by T Cooper
“What you want to be mindful of, son, is that you don’t pick a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Believe you me, everybody can change.”
Change 4–Day 1, Part Three
Dinner was complete BS, to say the least.
The main course was lying to my parents about which classes I liked, classes I didn’t even attend. Then lying about my schedule, which I didn’t get, and my classmates, who I didn’t meet.
“Mrs. Miller, this mac ’n’ cheese is amazing,” Andy said, after answering Dad’s fifty questions about his first day of school in Tennessee and how it differs from New York State.
“Aren’t you sweet?” Mom cooed. “Did you boys see each other on campus today?”
I took advantage of Andy’s full mouth. “Nope,” I lied. Again.
“What are the odds of that?” Dad observed idly as Andy swallowed.
“Yeah, what are the odds?” Andy poked, being a bit of a dick. “Where’d you sit at lunch?”
I stuffed in my own huge bite of mac ’n’ cheese, pretended to answer.
“Manners, Kyle,” Mom chided.
* * *
“Why didn’t you go to school today?” Andy presses me when he’s on the way to the bathroom before going to bed on the TV room pullout couch.
“Who says I didn’t?”
Andy weaves his neck like he’s auditioning for Real Housewives of Central High. “Don’t play a player, dude.”
There is nothing to do but tell him. Everything. Down to the Audrey kiss vision of the car crash, courtesy of Kyle—well, me. (Not the bridge part. No one needs to know about that.) So I spill.
“Hmmm. I totally see your dilemma,” Andy says when I finish. He sits back against a pillow on my bed. “But are you planning on ditching your entire senior year? You can’t avoid your problems by running away from them.”
“Seriously, dude? You’re living in our TV room.”
Andy blanches, wounded.
“I think I miss Kim,” he barks. Then: “I can help keep an eye on Audrey. But maybe you should tell her the deal?”
“NOOOOO!” I yell, loud enough that Mom veers into the room while she’s walking by.
“You guys okay in here?” she asks, peeking in.
“Super-duper,” I say.
“Yeah, super-duper,” Andy echoes, both of us coming off like jackholes.
“Well, don’t stay up super-duper late,” Mom says. “Y’all have a lot of new stuff to contend with at school, so it’s best to get as much rest as possible. Keep that immunity strong!”
“Yes ma’am,” Andy says. “I’ll head to bed in a few minutes.”
“Ma’am?” she teases and smiles, lingering a few extra seconds in the doorway before leaving, Mom intuition kicking in. I can tell she smells something’s up with me. Hopefully she chalks it up to the usual Changer transition trauma. Same headspace, different head.
When she closes the door, I whisper to Andy, “Do NOT say anything to them. Or anyone.”
“I gotchu, bro. But eventually . . .”
“I know. I know. I need time to figure it out, and I’m not going to put myself in Audrey’s world until I do.”
“Well, technically you’re already in it.”
“Shut up, Andy,” I say, and we dap before he heads out to the couch, where he will presumably sleep like a baby while I lie awake searching for holes in the space-time continuum.
Change 4–Day 2
Today I “got ready for school” and left with Andy, dropping him close enough to walk but not close enough to be spotted, zipping off on my Vespa to kill time until classes ended.
I decided to catch a movie at a giant nondescript multiplex in the suburbs. The room was empty except for three other solo people, all of whom appeared also to be avoiding some aspect of their lives, some less successfully than others. I paid next to zero attention to the title of the movie when I bought a ticket; it was some action flick about a kid who’s a really good driver, and for some reason is indebted to a criminal who makes the kid pilot the getaway car for the complicated robberies the guy orchestrates. It’s all fun and games until people get shot.
The kid is, of course, a sad orphan. His parents died in a, wait for it, car crash when he was young, so he feels responsible and is all alone and messed up from it, hiding from the world behind hipster sunglasses and headphones—fine and dandy, but it makes me think of Audrey and the accident in the vision, and my part in it, and how I’m trying to hide from the world and my guilt and I don’t even get to speed around in a cool car.
