The Swap

by Megan Shull

  Oh, god.

  I shut my eyes, but only for a second, because the door suddenly opens and in walks the guidance counselor, Ms. Buchanan.

  “You kids doing okay? Feeling any better?”

  I bolt upright. I say nothing.

  “Thank goodness it’s Friday, right?” She grins at the two of us sitting next to each other. “Y’all can go now and get your stuff. The bell’s going to ring in ten minutes or so, and—” Ms. Buchanan stops. “Ellie, are you okay?”

  “Ellie?” Ms. Buchanan repeats, staring at me, which is weird because she’s talking to—

  Oh.

  Freckles elbows me in the gut.

  “Oh, um—” I start, my first official conversation as Ellie. “I guess?”

  “You guess, huh?” Ms. Buchanan stands in front of us. She crosses her arms and looks down at us both. “What exactly was going on in here before I walked in?” she asks, suddenly suspicious.

  Ellie jumps up. “Nothing!” she says, sounding totally mortified, except it’s my voice and my body that moves across the room and straps on my backpack and looks back at me. I feel a little bit panicked. Where is she going?

  “Wait!” I call after Freckles in my new squeaky girl voice, and jump up too.

  Ms. Buchanan walks toward the door. “You two get yourselves together. As I said, the bell is about to ring. And leave the door open. No funny business. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answer. “We understand, ma’am.”

  “Well, thank you, Ellie, I appreciate the respectful tone.”

  I glance over at Ellie—I mean, me—and notice how much my own eyes look completely relieved when Ms. Buchanan finally leaves.

  17

  ELLIE

  EVEN THOUGH MS. BUCHANAN TOLD us not to close the door, I jump up and shut it, turning the lock just to be safe.

  “That was nuts,” I say. I don’t really know if I’m talking to Jack or talking to myself, but either way, I’m starting to freak out again, and it shows.

  “Ellie?” says Jack. “That’s your name, right?”

  I nod.

  “Look,” he tells me, “we don’t have a lot of time. Pretty soon the bell is going to ring and nothing is going to change here, so let’s face it—”

  “I’m you,” I say, interrupting him.

  “Exactly, you are me and I’m you,” he says, smiling for the first time. I know this sounds nuts, but I actually feel a little bit more calm when I see myself smiling.

  He grins again. “We just have to make it through the weekend, right? Then we’ll get back here and find that wacky nurse and—”

  “The weekend!” I cut him off. “Are you crazy!?”

  Jack looks up at the clock. “Dude, come on, do you want to waste time arguing?”

  “Fine,” I answer. “Go ahead, tell me your great, awesome plan,” I say, sounding kind of meaner than I wanted to.

  “Okay, first, go home with my dad. He’ll be right outside by the gym door in a big pickup truck, and—”

  “What color?” I ask.

  “What color what?” says Jack.

  “The truck?”

  “Black,” he answers. “Dude, you are asking too many questions. Look, just go with my dad and keep your mouth shut, don’t get into it with my brothers, and whatever you do, don’t tell my dad about the fight, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay, whatever,” I answer. “I won’t tell him.”

  “No, seriously, Ellie, for real. Promise, okay?” Jack looks really worried. Which means I’m looking at me looking really freaked out.

  “Okay, okay, I promise,” I tell him. “But isn’t he going to wonder what happened to your face?”

  “Just say it was from Stryker last night in The Cage,” answers Jack.

  “You were in a cage with someone named Stryker?” Oh god.

  “Stryker’s my brother. I have three.”

  My mouth drops open. “Three brothers!”

  “Look, you’ll be fine, okay? Just stay in my room. Even if Owen calls, or anyone, just stay home, okay?”

  “Okay.” I nod.

  “My dad, he has, like . . .” He pauses for a moment, then goes on. “He has a certain way about him, so just . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Just say as little as possible.”

  “Okay,” I tell him.

  “Well?” he asks.

  “Well what?”

  “What about me?” he asks. “How am I, or, like—” He stops and looks at me anxiously. “What am I supposed to do?”

  I picture my mom waiting in her car by the back of the school. She’s probably already even there, waiting with a snack and my soccer gear.

