Freaky in Fresno

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  I’m not sure how much time has gone by, but I don’t think I passed out for very long. The aggressive scent of perfume hasn’t changed and my aunt is breathing heavily, as if she just ran back into the room.

  The way she’s studying my face right now is starting to make me nervous. I wonder if she can tell I’m not actually Lana and if so, How long before the people in white lab coats take me away to be experimented on and eventually dissected?

  Aunt April says, “Lana, sweetheart, are you okay?”

  “I’ll be . . . fine.” I look around at the broken bottles scattered across the floor beside the desk. “What a mess. Sorry.”

  “Oh, honey, please don’t apologize,” she says. “I’m the one who’s sorry. When you called for me I had no idea you were about to faint. I should’ve known something was really wrong for you to have gone to bed without washing your face. Not to mention waking up this early.”

  I weakly nod and glance at the white clock on the nightstand. It’s nearly eight thirty. Hardly the crack of dawn.

  Aunt April helps me back to the bed, drags the garbage can from the corner, and starts to clean up the mess. But she only uses two manicured fingers to pick up each piece of broken glass one at a time, so her progress is painfully slow.

  I picture the way my mom would clean up a mess like this, grabbing a dustpan and getting the job down-and-dirty-and-done. I’m glad I’m more like her.

  Aunt April says, “You really should go back to sleep and rest up so you’re fresh for Digifest tonight.”

  “I don’t think more sleep will . . . Wait,” I say. “Digifest is tonight?”

  Aunt April comes over and sits on the edge of the bed beside me. “Do not joke around about this appearance, Lana. The concert organizers were so excited when I pitched them your pink Skylark idea!”

  “I’m really not feeling well.” And I’m not lying.

  “Oh, honey.” Aunt April brushes back my hair with her hand and I feebly smile. “You need to kill it at this event,” she soothes. “Your fans are expecting you. Erik will be there by your side, and there’s already a reinforced ramp all set up so you can drive the convertible directly onto the stage.”

  “Maybe we can send the Skylark up there in my place.”

  My aunt’s expression turns harsh. “I said do not joke around, Lana.”

  It hits me that Aunt April doesn’t seem to be all that worried about the fact I just passed out. Or even consider canceling tonight’s Digifest performance because of it.

  After a moment I say, “I guess quitting your office job put a lot more stress on Lookie Lana!’s success, huh?”

  Aunt April looks at me strangely and says, “You know I got laid off.”

  I look at my hands in my lap and begin picking at Lana’s perfect manicure. “Sorry, I—”

  “It’s fine. I guess the truth seems a little blurry. Better this than letting it slip to Aunt June that my law office got shut down. I hate her being right about that place.”

  Wow. “Yes, it’s easier for me to pretend you quit,” I say. “This way I have less remembering to keep my lies straight.” No wonder Aunt April is so anxious about Lana’s appearance at Digifest. Not to mention her appearance. Their livelihood now depends on her daughter’s clear complexion. I could manifest a stress zit just thinking about it.

  Aunt April smooths her wild hair and says, “I think you should lie down now. Relax for tonight. All day if you need to.”

  I shake my head. “I think I need some fresh air.” There’s no way suffocating in this chamber of stank will improve anything about my current situation.

  “If you’re sure you feel up to it,” Aunt April says. “I mean, extra beauty rest might be just what you need.”

  “It’ll do me good to rally,” I say, ignoring the pull in my chest that begs me to climb back underneath those covers. I wonder how much time Lana has spent in bed “extra-beauty-resting” away her days. I’m fully tempted to just give up and lie back down.

  “Oooh, I know. You can take the convertible for a little drive.” My aunt gives me a big grin. “Get used to how she handles and maybe gas up for tonight’s show.”

  I give her a few sticky blinks. “The Skylark?”

  “She’s right outside in the driveway.”

  “Oh, right. Because I drove it home last night.”

  Aunt April gives me a look of concern. “On second thought, are you sure you’re okay to get behind the wheel?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m almost positive.”

