Switch

by Carol Snow

  "Just let me hold you, Prescott! And keep floating!" A wave splashed his face. He sputtered but didn't cry, didn't speak.

  I tried to swim parallel to the beach, to get him out of the riptide and tow him to shore, just like I'd practiced a million times with fake drowners far larger than this little boy. But I couldn't do it. Larissa's body--the beautiful body with the flat tummy, slim arms and endless legs--was done. My knowledge and willpower could only do so much. I was exhausted.

  A wave reared up and knocked us under the surface. We came up gagging on salt water. I expected Prescott, that tough and noisy kid, to cry or yell, but he only coughed weakly. My breathing was out of control. Prescott's lips were blue at the edges.

  What would happen if I died in Larissa's body? Would I float

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  around in the ether like Evelyn, a soul without a body to call home? Or would I condemn Larissa to that fate?

  If this were a fairy tale and I were a princess, a prince on a shining white horse would have come riding out to rescue me. Horses can swim, after all. Instead, my prince appeared on a surfboard. The World's Safest Beach finally had some swells, and Nate had hoped to catch a few waves before heading to class.

  My relief was so great that it wasn't until later that I remembered how much I despised princess stories. "His dad," I gasped. "Onshore already," Nate said.

  Nate pulled Prescott onto the surfboard; I clutched the back. He paddled parallel to the land until we were out of the current, then we rode a wave to the beach.

  Nate dragged Prescott out of the water and laid him on the sand. He bent his head to Prescott's face, seawater streaming from his blond curls, and listened for breathing. Then he began artificial respiration: one, two, three breaths, and pause; one, two, three, and pause.

  My heart pounded, my lungs ached. I wanted to be the one breathing for Prescott, but there was nothing I could do but sit there, helpless and shivering.

  A man with a dog appeared, and then an older couple. "Call nine-one-one," I wheezed.

  "We already did." They handed me their jackets, which I wrapped around Prescott. "Put one on yourself," the woman said.

  I shook my head. "I'm okay." My body trembled. I was cold, so

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  cold. "Call my mother." I gasped, water dripping from my masses of hair.

  "Who's your mother?"

  "Dr. Martin. Call her." And then I watched as Nate breathed life back into Prescott.

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  ***

  25

  Here are some of the things I said later, at the health clinic, where my mother--Claire's mother--insisted I spend a few hours for observation:

  "I don't know how I learned to swim. Nate gave me a lesson. Maybe that was it."

  "When I said 'call my mother,' what I meant was, call Claire's mother. My mother isn't here. My mother is on a cruise."

  "I'm just glad that Prescott is okay. That's all that really matters."

  My mother said Prescott would have died if he'd spent another minute in the water. The ambulance crew said Prescott would have died if my mother hadn't gotten there five minutes before them. What nobody said was that Prescott would have died if I hadn't switched with Larissa. But it's true, isn't it? The real Larissa wouldn't have noticed Prescott missing. She would have been busy painting her toenails or working on her tan.

  Then again, who knows? Maybe she would have been down

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  on the beach with the boys, and the whole thing never would have happened.

  Nate said I was a hero: If I hadn't held Prescott up for those last few minutes, he would have drowned. And that's true, I guess. But if Nate hadn't shown up, Prescott and Larissa would both be dead, and her beauty would have been of no use to anyone.

  Nate stayed with me at the clinic, his arm around me the whole time. I had changed into scrubs, the only dry clothes available. A blue blanket and Nate's arm kept me warm. While walking across the beach with his surfboard that morning, he'd found the missing pink flip-flop in the sand, he told me. He was about to pick it up when he saw me in the water.

  After a couple of hours, my mother said I was out of danger, and she offered us a ride. Nate and I sat in the backseat of my mother's gray sedan. ("Take a walk on the wild side," I'd pleaded when she bought it. "Get a blue car instead.")

