The Accidental Rewind: My Second Life as a Comedy of Errors

Chapter 4: Physics and Feelings

Jovan winced as his iPhone 5 buzzed again in his hand. “Uh... that’s a long story. Let’s just say, the future is still buffering.”

Camille arched an eyebrow, her gaze flickering between the wet English essays and the phone screen. "Buffering? Is that what we're calling your brain today? Because honestly, Jovan, I'm starting to think you didn't just have too much coffee. I think you might actually be losing it."

"Losing it is a strong term," Jovan said, quickly shoving the phone into his pocket. "I prefer the term 'undergoing a radical system update.' Besides, Leo’s just dramatic. He thinks every Tuesday is the end of the world."

"Well, speaking of the end of the world," Camille said, pointing a soggy finger toward the library clock, "we have Physics in five minutes. And unless you want Henderson to actually follow through on that suspension, we should probably get to the lab."

"Physics," Jovan groaned, the weight of his 2024 engineering degree pressing against the back of his skull. "Right. Gravity, levers, and people throwing watermelons off roofs for no reason. My favorite."

The walk to the science wing was a blur of linoleum and lockers. Jovan felt like a ghost haunting his own teenage years. He knew which lockers had sticky hinges and which floor tiles were loose. He even knew that if he turned his head just right, he’d see the poster for the Winter Formal—a dance he had originally spent at home, crying over a broken motherboard.

When they entered the lab, the smell of formaldehyde and old Bunsen burners hit Jovan like a brick. Mr. Henderson was already there, looking like he hadn’t slept since the Reagan administration.

"Ah, Mr. Mahesa," Henderson droned, not looking up from his clipboard. "Nice of you to join us. I trust the 'digital gold' market is stable enough for you to focus on the laws of thermodynamics?"

"Fluctuating, Mr. Henderson. Highly volatile," Jovan chirped, sliding into a stool next to Camille.

"Is that so? Well, perhaps you can channel that volatility into your midterm project. Everyone, listen up!" Henderson tapped a ruler against the chalkboard. "This is your major lab grade for the quarter. Projectile motion and force distribution. You’ll be working in pairs. I’ve already assigned them based on your current standings. I'm pairing the 'strugglers' with the 'succeeders' in hopes of some intellectual osmosis."

Jovan leaned toward Camille. "If he pairs me with Toby, I’m jumping out that window."

"Henderson! Please tell me I’m not with Jovan," a voice shouted from the back. It was Sarah, the girl who had corrected Jovan’s grammar since the third grade.

"Fear not, Miss Miller. You’re with Toby," Henderson said. Then, he looked directly at Jovan. "Mahesa, you’re with Miss Reyes. Since you seem so interested in her 'trajectory' today, you can calculate the one for a two-pound weight instead."

Jovan’s heart did a little somersault. "Oh. No. Terrible. I have to work with Camille. Woe is me."

Camille nudged him with her elbow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Don't act like you didn't just win the lottery, Mahesa. I’m the only reason you’re not failing this class."

"I am a tragic victim of circumstance," Jovan whispered back as Henderson handed out the lab manuals.

Okay, play it cool, Jovan told himself. In 2014, you were a 'C' student in Physics. If you suddenly start talking about quantum entanglement or structural integrity, she’s going to know something is up. Act dumb. Act very, very dumb.

"Okay, partner," Camille said, opening the manual to page forty-two. "First step: we need to calculate the initial velocity of the spring-loaded launcher. Do you even remember the formula?"

Jovan looked at the page. It was basic kinematics. He could solve this in his sleep while reciting the lyrics to every song on 1989.

"Velocity?" Jovan asked, putting on his best 'confused puppy' face. "Is that the one with the... the little 'v' and the tiny 'zero' next to it? It looks like a secret code."

"The 'tiny zero' means initial, Jovan," Camille sighed, though she looked more amused than annoyed. "V-naught. Come on, we did this last week."

"Right, right. V-naught. The naughtiness of the velocity. Got it."

"You are impossible," she laughed. "Okay, look. We need to measure the distance the ball travels at a thirty-degree angle. Grab the measuring tape."

Jovan stood up, purposely fumbling with the metal tape measure. He let it snap back into the casing with a loud crack, making half the class jump.

"Oops. It’s... it’s got a lot of tension," he muttered.

"Everything has a lot of tension when you're involved," Camille said, taking the tape from him. Her fingers brushed his, and for a second, the 'dumb student' act almost crumbled. "Here, hold the end at the base of the launcher. Don't move."

"I’m a statue," Jovan promised. "A very handsome, slightly confused statue."

"Just hold the tape, Mahesa."

As Camille knelt on the floor to mark the landing spot, Jovan watched her. She was so focused, her brow furrowed in that way that meant she was actually enjoying the challenge. In the old timeline, he would have been complaining about the heat in the room or trying to make a joke to distract her. He had been so insecure back then, always needing to be the loudest person in the room because he didn't think he was enough just standing still.

"Okay," Camille said, standing up and brushing her hair out of her face. "Distance is 4.2 meters. Now we just need to solve for 't' to find the height. Give me the calculator."

"Wait," Jovan said, his eyes scanning the chalkboard where Henderson had scribbled an 'extra credit' challenge for the faster groups. It was a multi-variable problem involving air resistance and a shifting launch platform—stuff they wouldn't cover for another two months.

"What is it?" Camille asked.