  “Well, you’d better be,” Aunt April says. “Because there is a ton of pressure on you to totally slay at Digifest tonight.”

  “Okay.” I give her two thumbs-up as I head for the door. “I’m totally stressed.”

  “Great, sweetie. Use all that stress to keep you sharp.”

  Which is the opposite of what my mom always says about stress being the root of mental illness and robbing people of their peace of mind. Mom even has a cute little plaque in our kitchen that says, “Stressed spelled backward is desserts.”

  As my aunt turns her attention back to her two-fingered cleanup, I wonder how it is that all three sisters can be so wildly different. My heart breaks just a little for my aunt April, trying to keep up appearances with the family after losing her job. I guess I can see where Lana learned to cover things up.

  I look around for sneakers, but all the shoes I see have six-inch heels or higher. I spot a pair of flip-flops that are bedazzled for some reason and hold one up to allow the light to reflect off of it. I wonder, Why? With a shrug, I slide them onto my feet and grab the pom-pom key chain perched on Lana’s end table. I’m focused on the fresh air that awaits as I head for the door.

  “Love you, Lana,” Aunt April calls over her shoulder as I leave the room, and I stop cold. Would Lana normally answer her or not?

  I respond with a half-hearted, “You too,” as I make my escape.

  But I can’t move fast enough to outrun the pang of sadness hitting my heart.

  chapter 8

  As soon as I’m in the Skylark I drive straight to my own house. That is, after I put the convertible top down, of course. Because, hey, I may be stuffed inside my nemesis cousin’s tiny body, but come on . . . it’s a pink Skylark convertible and I haven’t completely lost my mind. Yet.

  The wind soothes me as I make the drive, and I take a deep breath of fresh morning air. The heaviness in my chest releases just a bit and with a spark of hopefulness, I check my reflection in the rearview mirror.

  Nope. Still Lana’s blue eyes looking back at me.

  I think back to the electric shock she and I got at the drive-in yesterday as we were wrestling over the convertible’s steering wheel.

  Wait. “Hello, Lana?” I say out loud, and feel around in the back of my mind. Nope. I’m definitely alone in here, so not in one of those mutual-possession situations like in the movie All of Me.

  I decide a straightforward body switch between me and Lana is the simplest explanation that doesn’t involve one or both of us already being dead. Just your basic everyday body swap between two cousins who hate each other. Hardly worth getting upset over.

  I push down the impulse to openly sob.

  When I reach my front door, I take a deep breath and stare at it a moment before bending down for the fake rock that holds our hide-a-key. As I slide the key into the lock I realize it would be odd if Lana just let herself into our house. Better to simply pretend I’m her until I see what we’re dealing with.

  I stop and replace the key.

  I’m sure Mom’s up by now, and I wonder if she’s already figured out what’s happened. She’ll definitely freak out and probably try to dose me with enough drugs to sleep until next Tuesday. Plus I imagine she’ll be much quicker to realize something is wrong than Aunt April was.

  My mom’s pretty tuned in.

  “Good morning, Lana,” she greets me sweetly when she answers my knock at the door. “How’re you feeling today?”

/>   “All right, I guess.” I watch her carefully to see what she knows.

  “Wait,” she says, and I brace myself. “Did you sleep in that outfit?”

  I realize I didn’t bother checking what I was wearing before fleeing Lana’s bedroom. But when I look down, instead of sloppy PJs, I have on a wrinkled-yet-adorable shorts romper. It’s the most fashionable outfit I’ve ever worn.

  I say, “Yes, but my glitzy flip-flops dress it up, right?” I try to iron the romper using my favorite trick of sliding the palms of my hands down along the fabric, but it has little effect.

  “Are you doing okay, Lana?” Mom asks, examining my face. “Your makeup seems . . . off.”

  “I’m fine, really. Just left my house in a hurry.”

  Mom laughs. “Here, let me help you.” She drags the remaining parasitic lashes off my right eyelid and gently rubs her fingers underneath my eyes. “If this is a product test, I’d call it a fail.” She smiles. “There you go, all set.”