  When we reached the high school to drop off Nate, he gave me a long, warm hug while my mom pretended to fiddle with the radio. "I'll stop by later," he murmured. "After the time trials."

  I nodded. I wasn't going anywhere.

  At a stoplight (one of only three in town), my mother pulled out her cell phone. "Everything okay, there? I'll be home soon." She listened for a moment and then sighed. "I've rescheduled the appointment for tomorrow. We'll talk about it when I get home."

  She folded up the phone and dropped it in her bag.

  "What's Claire doing?" I asked from the backseat.

  She was silent for a moment. "Thinking about how much she hates me," she said finally.

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  After she left me off, I punched 1-2-3-4-5 into the security panel and let myself in the front door. The Ice Cube House was empty. The Sealys were still at the hospital, along with Consuela, who was there to keep an eye on Cameron.

  The last time I'd seen them, they were in the beach parking lot next to the ambulance. Prescott was on a stretcher. Mr. Sealy, wrapped in a heated blanket, knelt on the ground next to his son, sobbing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," while a paramedic tugged on his shoulder. "Sir, we have to check your vitals. Sir, we're doing all we can."

  In the parking lot, Cameron grasped Consuela's hand, perfectly still, until Mrs. Sealy came running down the beach. When Cameron saw his mother, he ran to her and they collided. They clutched each other, gasping for air. For a moment, it was if they were the ones drowning, holding on to each other for their very survival.

  Inside the Ice Cube House, I didn't even bother looking at the ocean before heading down the stairs to my airless room. For once, I was glad that it was dark in there. The scrubs made perfect pajamas. When I woke up, I would take a long bath. I would run conditioner through my wild hair and comb it until it shined.

  I would call Nate. Surely the Sealys would let me see him. He had saved Prescott's life, after all.

  Tomorrow I would start Larissa's body on an exercise program. I'd swim--a mile a day. Run a few times a week. Maybe I'd add a little weight training to the mix, put some muscle on these scrawny arms. Larissa's body would never be as powerful as mine, but you have to work with what you've got.

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  ***

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  I couldn't breathe. Someone was suffocating me. I screamed and thrust my hands toward my face.

  Yerowwwl!

  I sat up in bed and stared at my cat. He shot me a look of pure disdain and then started licking his paw.

  I played the day through my mind: the rescue, the clinic, the drive home with my mother. Had she taken me to our blue house? I couldn't remember.

  And suddenly, I knew. I was me again.

  "No!" I wailed to Fluffernutter. (He ignored me.) I wanted to see Nate later. I bounded out of bed and over to my mirror, expecting to see my regular self staring back. The red hair made me yelp.

  "Evelyn?" I looked around the room: no apparition. She'd probably slipped over to peek in the neighbors' window again, or maybe she was busy hacking into my mother's computer. Out the

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  window, I saw the briefest shadow of her, sitting on the front steps, smoking her ghostly cigarette.

  On top of my dresser was a sand dollar, fresh grains still clinging to its face. Between loitering by Dumpsters and yapping with Roger, Evelyn must have squeezed in a little beachcombing. She always said sand dollars brought good luck. Maybe they did.

  I peeked back at the mirror, at my wide-eyed face and that ridiculous hair. And then I burst out laughing. I was back. I was me. I checked the clock: If I hurried, I could make it to the pool in time.

&
nbsp; I pulled on my Speedo and a pair of sweatpants (which, yes, I had found in the Sears boys' department). I felt warmer than I had in days.

  Fluffernutter had settled himself back on my pillow. I leaned over, planted my face in his fur and inhaled. "I missed you, tuna breath."

  Fluff said "yeow" and began to purr.

  My mother was doing paperwork at the kitchen table, a cup of tea beside her.

  "Time trials start in twenty minutes," I said. "Can you drive me?"

  She stared at me for a moment and then nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. She stood up slowly. I hurried across the linoleum and grabbed her. She hugged me back.

  "I love you, Mom."

