Switch

by Carol Snow

  I squeezed his hand. "Funny. I feel that way too."

  At the cove, we walked onto the pier, claimed a bench, and

  163

  finally opened the food bag. I tried not to think about Evelyn, who would be eating an identical burrito with my worried mother.

  "Thanks for going with me to find Claire," I said.

  "I didn't realize the two of you were so close," Nate said. "Didn't you just meet?"

  "Yeah, but it feels like we've been friends for a long time." I watched a seagull battle a crab at the water's edge. "Claire and me--I guess you could say we're a lot alike."

  "Yeah?" He squinted like he didn't see it. Then he smiled. "Maybe she's another friend from a former life."

  The sky had turned a dusty pink. Small fishing boats entered the harbor, their wakes forming pink Vs behind them. The air smelled of salt and fish and gasoline.

  We didn't talk much as we ate our lukewarm burritos, which felt right, somehow (the silence, not the burritos).

  Finally, Nate crumpled up his wrapper. "My dad used to take me here when I was little. Back when he was still my dad."

  "He's not your dad anymore?"

  He shrugged. "He is, but I hardly ever see him. Spring break, New Year's, a week or two at the beginning of summer vacation. He moved to Chicago after he and my mom split three years ago. He's got another kid now--Christian. He just turned one. He's okay, I guess. But it's weird, when I see my dad, it feels like I'm borrowing him, like he really belongs to Christian."

  I chewed my burrito slowly. Which is worse, I wondered: to never have a father or to have one and then lose him?

  "I'm hardly ever allowed to see my dad," I said, thinking of

  164

  Larissa's letters from her father. I'd been thinking about Larissa's father a lot, which seemed strange since I'd never even met the guy. I told Nate what I knew: the missed alimony, the drinking problem, now under control. "He really wants to see me," I said.

  "Does he know that your mother went on vacation and left you?" Nate asked.

  "I don't think so."

  He stood up and stretched. "Because I doubt that's allowed. The courts are pretty picky. If they hear that your mother took off, they might let you see your father." He held out his hand. I took it and stood up. We strolled back toward the shore.

  "My mother is going to sell our house when I leave for college," he said. "It's part of their agreement."

  I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. Nate would leave for college in two years. It seemed too soon. "Where do you want to go to school?"

  He shrugged. "It doesn't matter where I want to go. All that matters is who gives me the most scholarship money." He put his arm around me, and our pace slowed. "I don't just swim for fun."

  There was a clam shack at the beginning of the pier. We inhaled the aroma of greasy seafood.

  "Maybe we should have skipped the burritos and had fried clams instead," he said.

  "It's not too late," I said. "We could split a clam roll."

  Nate squeezed my shoulders. "I'm so glad you have an appetite. I hate it when girls eat like rabbits."

  I smiled. "I'm just lucky. I have a really fast metabolism."

  165

  ***

  21

  Here's what I thought when I walked into the Ice Cube House:

  I will never love another boy the way

  I love Nate. I don't want to go back to my old life.

  I shouldn't have eaten the clam roll.

  I am in big, big trouble.

  I had come in from the road because it seemed less conspicuous than climbing up from the beach. The front door was kept locked at all times, but I knew the code: 1-2-3-4-5. Clever. What thief would ever guess that one?

  Before opening the door, I gave Nate a final wave good-bye. He was standing by the curb, holding the red sweatshirt I had given back. My lips still felt warm from our final kiss. I wouldn't let him walk me to the door: too dangerous. I wouldn't give him

  166

  my cell phone or e-mail: even more dangerous. I had his e-mail on a slip of paper in my pocket.

  I'd been hoping that the Sealys had gone out for dinner (I envisioned Mr. Sealy reading his newspaper in the middle of a restaurant), but the screaming and wailing hit me the moment I opened the door. They were all in the white, white living room with its soaring ceilings, Prescott sprawled on the concrete floor, pounding it with his fists, Cameron clutching his mother's waist and sobbing. Mrs. Sealy stood stock-still, hands over her face, tears leaking out the edges, while Mr. Sealy sat at the stainless-steel table, typing on a laptop and acting as if nothing was wrong.

