Asher swiftly skated across the ice, slamming his stick into the hockey puck and sending the tiny black disc flying directly into the goal. “Nice clapper!” Called out one of Asher’s teammates, skating over and giving Asher a good-natured punch on the wrist. “You took that dish and slammed it like a howitzer. That sure wasn’t no muffin!”

  “Thanks, dude,” replied Asher, panting from exertion as he skated back to the center of the hockey rink. Asher didn’t understand all the weird lingo associated with the sport of hockey, but he was trying. He was 90% sure what that guy had said was a compliment.

  Asher took a second to survey the rink, there were maybe a dozen other guys on the ice, all of them built like snow plows. Having already mastered football and track and field in his other lives, Asher had decided that this time around he was going to play hockey, if for no other reason than to keep himself busy and offset the rapidly encroaching monotony of his existence. After joining the team and playing with them the past few weeks, Asher had been pleasantly surprised to find out he was a pretty great hockey player. Though that shouldn’t have been a surprise, Asher was great at just about everything he did.

  “Go Asher, we love you!” Asher and his teammates were only playing a scrimmage match, but several girls were watching from the sidelines and cheering him on. Asher grinned, looking the girls over, they were all pretty and nice to look at, but not what he was pining for at the moment. A little less generic background character, thought Asher, they need something to make them stand out.

  “Yo Ash!” Pete wobbled over towards him, his feet unsteady in the bulky ice skates. “You really danced that clapper, eh? Those mits were on the fly in Gretzky’s Office, you hoser!”

  “Pete, what in the world does that mean?”

  Pete shrugged, “I was hopin’ you knew.” His friend’s eyes wandered over to the girls cheering for Asher. “Whaddya think ‘bout those cuties?” He asked, giving a nervous wave to the group.

  Asher gave a noncommittal grunt. “Don’t know much about them, but I’m pretty sure the blonde with the ponytail ends up becoming a real estate agent.”

  “Real estate?” Pete asked in horror. “Bullet dodged on that one, thanks, bro.” Pete squinted his eyes in confusion. “Wait a second, how would you even know that?”

  “Biscuit incoming!”

  A hockey puck hurtled toward the pair. Asher reacted without thinking, shooting out his stick and halting the puck’s momentum. “It’s about to get chippy,” quipped Asher, noting his teammates rushing towards them. “Pete, let’s pass the puck back and forth to the goal.

  Pete grinned, wobbling as he skated ahead. “I’m ready to dangel if you are.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  The two friends shot toward the goal, Asher and Pete passing the puck to one another whenever one of them was at risk of being overwhelmed by an opponent. “Pete, I’m open!” Yelled Asher, weaving past several players and creating an opening for his friend. Pete wobbled uncertainly, not quite able to match Asher’s grace on the ice, but managed to pass the puck right as Asher skated in range of the goal. There were still a ton of dudes in the way, it was looking like this shot was going to be a howitzer, but he was Asher Brandy, he could pull it off. He hoped the girls were still watching.

  “Good afternoon gentlemen, if you can postpone your barbaric hockey match for just a moment, I have an important announcement.” A girl stepped onto the ice rink, her face hidden behind a mountain of flyers, pins, and buttons. Asher looked up at the girl, momentarily distracted, because of course he would be, there was a girl in front of him. “As I’m sure you’re all aware,” continued the girl, election season is coming up, and if you all would consider voting for the best candidate, me, then I’m sure–”

  The girl lost her balance, sprawling gracelessly onto the ice, flyers, pins, and buttons going everywhere. “Watch out!” somebody yelled, as several of Asher’s teammates tripped on the debris now littering the rink. Asher tried to skate out of the way, but he was too slow, suddenly he was Kronwalled by his fellow hockey players, all of them dogpiling on top of him and creating a mound of bodies on the rink.

  Asher found himself wrapped in a warm cocoon of sweaty hockey players, not a very pleasant place to be. He grunted, trying to force his way out, but realized he couldn’t feel his left arm. Well actually, he could feel it, it just blazed with so much fire and pain that Asher was afraid he was going to black out. He’d probably broken it. Well, we’re not doing this, though Asher as he imagined himself falling and reappeared back in the void.

