Be Kind. Rewind.

I would never have thought that Mr. Arnold was a meathead back in the day. That’s the thing about time. It’s like an Instagram post you’ve run through a hundred filters. It gets to the point where you wouldn’t even recognize where that final image started. I believe the film buffs call the story that is about to unfold a ‘romp.’ Buckle up. You’re not gonna believe where this one is going. I sure didn’t.

Our story begins when the substitute English teacher drops the “C” word. The tea is that they caught the cancer late—like Stage 4—and spread to the brain—late. Oof. Everyone turns to their phones and gets to work. Albie, our resident snoop, digs up the 1994 high school yearbook from the library in no time flat and strikes gold.

The picture starts trending on social media and immediately goes viral—at least by Bayside High standards. “Billy Biceps,” the caption reads. It is unmistakable. It is Mr. Arnold alright. A teenage version. Flashing that double bicep pose like the Austrian Oak himself, except while sporting a bad eighties mustache and shaggy do. Something needs to be done. Mr. Arnold can’t go down like this. Not on my watch. Gear is a bitch. A real ticking time bomb. If only he had never started juicing. He probably would have never got cancer.

Let’s back up. Mr. Arnold isn't just our High School English teacher; he's much more. He’s the one who wrote out Jay-Z lyrics in the style of E.E. Cummings. The one who assigned us “A Wrinkle in Time.” And explained how time travel a/k/a tessering worked in the book—sound being transformed into light and warping space to transport you where you need to go. “All you have to do is close your eyes and hum,” Mr. Arnold said. And in typical Mr. Arnold fashion, he started humming out “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Mr. Arnold is a real one. The cool teacher. “Oh, Captain! My Captain!” All that. Everyone in our class comes to him first before their parents with any life crisis that comes up. He's the one our parents complain about. And for me, he is “The Dude.” The Dude who said, “Does anyone else think they can catch lightning in a bottle like Aiden, just did” while reading the poem I submitted to the student Lit Mag aloud to the class. And Inaya heard him say it. Inaya, you could say, is a Heather. If you know what I mean.

Inaya snaps me, with the Bitmoji of her face in a Spider-Gwen costume popping up on my iPhone, and the text comes in saying, “I was tired from a late-night pre-cal sesh. Then I was bored during AP Bio. Now I’m tired of being bored. So, I’ve spent the last half hour breadcrumbing my Stanny-Stan-Stan. Anyway, you hear about Mr. Arnold?” Stan is a fan. But like a fan who is obsessed. Eminem. Marshal Mathers. Bueller. Is anyone getting this?

I snap her back instantly, telling Inaya to meet me in the library.

Inaya’s already there, waiting by the circular stacks, wearing a fire ensemble. Shit, to be honest, her whole vibe is fire. I pull her into one of the study rooms. “We’ve got to find one of the teachers who went to school with Mr. Arnold, stat,” I say.

“And what good is that gonna do?”

“Intel. We need intel. If we are going to help Mr. Arnold, we need to get the real tea. Find out how this started and how deep into the sauce he was. Like, was this a summer of love type of thing, or was he like a genuine, Jersey Shore, GTL Gorilla?”

“No cap, Aiden. Mr. Arnold gives off strong GTL Gorilla vibes.”

“Facts.”

“Is it just me, or was young Mr. Arnold dripping with rizz? Talk about a Glow-up. Minus the stash. The stash has to go.”

“I didn’t think you were into buff dudes?”

“Teenybopper Mr. Arnold is a whole meal. We could smash.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m kidding! It’s Mr. Arnold. Don’t be so salty. Besides, I’m saving myself for Timothée Chalamet.”

“Timothée Chalamet is a bad meme. An AI composite. I mean, really. What, did Timmy ask you to Homecoming?” This isn’t idle chat. I’m trying to work up the courage to ask Inaya to Homecoming but feel like I’m choking on my tongue.

“No. Still waiting on Timmy. Sigh. A girl can dream. Let’s go find that yearbook.”