  "Where were you?" Mrs. Sealy shrieked when she saw me.

  "Out?" I said.

  "I needed you! The boys are overtired and cranky, and they've been just awful! It's one tantrum after another." Her voice cracked. "I can't do this on my own, I just can't!"

  "Sorry?" I said, as if that would take care of everything.

  Mr. Sealy continued to type. Prescott continued to scream. Mrs. Sealy grabbed Cameron's hands and pried them away from her waist. "Larissa's going to put you to bed," she told him without looking at me. "She's going to put you to bed now."

  "I don't wanna go to bed!" Prescott howled.

  "I need to lie down," Mrs. Sealy said, stumbling toward the stairs. "My head! Oh, my God--my head."

  "MOMMY!" Cameron shrieked, running after her.

  "Mommy needs to lie down!" She ran up the shaky stairs. Above us, the door slammed.

  Cameron crumpled to the floor. He sat there, slouched and

  167

  crying, though not as loudly as before. Prescott let out an animal wail, but his volume was dying down, as if he'd run out of energy.

  "Well," Mr. Sealy said, finally looking up. He closed his laptop and pushed back his chair. "I think I'll go out."

  "Okay," I said. I expected Prescott to protest, but he had grown almost lifeless.

  Mr. Sealy stood and plucked his keys off the shiny counter. "See you later."

  The boys and I stared at the door for a moment after Mr. Sealy closed it behind him. Then they turned to me with wary expressions.

  "Who wants to hear a mermaid story?" I asked, feeling desperate. I didn't know any mermaid stories. Actually, I didn't know any stories at all. When I babysat around town, I usually read Dr. Seuss or something, but if there was a single book in the Ice Cube House, I hadn't seen it. To make things worse, my stomach felt more awful by the minute. It was bad enough that Larissa was allergic to cats. I had a horrible suspicion that she was allergic to clams too.

  The boys hadn't answered my question, but at least they were quiet. Clearly, they wanted to hear the story, but they didn't want to give in too easily.

  "Okay," Cameron said, finally.

  "You can only hear a mermaid story if you're in your pajamas and your teeth are brushed." Prescott opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "It's the rule of the sea."

  Prescott squinted at me, not convinced that a story was worth brushing his teeth. Were mermaids not exciting enough? Did he

  168

  need a little violence? "There are pirates in the story," I said. "Okay?"

  He took a deep breath and then let it out loudly. "Okay."

  This was my story:

  "Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved the ocean so much that she wished she could swim underwater with the fish and the dolphins and never come up for air."

  "Dolphins come up for air," Cameron interrupted. "I've seen them."

  I'd tucked the boys into their matching twin beds and was sitting on the floor between them.

  "I never said they didn't. I just said the girl didn't want to have to come up for air. So, anyway, one night the girl went to sleep, and when she woke up she was at the bottom of the ocean--and she could breathe! She saw beautiful fish--orange fish and blue fish and silver fish. When she looked down, she saw that she had grown a big fish tail where her legs used to be. A dolphi
n swam by. She grabbed his fin, and he took her for a ride."

  "Were there sharks?" Cameron asked.

  "No sharks."

  "There would be sharks," Prescott said. I ignored him.

  "So, anyway," I continued, "the girl lived underwater for two days and had the most wonderful time, but then she started to miss life on land. She missed the sunset and she missed her school, but most of all she missed her mother. So she went to sleep, and when she woke up she was just a girl again. The end."

  169

  Not bad, I thought. Not bad at all. I stood up and gave each boy a kiss on the forehead.

  "You forgot the pirates," Prescott said.

  "Pirates. Right." Would I never get out of here? "When the girl was underwater, she found a huge treasure chest that pirates had left behind. She kept some of the gold. After that, she and her mother were really rich so they took a vacation in Hawaii. The end."

  The pains in my stomach were growing sharper. I felt like I was going to throw up.

