Now You See Her

by Lisa Leighton

  I knew she wouldn’t want to take it, but I also know how much we need it. Without my mom’s salary there’s no grocery money. No way to pay the rent. It’s not like we have some savings account with money in it. My mom works and Mae and I babysit whenever we can to bring in a little extra money, but we barely make ends meet on a good day. I don’t have to be in the right body to know we haven’t had a good day since the accident. There was no more work for my mom in Morristown and she was supposed to be starting her new job next week. There’s no way we can leave, but no way for us to make ends meet if we stay. Especially now.

  “Please. We all wanted to do something and we didn’t know what. It’s the best I’ve got for now, but I might have more. Later. Can you meet after school?”

  Mae reaches her hand out and for a second I think she’s going to take it. I think that this stupid plan might actually work. But then she knocks the money to the floor.

  “I don’t need your hush money, Sophie. I know it must be hard for you, running over my fucking sister and all.” Mae can’t control her volume now. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what you’ve put my family through? And you think you can fix it with a hundred dollars?” Mae takes a step forward and I shrink back. I wonder if the real Sophie would. “It must be so easy for you. Oops, sorry I hit your sister. My bad. Here’s some cash.” Mae’s eyes are glassy but I know she’d rather die than let Sophie Graham see her cry. “Well, I don’t want your charity. Sorry.” Her voice is shaking and I know she has to look away now or she’ll break in half too. The bell rings and my sister turns away from me, her back rising and falling as though she’s just run a race.

  “I . . . I just . . . I saw someone the night of the accident. A man,” I call after her.

  Mae holds her breath and I wonder in that moment if maybe there’s a reason for all this. Maybe the universe is letting me borrow Sophie’s body so I can keep Mae safe. Maybe this will work.

  “He was driving a black truck and he tried to . . . he tried to take me . . . I mean, her. He tried to take Amelia. And he knew your name.” Shit. That completely came out wrong.

  She shakes her head slowly back and forth but doesn’t even bother turning around. “Before you start spreading around a bunch of lies, maybe get your story straight, Sophie.” Her voice cracks on my name and I want to scream and grab her and hold her and never let go. But all I can think as I watch her walk away with her chin raised with as much confidence as she’s probably ever had to muster is that I’m losing. I’m losing her.

  I’m losing everything.

  Fifteen

  I AM WAY TOO OBVIOUS LINGERING IN THIS EMPTY HALLWAY, AND IT won’t be long before I get in trouble. The concussion card would be easy to play, but I’m not willing to risk the attention that comes with it. Best to keep a low profile. I turn down the art hallway and slip into a bathroom that’s pretty much always empty. As a card-carrying introvert, I’m a pro at identifying good hiding spots in public places—and the Junior Row girls’ bathroom happens to be one of the best.

  Sophie’s phone blows up, new messages appearing on her screen every few seconds, pushing the older ones down. I’m at ground zero, two lives in rubble all around me, holding evidence that everything continues on. I can’t even feel all bitter because with every ping and vibration comes words of support, hope, and love.

  I lean my back against the cool cinder block wall and slide down to the floor, clenching my jaw to bite back tears. Mae doesn’t believe a word I said. In fact, she thinks I’m lying, but for what? Attention? Absolution? It doesn’t even matter. She didn’t listen and I need a plan B.

  I dig around for the notebook again and see the crumpled piece of scrap paper Jake threw into my bag. Jake. I wrinkle my forehead.

  Smoothing it over my knee, I read the word tonight in blocky print. Tonight what? What the hell would Jake Radcliff need to tell Sophie about tonight?

  “Sophie?” The voice cuts through my frustration, and I scramble to hide the note.

  “Soph? Are you in here?” Another voice. Am I in here?

  Janie pops her head in the bathroom. “You’re here.” She lowers her chin a little and approaches me slowly, like I’m a rabid raccoon foaming at the mouth.

  “I’m worried. I heard about you, like, attacking Mae Fischer in the hall. Everyone has.” Janie drops to the floor on her knees. “Look, I get it. Amelia’s always been a little weird. We all know it wasn’t your fault that she was standing in the middle of the road in a thunderstorm. It’s like that time I stepped on Rusty Linthicum when he was lying on the ground blocking the doorway in third grade. Remember?”

