The Time Travelers Ballgame

Prologue -- One More Minute

My name is Juliette Holloway. Most people call me Julie. I have a doctorate in applied physics, a slightly unhealthy relationship with post-it notes, and a cat named Schrödy who believes emotional support is a one-way contract. I also built a time machine in my basement. It's small, unpredictable, and partially held together by desperation and electrical tape. It shouldn't work. But it does. And I didn't build it to change the world. I built it for something much simpler.

I wanted to go back to the moment before I lost him.

Jamie Knight. Baseball's golden boy. Five-time All-Star. Face of the Seattle Mariners. And once, just a long time ago, he was my best friend. The boy who climbed trees with me. The boy who shared my headphones and ate all my Twizzlers. The boy who called me "Doc" before I had even picked a major. He was my person. My constant. My home. And he never knew that I loved him. Not really.

I stayed close. I stayed in Austin longer than I had to. I turned down research fellowships, full-ride transfers, and opportunities that could have put me on magazine covers, because he was there. And even when he left, I followed. Quietly. I moved to Seattle too. Different circles, different careers. But same skyline. Same city. It was easier to lie to myself when we shared zip codes.

But the truth is, I haven't spoken to Jamie since Amy happened.

Amy Kaur. Lifestyle queen. Instagram-famous. Perfect smile, perfect timing. One minute I was psyching myself up to tell him the truth, and the next, she was twirling her hair and taking his hand. And just like that, the door between us slammed shut. I watched it happen and said nothing. I haven't said anything since.

Then came the engagement announcement.

It popped up on my feed while I was adjusting the laser calibrations on a prototype field loop. Jamie, smiling for the camera, arm around Amy, captioned with a diamond emoji and the words "She said yes." I dropped the wrench. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just stared at the screen until the edges blurred and the room felt impossibly cold. We used to talk every day. Now I wasn't even worth a text.

I think that was the moment I decided to finish building it. Not to ruin anything. Not to sabotage Amy. But because I couldn't keep living like a ghost in my own story. The machine, J.A.M.I.E., short for Just A Minute Intervention Engine, can take me back. Not just days. Not just hours. Years. Ten, to be precise. But I don't need ten. I only need nine. Along the way, I also built the Holloway Array, a stabilization matrix designed to monitor and recalibrate any shifts in causality if things started to spiral. If the timeline cracked, the array would detect the fault and reset the branch before it collapsed. It was my safety net, my failsafe, and my last act of caution in a plan built entirely on emotion.

It started with old movies. Black-and-white classics where someone races through time to stop a mistake or find the person they love. I watched them when I was a kid, curled up with my dad's blanket and a heart full of questions. Somewhere between Back to the Future and Somewhere in Time, the idea planted itself. What if love really could bend time?

So I bent it.

Not to rewrite history. Not to win. Just to find one minute that matters. A sliver of time to say the words I never had the courage to speak.

"Jamie, I love you."

CHAPTER - "Blueprints and Broken Hearts"

They say first love leaves a mark. Mine left formulas etched into the underside of my ribs and mathematical proofs scrawled behind my eyelids. While other girls were practicing signatures with their crush's last name, I was calculating the potential energy of unspoken feelings. At the center of it all was Jamie Knight. He was the boy who let me copy his notes, the boy who gave me his hoodie during freshman year, and the boy I never stopped loving. I thought I had time. I thought maybe one day, when I was brave enough, I'd tell him.

But then Amy Kaur showed up with perfect timing, a hundred-watt smile, and zero shame. She didn't wait. She didn't hesitate. She stepped in while I stood there overanalyzing everything. By the time I worked up the courage to say anything, Jamie was already holding her hand. The silence between us stretched, calcified, and eventually broke. That was nine years ago. He is still with her. She is still beautiful. And I am alone in a basement with a glowing machine that hums louder than my self-respect.

It looks like a broken water heater, which is exactly what I want people to think. The neighbors assume I'm fixing plumbing. If only. What I've actually built is something infinitely worse. J.A.M.I.E. Just-A-Minute Intervention Engine. Powered by quantum instability and my inability to let go. It is equal parts temporal distortion, untested math, and emotional sabotage. Also, I've wired it together with parts from a toaster oven and an old MRI magnet I borrowed from a university dumpster.