  "No fair," Prescott said. "Treaure's not the same as pirates."

  "Okay," I said. "Fine." I took a deep breath and put a protective hand on my belly. "When the pirates discovered that the girl had stolen the treasure, they set sail for Hawaii, where they found her taking surf lessons. They grabbed her and took her on board the ship and made her walk the plank, and she drowned. The end."

  "But she's a mermaid!" Cameron gasped. "Mermaids can't drowned!"

  "Drown," I said. "No'd' on the end unless you're using the past tense. She wasn't a mermaid anymore, remember? She was just a girl. So she drowned." I shrugged. Cameron started to cry.

  "I was just kidding!" I said. "Geez! Okay, you're right. She turned into a mermaid again and her dolphin friend came and gave her a ride back to her home, and she and her mother lived happily ever after."

  "I like it better when she dies," Prescott mumbled.

  ***

  170

  Once I'd turned out their light, I changed into the oversize gray T-shirt (Consuela had washed it) and a pair of sweatpants. It felt like I should be packing, like I should bring a suitcase along for the upcoming voyage back to my body. At least my own stomach wouldn't hurt (though I was worried about my lungs after all the smoking Evelyn had done). There was soda in the refrigerator upstairs; maybe a ginger ale would help settle the clams.

  I crept up the stairs to the main level. The great room was just the way we'd left it, only without the sounds of screaming, whining, and moaning. The room was cool and breezy and smelled of the sea. The crashing waves were louder than usual, as if a storm might be moving in. Wonderful. That's all I needed: to switch out of Larissa's body only to get knocked into someone else's. Then again, maybe I'd wind up here again. Hmm ...

  I got a ginger ale out of the buzzing stainless steel refrigerator and popped it open. It helped a little. Mr. Sealy's laptop was still sitting on the table. I tiptoed over and touched the computer carefully, as if it might shock me. It didn't. I went to the front door and peered through the peephole: no sign of Mr. Sealy.

  My heart pounding, I hurried over to the laptop, opened it up, and hit the power button. It didn't ask for a password; it logged me right on. I shook my head in disgust; people are so naive when it comes to electronic security.

  Within minutes I had a new e-mail address and Internet identity: Rapunzel. I hit COMPOSE and entered the e-mail address Larissa's father had given her.

  171

  Dad,

  I think there is something u should know. I am not

  @ home now. I am in a little town called Sandyland staying w/ the Sealys. I am here 2 babysit their 2 boys but mostly I think I am here so Mom can go on a cruise. Can she do that? Just leave me with other people w/o telling u?

  I miss u & I love u.

  Larissa.

  I hit SEND and ran back to the peephole: still no sign of Mr. Sealy. I couldn't imagine where he had gone. There was nothing open at this time of night except the mini-mart. The thought of him hanging out by the Dumpsters made me smile. Next I crept to the stairs that led up to the master bedroom: no sounds from Mrs. Sealy. Ditto for the boys and Consuela, who, as far as I could tell, shut her door at eight o'clock every night and didn't open it again until morning. She must have a really big bladder.

  At the computer, I logged on to my own e-mail account. Whether I liked it or not, tomorrow I'd be Claire again. Might as well start cleaning up the mess Evelyn had made.

  Beanie.

  u must think I'm a crazy person, u may be right, LOL. I didn't want 2 tell u, but this is all part of an experiment I am doing A school. I think I want 2 b a psychologist when I grow up so I thought it would

  172

  be fun 2 c how people would react. w8 till u c my hair!

  Sorry if I hurt ur feelings. I should have told u sooner, u r still my best friend & always will b.

  xo, Claire

  I sent the message, knowing that it sounded weak but hoping Beanie wouldn't question it, and did the peephole/upstairs/downstairs routine again before logging back on as Rapunzel.

  Nate,

  Please don't come by the house. It will only cause trouble. Remember me every time you go to Kimberley Cove. I am closer than you think.

  I was about to sign the message from Larissa, but I was already starting to feel jealous of her. Instead, I simply signed it, "Rapunzel."