  My stomach knots because I do.

  Rusty was one of those kids who was always the worst. He’d never listen, always disrupted class. Everyone said he was gifted, but we knew the truth—he was just a huge pain in the ass. One day he stretched his body on the ground, blocking the doorway of our classroom because he didn’t want anyone to go to gym class. When I went to step over him, he kicked up his foot and I face-planted in the hallway. Janie was right behind me and instead of hopping over him like the rest of the class, she planted a foot right in his stomach. I remember her grabbing my hand and helping me up while I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

  And before I even have time to wonder what memory I lost at the expense of having remembered that moment, Janie grabs my hand and picks me up off the floor again.

  “Let’s blow this pop stand.”

  For a second I think about saying no. I think about trying to talk to Mae again. Or heading back to the hospital to try to figure everything out. But somehow I just can’t see the point, so I let Janie drag me through the empty halls of the school. I give up control, I stop fighting against the current, and I let myself be pulled along by the human tidal wave that is Janie McLaughlin.

  Walking out of the school is just as easy as walking in. Apparently being Sophie Graham really does have its perks. Janie doesn’t say much but keeps shooting worried looks back at me as we weave through the cars in the parking lot. Knowing what to do with your best friend when she’s having a mental breakdown in school after she almost killed her tennis teammate with a car isn’t exactly something that’s covered in etiquette class. And that’s when I see it.

  The Crimson Wave. My Crimson Wave. Mae must have driven her to school today. I walk toward the car without thinking, ignoring Janie calling out after me. Autopilot takes over and I can already smell the pine-scented air freshener, can feel my fingers wrap around the keys hidden beneath the front seat because Mae and I always joke that if someone actually wanted Crimson, they shouldn’t have to break a window to take her.

  Learning to drive a stick shift was one of our mom’s “things.” Self-defense classes, knowing how to change a spare tire, and learning to drive a manual car were mandatory rites of passage for the Fischer girls. Besides, driving a stick shift is kind of badass.

  It’s not until my fingers slide under the door handle that I see it. A necklace hanging from the driver-side mirror, swaying ever so slightly back and forth like a talisman. Something about the way the metal catches the light brings with it the smell of rain, and I feel like I might be sick. Silver. I’d ripped a silver necklace from around the shadow man’s neck.

  I gently lift the chain from the mirror, my heart thrumming as I run my fingers over a clasp that is not broken. It’s not the same necklace, I try to convince myself. Someone gave it to Mae at the hospital. Someone added us to a prayer group. But something about the silver circle at the end, an engraving of an angel holding a small child, makes my head spin.

  When I flip it over, I see the words St. Anthony, Pray for us inscribed on the back. A saint. Religion has never been a part of my life. We moved too much to ever join a church and most Sundays my mom had to work. Instead of grace before dinner, we thanked our exhausted mom, and instead of prayers before bed, Mae and I whispered to each other through the dark, our limbs practically entangled. I guess it never occurred to us to wors
hip anything else.

  Of course I picked up bits and pieces along the way, but for me religion felt like a fairy tale that would never come true for me. After all, where was God when we had to move for the third time in one year? Or more importantly, where was he when I got mowed down by Sophie Graham’s car?

  And suddenly, the necklace doesn’t feel like hope, like some gift of faith from a well-meaning, kind, religious person. It feels like a warning, the same kind of dissonant chord evoked by a random shoe on the side of the road or a child’s bike dumped over near woods.

  “Sophie? What the hell?” Janie grabs my upper arm and scares the living shit out of me. I drop the necklace and practically jump out of this stranger’s body. “If they catch you creeping around Amelia’s car . . .”

  Lurking around this car is the least of my worries. My eyes dart around the parking lot looking for his black truck, seeking the man in the hooded sweatshirt who destroyed my life. Fear pounds through my temples, and for a second I feel like I might scream. Or worse, tell Janie everything. My mouth opens, but when I process the horrified look on her face, I snap it back shut. Instead, I bend to retrieve the necklace and slip it into the pocket of my jeans. I’m not sure what it means or where it came from, but somehow it feels important.