  "I don't understand--"

  "You don't have to. I'm back."

  She took a step back and looked me in the eyes. Tears were

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  streaming down her face. "We're still going tomorrow. To the doctor." I nodded.

  "We need to understand," she continued. "We can't let this happen again. It could be chemical; there are pharmaceuticals. We need to do tests, a CAT scan maybe, and--"

  "Mom!" I interrupted. "We only have twenty minutes to get to the pool!"

  When I walked into the swim center, I expected everyone to stare. There was that ridiculous red hair, after all. And I was late. And, let's be honest, I'd gotten used to people staring at me. The swimmers, parents, and coaches glanced up when the door slammed behind me, the sound echoing in the muggy, high-ceilinged room, but then they all went back to what they were doing: adjusting goggles, stretching muscles, checking lists.

  Only one person stared at me, but she quickly looked away. I went right over to her. "Beanie, you're here!" She was wearing her red tank suit from sea-guard camp, a duffel bag at her feet.

  She shrugged, looked at the tile floor. "Yeah. I'm not going to make it, but--whatever."

  "You are so going to make it," I said. "Your backstroke rocks. And your breaststroke is really good too."

  She shrugged.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "About the way I've been acting."

  "I should really warm up," she said to the floor. "You have every right to be mad at me. But I'll make it up to you, I promise."

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  She looked me in the eye. "It's like you've become a totally different person."

  "But I'm not!" I said. "It was just--it was an experiment. For social studies."

  She shook her head. "You just don't get it." She turned and began to walk away. "Jelly Bean, wait!"

  She turned her head. "I have to get in the water. They're doing the backstroke trials first."

  My mother sat on the bottom row of the bleachers, her face scrunched in concern. I took a few steps toward Beanie. "My mother is going to take me for a brain scan tomorrow," I murmured. "To see if there's something ... in there." I put a hand on my forehead and blinked back tears that I was surprised to discover were real. I felt bad about manipulating Beanie like this, but then again, maybe there really was something wrong with my brain.

  Beanie's eyes widened. "Oh, my God. I'm so sorry that I--"

  I shook my head. "It's totally my fault."

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  I looked at the pool. People were jumping in and taking their positions in their lanes. "Yeah," I told her. "Get in that pool and swim faster than ever."

  She made the team, of course, as did I. Not to brag, but my butterfly was just short of the school record. I probably could have beaten it if I'd been practicing for the last few days, but I had three years ahead of me.

  The only bad part of the trials was Nate. At some level, I expected him to look deep into my eyes and recognize me.

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  Instead, he was just another one of the masses who glanced up when I came in the swim-center door, gave me a polite smile, and then looked away when he realized I was no one important.

  After he swam the freestyle--easily clocking the fastest time--I padded over to him, my wide feet damp on the warm tiles. "Hey, Nate. Great form out there."

  He grabbed a towel and rubbed his blond curls. "Thanks." He smiled at me: very nice, very friendly, very Nate. But it was nothing like the way he'd looked at me when I was Larissa. I remembered the emptiness I'd felt in my mom's kind, impersonal gaze when she'd seen me as Larissa. Why couldn't everyone love me no matter whose body I was in? If a person loves me, shouldn't he be able to see beyond my surface?

  He ran a hand over his sea green eyes. His eyelashes were damp from the pool. He was beautiful. But that wasn't why I loved him, was it? Surely my feelings went deeper than that. I told myself I'd recognize him and love him no matter what he looked like, but the truth is--I don't know.

  "Have you talked to Larissa today?" he asked me.

  "Larissa?" I felt a stab of jealousy. "Just for a little while. She told me about the kid."

  He nodded, and his eyes got this faraway look. "She was amazing."

  "I heard you were the one who pulled him out of the water."

  "Well, yeah. But I wouldn't have made it in time without her. She swam out there--it was really far--and she can barely swim!"

