If I Were You

by Leslie Margolis

  “Okay,” I say, moving to the left so I’m standing in front of the cutting board. I’m not sure what to do from there—I don’t help with the cooking at home.

  We don’t actually do a lot of cooking at home. Family dinners only happen on holidays and we get those meals catered. On the rare instance that my dad is in town he has work dinners and my mom usually joins him. Other times they have benefits and parties to attend. And when my mom is at home, when it’s only the two of us, well, she doesn’t exactly eat. Instead she juices vegetables into some murky bitter concoction and gulps it down. She’s tried to get me to do the same but I refuse. So she relents and serves me food delivered from some health food place.

  The actual cooking of a real meal is unfamiliar and I’m not prepared. I feel queasy as Jeff hands me four fat carrots. I take them and set them down and then stare at them for too long, wondering where to start. I’ve no idea, which makes me want to cry. But I can’t because Katie would never cry. Not over carrots. Also, Katie would chop them however she wanted to and if someone argued she’d say, “That’s the way it’s supposed to be done.”

  I need to be more like Katie. This isn’t only about living in her house and getting to hang out with her family. I’m here in her body so I can learn to be more like her. That’s what I want and that’s what I need. Especially now that middle school is right around the corner.

  I take a deep breath and pick up a knife and set the carrot down, awkwardly, on the cutting board. I raise the knife and freeze, my body rigid with panic because I don’t want to mess this up.

  But how am I supposed to cut the carrots when there are so many options? How does Katie do this and why haven’t I paid attention in the past?

  Would she cut carrots into sticks or into little circles like nickels, except tastier? And if I am supposed to do circles, how thick should they be? Ryan and Reese are still pretty young. What if they choke on my carrot nickels? I took CPR in gym but I’m afraid to administer it in real life. I know I’ll mess things up and Ryan and Reese will get hurt or worse and then I’ll never forgive myself.

  I try to remember dinner at Katie’s house in the past. I’ve been here a million times, so it shouldn’t be this hard. Except I never paid attention to the shape of the carrots. Now that voice inside my head is calling me stupid because why didn’t I notice the right way? How could I have been so unobservant? Why didn’t I know that one day I’d be making dinner in Katie’s kitchen in front of Katie’s stepdad and inside of Katie’s body and I’d be expected to know better? I should’ve been prepared for this scenario.

  I feel like I’m in school and my teacher has just called on me and of course I’ve been daydreaming. That happened constantly in Ms. Jaffe’s class last year and the worst part was always the look in her eyes—the distinct blend of disappointment and concern. She never said so but I know what she was always wondering: Why isn’t Melody smart like her brother? Did Kyle get the smart genes? Or is she just lazy? Her best friend, Katie, is bright. I wonder what the two of them have in common …

  “Something wrong, Katie?” asks Jeff.

  I blink to snap myself out of my daze and shake my head. “Nope. Everything’s great!”

  Then I start cutting the carrots into nickel-size pieces, about a quarter of an inch thick. I’ll cut them in half after that so nobody chokes, and I’m feeling pretty good about my plan.

  Except Jeff is still looking at me funny.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You might want to peel that carrot first,” he says, handing me the peeler.

  “Right,” I say, coughing. “Of course.”

  Maybe my teachers are right. Maybe I’m simply not smart enough.

  I dump the unpeeled slices into the compost box in the corner and get to work at the sink, peeling the remaining three carrots.

  I make sure to take my time with the cutting. I don’t want another job because that would mean another opportunity to mess things up.

  “Those look great. Thanks, honey,” Jeff says, sweeping the carrot pieces into the salad bowl.

  My plan worked. Jeff is happy and I am, too, and the twins are building Lego rocket ships quietly in the den. Dinner is ready and soon we’re at the dining room table. The burgers are displayed on a blue platter that Katie painted by hand at Color Me Lovely, this ceramics store at the mall that we used to visit when we were younger. I know because I was there when she painted it. It’s got a chip in one side and I think it’s so cool that they still use it. It has such sentimental value they’re not going to throw it away. Katie’s mom and Jeff sit at either end of the table. The twins are next to each other on one side and I sit across from them on the other.