  That's it, I thought: no more fabulous clothes, no more admiring stares, no more Nate. If only we'd made plans to meet up later--I could have snuck out. If only I could feel beautiful for a little while longer.

  There was no point in stalling. I had to go home.

  Five minutes later, the ginger ale finished, the computer shut off, I was back in Larissa's room. I took one last, loving look in the closet mirror before settling into bed and falling into a deep, deep sleep.

  173

  ***

  22

  I knew it before I even opened my eyes. The smell was wrong: new paint instead of faint mildew. The sounds were wrong: muffled waves instead of noisy finches. My stomach was wrong: it still felt slightly queasy, though not as bad as last night. I was still Larissa.

  "Nate," I whispered to the empty room.

  The boys were letting me sleep in, for once. It was six thirty and they hadn't come in to catch a glimpse of me in my underwear. Of course, I was wearing the gray T-shirt, so maybe they'd already peeked and left disappointed.

  I dashed to the closet and checked the mirror. My blond hair was wild from sleep, my cheeks were flushed. I laughed. It was just wrong that anyone could look this good first thing in the morning. Another day, I thought. I get another day.

  Imagine you've had this fab vacation--in Hawaii, say, at a hotel with koi ponds and waterfalls--and your suitcase is packed

  174

  and you're all sad about going back to your boring house and your boring school. But then, on the day you're supposed to leave, your mother says, "Surprise! School can wait--we're staying an extra day!" And then you put on your shades and bikini, and you're just exploding with joy because you know that this is going to be the Best! Day! Ever!

  That's just how I felt, except for one itty-bitty problem. I wasn't in Hawaii, and I wouldn't be missing school, at least not technically. How much trouble would Evelyn get into today?

  I pulled on a hoodie sweatshirt, the plaid sneakers, and a pair of gym shorts that said "Juicy" on the butt. Larissa's cell phone was in the drawer; I stuck it in the hoodie pocket, just in case.

  After leaving a note that would probably get me in trouble ("Taking a run"), I jogged through the foggy streets until, sweaty and winded, I reached my house. The sun was just starting to break through. The newspaper was gone from the front walk, which meant my mother was up. But the blinds on my bedroom window were shut even though Evelyn should have been getting ready for school. Swim team trials were today, I remembered with a pang.

  I crept around to the back and peeked in a window. My mother, wearing her faded blue flanne
l bathrobe, was making coffee. Most days she'd be dressed by now.

  I tiptoed to the side of the house and pulled out the cell phone.

  "Hello?" my mother answered, sounding concerned.

  "Hi, uh--Mrs. Martin?" Pretty smooth, pretending not to know she was a doctor.

  "Yes?"

  175

  "My name is ..." I looked at the plant next to me. "Rose." Above me, a bird began his morning song. "Rose Finch. I live on the street behind you? Hate to bother you, but I'm expecting a package, and the shipping company thinks they delivered it to your house by mistake. It would be in your garage. Could you check?"

  "Of course," my mother said, as I'd known she would. The word no is not in my mother's vocabulary. "If you'll just hang on a minute, I'll--"

  "I have to run, but if you'll just leave the package out front, I'll pick it up later. Thanks!" I hung up.

  On cue, the back door opened, and my mother, wearing green rain boots with her bathrobe, clomped across the yard to the garage. I ran for the front door, which my mother always left unlocked after bringing in the morning paper.

  Evelyn was still asleep, the air around the bed eerily cold. Was Larissa hovering? I wondered. I wished I had worn something nicer than the hoodie. I wouldn't want her to think I was slacking off in the fashion department.

  "Wake up!" I whispered, shaking Evelyn.

  "Whaa ... ?" She blinked and pushed her newly red hair from her face. My face. "Claire?"

  I nodded.

  She held up her hands, inspected the nails. (How long had they been red?) She let her arms fall back on the bed and moaned. "Shoot. I was afraid of this."

  I opened the blinds, and fog-tinged sunlight flooded the room. "Why are you still here?"