relaxing with a cup of coffee and the day's newspaper. She loved doing the crossword puzzle.

I'd already looked at my report card, so I knew the news was mostly good – but my parents were a touch more paranoid than I was about getting good grades. I said, "Hey, Mom, the report cards came out. Here's mine."

"Wonderful, Shawn! Let's see how you did. Hmm... English 11, A. Chemistry 11, B. Biology 11, B. French 11, A. Social Studies 11…"

Her face went blank.

Shit, I knew it! Mom had seen that damn C+ and was going to give me a hard time about it. She said, "Shawn, we've discussed your Social Studies grade before. Why do you have another C+ in Social Studies? Last time, you said it was a bad test mark. I won't have you throwing away your academic career. As it is you'll have to go to a college instead of straight to university!"

Defensively, I muttered, "OK, Mom. Geez!"

My mom's face seemed to relax as she said, "Shawn, look – your father and I, we just want you to have opportunities in life. You know how hard it is to get a job with only a high school education these days."

I decided to 'fess up. "Yeah, OK. Well, the truth is… um, I kind of didn't do a couple of homework assignments."

My Dad's face at dinner mirrored my Mom's disappointment at those words, revealing my slacking-off, and he said, "Shawn, son, you need to keep your grades up. The rest of these look fine, though. Your Math is a nice solid B and your Metalworking mark is also a B. But if I see you keep getting C+ grades in your Social Studies we'll have to discuss whether you'll be allowed to go to your friends' end-of-year parties."

That didn't stop me from whining about doing the dishes that night, though.

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Those end of year parties – man! We'd started doing them in grade eight, and they got wilder every year. My parents were really cool about letting me go, even though they had to have known there wasn't just innocent music and dancing.

I remembered the one we had at the end of my grade ten year. Jason Schreck, my best buddy from when we were in elementary school together, had managed to convince his parents that he'd keep a tight leash on anyone who came in (hah, fat chance!) and they agreed to let him have his shindig on the weekend they were due to visit his uncle.

So there I was, in front of his house, and he had a pretty awesome CD playing, and straightaway I went and hogged his Playstation 2, playing Crazy Taxi, while he made smartass comments about my driving skill (or lack of it) in the game. His parents had this really kickass forty-inch TV set with good speakers, and the game was way more fun to play at his house than mine – my parents stuck with the old 27-inch we had from 2000.

Some other friends of mine showed up, and sure enough the beer started flowing. There was always someone's older brother willing to help get the alcohol, even if nobody ever actually said who picked the stuff up. I got bored of never finishing the city loop in Crazy Taxi, and Jason and I each got a beer. He yelled, "End of year, man!"

I grinned, and we clinked bottles. We had our impromptu chugging contest, and I only quit when my stomach threatened nausea, noting that I had about a quarter of the bottle left while Jason had a third. I smirked, yelling, "I win!"

He clapped me on the shoulder and grinned, then pointed over at a couple of cute girls and began buzzing in my ear about how he'd like to get us on a double-date with them.

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As you can see, a pretty ordinary life. Friends, parties, school, the usual.

The night it happened, I had no inkling anything was really unusual. I was hanging out at Jason's house, shooting the breeze and playing a couple games on his Playstation 2; I got bored of it and said I was taking off early. I got home, saw the clock read 9 PM, and fooled around on the computer for a bit. By 9:30 I realized I wasn't accomplishing anything worthwhile since none of my friends were on the instant-message networks, and the game forum websites were sorely lacking in activity, and so I went to bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I dropped straight off to sleep, and at some point I was dreaming I was in this crazy whirlwind of pyrotechnic exploding stars and suns that looked all warped, like when you looked in those fun-house mirrors at carnivals.

When I woke up, at first I thought I was still dreaming, or the victim of some kind of practical joke. I was resting on something hard and stiff, but as soon as I put my hand down, I snapped to full wakefulness. I blurted, "What the he—", only to choke off as I took in my surroundings.

It was twilight, and I could see in the early dawn that I was in some kind of grassy lot, and there were houses nearby. I stood up, trying to get my bearings, thinking to myself, Oh, man. What the HELL is going on here?!

Author Notes:

This is the new version. I'd like to thank Artemis for the beta work, plus mars on fire and NittanyLizard for their excellent help and suggestions, as well as Marauder and the Q for some ideas. If I've left anyone out I sincerely apologize and I'll edit this chapter posthaste to reflect that. The update frequency will be a little sporadic but rest assured I'll try to be consistent about chapters and not leave them hanging for weeks on end. :)

The main reason I am rewriting in the first place is to take the good parts of the old version, and further remove cliche or Deus Ex Machina type elements and make this a truly excellent fic.