  Ryan is picking his nose.

  Reese bites his pinky nail.

  I am trying not to smile too hard because I don’t want to arouse suspicion. But it’s hard because there is no place I’d rather be right now. No one I’d rather be than Katie.

  As Jeff pours both of the twins milk he says, “Please go wash your hands, guys.”

  Both boys grumble but scrape back their chairs and get up from the table. We hear them squabble over who gets to go first and then they are back, wiping their wet hands on their shorts.

  Reese eyes the milk and says, “He has more than me!”

  Reese is always thinking Ryan has more.

  “No, it’s perfectly even,” Jeff tells them. “Want me to get the scale so we can weigh it?”

  “Yes,” says Reese.

  Jeff actually gets up and comes back with a tiny portable kitchen scale, like weighing drinks is something that happens every single night around here. Maybe it does. Except Ryan has already guzzled his milk.

  “No fair,” Reese cries, once he realizes. “He destroyed the evidence.”

  Ryan burps. “I didn’t destroy it, I drank it.”

  “That’s the same thing!” Reese argues.

  “It’s fine, boys. There’s plenty of milk for everyone,” says Anya.

  Reese drains his milk and asks for more and then Ryan burps and Reese grabs his plate and moves to the other end of the table.

  “I’m sitting next to Katie,” he says. “It’s too yucky over there.”

  “You’re too yucky,” Ryan says as he sticks out his tongue.

  “Hey, no one is yucky,” says Jeff. “Let’s everyone get along tonight.”

  I try some salad. It’s delicious, especially the carrots.

  “When are you and Melo taking us to the beach?” Reese asks me.

  “Yeah, when?” Ryan repeats. “Melody promised us.”

  I want to tell them we’d go tomorrow, but I’m nervous that Jeff and Anya will know something’s up. They must notice that I’m not acting like myself.

  What would happen if they found out Katie and I did the whole body-switch? They wouldn’t believe it, probably, and I don’t blame them. If I told them, they’d think their daughter had gone crazy. Maybe they’d take me to the doctor. I don’t want to go to the doctor. Doctors mean shots and cold hands pressing into your tummy, and forcing you to say ah so they can gag you with their tongue depressor. So instead I make a face at them, in my perfect imitation of Katie. “Talk to Melody. It was her idea to take you!” I cringe at how horrible I sound. But this is how Katie talks to her stepbrothers.

  Out of the corner of my eye I catch Jeff and Anya sharing a knowing glance: secret parent language. This is how I know I’m pulling it off. They look disappointed but not suspicious. I feel bad for being rude to Ryan and Reese, but I have no choice. That’s what Katie would do.

  “Call her and I’ll ask her,” says Ryan.

  “I’ll call. What’s her number?” Reese is getting up and heading to the phone.

  “Everyone sit down and no phones at the table,” says Jeff.

  Reese flops back down in his seat and says, “After dinner then.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Melody is pretty busy tonight.”

  I wonder what Katie’s doing. Probably wandering around my ho
use alone. My dad is in San Francisco, as usual, and my mom probably has something else going on—a benefit or board meeting or cocktail party. She’d rather do anything than stay at home with me and I don’t totally blame her. Our house is cold and lonely, especially now with Kyle away. Katie isn’t used to being by herself and I’m sure it’s driving her crazy. She’s always complaining about the lack of privacy in her house, ever since Jeff and the twins moved in. She doesn’t know what true solitude is about. How lonely life can be when everyone in your family wants to be somewhere else—and usually is.

  She doesn’t appreciate how amazing her life is. Because being here with the Millers at the dinner table? It’s awesome.

  The food is hot and delicious and there’s lots of it and everyone is eating. The table is crowded—half the size of our dining room table at home, which is ironic because there’s hardly ever more than two people at ours.

  “Did you hear about the exploding Eelons?” Jeff asks.

  “The what?” Ryan asks.

  “The Eelon is an electric car and some of the batteries have been catching fire,” Jeff explains.