She didn’t take the bait. So, that’s an L.

“I’d go with Mr. Arnold though,” she teases.

“Or some young stud that comes up with an ingenious plan to save his… manly bits?”

“Done and done,” she says, smiling.

Maybe there's a chance after all, I think.

Inaya and I scour some old yearbooks and finally realize that Ms. Paino was a classmate of Mr. Arnold, back before the button-downs and sweaters and the spectacled readers.

I find Ms. Paino in the teacher’s lounge. I’m on the AP track and in the running for one of the runners-up slots for valedictorian. Therefore, I’m grandfathered into barging into the teacher’s lounge unannounced.

“Aiden, what are you doing here?”

“I need the tea on Mr. Arnold, spill it,” I say.

“What do you mean? About his illness?”

“About the nineties. How did our resident Mr. Rogers lookalike get on the gear?”

“Oh, that. So, you saw the Billy Biceps pic that’s going around, and you think…”

“Think. I know. Now spill it.”

“If you really want to know... I suppose it's harmless. It all started when Billy's high school girlfriend dumped him for a jock right before Homecoming. What was her name? N-Nnn-Na. What was it? Nad-ee-ah. Nadia. That’s it. How could I forget? A tall drink of water. Came over with her family from St. Petersburg, and she had that husky, deep, Russian accent. All the boys were eating it up. Climbing over one another to get her attention. They were all jealous of Mr. Arnold for punching her dance card. Nadia, though. She was looking to trade up. Looking for someone buff. That’s how she ended up with Slater. Captain of the soccer team. I mean, he was a bit of a snack. Isn’t that how you all say it?”

“Wait, what’s a ‘dance card?’ No, never mind. What happened when this e-girl ghosted Mr. Arnold?”

“Billy ditched the Homecoming Dance. Ended up at the Blockbuster Video in the Taunton Strip Mall instead.”

“Blockbuster?”

“Think Netflix, with physical tapes you bring home to watch, then return.”

“Tapes?”

“VHS cassettes.”

“Cahh-sets? Okay. Whatever that is.”

“You had to rewind them too. ‘Be Kind. Rewind.’ That was their motto!”

“Rewind?”

“Well, it’s a physical tape, like a movie reel, so you had to put it in the VCR and press rewind or else it was a real pain for the next person. And sometimes when the staff was rewinding a tape a customer didn't rewind before returning, they’d put the wrong video in the case. That was the worst.”

“VCR? Never mind. What happened?”

“Anyway, they gave Billy the wrong VHS tape. A real, ‘Be Kind. Rewind’ faux pas. Instead of getting ‘Adventures in Babysitting,’ he ended up with ‘Pumping Iron.’ The rest was history. Billy hit the weights hard that spring and summer. Hard, hard. And he got… swole… as the kids would say. Then it became kind of like an addiction. Before you know it, he’s greasing himself up and entering competitions.”

“So how does this ‘rewinding’ of the tape work?”

“Uhhh, it is like a movie reel. There are little spools on the tapes and a spinning grip in the machine. The VCR uses a little motor. The wheels just turn in reverse. And the tape rewinds.”

“Interesting. So, we’re talking, the fall of 1993. That’s when the big yikes happened.”

“I suppose,” Ms. Paino said. “Shouldn’t you be in study hall?”

“I’m on my way – right now – thanks!”

* * *

I walk through the hallways at a brisk clip, dodging the other kids and swearing revenge on Nadia, that no-good ratchet Russian cheater who left Mr. Arnold for Mr. Beefcakes! Now I know why he always sneered when referring to Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and Chekhov. The Russians, he would say, with emphasis, as if twisting his mustache in derision.

Everywhere I go, I keep noticing a creepy 40-something dude in the hallway, looking like the only clothed person in a nudist colony. He is wearing a vintage Metallica T-shirt with white lettering on black. His bleach-blonde hair is styled in a mangy bowl cut. The first time I see him he’s cutting through the gym scuffing the coating on the laminate floor. Not two minutes later, I spot him down the hall coming around the corner to the cafeteria. The chances this guy has a hall pass are slim to none.