My lab is barely a lab. It's a cluttered tangle of wires, post-it notes, and half-drunk coffee cups. I sit in front of the console, staring at the activation sequence like it holds my last shot at sanity. Every time I close my eyes, I see Jamie's face the day we said goodbye after graduation. I remember every word he didn't say. So I built something that could rewind the clock and give us that conversation. Just one chance. One minute back.

I set the target date. September 4th, 2014. The last afternoon I had with him before everything changed. The afternoon Amy stepped in and smiled like she owned the future. My fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly. I input his name. Jamie Knight. Then the location. Baseball field. Austin, Texas. Late summer, late afternoon. A perfect memory I've memorized to the decimal.

My throat is dry. I tell myself I am ready. I am not. Schrödy, my eternally unimpressed cat, watches from under a chair. His tail flicks once. Maybe that's approval. Or warning. Either way, I take a breath, lean forward, and press the button.

The lights flicker. The machine whirs. My stomach flips. Something smells faintly like burnt cinnamon, which is probably not a good sign. Electricity snaps in the air like it has something to prove. I hear the core start to spin faster. A low, melodic hum builds into something deeper. Something alive.

And just before the jump, right as the pressure in my chest tightens like a coiled spring, I whisper the only name that ever mattered. Jamie. Then the world bends in half and time cracks open like an egg on pavement.

CHAPTER - "Oh Look, I've Made a Teenager"

The first thing I feel is concrete. Cold, sticky, vaguely lemon-scented concrete pressed against my cheek. I open my eyes and immediately regret it. Harsh fluorescent lights flicker above me like they're auditioning for a horror film. A red mop bucket sits nearby. I blink, groan, and realize I've materialized in a janitor's closet. Because of course I have. Time travel, ladies and gentlemen. Not exactly glamorous.

I stumble out, heart pounding. The hallway is painfully familiar. Lockers that used to hold my books. Posters for prom that hasn't happened yet. It's 2014. I did it. I actually did it. The J.A.M.I.E. engine worked. I look down at myself. Hoodie, jeans, converse, goggles still dangling around my neck. I am somehow both overprepared and wildly underdressed for time infiltration.

I duck into the nearest bathroom to collect myself. Big mistake. There's already someone at the sink. She's muttering to herself, applying lip gloss with the kind of surgical precision only teenage girls and snipers possess. She looks up, sees me in the mirror... and freezes. My stomach drops. Because I know that face. It's mine. Seventeen-year-old me. Shorter hair. Less confidence. Same eyes. And she is staring at me like I just stepped out of a government van.

She opens her mouth to scream. I mirror her. For a solid five seconds, we just stand there shrieking at each other like mirror-image banshees. My brain short-circuits. I grab a paper towel and wave it like a flag of surrender. "Wait, wait! I can explain!"

Young Me points a trembling finger. "What the hell is going on? Who are you?"

My panic takes the wheel. "I'm your aunt. From Ohio. Visiting."

I say it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid made of lies.

There's a long pause. She stares. Blinks. Her eyes narrow. "I don't have an aunt from Ohio."

I try to smile. "Yes, you do. I'm the one they never talk about. You know. The weird one."

Young Me tilts her head. "You mean the one Dad said joined a pyramid scheme and disappeared?"

"Exactly," I reply, relieved and horrified all at once. "That's me. Back and definitely not selling essential oils."

She doesn't scream again. That's a win. Instead, she folds her arms and eyes me like a lab rat that learned to juggle. "Why do you look like me?"

I pivot. "Because we share genes. Strong ones. Also, this hoodie is one of a kind. MIT gave it to me after I gave a lecture on particle collapse."

She laughs once. "Right. And I'm secretly dating Chris Evans."

"Good," I say. "Keep dreaming big. That attitude will get you through some really weird physics courses."

I can tell she's still suspicious, but something shifts. Maybe it's the goggles. Maybe it's the quiet authority in my voice. Or maybe it's just because she's never had a cool adult show up randomly with the exact same nervous energy. She takes a cautious step forward. "So... you're visiting. Why?"

I hesitate. I can't say "to stop Amy from ruining your life and stealing the boy you love." So I shrug and offer the only truth I can.

"To make sure you don't miss something important."

She snorts. "Like what?"

I look her in the eyes. "Like yourself."