  XXX

  Asher went back in time a few moments before the incident. He preferred not to dabble with time during one of his runs, preferring to keep the experience as pure as possible, but there was no way he was going to limp around for several months with a gimp arm. “You guys mind if we take a water break?” Asher called out to his team. His tired-looking teammates agreed with little resistance, so there’d be no tomfoolery going on when the mystery girl arrived with her buttons and flyers. Asher realized that he’d done something similar with Esther when he’d saved her from that rockslide and had prevented his teammates from sustaining injury as well, gosh, he sure was a good person.

  A few minutes later, as Asher and the team rested by the water coolers, he heard, “Good afternoon gentlemen.” The same girl as before strode toward the bleachers where Asher and company were residing, arms laden with flyers, pins and buttons, “if you can postpone your barbaric hockey match for a moment, I have an important announcement.”

  “Howdy, we’re always happy to support our fans,” replied Pete, walking over and giving the girl a friendly smile, “but we’re kind of in the middle of practice right now. I’d be happy to autograph one of your flyers though.”

  The girl stuck her head over the mountain of flyers and glared at Pete, she was a bit on the shorter side with curly blonde hair. “I’m not here for an autograph,” she practically spat, “I’m here to tell you that our democracy is at stake and I need your votes!”

  Pete, sensing an opportunity, slicked back his hair and straightened his back. “Well, I’m very passionate about our government or whatever,” he lied through his teeth, “Wanna talk about it over dinner?”

  “Dinner!?” Asked the girl, offended. “I’m here to offer political salvation to you ice-bound cretins, and all you can think about is skirt chasing?” The girl got up in Pete’s face, a blazing anger in her eyes. “Our founding fathers created a system that allows for the voice of the many to direct the paths of those in power, voting is a sacred privilege of all Americans, and you’d use this opportunity to guide our country to a better tomorrow as an excuse to ask me out!?”

  Despite being significantly taller than the girl, Pete wilted under her gaze. “Uh, yes?” He asked nervously.

  The girl slammed a sticker onto Pete’s face, the sticker was emblazoned with a smiling image of her own face that said, vote for Monica! “I’m wasting my time with you cretins,” Monica grumbled, turning on her heels and heading for the exit. “Vote for Monica Grace in next month’s student body election,” she called back half-heartedly, “it’ll be the first useful thing any of you buffoons have done with your lives.”

  “Wow, she’s a jerk.” Whispered one of Asher’s teammates as they watched her go, everyone else grunting in agreement. Asher narrowed his eyes, pondering. This Monica chick seemed pretty intense. Iceland had been intense too, but this was a different kind. Less, I’m gonna summon an elder god to enslave humanity, and more like, I wake up at 5:00 AM every morning to reread the Declaration of Independence. She was also a looker, kind of on the short side, but with pretty hair and a fire in her eyes that probably scared most guys away.

  Asher shrugged, he hadn’t expected to find a new project so quickly, but sure, Monica would be a fun one to pursue, now he just had to find the right bait. Thankfully, as he turned to face Pete, the election sticker still plastered to his friend’s face, Asher felt he already had a pretty decent idea of what she wanted to hear from a guy.

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  “What is democracy but the voices of many directing the power of a few?” Asher jumped onto the bleachers, broadcasting his voice across the hockey rink. “What is America,” he inquired, placing a hand on his heart, “but the beating heart of freedom that brings life to this grand nation”

  By now most everyone had turned to look up at Asher, giving him quizzical looks, Asher noted that Monica still had her back turned as she headed toward the exit, but had stopped walking away.

  “Over 250 years ago,” continued Asher, whipping out his smartphone and playing patriotic music from its speakers, “our forefathers envisioned a nation where man and woman could live freely, not under the shackles of an oppressive monarchy, but in pursuit of liberty, where every person has the opportunity to have their voices heard. To vote is not a privilege of the elite, nay! It is an obligation for every freedom loving citizen to make their voices heard and to create a greater nation for our children and our children’s children!”