  She’s so nice to Lana that I wonder for a second if maybe she made us switch places so she could finally get that Glam Girl daughter she’s always wanted. My mom’s Christian, so not exactly into casting spells and curses, but she does believe in the power of prayer.

  Still, this is a really weird thing for her to pray for.

  “Thanks, Aunt June,” I say.

  My mom looks back to where Zelda sits waiting for her to return to her reading chair. “That’s odd,” she says. “Zelda’s usually happy to see you.” She raises her voice to a high-pitched, “Sweetums? Come see Wana?”

  But Zelda only eyes me suspiciously from the comfort of the living room. Which is the way she normally greets me.

  I tell my mom, “I’m actually here to see Ricki—is she awake yet?”

  Mom’s eyes narrow and I remember that Lana and I had a big fight in front of her a day and a half ago.

  I quickly add, “She and I need to work a few things out.” I’m not lying.

  “Ricki’s usually awake by now, but she wasn’t feeling well last night so I’m letting her sleep in.” Mom gives a small smile. “Sounds like you really want to work on getting that Skylark, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I mean Ricki probably forgot.” I take a step back and point to the convertible parked in the street. “Aunt May gave us the car yesterday.”

  Mom flails her hands with excitement for a full sixty seconds. “Oh, Lana! I’m so happy! I was hoping you two would rise above your differences and reconnect. It’s beautiful.” She practically has stars in her eyes as she looks at the car.

  “Here.” I hold out the pom-pom key chain to her. “Why don’t you take her for a little ride?”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t. It’s for you and Ricki to share.” She pauses a moment, licking her lips. Finally, she says, “Well, maybe I’ll just sit in the driver’s seat really quick.”

  “Enjoy,” I say. “I’ll go check on Ricki.”

  “She still may not be feeling well,” Mom says in such a caring, protective way it erases any chance she wished for this to happen. Then she adds, “You know how cranky Ricki gets when she’s sick, so watch she doesn’t bite your head off.”

  “Hey,” I say defensively.

  “Oh, Lana.” Mom smiles warmly. “I want you to know that I’ve been lifting you up in prayer. Every single day.”

  I wonder what is going on with Lana that Mom feels the need to let her know she’s praying for her. “Uh, thanks?” is all I can think to answer, since it would be odd to ask her for specific details.

  Mom heads out the front door and Zelda runs to catch up, clearly more curious about the pink convertible than she is about me.

  I turn and make my way down the hallway toward the bedroom I should’ve woken up in this morning. My heart pounds at what I might find, and the sound of birds singing outside turns ominous. The hallway seems more shadowed and creepier than ever before.

  Hitchcock would love every second of this. But I decidedly do not.

  * * *

  When I open my bedroom door, I’m instantly comforted by the dim light shining on the gruesome monster masks lined along my shelf. I run my hand down the long row, touching each of their familiar, disgusting faces, as if they’re dear friends who I haven’t appreciated enough lately.

  “Hey there, Frank. How’s it hanging, Swampy?” I whisper to Frankenstein and the Swamp Thing. I actually give a quick kiss to the Wolf Man and pat a zombie on the top of his head, avoiding the exposed brain portion of his rubber skull, of course.

  When I turn to look at my bed, goose bumps tickle my forearms.

  There, underneath my dark-green comforter, is a body-sized lump.

  And I’m not talking about some little delicate, petite bump either. I’m talking about a me-sized lump in my bed. That’s definitely me sleeping underneath the covers.

  Unless I’m dead! The thought comes with a flash of panic.

  I lunge across the room to my bed, draw back the covers and . . . Wow, do I always sleep with my mouth wide open like that?

  As if to answer, a loud, unflattering snore resonates from my sleeping face. I cringe at the rumbling volume, but at least I’m breathing.

  My heart beats fast as I reach out one manicured finger, and in a squeamish rush I give my—well, my body’s—soft cheek a quick poke. When that doesn’t wake me up, I take sleeping Ricki’s face by the chin and shake her head back and forth.

  I’m usually a pretty light sleeper, but the only response I get is another loud snore from that wide-open mouth.