After the movie ends—he opens up and finds love but has to pay his debt to society before he can run off with that love (did I mention the TWO female characters are literally a saint and a whore?)—I realize I have four more hours until I can pick up Andy and go home. I skulk around the multiplex, sneaking into a second theater where the latest Marvel movie is one-third of the way through. It’s a bunch of mutants trying to save the world despite nobody really understanding them. Not what I came for. But I watch anyway.
Change 4–Day 3
Today I decided to forgo the movie route and kill time instead by shopping at ReRunz for Kyle. Perfect Kyle, the male Destiny of V’s, whom everybody else in the world flocks to, but whom I despise. Oh, what I’d do to be Kim again. Never thought I’d hear that thought rattling around this brain.
I don’t bother trying to figure out who’s who this year at ReRunz. Don’t bother coming out to my boss Neal, the Changer who manages the shop. There’s this understood agreement that all Changers tell Neal who they are after a new V emerges, so that we’re clued into who to keep an eye out for, who are allies. But, like, why bother anymore?
Soon as I walk into the shop and smell that familiar used clothes scent, a dash of B.O. mixed with damp wool, Neal walks right up to me and asks, “Can I help you find anything?” like he’s never seen me before. Which he hasn’t.
I’m too messed up to give a crap what I wear, but, irony of ironies, everything I throw on looks great and feels incredible. Nothing binds or cuts or clings. It’s as if each piece was sewn specifically for me.
I have a $122 credit from selling most of Kim’s wardrobe, but I don’t want to spend it, because then Neal would realize it’s me. As I’m trying on the last pair of jeans in the back of the shop, a nice-smelling lady comes up and threads her arm between my chest and bicep. “Oooh,” she murmurs, “this is definitely your style.”
I instinctively flinch, obviously unused to being touched by random strangers. It’s been two short days, but I’m starting to see what Destiny was talking about. All the attention and constant benefit of the doubt spurting all over me as if from a fire hose. I see why celebrities are always demanding NO EYE CONTACT! They want a freaking break from empty, unearned attraction. Look away, look away!
“Heh,” I manage to grunt at this lady, who is about forty, with a ten-year-old skater kid in tow. She won’t stop smiling at me.
“What’s your story?” she asks, while her kid tries on a pair of used Vans.
“Excuse me?” I say, then take my clothes to the counter.
It isn’t until I’ve paid, left the shop, and I’m throwing a leg over my scooter that I realize she was hitting on me. Like in all the teen movies where the cougar MILFs feed on dumb high school guys. Except this time I’m not playing the role of the nerdy friend whose mom is hot; I’m the dumb guy who doesn’t know any better.
* * *
Later that night at home, I gather the last of Kim’s stuff into a trash bag and shove it in the back of the closet, then put away my new clothes. I spot the box of Nana’s belongings in the corner, and though I could really use a dose of Nana energy, it’s not the right time to go through it yet. I don’t want to get all emo in front of Andy, who’s struggling with his math homework on my bed.
“Figure anything out?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
“They’re going to realize you’re not in school at some point,” he says, erasing som
ething in his spiral notebook. “You don’t even have books in your backpack.”
“I need more time,” I say. But in truth, I’m no further along “figuring this out” than I was when I woke up and realized I was Kyle. This is one of those conundrums that has no solution that doesn’t involve me disappearing.
Andy scribbles a new answer where he’d erased one. “This is impossible,” he announces of precalculus.
“Did you see her today?” I ask then, closing my closet and plopping down on the bed next to him.
“She was with some cheerleader chick, and a guy dressed like one of the Golden Girls,” Andy says, barely paying attention.
“That was Kris. Did he seem okay?”
“How am I supposed to tell?”
“Was the girl Chloe?”
“Who’s Chloe?”