  Asher slowly panned his head around the room, locking eyes with everyone in the hockey rink. “So when someone tells us that we should vote, it’s not something we should do begrudgingly, it is an honor that we have the privilege as citizens of the greatest nation on earth to shape our world into a better tomorrow and every single one of us can be that positive change, and it all starts with a single ballot!”

  Asher finished his speech, pausing to wipe a single imaginary tear from his eye. Someone had pulled out an American flag and was waving it around, several of his teammates had their hands to their hearts. Monica turned around to face Asher, eyeing him the way a hawk might stare down a juicy rabbit moments before the kill. “Well, at least there’s someone here who cares about our nation’s future.” Monica set down her election paraphernalia and headed back toward the hockey team. “I used to think you were just a stupid jock, Asher,” Monica admitted, Asher jumping down from the stands to meet her, “But even I can admit when I’m wrong.”

  Monica handed Asher a flier and sticker. Both of them were emblazoned with Monica’s smiling visage. “Voting is next week,” she said, giving him one final look-over before turning around and retrieving her voting material. “I’ll see you at the polls.”

  Everyone on the team was silent as they watched Monica exit the hockey rink. “Dang,” said a frustrated Pete, finally breaking the silence, “How do you always do that Ash?”

  Asher grinned, “years of experience my friend.”

  XXX

  “George Washington crossed the Delaware river on the eve of, yadda, yadda, yadda.” Pete abandoned the history book and returned to his creature comforts, comic books. He happily flipped through the pages, chuckling at the jokes or gasping at the dramatic panels.

  After his meeting with Monica Grace, the school president hopeful, Asher had decided to visit the school library and was busying himself by reading up on U.S. politics. It had occurred to him that he had knowledge of every single future president that would ever exist and that he had the potential to do something useful with that information. If he played his cards right, he may have the capacity to alter the course of U.S. history and get different men and women elected into the white house. In fact, that meant Asher had the potential to someday become president of the United States himself. Asher had never been particularly interested in politics, but hey, it could be something fun to do with his time. It would be a new experience, something to keep the infinite cycle of time from growing stale.

  Asher’s eyes unfocused, his mind grappling with the intrusive thought. If he was going to be stuck outside of time for well, forever, wouldn’t that mathematically mean that eventually he would run out of things to do? And then what? What would he do after he’d done all the things he wanted? Would he lose his mind, go insane from the repetition, float through space gibbering nonsensically for all of time and beyond?

  “Hey, Ash. Check out who’s here.”

  Pete shook Asher’s shoulder, snapping him out of his existential spiral. Following Pete’s gaze, he was surprised to see Monica striding purposefully into the library, two girls in dress suits following behind her, looking more like CIA agents than high schoolers. Ah, girls, thought Asher with a smile, Now there’s something pleasant to focus on.

  Monica appeared to be searching around the room for someone when her eyes locked onto Asher’s, she made a beeline for his table. Asher stood as she approached, smiling warmly and mentally rehearsing his catalog of pickup lines.

  “Asher.” Said Monica with a polite nod of her head as she and her posse stopped in front of his table. She turned to Pete, “Friend of Asher’s,” she said simply, probably not knowing Pete’s name or simply not caring enough to say it aloud.

  Asher and Pete stared for a second at the trio of babes standing in front of them. Asher was of course used to this level of attention from the opposite sex, but Pete, Pete looked like Christmas had come early. How long had it been since a girl had approached him? Pete cleared his throat, standing beside Asher and puffing out his chest. “So…” he began, eyeing the multiple girls, his eyes flitting between them and the dozens of books on U.S. history and politics littering the library table, “how ‘bout that Gettysburg address?”

  The girls were silent for a few moments, “Sure,” one of them finally said with a shrug, “I’m desperate enough.”

  “Hot-dog!” Pete fist-bumped the air. “Er, I mean, cool,” he said, quickly recovering, “almost as cool as the Emancipation Proclamation.”

  “Don’t push it,” said the girl, walking towards Pete and sliding her arm between his. The two began walking out of the library, an astonished look on Pete’s face. “I should’ve started readin’ ages ago!” he whispered to Asher before disappearing out the door.