  Are you kidding me right now?

  “Hey,” I say, shaking the shoulders of the body in my bed. “Wake up.”

  With a grunt and a face scrunch, the Ricki figure rolls over and continues snoring heartily.

  “Come on!” I shake her shoulders harder. “Lana? Are you in there?”

  I lean in and marvel at the size of my own ear up close. Maybe my cousin is right and they are a family curse after all.

  “Wakey, wakey,” I say sweetly while slapping her cheek hard.

  I get a grunt in response. “Mmmppph! I need—mmmph—beauty rest now!”

  “Hey!” I call sharply, “time to get up!”

  With a startle, Ricki version 2.0 rubs her face and opens her eyes. She immediately sits up in the bed and looks around the room. A confused expression closes over her face and her head rotates back and forth and then slowly up and down as she takes in her surroundings.

  I follow her eyes to the bloody horror paraphernalia and gory masks around my room and worry that if this is Lana, she may start screaming any second. No need to conjure Nurse Mom to the scene.

  She takes a deep breath that hitches in her throat and I get ready to cover her mouth. Her eyes land on the coffin-shaped Dracula lamp sitting on my nightstand. “What the—?” She looks more confused than scared.

  Her fingers tentatively reach toward the coffin lamp, but she freezes when she sees her hand.

  I’m actually impressed by how cool and collected she is about my grisly-looking room. I fully expected her to lose it over the horror masks. But now, as she touches her short, plain nails with her other hand, she begins breathing harder and faster. She softly whines.

  “My hands,” she wails and adds an even more tragic-sounding, “My nails!!” so loud I’m afraid my mom will hear from all the way outside. She continues whimpering as she examines her fingernails.

  I whisper, “Lana, is that you? You need to keep it down so we can figure this out.”

  And that is when my Ricki-looking cousin in the bed turns to look directly into my Lana-looking face.

  Her eyes widen so big the whites show all around, and I get to see what I might look like if I were in a Stanley Kubrick film.

  “It’s me,” I say. “Ricki.”

  With that, Lana opens her mouth and lets loose with a terrified scream that would rival the best B-movie horror victim.

  She slides her hands into either side of her hair and continues scream
ing like she’s reacting to a gruesome fifty-foot monster. Her lung capacity is truly impressive, and I wonder if her singing talent has transferred into that body as well, or if maybe now that I look like Lana, I’m the one who’s able to carry a tune for the first time in my life.

  As if to prove she’s still the singer here, her screaming rises to a higher note and her whole body trembles. Or rather, my body. I try to put an arm around her shoulder to calm her down, but she flinches away, points at my face, and screams even louder. Then she looks at the stubby nails on her hand again and her scream hits a glass-shattering pitch.

  I want to explain what’s going on and assure her that everything is going to be okay. Except that I realize I have absolutely no idea what is going on. And I have zero assurance that anything is going to be okay.

  Before I know it, my mouth is opened wide and I am screaming in harmony right along with my awful, loathsome cousin.

  At least the two of us finally found something we can agree on.

  This right here, waking up inside each other’s bodies, is something to scream about.

  chapter 9

  Our harmonized screams continue until they’re cut off by sharp shouts coming from the doorway.

  “Ricki!” I turn to see my mother standing with her hands on her hips and Zelda at her heels. Evil Z is offering her usual morning greeting; baring her teeth at my cousin in the bed. Mom snaps, “What is going on here?”

  “I have no idea!” I wail.

  “I could hear your screams the whole way outside. What’s wrong?” I realize Mom’s addressing Lana, but Lana hasn’t even seen her own reflection yet.

  “Oh, Aunt June, it’s horrible!” Lana says. “Just look at these!” She holds up her short nails for my mother to see.

  Mom’s eyes narrow and she looks back and forth between us. “What am I looking at here? Are you girls really going to start your funny business antics already? I will ground you from that car, Ricki.”

  I cut in, “Ricki is just messing around, Aunt June. We wigged out for a second over it getting late already when we have so much to do today.”