I stared at the photo wall, heart pounding. That message—“NOT YET”—wasn’t there earlier. And now, Matt was gone.

I asked around, casually at first. “Did anyone talk to the guy in the blue jacket?” But no one had. Some said they didn’t even see him. A few swore I must be mistaken.

But I knew Matt. I remembered the funeral. The closed casket. The counselor who told us he drowned.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Something kept gnawing at me, so I pulled out my yearbook. I flipped to Matt’s page. Under his photo, someone had scribbled:
“TRADED PLACES.”

My hands trembled.

I went to the alumni memorial site. Typed in Matt’s name. The page 404’d. I searched archived obits—nothing. It was like he’d never died at all.

But then I searched my own name.

And I found something.

An article from 2004. “Local Teen Missing After Boating Accident. Presumed Dead.”
It was my photo. My name.

And beneath it—
“Survived by his classmate: Matthew Langley.”

The lesson?
Sometimes, the past doesn’t let go—it rewrites itself. And if you look too closely… you might find out you were never supposed to come back.