  Oh my god, soccer!

  Sassy!

  Everything comes flooding back. I start to panic, and okay, yeah, I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes.

  “Look, dude, you seriously have to stop crying!” Jack tells me. “If you’re going to be me, you can’t be such a GIRL!”

  This is so crazy.

  “I know this seems unreal,” says Jack. He reaches out and grabs my hand. Which is so weird, because I never imagined I’d be holding hands with The Prince of Thatcher on the first day of seventh grade.

  Or, I’d be The Prince of Thatcher on the first day of seventh grade.

  He lets go of my hand and I’m sort of flustered.

  “Well? What do I do?” he asks again.

  “Uhhh, my mom’s picking me up in the back by the gym, and look, number one: do not go to soccer, no matter how much my mom says you have to go. Make something up. Just go directly to my room and stay there for the entire weekend!”

  “Okay, no soccer,” he repeats. “Stay in your room. Got it.”

  “Yeah, just, like, stay in my room. Please! Promise me that no matter what my mom says, don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  “Okay,” he answers. “Chill!”

  “No soccer,” I repeat.

  “Okay, no soccer, I get it, you already said that.”

  “And whatever you do, no sleepovers! No birthday parties!”

  “Dude!” he says. “Relax! I’m not going to some chick birthday party, okay?”

  “Swear?”

  “I swear.”

  Suddenly he looks worried again. “Oh, man . . .”

  “What?”

  “Hockey . . .” His voice trails off, and for a second I think he might cry too.

  “Do not under any circumstances go to hockey,” he tells me.

  “Hockey?” I laugh. “I can’t even skate.”

  “Good, yeah, well. Just . . . don’t go. Make something up, okay?”

  “Sure.” I shrug. “No problem.”

  “Look, Ellie.” Jack takes a big deep breath. “We have got to make this work, okay? One weekend, that’s two measly days, right? How hard can it be?”

  He almost has me convinced.

  “How hard can it be?” I repeat.

  “So we’ll meet by the main office first thing Monday. Deal?” Jack extends my own arm toward me.

  “Deal,” I say, shaking my own hand.

  And, this is embarrassing, but, um, I seriously can’t hold it much longer, so I just blurt it out. “Jack, you, I mean we . . . I mean . . . I have to pee.”

  Jack pushes me toward the small nurse’s room bathroom, opens the door, and points to the toilet.

  “What do I even do?” I squeal.

  “Just go in there and, like . . .” He cringes. “Just, like . . .” He stops and swallows hard. It’s pretty obvious he’s just as embarrassed as I am.

  “Yeah?”

  “Grab on, aim, and shake when you’re done.”

  18

  JACK

  WHEN THE BELL RINGS, I’M not gonna lie—

  Freckles has to push me.

  “It’s now or never!” she tells me, grabbing my new bony-girl wrist and pulling me out the nurse’s room doorway. Stepping into the jammed hallway is probably the most petrified feeling I have ever had in my life. It’s a madhou
se. And it’s loud. So loud. It seems like every single kid at Thatcher is pushing and shoving and shouting. The two of us stand side by side, our arms brushing, our backs to the lockers, sort of frozen, staring out at the scene.

  I grab Ellie’s hand for just a second before I realize what it looks like.

  Like we’re, you know, a couple, holding hands, and I drop it fast.

  “Jack! What are you doing?”

  “I know, it’s just—” I stop. Just the small fact that I’m a friggin’ girl!

  I don’t say that out loud, though, because one glance toward Freckles standing in the Thatcher hallway with my banged-up face—black eye, swollen nose—and I can tell she’s just as overwhelmed as I am.

  “Hey,” I say, speaking kind of loud so that she can hear me over the crowd. “Let’s move on three, okay?”

  Freckles nods.

  “Okay,” I start. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” she says.

  “One,” we both say. “Two . . .” And—

  Exactly on three, Sammy appears out of nowhere and throws his arm around Freckles’s neck. “’Sup, dude!”

  She catches my eye, like, Could this get any weirder? Then she glares at Sammy like he’s totally crazy.

  Really, we’re the crazy ones!