CHAPTER - "Aunt Jules (Definitely Not a Time Traveler)"

Young Me doesn't trust me, which is fair, because I don't trust me either. Still, she lets me follow her around campus like some weird educational ghost. I hover in the periphery, dropping subtle hints between classes like I'm trying to rig a high school romance speedrun. "You know," I say casually, "if you ever think about telling Jamie how you feel, now would be a solid time. Not, like, full confession... just something casual. Like, 'Hey, I think you're cute and also I may have a future PhD built around the way your jaw tightens when you focus.'"

She stares at me like I've grown a second head. "Do you always smell like solder?"

"Only on emotionally significant days," I reply, which is true.

Young Me sighs and adjusts her backpack. "You're weird, Aunt Jules."

"You should see me at job interviews," I mutter. "Once quoted Star Trek in my resume cover letter. Still got the job."

By day three, students start recognizing me. Not in the good way. In the "why is that adult always standing suspiciously near the vending machines" way. A kid in gym class asks if I'm a new substitute. Someone else whispers that I'm an undercover narc. One overachiever asks if I'm shadowing for a thesis on adolescent behavioral patterns. I tell them I'm doing a "casual family audit." They nod like that makes any sense.

Amy Kaur, meanwhile, is moving through the hallways like a Disney villain with contouring. She laughs at Jamie's jokes with a hand on his arm. She twirls her hair like it's a weapon. And she always manages to be exactly where Jamie is, like she's tracking him with radar and body glitter. I catch her glaring at me once. I wave. She flips her hair and ignores me. Classic.

I try to steer things gently. Nudge my younger self toward Jamie during lunch. Offer reasons to hang out near the field house. Suggest volunteer signups she "happens" to share with him. But every time they get close, Amy swoops in with a perfectly rehearsed line and derails everything. It's like watching a slow-motion car crash, except I'm the one who installed the brakes and forgot to tell anyone.

Young Me is catching on, too. She's not dumb. She starts asking questions. "Why do you keep showing up before Jamie walks by?"

"I like the sunshine," I lie.

"In the hallway?"

"It's metaphorical sunshine," I mutter, trying to change the subject by pointing out a vaguely physics-related poster on the wall.

The problem is, the more time I spend here, the harder it is to stay detached. Every smile Jamie gives her--me--hits like a bruise I can't explain. Every moment that might have been mine once stings all over again. I thought time travel would let me fix things. But right now, it just feels like I've gone back to watch myself lose him all over again.

CHAPTER - "Operation: Un-Amy"

I didn't come back in time planning to sabotage a high school fundraiser, but that's how most of my great ideas start. Improvised. Poorly thought through. Mildly combustible. I overheard that Amy's "accidental" flirt launch was scheduled for the bake sale table during the Spring Spirit Carnival--her chance to offer Jamie a brownie with a side of batting-lash eye contact. It was the match strike moment. I couldn't let it happen. So I came prepared. With goggles, a little magnesium, and a plan that sounded way less insane in my head.

The setup was flawless. I pretended to help set up the science club booth next to the bake sale, slipped the capsule under a makeshift volcano, and waited. When Amy sauntered up to Jamie with a tray of brownies and that nightmare-level flirty laugh, I triggered the release. White smoke billowed from the fake volcano like Mount Vesuvius had thoughts about this relationship. Chaos followed. Screams. Coughing. Someone dropped a tray of cupcakes. I shouted "Chemical leak!" with all the conviction of someone who once gave a TEDx talk on disaster response systems.

The plan was supposed to create a barrier. Confusion, distance, maybe a temporary evacuation. What actually happened? Jamie, ever the gentleman, pulled Amy away from the smoke and shielded her like a hero in a YA adaptation. They stumbled back together, coughing and laughing, eyes locked like they had just survived a rom-com together. Amy clutched his arm, eyes wide and full of "oh my god you saved me" sparkle. I, meanwhile, got hit in the face with a stray muffin and nearly trampled by the chess club.

The aftermath was swift. Principal McAllister called me into his office and stared at me like I was a recurring dream he couldn't quite place. "Have we met before?" he asked, squinting. "Your face seems... oddly familiar." I panicked and said I used to model for toothpaste boxes. He didn't buy it, but he was too tired to argue. Instead, he handed me a warning and a pamphlet on appropriate volunteer conduct. I nodded solemnly and promised not to incite any more food-based emergencies.

Back outside, I found Young Me sitting on the bleachers, arms crossed, fuming. "What was that?" she asked, eyes narrowed like a disappointed math teacher.

"A tactical disruption," I said. "Theatrics with a purpose."