  I felt irrationally irritated. He was talking about me, and yet he wasn't.

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  "By the way, she told me she was leaving today," I said. "She said to say good-bye."

  I hadn't meant to hurt him, and yet I did. I had no idea when the real Larissa was leaving, of course; I just wanted to head off trouble.

  "Did she leave a number?"

  I shook my head. "She said you can e-mail her. You have her address?" I wasn't quite ready to let go of him. Not yet.

  "Yeah--Rapunzel." A smile twitched at his lips. "I thought that was really cute."

  I resisted the impulse to whip him with my wet towel, to yell, "Look at me! Don't you know who I am?"

  Instead I smiled politely and said, "I guess Larissa is more than just a pretty face," before heading to the bleachers.

  On the way, the coach stopped me and gave me a high five. "Lookin' good out there!"

  I beamed.

  His daughter Holly, a junior, came scurrying over. She'd swum the butterfly too, but had finished near the back of the pack. "Dad! I messed up!"

  He chuckled and gave her a big hug. "Your start was a little rough. But you were going good at the end." He rubbed her wet hair.

  "No! I stunk!" She grinned at me. "I'd give anything to have a butterfly like yours."

  Anything? I looked at her dad, his hand still on Holly's damp head. If I had a father, I'd want him to be just like the coach.

  "No, you wouldn't," I told Holly.

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  At the bleachers, I wrapped my towel around my waist and sat next to my mother. We waved good-bye to a mom we knew and a couple of dads. The swim center was emptying out. "I have something to ask you," I blurted.

  "What?" She tensed her shoulders.

  "Why did you get new carpet without asking me?" I'd chickened out from what I was going to say, but that carpet really did have to go.

  She leaned back, relaxed. "I didn't think you'd care."

  "I do care," I grumbled. "I hate the new carpet. It's, it's ... beige. And polyester. And it smells funny."

  "Okay."

  "Can we rip it out? In my room, at least?" She nodded. "If that will make you happy."

  "It will. Oh, and Mom?"

  "Yes?"

  Say it. Just say it.

  "Who's my father?" I kept my voice calm and casual, as if I were asking, "What's for dinner?" (A question she'd be more apt to ask me.)

  She blinked nervously. "Is that what all of this"--she pointed at my hair--"is about?" Around us, voices bounced off the massive walls and high ceiling. Kids splashed in the pool. The air hung heavy with humidity and chlorine.

  "Tell me."

  She twisted the band on her left ring finger. It was silver with a green stone. She'd bought it for herself years before, after she'd grown tired of people checking to see if she was married.

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<
br />   "This is not the time or place I imagined having this discussion, but... okay." She took a deep breath. "His name was John."

  There it was: the name I'd hungered for. John. So simple, so clear. John, John, John.

  "I met him on a Tuesday in June," she told me. "In my office. A walk-in."

  "You mean he was a patient?"

  "Just that one time. He'd been surfing down at the point and stepped on a stingray. I pulled out the barb."

  I shuddered. Everyone from around here knows to shuffle their feet around the point. It's got the best waves around, all things being relative, but also the highest concentration of stingrays.

  "He was brave," she said. "Didn't yell or whimper or anything, just clenched his teeth and held his foot perfectly still. When the barb was finally out, he said, 'Actually, this was all just an excuse to spend some time with you.' That made me laugh." Her face softened. "Your grandfather had died the year before. I hadn't laughed in a long, long time."

  She covered her face with her hands for a moment. Then, she cleared her throat and looked at me. "I've always tried to set a good example for you. Actions speak louder than words, you know, and--"

  "Finish the story," I said.

  She nodded. "I had the next day off. I worked Saturdays then, so Wednesdays, I was free. I went to the beach."

  "You never go to the beach," I said. "I did when I was younger. Plus ..."

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  "You hoped to run into him." I pictured myself sitting on a beach towel, pretending to appreciate the scenery when, really, I was searching for Nate.