  I nod at her like, you know, I am you and you are me, remember? And if that’s not enough, I walk behind her and sort of nudge her in the back.

  “That’s my friend Sammy,” I whisper.

  Freckles turns to me. “I know who that is!”

  Sammy looks around, completely confused. “Um, who who is, Jacko?” Then he nods toward me in Freckles’s body. “I see the dames are already loving your action, big dog.”

  Freckles looks back at Sammy in a complete daze.

  “Um, dude.” Sammy grins. “Are you feeling all right?”

  Unreal.

  I can’t watch any more of this.

  I take a step away.

  “Monday,” I mouth toward Freckles.

  19

  ELLIE

  WHEN WE STEP OUTSIDE THROUGH the back door by the gym entrance, Sammy won’t stop talking, and he’s so gross!

  “Duuude, hold up.” He smiles at me, then clears his throat and spits out a big green glob of snot that spins through the air and lands on the sidewalk. “Now, that was a good horker, bro!”

  I look at Sammy Armstrong like he’s disgusting, because he is. “Eww!” I say, before I remember that The Prince of Thatcher probably doesn’t say eww. “I mean, um, uhhh, cool, cool.” I try again and give him a little nod like I see boys do.

  Sammy grins at me. “Dude, exactly how hard did you hit your head? You’re seriously acting weird!”

  I glance up and down the back parking area and see if I can spot my mom or Jack. But I don’t see anyone I know, and to make matters worse? Sammy hauls off and slugs me in the arm. Hard.

  “Gunner,” he says.

  “Gunner? What? Someone has a gun?!!!” I look all around and practically drop to the ground.

  “Yo!” Sammy starts laughing. “Seriously, you’re kind of scaring me, Jacko!” He points to the big black pickup truck. “Your brother? Gunner?

  “Helloooo?” He shoves me for emphasis. “Bro’s here, broskinator!”

  I look toward the big black pickup truck pulled up to the curb. Brother? I thought Jack said it would be his dad.

  Sammy follows me to the truck. It’s huge. The truck, I mean. Like, the kind you practically need a stepladder just to climb up into the seat. The windows are down, and there’s country music blaring. I open the door and launch myself up and glance at the kid in the driver’s seat, who pretty much looks like an older, even more handsome version of Jack. If that’s possible. He’s got the same dimples, and big toothy smile, and he’s wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt that is just tight enough that his biceps pop out.

  He turns to me. “Dang! What happened to you, little man?”

  I settle into the front seat. My heart—Jack’s heart—is absolutely pounding, and my mind’s racing for what I’m supposed to say. Something about a cage and nothing about the fight, but before I manage to even get a word out, Sammy takes over. He’s wedged himself between me and the door of the truck so there is no way I can close it, even if I want to. And I want to.

  “Big boy dropped the mitts,” announces Sammy. “You should have seen him. He dusted the kid.”

  “Stud,” says Gunner, shooting me a smile.

  He starts up the truck, but that doesn’t stop Sammy. He just leaps down onto the ground and runs alongside us.

  “Jacko,” he calls out, “if you are not at Owen’s tomorrow night, I will personally deliver you a swift kick in the cashews! And, Jack—”

  I turn and look back at Sammy running after the truck. “Stick your hands out the window and squeeze. It feels like boobs!”

  Oh my god.

  “Try it!” he shouts. He’s bent over, laughing.

  “Get a load of this guy!” Gunner says, looking back over his shoulder, grinning. “Kid’s crazy!”

  We pull out of Thatcher onto the main road.

  “So, you surprised?” he asks.

  “Surprised?” I repeat.

  Great. What am I supposed to be surprised about?

  “El Capitán had a work thing, so it’s bro time, little buddy!”

  I turn away and stare out the window. Who the heck is El Capitán?

  Gunner gives me a weird look. “You feeling okay, buddy?”

  I nod and quietly pray he can’t tell that I’m on the verge of tears.

  But it doesn’t work.

  “C’mon, man, quit being so soft!” he tells me. “Please tell me you aren’t crying like a little girl.”

  That’s exactly what I’m doing, I think. I keep myself turned away, looking out the window.