“How did Audrey look?”
“How a pretty senior girl looks. Busy, closed off. Out of my league.”
“Was she wearing a silver charm bracelet?” I ask.
“You mean the one from the sorcerer on the mountain that holds all the witchy spells?”
“Come on.”
“I don’t know!” he says, exasperated.
“Okay, but did she seem especially upset or concerned or—”
“Dude, you’re going to have to go to school and find out for yourself,” Andy insists, finally breaking from his notebook. “Not to sound like The Secret, but you are the captain of your own destiny. If you decide you’re not going to allow that accident scene to happen, then it’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know it won’t?” I ask, exhausted.
“How do you know it will?” Andy answers. “You have free will, last I checked.”
Change 4–Day 6
And, the jig is up.
When I “come home from school” on Friday with Andy, I drop my backpack on the kitchen table, grab a juice from the fridge, and head down the hall toward the TV room. Snoopy is jumping up on my knee, begging for a little attention. (In retrospect, he was probably trying to tell me something, like Lassie warning little Timmy of danger ahead.)
I call out for my mom while bending down to give Snoopy a cuddle, but she doesn’t respond. She’d said she’d be home when I got back from school. “Dad?” I try. Andy follows sheepishly behind me. Which should’ve tipped me off . . .
When I turn the corner into the living room, there it is in all its mortifying glory: my Intervention. Like a scene from the reality TV show, only I haven’t been shooting heroin. Or popping opiates. Or mainlining mouthwash. My crime was playing hooky from school for a week, trying to save the woman I love from myself.
No matter. Here is Mom, Dad, Tracy, Mr. Crowell, and Andy bringing up the rear, confronting me with my great big lie.
“I don’t want you to feel threatened by this gathering,” Tracy begins. “We are all here because we love you and are concerned about you.”
Oh boy.
“Will you sit down?” Mom asks in her calmest therapist voice, gesturing to the empty lounger facing everybody in a semicircle.
“So what?” I start right in, defensive. “I didn’t want to go to school.”
“Why not?” Tracy inquires gently, tamping down the panic in her voice. She hates when things are out of order.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, refusing to sit, and glancing over at Andy, who won’t make eye contact with me for more than a second. Nor will Mr. Crowell. Hmmm, I wonder who ratted me out first. Maybe it was a one-two punch.
The veins in Dad’s neck are about to break through the skin, Hulk-style. I’m disappointing him again, damaging his Changers Council brand. “Sit down,” he orders in a tone that seems like I probably should. “You have to go to school. Legally, there’s no choice in the matter, okay?”
Mom places a palm on his back. “And we need to talk about why you’re not going to school.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Is it something to do with this new V?” Dad asks, struggling to mask his annoyance. “Because from what I can see, this V is a home run. What complaints could you possibly have?”
“I don’t have complaints, exactly.”
“Well, what is it exactly, then?” Tracy presses.
I don’t feel like partaking in a group therapy session. I lean back in the lounger, cross my (thick!) arms. I realize then that the posture feels like it looks imposing, a new color in my crayon box.
After an excruciating standoff, Tracy pulls out a piece of paper and places it on the table between us. “This is your schedule, you’re all registered and ready to go.”
“And I can get you caught up with the teachers,” Mr. Crowell pipes in. “We will say that a parent fell ill and you had to stay home and take care of them.”
“Fine,” I say, as surly as possible.
“Listen. Turner has a truancy officer on call, and he’s going to be trailing your butt to school on Monday morning,” Dad says, bolting up. “So if you’re not in first period homeroom with Mr. Crowell at 8:05 a.m., you will be reported, and trust me, you do not want to go down that road.”
And with that, Dad walks out, his weak attempt at “understanding” done, I guess.
“I’ll go to school,” I say after several more moments of uncomfortable shifting in seats, everybody staring at me.
“I am really happy to hear that,” Tracy says, “but of more import is exploring in this safe and supportive environment why you don’t want to go in the first place.”