"That problem on the board," Jovan said, pointing. "Henderson said it’s impossible for high schoolers. He said it’s a 'university-level headache'."

Camille looked at the board and frowned. "Yeah, look at those variables. There’s a coefficient for drag that we haven't even learned yet. Forget it, let's just finish the lab."

Jovan stared at the board. His brain was already grinding the numbers. Drag coefficient of 0.47 for a sphere... air density at sea level... gravity is 9.81... It was like a HUD was appearing in his vision. He couldn't help it. It was like an itch he had to scratch.

"Actually," Jovan muttered, picking up a piece of chalk. "If you just treat the drag as a linear function of velocity for the first two seconds, the calculus actually simplifies into a basic differential equation."

Camille blinked. "The what?"

Jovan didn't hear her. He walked to the side of the board, his hand moving with a fluidity that didn't belong to a high school slacker. Chalk-scritch-scritch-chalk.

"You just isolate the 'v' terms here," Jovan whispered, writing a string of symbols that looked like ancient runes to anyone else in the room. "Integrate both sides... apply the boundary conditions... and..."

He slammed the chalk down, leaving a perfect '12.45m/s' circled at the bottom.

"Done," Jovan said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "That’s the terminal velocity before it hits the apex."

The classroom went silent. Even the sound of Toby dropping a beaker seemed muffled. Mr. Henderson had stopped mid-sentence and was staring at the board as if Jovan had just conjured a demon.

"Jovan?" Camille asked, her voice low and dangerous. "What was that?"

Jovan froze. He looked at the board. Then at Henderson. Then at Camille, who was looking at him with eyes that were no longer soft. They were sharp. Suspicious.

"Uh," Jovan squeaked, his voice cracking. "I... I saw it on a YouTube video? One of those 'ASMR Math' things? Very relaxing. Helps me sleep."

"A YouTube video," Henderson said, walking over to the board and inspecting the math. "You 'saw' a complex differential equation involving fluid dynamics on a YouTube video. And you remembered it perfectly?"

"I have a very specific photographic memory for... things that don't matter?" Jovan tried a weak smile. "Ask me what I had for breakfast. I have no idea. But math? It’s a vibe."

"A vibe," Henderson repeated, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "Mr. Mahesa, that took the seniors forty minutes to fail last year. You just did it in thirty seconds. Without a calculator."

"I’m as surprised as you are, sir! Maybe the coffee spill in the library... ionized my neurons? Like a superhero origin story? Latte-Man?"

"Sit down, Jovan," Henderson said, though his tone wasn't angry anymore. It was puzzled. "Just... sit down and finish your lab."

Jovan scurried back to his stool. Camille didn't say a word. She just watched him, her arms crossed over her denim jacket.

"So," Jovan said, trying to break the ice. "About that initial velocity..."

"Who are you?" Camille whispered.

"I’m Jovan! Your favorite disaster! Remember? The floss? The taco coupon?"

"No," Camille said, leaning in close so only he could hear. "The Jovan I know thinks a 'differential' is something you do to a car. The Jovan I know struggled to find the area of a triangle yesterday. That math on the board? That wasn't 'ASMR,' Jovan. That was professional."

"I've been studying!" Jovan hissed. "I wanted to impress you! Is it a crime to be smart now?"

"It's a crime to be a liar," she countered, though there was a spark of a challenge in her eyes. "You’ve been acting like a total weirdo all day. The Bitcoin stuff, the 'future' talk, and now you’re a secret math genius? What’s the play, Mahesa? Are you trying to get me to go to the dance with you by pretending you’re a member of the Avengers?"

"I would never use my powers for such noble ends," Jovan joked, but his heart was racing. "Look, Camille, I can't explain it. Not yet. But I’m still me. Just... a version of me that finally knows what he’s doing."

Camille stared at him for a long beat. The tension in the air was thicker than the air resistance Jovan had just calculated.

"Fine," she said, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "You want to play the genius? Let’s see how deep this 'vibe' goes."

"What do you mean?"

"The arcade," Camille said, gathering her things as the bell rang. "Main Street. They have that old 'Science-Off' trivia machine and the high-score board for the physics-based pinball. If you’re really this 'upgraded' version of Jovan, prove it. Beat my high score."

Jovan grinned. "And if I win?"

"If you win," Camille said, walking toward the door, "I’ll believe one thing you tell me about the future. No matter how crazy it sounds."

"And if I lose?"

Camille paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder. "Then you have to admit you’re just a dork who spent his summer at math camp and you have to wear a 'I Heart Calculus' shirt to the homecoming game."

Jovan stood up, his confidence returning in a rush. "Deal. But fair warning, Camille. I’m really good at pinball."

"We'll see," she laughed. "Four o'clock. Don't be late, 'Latte-Man'."

As she walked away, Jovan felt a surge of adrenaline. He had a date. Or a challenge. Or a potential exposure of his entire time-traveling secret.

He pulled his phone out and sent a quick text to Leo.

Jovan: Forget the vending machine. I need you to find me a shirt that says 'I Heart Calculus' just in case. But also, I'm pretty sure I'm about to win the future.

Leo: Bro, I’m literally standing right behind you.

Jovan turned around to see Leo staring at him.

"You're weird, man," Leo said. "But hey, if you get her to the arcade, you’re officially the king of 2014."

"Not just the king, Leo," Jovan said, looking at the math on the board one last time. "The CEO."