This time he walks right up to me, grabs me by the shoulders, and says, “Aiden, it’s you.”

“Uhh, yeah. And who are you?”

“Eddie Edge,” he says, placing his hands on hips.

“What is a… am I supposed to be impressed?”

“You need to come with me. It’s about Mr. Arnold. There isn’t much time.”

“Okay boomer.”

“Follow me.” He starts speeding off toward the bus lot behind the cafeteria before I can catch up.

“We’re going where? To do what?”

“Look kid. I owe Mr. Arnold. I was a kid in his class years ago when he first started teaching. About twenty years ago now. What an inspiration! It’s something I’ve got to do. For all our sake.”

“You have any proof?”

“You could go back to the 1998 Yearbook and check me out on this. But there isn’t any time. The rift will only be open for about ten more minutes. By next period, it’ll be gone forever.”

“So, what are you suggesting we do to help Mr. Arnold? Humor me.”

“What else? Isn’t it obvious? We have to return to 1993 and make sure Mr. Arnold checks out the right flic at Blockbuster Video. Everything depends on it. If he never gets cancer, Inaya never dies...”

“Inaya? Dies? What does she have to... Whoah. For real. Are you mental bro?”

“I’m telling you right now that I’m here to take you back…”

“And who, what exactly are you supposed to be?”

“We’ve been over this. I don’t have time to explain. Try to keep up. We have to ride the short bus.”

“That old relic in the bus barn? That hasn’t been used for years. What does that have to do with Mr. Arnold?”

“Well, I’m not saying we ride it literally. We need to catch a vibe.”

“A vibe? It’s giving… let’s see… an ’07 shaved-head Britney Spears vibe. Is that an old enough reference for you? You getting me, bruh?”

“We need to channel a time rift. A musical one. A real nineties vibe. And bridge that rift through space and time. Shred that wave until we clear the barrel and come out the other side 'Gleaming the Cube' style without getting ragdolled in the process. It is all vibrations. All thrumming strings. Like on a record. And you can rewind it. That’s how it works. Taking the short way around. Pun intended. You ever read ‘A Wrinkle in Time?’”

“I’m shook. You are like, literally, the second person today explaining rewinding to me.”

“Trust me. It’s easy. To get back to the fall of 1993 all we have to do is start playing ‘Linger’ by the Cranberries on repeat in the short bus. Works every time.”

“Wait. You are saying time travel is sound based? Mr. Arnold told us something about that. Tessering. Are you saying that’s a real thing?”

“You think it’s a coincidence, bruh? Come on kid. Or should I start calling you Meg? There’s no time to waste.”

“Wait? You read Madeline L’Engle?”

“Read it? I inspired it. Do you think she just made up Charles Wallace? I go by Eddie Edge, but obviously, that is not my real name. It’s copyright infringement, kid. Plain and simple. That girl should be in time jail.”

Okay, okay. The explanation slaps. My mind is officially blown. Low key. But I am no fool. I text Inaya and Albie to hunt down the 1998 Yearbook. Stat.

* * *

Don’t ask me how this dough-brained cringeasaurus finessed me into accompanying him onto the short bus. When Inaya hadn’t even gotten back to me yet. Using a YA novel no less. Might as well have been dangling a bag of Skittles in front of a Highlighter Kid. Just saying it out loud sounds highly sus. But that is what’s happening right now.

When we get out to the school bus graveyard, the short bus with its four rear windows is grinning at us. It is covered in hot pink, electric blue, and lime green stripes, and checkered with pastel graffiti. There is a pink baby elephant, a mint green alien in a flying saucer, and a lavender chimpanzee dangling from the top of the rear bay doors. There’s also a bright orange giraffe by the automatic door, giving boarding passengers the side eye. And the grill is painted like a grinning carnival clown.