  Asher watched his friend go, astounded that had actually worked. “Anyways,” said Asher, picking up one of his textbooks and attempting to look scholarly, “what can I do ya for, Miss Grace?”

  “Do you have a copy of your family’s medical history on hand?”

  “Excuse me?”

  The girl wearing a suit handed Monica a clipboard. “Any sort of prevalent diseases,” continued Monica, pointing her finger down at the clipboard, “blood clots, cancer, cholesterol?”

  Asher cocked his head to the side, where was she going with this? “No?” he said finally, more question than answer.

  “Perfect.” Monica flipped to a new page on the clipboard. “Anything on your permanent record that would show up in a background search; shoplifting, assault, felonies, or misdemeanors of any kind? Any horrifying social media posts that’ll resurface to haunt you ten years from now?”

  “Not currently,” replied Asher. He’d actually committed lots of theft when he had been dating Iceland, but he didn’t think that counted on account of they’d no longer happened. And as for social media, Asher didn’t use it anymore, he’d already seen all the memes and news stories multiple times over, and it had grown dreadfully boring.

  “Excellent!” Monica lowered the clipboard and took Asher’s hand, giving it a businesslike shake. “You’ll make a suitable boyfriend, you can pick me up tonight at 7:30.”

  Asher blinked, “did you just ask me out?” Asher wasn’t used to this, not one bit. He was the one who made the moves, who found the lady and made her his. A woman doing the opposite and stealing his thunder just seemed wrong. It made him feel like less of a man. Asher had to repress the urge to suddenly do push-ups in front of Monica and her friend, anything to reaffirm his masculine superiority.

  Monica adjusted her spectacles, Asher noted there were no lenses inside the frames. “Statistically a female politician is more likely to get elected if they have a significant other. Polling data suggests this is because a boyfriend or husband makes them appear more personal and relatable.”

  Monica turned the clipboard around and shoved it in Asher’s hands. Asher looked down at the clipboard surprised to see there was a contract clipped onto it. “What’s this for?” Asked Asher, scanning the contract and spotting the dotted line at the very bottom asking for his signature.

  “It’s a waiver,” replied Monica, like it was the most normal thing in the world to give your new boyfriend paperwork to sign. “By signing this, you agree to a trial period of three dates which must be completed over the next two weeks. If both parties find this relationship satisfactory, the time during which both parties remain an item can be extended indefinitely or until it is no longer beneficial to either or both parties.

  Asher picked up a pin and signed the contract. The spot where he was supposed to sign was labeled, ‘trophy boyfriend.’ “I’m a bit confused,” he said, still on the backfoot from Monica taking the initiative in their supposed relationship. “Do you actually like me?”

  “Irrelevant.” Asher stared up at her, not making heads or tails of this. “Honestly, I do admit to finding you attractive and well-spoken,” she admitted with a shrug, “but this is a relationship of political convenience first and foremost. Will that work for you?”

  Was he okay with this? Asher had already decided to make Monica his next girlfriend, true this wasn’t at all how he’d been planning for it to happen, but it still achieved that goal, at least technically. Asher nodded to Monica in affirmation before quickly scribbling his signature onto the contract.

  “Excellent.” Monica snatched the contract from Asher, briefly looking it over before staring back up at Asher, a polite smile on her face. “Well Mr. Brandy, it will be a pleasure working with you. Remember, anything you say or do now reflects on me, so I behoove you not to say or do anything stupid.”

  “Miss Grace,” whispered Monica’s friend, leaning in towards her and pointing towards her watch, “you’ve got a debate scheduled ten minutes from now.”

  “Right, the public awaits.” Monica turned on her heel, and she and her friend power walked out of the library. “See you tonight Asher,” she called back, face buried in her clipboard as she jotted down notes, “remember, 7:30, and wear something nice, I’m not dating a caveman.”

  Asher slumped back in his seat, head spinning. He had suddenly found himself dating another hottie, but he’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit disappointed. Half the joy in dating a woman came from the chase and Monica had undercut him. Oh well, thought Asher with a shrug, at least it was something different. He was interested to see what kind of relationship he’d end up having with a girl like Monica Grace. It was certain to be unique and would hopefully take up a lot of time.