"You almost got trampled by a trombone player," she hissed. "I don't know what kind of weirdo spy mission you're running, but please stop helping."

I wanted to tell her the truth. That I was trying to save her from the heartbreak that would define the next decade of her life. That I'd trade every journal, every degree, every sleepless night at Caltech if I could just rewrite this one chapter. But instead, I sat beside her and offered a half-hearted shrug. "Sorry," I said. "Got a little carried away." She didn't respond. Just shook her head and muttered something about adult supervision being overrated.

Amy waved at Jamie from across the quad, still clinging to his flannel sleeve like it came with a marriage license. Jamie looked over, his eyes scanning the crowd, then landing on me. He frowned. Not angry. Not curious. Just... puzzled. Like he was trying to place a dream he'd almost forgotten. Then he smiled--small, polite, distant--and turned back to Amy. I felt that smile like a door closing.

Operation: Un-Amy was officially a bust. I had only made things worse. And yet, somewhere deep inside, I still believed I could fix it. I just needed a better plan. A safer distraction. Something that wouldn't end with pastries on the floor and my dignity smoldering in the breeze. So naturally, I decided the best next step was more time travel. Because clearly, my judgment was in top form.

CHAPTER - "The Jamie Factor"

The plan was simple. Go to the batting cages. Watch from a distance. Maybe offer a vague pep talk if the opportunity arose. What actually happened was me walking straight into Jamie's line of sight while tripping over a bucket of practice balls and knocking over a tee. Graceful, as always. He turned, glove in hand, smile blooming across his face, and said, "Hey... do I know you? You look really familiar." And just like that, I lost all control over my vocabulary.

My brain short-circuited. I meant to say something casual. Something non-suspicious. What came out was, "You remind me of someone I used to... stalk."

His eyebrows lifted.

"Study!" I corrected immediately, too fast and too loud. "Someone I used to study for a school... thing. Project. Totally academic."

"Right," he said, nodding slowly, lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh. "Well, glad to be of scholarly service."

Trying to recover, I offered to help collect the scattered balls I'd spilled. By the time we finished, I had somehow talked myself into being the temporary assistant to the JV team's pitching coach. I said I had a background in biomechanics and adolescent shoulder mechanics. Technically not a lie. My dissertation included both. Still, watching Jamie practice from behind a clipboard felt like trying to hide a crush inside a science lecture. Pointless. Transparent.

He was every bit the version of him I remembered. Effortlessly kind, grounded, full of the kind of charm that made even small talk feel like sunlight. When he smiled, I felt seventeen again. Not the awkward, anxious seventeen I was--but the version I wanted to be. The one who believed maybe he could love her back. Except now, every second I spent near him was stolen time. And I could already feel the countdown ticking.

Amy showed up halfway through practice. Of course she did. Wearing perfectly distressed jeans and a top that said "casual" in that terrifying, deliberate way she always managed. She greeted Jamie with a kiss on the cheek and looked right at me afterward. "Hey," she said with a plastic smile. "You're Julie's aunt, right?"

I froze. "That's me."

"Huh," she said, tilting her head. "Funny. I didn't know Julie had family in town. Or that her family was... so young."

"Good skincare," I said, trying to laugh. "And yoga." I had never done yoga in my life.

She didn't buy it. I could see it in her eyes. Amy had shark instincts. If something didn't fit the narrative, she'd circle until she figured it out. I made a note to stay out of her way, which, ironically, probably guaranteed she'd pay more attention. Jamie, blissfully unaware of the cold war playing out behind him, just kept swinging in the cage, each hit echoing like a heartbeat in my chest.

Later that day, Young Me cornered me in the hallway. "Are you seriously working for the baseball team now?" she asked, arms crossed.

"It's for science," I said.

"It's for Jamie," she replied, not even pretending to believe me.

And she wasn't wrong. Being close to him made everything more dangerous. But I also wasn't ready to step away. Not yet. Because part of me still believed that somewhere in all this, there was a version of us worth fighting for.

CHAPTER -- "Echoes of the Future"

It started small. A flicker here, a stutter there. At first, I chalked it up to lack of sleep and secondhand cafeteria food. But then I heard it, a ringtone that hadn't existed in 2014. A deep synth buzz that belonged to a model of smartphone still two years from release. The girl next to me didn't seem to notice. She answered like it was the most normal thing in the world. I stood there, frozen, listening to a future that shouldn't be possible humming in her hand.