Eddie Edge steps inside first and sits in the driver’s seat. I come in and sit directly behind in the first row. He pulls a black rectangular thingy out of his pocket and sticks it into a slot next to the steering wheel.

He turns his head back to me and says, “You ready?”

I shrug.

A haunting humming sound gives way to a catchy melody. It reverberates around us and the bus starts gently shaking. A haunting voice takes center stage, singing, “If you could return… do you have to… do you have to.” It was a vibe. It was giving me a headache. The bus was glitching now. The air was filled with static. I was getting a bit dizzy, like the way your eyes unfocus when you’re staring too long at a picture. “You know I’m such a fool….fooo—oooool.”

“Jusss waittt. Close your eyes. The dizzzziiiinnneessss will fade. Just count back from ten.”

By the time I reach one, all is silent. Solid. Still. As it should be. I open my eyes and we are at the Taunton Strip Mall.

“Come on. There isn’t much time,” Eddie Edge says. And as we walk out of the bus, I notice there is no graffiti anywhere. A big blue sign on the front of the biggest storefront reads “Blockbuster Video” in bright block letters.

“Alright, kid. You’ve got to head in there. The task is simple. Swap out the ‘Pumping Iron’ VHS that is in the wrong case for ‘Adventures in Babysitting.' Easy peasy. Got it?”

“Oh, is that all,” I say. And I run up to the glass doors.

* * *

As I enter the store, I hear a jingling from a bell over the door. I take stock of my surroundings. Rows of cases line the shelves. There is a candy display at the counter. A popcorn popper going like gangbusters. A red curtain behind a section at the far end. There is a dopy stoner-looking dude at the counter, and a perky girl with an up-do next to him, chewing bubble gum, popping bubbles, and smacking her gums obnoxiously. And they are playing some movie on a weird boxy screen above the register. Some old flic with a gofer running from some guy in a bucket hat.

I quickly try to problem-solve this bitch. Step 1. Find the ‘Adventures in Babysitting’ tape. Step 2. Distract the lip-smacking candy girl. Step 3. Make the swap. Step 4. Get the hell out of dodge. Turning my head I see an aisle that says, “New Releases.” That must be where ‘Adventures in Babysitting’ is. But what about ‘Pumping Iron?’ That’s an older film.

I make a b-line for the curtained room and pull back the curtain. Oh boy! The second I open the curtain I realize that I am in an age with no internet. It never occurred to me the lengths people had to go to back in the day. Jeez Louise!

“Hey kid!” the stoner dude says, “Adults only. Can’t you read the sign!” I take the L, sulking back to the counter.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m looking for ‘Pumping Iron.’ You know where it is?”

He shakes his head in disapproval. “Come with me, kid.”

I follow the gangly dope head back to the stacks on the back wall. There is a sign indicating this is the ‘Arnold Schwarzenegger’ section. He immediately finds the cassette and opens it up. “Sorry kid, it looks like somebody checked this one out.”

“Could you check?” I ask. “I really was looking forward to watching this one. Oh wait. What about ‘Adventures in Babysitting?’ I want to check that out too."

We go back to New Releases section and he hands me the case.

While the dope head checks the computer, I ask the Chewing Gum Girl for some popcorn.

“How much do you want?”

"Do you take ApplePay?"

“Apple, what? It’s free with a purchase kid,” she says, angrily filling a tub and plopping it down on the counter. Spotting the rewind machine on the counter behind her, I knock over the tub. Chewing Gum Girl curses under her breath, comes over with a broom, and starts cleaning.

I sneak around and spot the ‘Adventures in Babysitting’ cassette in the rewinder and make the swap and I am back in the short bus in no time flat.

“Not bad, kid.”

“Thanks, Eddie. Or should I say Charles? Where to now?”

“You’re riding solo, kid. Just pick any Taylor Swift song. You’ll be back in no time.”

“Hey, you know what happens with Inaya and me?”

“At Homecoming?” he asks.

“Bussin!” I say, grinning ear to ear.