“Sweetie, we want to help,” Mom adds.
“Is there shame or guilt associated with this V?” Tracy prompts. “Because that’s a perfectly acceptable reaction to a change as radical as this one.”
“I’m not talking about this,” I say flatly, glaring at Andy, hoping he was getting my telepathy message to ixnay on the Audrey-ay.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “I will. It’s been fun, folks.”
At that, I snatch up my schedule from the table, stomp down the hall, and slam the door to my bedroom behind me—harder than I’d intended.
* * *
After a respectable twenty-minute break, Tracy knocks on my door, tentatively.
“Come in,” I concede.
“I think I know what’s up,” she whispers, closing the door behind her. I kick out my desk chair for her, and she sits down, rolling it closer to me like she’s about to let me in on a secret. Which she does.
Touchstones, it seems, are required by the Council to keep their own Chronicles, field notes, and observations about the Changers they are assigned to. Like Jane Goodall and her chimps.
Tracy had scanned back over her notes from freshman year when I was Drew, found where she’d recorded that I told her about the vision I’d had after kissing Audrey, and that it involved a guy named Kyle. Even then I was flipping out about how I was going to “save” Audrey from this animal when he inevitably threatened her life.
“I knew something was up on C4–D1,” Tracy says quietly, “when I fobbed your Chronicling chip, and you grabbed my arm way too hard.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t aware.”
Tracy unconsciously rubs her arm where I don’t even remember grabbing her on Monday morning, right after I’d opened my Kyle packet and she was making sure I seared myself with the Changers emblem before leaving the house. I was so distraught finding out I was Kyle, hell-bent on destroying myself before crossing paths with Audrey at school, that I guess I wasn’t paying attention to how I was acting. I didn’t even feel it when I burned the emblem into my backside.
Tracy continues, “First things first, visions aren’t always what they seem to be. Context is often missing, angles, etcetera. You’re not some out-of-control maniac.”
How would she know? I sure feel out of freaking control. I could be Lenny, accidentally squeezing the mouse to death with my dinner-plate hands.
“You can totally handle this V. It
could even be an amazing, unexpected journey.”
“Aren’t they all,” I snort.
“However you play it, you can’t try and warn Audrey about something that may not even be the thing you imagine it is.”
I roll my eyes; she catches it.
“Promise me you won’t tell Audrey,” she says. “You could be putting her in even more danger by telling her.”
“How?”
“Your job is to focus on you,” she answers, dodging the question. “Living your best life. Getting acquainted with your new V. It would be nice if Audrey could stay in your orbit as a friend, but she’s been a liability for some time now, and deep down you know it. You can love her all you want. But you can’t let that love imperil what we’re all here to do. This is bigger than you.”
“But how do I not talk to her?”
“Easy. You don’t,” Tracy snips. “We can reassign your homeroom—”
“NO!”
“Simplify things.”
“No. I feel comfortable there, and, and . . . Mr. Crowell can keep tabs on us better if we’re together. Just in case,” I suggest, knowing Tracy is always onboard with additional monitoring.
“That makes sense,” she says after mulling it over. “This new V is completely unknown to Audrey. All you have to do is keep it that way, resist the temptation to reignite the relationship. It’ll naturally fade with Kim’s disappearance. Just like the Cycle is designed to do. You need to lose your scooter. Maybe get a proper car? And I was thinking, why not try out for football again? Your Kyle dossier says you were MVP at your last high school.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, actually considering the prospect, since I would be able to maintain eyes on Jason and his Abider-leaning minions. Also, Audrey hates football, so me playing would keep her repelled and at a safe distance.
“It’s going to be great, Kyle,” Tracy urges, kinder now. “I have faith in you to do the right thing.”
Heavy bullshit, even for her.
She points to my schedule, the Monday column: Homeroom, History, English, Math, French, College Prep, PE. “All good?”