  “Is that the car that Melody’s dad has?” Ryan asks. “The fancy one with the third row?”

  “Yes,” I say. Not only does my dad have a Eelon, his company supplies some of its parts. So I’m a little concerned. “What do you mean they’re catching on fire?”

  “There’s a big piece in today’s LA Times,” Anya tells me, seeming surprised. “You didn’t see it?”

  I shrug, not realizing that Katie is expected to read the newspaper. “I was in a hurry this morning. Must’ve missed it.”

  “Yeah, going to the beach without us!” says Ryan.

  Jeff swallows a bite of veggie burger and says, “When they go too fast, the batteries overheat and they can spark and actually catch on fire. It’s happened twice this month.”

  “That’s terrible,” says Anya. “I was so excited about the new technology.”

  “Well, the whole existence of the electric car in general raises some interesting moral questions,” Jeff says.

  I’m surprised Jeff is criticizing electric cars since he’s an environmental scientist.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be happy about electric cars?” I ask. “Isn’t it so much better for the environment not to have a bunch of gas-guzzling cars around? That’s what my—I mean, that’s what Melody’s dad says.”

  “It would be wonderful if everyone drove electric cars,” says Jeff. “But that’s not possible for most people because they’re so expensive. Only wealthier people can afford them, and they get to save on gas plus they’re given tax credits, so essentially there’s an incentive program that benefits the rich.”

  I think about this for a moment. “I guess it would be better if someone could invent something to turn gas-guzzling cars into electric cars automatically. Rather than making people buy brand-new cars.”

  Jeff points his fork at me and smiles. “That’s an excellent point, Katie. You should invent something like that.”

  I sit up straighter in my chair. Maybe I can handle dinner at the Millers’. I seem to be keeping up. Maybe it’s being in Katie’s body. People expect me to be smart and thoughtful, so I am. Whatever I say, I’m given the benefit of the doubt because everyone knows Katie is a smarty-pants.

  If I were Melody, on the other hand … that’s a different story.

  As I’m thinking this I suddenly feel something cold and wet on my lap. “Ah!” I yell, surprised. I look down. Ryan is looking sheepish and for good reason: he’s spilled his entire glass of milk on me. A particularly impressive feat considering I am all the way on the other side of the table.

  “Sorry,” says Ryan.

  He looks as if he’s about to cry. It’s the sweetest, saddest thing I’ve seen all night. “Don’t worry, Ryan.” I start to get up, thinking I’ll give him a quick hug, but stop.

  The entire table goes silent.

  Everyone stares at me in surprise.

  Uh-oh. This is clearly not a Katie reaction. I sit back down and bark, “Ryan, will you quit acting so clumsy? You are so annoying.”

  “Sorry,” he says again, rubbing his eyes, holding in tears.

  I feel terrible but at least I’m staying in character.

  Anya gets up and runs to the kitchen, coming back moments later with a dish towel.

  I mop the milk off my clothes, trying to seem annoyed. I’ll have to change out of the romper, but this isn’t actually a bad thing. I’d never say so because I don’t want to hurt the real Katie’s feelings, but she makes some odd fashion choices. And by odd I actually mean terrible.

  “Be right back,” I say, heading upstairs to change into jeans and a T-shirt.

  When I return to the table, everyone is finished eating.

  “Can we please be excused?” asks Reese, speaking for himself and his brother.

  “Sure,” says Anya.

  “Me, too?” I ask, standing up to clear my plate.

  Jeff says he’ll do the dishes. I’m about to follow the twins upstairs when Anya reminds me it’s time to practice the piano.

  “Twenty minutes,” she says, pointing to her watch.

  I gaze at the piano standing in the corner of the den. Katie has to practice for twenty minutes every single day. She complains about it all the time but the cool thing is she’s really good. I love listening to Katie play the piano.

  Gulping, I slowly walk over to the piano and sit down on the bench. Then I look down at my skinny, pale, freckled hands, wondering where piano-playing ability comes from. Is it all in the fingers? I hope so. With every fiber of my being I hope I’ve been given not just Katie’s eyes and hair and nose and mouth and voice and freckles and skin and each bone in her body, but her musical gifts, too.