  “What is that?” Janie’s face is creased with worry.

  “My necklace broke,” I lie. “I just don’t want to lose it. I’m fine, okay? Let’s just get out of here.” I need to leave. Now.

  Janie’s eyes search mine, and I let them this time. “Everything is going to be okay,” she whispers quietly. It’s easy to let her familiar words wrap around me like a blanket. If only it were just as easy to believe her.

  Sixteen

  “REJUICINATION?” THE QUESTION MARK THAT JANIE INTONES AT the end of the ridiculous word feels like a formality. Based on the endless stream of artfully arranged smoothie bowls and avocado toast that I’ve seen on Sophie’s Instagram from the trendy juice bar on Main Street, I know it’s a favorite spot of theirs. I should make it easy. I should agree. But I’ve never once set foot inside the picture-perfect, polished doors of Rejuicination, and I’m craving something familiar right now. The medallion I lifted off Crimson Wave feels heavy in my pocket. Could it be the same necklace? Did someone have it fixed? Is it his? It was on my car, the car Mae is driving. Is he watching her? Waiting?

  Everything is so jumbled in my head, the memories are so murky, that it’s impossible to know either way. My mom always told Mae and me to rely on our instincts.

  Listen to your gut. Your gut doesn’t lie and if it’s telling you someone is dangerous or bad, you don’t stop and think. You don’t try to be polite. You run.

  My gut is telling me that this medallion is a warning. A mark. But my brain is reminding me that I’m currently trapped in someone else’s body and not really in a position to be jumping to conclusions. Either way I need to figure out a way to warn my sister and there’s no way I can do it while sipping some organic, fresh-pressed bullshit.

  I need caffeine. I need sugar. I need somewhere I can actually think.

  Before I can stop myself I reply, “How about Pete’s Donuts?”

  There’s an awkward pause while Janie’s face silently communicates her disgust of the hole-in-the-wall donut shop on the outskirts of town where Mae and I have spent endless hours consuming our weight in fried dough and tar-like coffee. The thing about Pete’s is that they don’t fuck around. They make these amazing, giant donuts fresh every single morning. The second the last donut is sold, they close. They don’t make cappuccinos and they don’t give a shit about sustainable ingredients or non-GMO certified flour. They just fry amazing deliciousness and brew terrible coffee. End of story.

  “Um, sure? I mean, yeah, definitely, it’s good to try something new every once in a while, right?” Janie’s voice holds the same false encouragement that people usually reserve for really bad haircuts or tortuous physical therapy. Part of me can’t believe that in all the years they’ve lived in Morristown, these girls have never once had a Pete’s donut. But the other part of me, the Sophie part, presumably, understands now that flaky, dough-melting circles of heaven don’t exist in this life. It’s not on Main Street. It doesn’t have a cute sign or minimalist décor. The reality is that there are two very different Morristowns—Amelia’s and Sophie’s.

  Janie stops at a red light and immediately starts stabbing at the radio the way I now understand that she always does. Her arm brushes against mine as some pop song fills the car and words I have no business knowing find their way to my lips. As Amelia, the only radio I ever deemed acceptable was the local college station with its eclectic collection of new bands no one had ever heard of, amazing classics, and liberal news stories.

  “This would be on my soundtrack,” Janie yells over the music with complete seriousness. “If my life had a soundtrack, this would be track number one.” It’s some ridiculous pop anthem belted out by a singer with one of those nonsense names like Madame Drama, but the lyrics are so Janie. All passion and pure fun. I laugh because that’s what I always do when Janie tries to get all deep. But I spend the rest of the ride trying to decide what number I’d make the song on my own soundtrack.