  “Take your skirt off, ya big beauty!”

  Huh?

  “Dude, relax. You stood up for yourself, right?”

  I keep quiet.

  “Did you win or did you lose?”

  I shrug. I have no idea what to say.

  He repeats the question. “Did you win or did you lose?”

  “Win, I guess.” I finally manage an answer.

  Gunner’s entire face lights up. “Nails, Jacko!” he says, reaching over and squeezing my shoulder.

  Nails?

  “You took care of your business, little man. Just, you know, there will be some hell to pay. Let’s not tell The Captain just yet, okay?”

  “The Captain?” I ask.

  Apparently I’ve said something funny. Gunner laughs and looks at me. “You’re sounding a little off, bro. Did you get your bell rung or what?”

  I shrug again.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Gunner check himself out in the rearview mirror. “Lost about five pounds in sweat today. Good skate this morning with the boys. Grind now, shine later, right?”

  He turns the music up. “Nothing better than cruisin’ with all windows down, big dog! I can sing as loud and bad as I want.” He pauses and grins right at me. “Gonna stop and get my flow chopped. You in?”

  “Uhhh, I guess?” I say. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  Gunner looks surprised. “Seriously?”

  “Sure.” I shrug. Whatever I said I would do makes Gunner very happy.

  His eyes light up and he reaches over again, grabbing my knee this time and squeezing it hard. “Pumped! Proud of you, man. Holdin’ it down. What did the girls think of your eye?”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a good look, Jacko. Beast mode!”

  Boys are so weird!

  Jack’s brother is kind of funny. He smiles a lot. “Bro,” he says. “Pain is nothing compared to what it feels like to quit, right? What did the other dude look like?”

  “What other dude?” I say.

  Gunner laughs. “The donkey you dusted.”

  “Um, oh, not too good, I guess.” Yes, I’m just making stuff up at this point.
r />   “Did you destroy him?”

  “I guess?”

  “That-a-boy, little man. Flat-out brawl. Showin’ a little grit!” He stretches his arm out toward me and ruffles my—Jack’s—thick, messy hair. “Showed some jam, bro!”

  I work up the nerve to look over at him again. He’s probably sixteen or seventeen, I guess. And he has the same blue eyes as Jack and the same wild dark hair. Gunner catches me looking. It’s awkward. “You sure you’re okay, little man?”

  “Yeah,” I manage. “I’m good,” I say with a nervous laugh.

  I’m not exactly good! I’m riding in a truck with a kid I just met, and I’m in Jack Malloy’s body.

  20

  JACK

  AS SOON AS I BUST out the back gym door, I kind of freeze in my tracks. Small problem, right? I forgot to ask Ellie what kind of car I’m supposed to look for.

  I stand there and stare out into the bumper-to-bumper line of parents waiting to pick up their kids and just keep thinking, This has to be a dream . . . tell me this isn’t really happening. But I’m pretty sure it is happening. No, scratch that, I’m positive. First clue? I watch a tall lady with long, wavy fiery-red hair, yoga clothes, and a big beaming smile jump out of a white Volvo, motion to the teacher directing traffic that she’ll only be a second, and walk straight for me. She doesn’t give me any time to duck the hug. She pulls me in and wraps her arms around me tight. It’s awkward, all right—my new face is pressed up against her boobs!

  “Day one is in the books, darling!” she whispers into my ear, and it tickles. “You did it!”

  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Red Hair with Yoga Pants is Ellie’s mom. First of all, she has milky-white skin and freckles, just like, well—just like Freckles does. Second? She calls me Ellie. Actually, Ellie honey. As in, “Ellie, honey, I have the most amazing surprise for you!” When she talks, her whole face smiles, and she doesn’t just say “amazing,” she says it like this: “Ahhhh-may-ziiiiing!”

  Red Hair with Yoga Pants’s eyes are big and bright green, and when she hugs me, she smells really good, like . . . I can’t describe it because, honestly, I haven’t been hugged like that in a really long time. And when she lets go of my new girl arms and my new girl shoulders, she reaches for Ellie’s eight-hundred-pound book bag and carries it for me!