  If not, well, then this could be the end of the charade.

  KATIE

  Kissing Confusion

  I kissed a real, live boy and not just any boy—I kissed my biggest crush in the whole entire universe. He was my first choice of boy, my only choice: Kevin!

  Being Melody is even more amazing than I ever imagined. If I were Katie right now I’d be practicing piano. But instead I’m here with the most gorgeous guy in town.

  I am so blown away by this fact that I cannot think of anything to say, even though he’s standing right in front of me.

  This is the best dream I have ever had in my whole entire life.

  Better than that time I dreamed I was opening for Lorde at the Hollywood Bowl. Better even than the time I dreamed that Lorde was opening for me.

  Because guess what? Kevin is still standing here.

  I wish I could float up out of my body and watch this scene from across the room. I wish I’d taken a selfie of us kissing on my phone. Then I’d have it forever and could use it as my screen saver. Except it would be Melody’s face, not mine. For the moment, though, I push that small fact out of my mind and focus on Kevin.

  He smells like sunscreen and sweat and something vaguely fruity. Cherry-flavored ChapStick, I think.

  Yes, it definitely is.

  I didn’t know Kevin used ChapStick. And cherry flavored? This surprises me. He doesn’t seem like the type. No guy does, really. But this makes me like Kevin even more. How funny and unpredictable he is. It’s almost too adorable.

  Although a bit odd.

  Not odd in a bad way, I don’t think. Normally I associate cherry-flavored ChapStick with this girl Rebecca from my old Girl Scout troop. She always wore her hair in braids and sucked on the tips, making them wet and pointy and kind of fruity smelling.

  But why am I thinking about braid-sucking Girl Scouts when I’m gorgeous and in Melody’s gorgeous house, wearing her mom’s gorgeous red dress? I’m standing next to Kevin and he’s gorgeous, too. Are you sensing a theme here?

  Today is amazing.

  What better way to top it off? Like the cherry on top of a sundae with extra whipped cream. No, better than a simple cherry. This is like a whole extr
a sundae or a cherry-flavored ChapStick kiss.

  I’m waiting for Kevin to gaze, lovingly, into my eyes, to tell me how amazingly perfect and smart and wonderful I am. The answer to his hopes and dreams. Maybe he’ll suggest a walk around the neighborhood. We’ll hold hands as we head down the street and maybe stumble upon an abandoned litter of puppies, which we will rescue and feed milk to with an eyedropper.

  I wonder if Melody still has that bicycle built for two in her garage. Maybe we can break it out tomorrow, if there is a tomorrow in my dream. I sure hope it lasts longer than this one day.

  Wait a second. Why did Kevin kiss Melody when it’s the first day of summer?

  According to my memory, which is excellent by the way, Melody and I saw Kevin for the first time on the first day of summer. That’s when I finally worked up the nerve to approach him. Melody was with me at the time, of course. We’re always together. And I introduced the two of them, because I’m nice like that, and had no idea she’d betray me. Anyway, my point is, we both met him for the first time then.

  Except the Fourth of July is in the future—weeks away!

  Why would Kevin kiss me if we don’t even know each other?

  In what universe does this make sense?

  Kevin smiles and asks, “Can I come in?”

  “Huh?” I ask. “Oh yeah. Sure.” He comes in and we walk into the living room and sit down on the couch. Good.

  This is better than I’d imagined. This is Kevin, the man of my dreams.

  And this is a dream.

  Isn’t it?

  Of course it’s a dream.

  It has to be.

  People don’t switch bodies in real life. It’s impossible.

  Except, so far in my dream, practically every single detail checks out, meaning everything is grounded in reality.

  Melody’s mom looks and sounds and acts exactly like Melody’s mom.

  Vicki and the icky old dude at the Golden Spoon are the same.

  I can’t fly.

  I feel pain.

  I love the taste of plain tart yogurt.

  I am Melody through and through. My mouth waters at the mere mention of the word marshmallow.