  The light turns green, the song ends, and I’m overwhelmed by the natural mixture of friendship and bad music. “Thanks, Janie.” My voice cracks a little on her name. Maybe it’s because I see the sign for Pete’s and all I can think about is Mae. Maybe it’s because the donuts we’re about to eat are so fucking good and everything else is just so fucking bad. Maybe it’s because Sophie has a best friend who knows when to say yes. I always assumed that they were fake, the kind of faux friends who pose for Instagrams together but couldn’t possibly really care about each other. But it’s different on the inside. Janie would do anything for Sophie, and by default for me, while I’m stuck in this body anyway. At the end of the day, I’ve only ever had Mae and she was my sister—biologically compelled to love me and circumstantially destined to be there for me when I needed her because we didn’t really have anyone else. Friends are just different.

  Janie carefully steers her car into the lot and slides into one of the last open parking spots. She pushes her baby-blond hair behind her ears and throws me a gigantic smile. “You’re just lucky I love you.” And I don’t need to remember anything else to know she does.

  Ironically, Pete’s sits next to a twenty-four-hour gym, a fact that always made Mae and me giggle. Eat a donut, work it off. The windows of the shop are foggy, but I can still see the “Open” sign flashing red above the door. Thank God. It’s barely ten, but there were multiple mornings when Mae and I rolled up at eight thirty only to find it closed. Most of the customers are old men and the occasional hipster foodie who happened to see the little shop featured on Top 100 Hole-in-the-Wall Donuts on BuzzFeed a few years ago.

  Janie hangs back a little, taking in the ragged décor and the grimy glass cases that hold only the most basic of donut flavors. Glazed, chocolate frosted, jelly filled and Boston cream. Occasionally, Pete goes crazy and will add sprinkles to the chocolate frosted, but I always sense a little judgment in his eyes if Mae and I order one.

  “Hey, Pete!” I greet the old man at the counter cheerfully, forgetting for a moment that he has no idea who Sophie Graham is. He returns with the standard mumbled hello he reserves for well-dressed strangers.

  “I’ll take two glazed donuts and a large coffee with extra cream and sugar.” I hear an audible gasp from behind me and see Janie gaping at me from where she’s hovering awkwardly near the door. “Oh, right. Sorry. You want anything?” I forgot about the hundred dollars burning a hole in Sophie’s wallet. Mae was always on her own.

  “Um, what about your gluten sensitivity?” Janie’s eyes are wide and shocked.

  “Oh, yeah . . . I, um, well, I’m trying something new. I ate a bagel in the hospital and it was totally fine.” Which is one hundred percent true, but she doesn’t look like she’s buying it. “Let me buy yo
u a donut, okay? I promise you won’t regret it.”

  “I’m good. Thanks anyway.” Janie is still staring at me like I landed from another planet and for a split second I think maybe we should leave, but then Pete hands me two perfect donuts and a hot cup of milky, sugar-laced coffee and the smell is so familiar, so Amelia that there’s no way I can walk away from it.

  I steer us to a small table in the corner and take a huge bite of a donut before I even settle into the cracked vinyl chair. The taste is familiar yet somehow different than I remember in Sophie’s mouth. The glaze is a little sweeter, the dough lighter, but the bite washed down with the sugary coffee is still perfect. I close my eyes and for a second I’m Amelia again. The smell of frying donuts, the quiet din of old men arguing about local politics, the sticky chair. When I open my eyes again I almost expect to see Mae sitting across from me, stuffing a chocolate-covered donut in her mouth. But instead Janie is staring at me like a deer blinking in the headlights.

  “You have to try a bite. Seriously. So good.” I push the remaining donut toward her, but she just keeps staring.

  “You know those have more calories than a Big Mac, right?” Janie’s tone conveys her complete and utter disbelief.

  “That’s an old wives’ tale. I read something about it on Snopes once,” I reply, my mouth full.

  “Snopes?” Janie clears her throat and I sense a lecture coming. “I’m worried about you, Soph.” Her voice cracks and she gestures with her hand around the room. “This just isn’t you. I know you’re still getting your bearings and everything and you know I love you no matter what, but it’s like you’re suddenly this different person.”

  She’s so painfully close to the truth. My hand subconsciously reaches for the necklace buried in my pocket. This is it. This is my chance. If Janie loves Sophie as much as she seems to, maybe she’ll be able to help me after all.