Life Swap

by Abby McDonald

  “I want to talk to you.” Her chunky boots echo after me in the narrow stone cloisters. I keep walking. “I said—” She catches up with me, grabbing my arm and pulling me around to face her.

  “Don’t.” I hate it but my voice breaks on that single word. I can’t hold it together much longer.

  Carrie stares back, unflinching. “I hope you realize what you’ve done. The board should have backed us up right away, but instead they’re taking some time to think about it.” She snorts. “What am I saying? It’s not as if you even care.”

  “I care,” I say quietly. “I do, I—”

  “Yeah right,” Carrie drawls, mocking me. “As if someone like you could ever understand. You’re too busy fucking any boy who shoves a drink in your direction to even think about somebody else.”

  And with a final glare, she stalks away.

  I spend the rest of the day holed up in my room, splitting my time between triple–chocolate chunk cookies, vintage Gilmore Girls downloads, and crying. I can’t bear feeling this way again, but the only thing I’ve got on my side this time around is time: just fourteen days left now until I can get the hell out of here. I never figured I’d think of California as a blessing, but being old news back home totally beats being the scandal of the week here. In California I’m just a stupid slut; here I’m a betrayal of the feminist cause.

  It’s ten thirty and I’m thinking about rolling into bed when there’s a soft knock at my door. I stay slumped on a heap of cushions on the floor and wait for them to leave.

  “Natasha?” I hear Holly’s voice. “Natasha, are you there?”

  With a sigh, I pull myself up and open the door a couple of inches. “Hey,” I say listlessly. She’s dressed up to go out, in cute pumps and a fitted magenta top over jeans. I avoid eye contact. “What’s up?”

  “We had plans, remember?” Holly’s staring at me expectantly. I blink.

  “But…” I can’t believe she acting like nothing’s changed.

  “But nothing.” Her tone is gentle but firm, and before I can stop her, she’s pushed past me into the room. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week. You’re coming, no questions.”

  “No way.” I cross my arms. “You can’t seriously expect me to go out.”

  She begins to riffle through my wardrobe. “I’m not letting you wallow in here alone. Have you even left the room today?”

  “Yes.” I pout. “I went to my tute, and it was just… I can’t.”

  “Even more reason to have some fun.” Holly pulls out my favorite blue dress and tosses it to me. “You’ve got ten minutes, and then I don’t care if you’re still in that tracksuit.”

  I sigh. “Holly.” She looks at me. “It’s cool you’re doing this, really. But…” I give a weak shrug, already feeling tears well up again. “I don’t know if I can face them.”

  She’s at my side right away, pulling me into a hug. “Of course you can,” she reassures me, her small frame solid, holding me up. “And if it’s awful, then we’ll leave, all right? But you have to try. You can’t let them win.”

  “But I’ll be out of here soon.” I sniffle, feeling super–pathetic. “Why should I even bother?”

  “Because I won’t let you stay like this.” Holly’s eyes are usually sweet, but right now they’ve got steel in them. “You made me face what was happening to me; now it’s my turn to do the same for you.”

  “You totally won’t leave me in peace, will you?” I realize, already reaching to switch on my flat iron. Holly gives me an impish grin.

  “Not at all.”

  The club is a short walk from Raleigh, set up over two floors with a tiny bar upstairs and a dark cavern of a dance floor down below. I feel eyes on me as soon as we walk in, but Holly just takes my hand and drags me through the crowd to a free spot by the bar.

  “There,” she announces. “Not so bad, don’t you think?”

  I don’t answer, slowly taking off my coat and scarf. I wonder how long I can go before making my escape. Fifteen minutes? Ten, maybe? Holly spots some girls from her crew team, and I wind up standing silent while they babble about practice and race times. She keeps turning to check that I’m OK, her face all sympathetic and concerned, so I just fake a smile and nod along. It’s not her fault I can’t be saved.

  We’ve been there maybe half an hour when I see a familiar floppy hairstyle looming above the crowd. My heart catches. Will. He winds through the crowd after a couple of other kids in my direction, and I feel like collapsing with relief. He came, like we planned. Even though he must have seen the newspaper, he still came.

  “Hey!” I cry out, beaming. He pauses, seeing me for the first time, and then his face twists. He looks away. “Will?” I say, already feeling a sharp pain punch through my chest, but he just lowers his head and keeps moving, passing me and quickly loping down the stairs. I sag against the bar stool, trying to remember how to breathe.

  No, not him.

  And then my body is moving like I don’t get a say, following him down the stairs and around into the unisex bathrooms. The tiles are dark with strips of mirror, and I wait by the sinks for him to emerge, shaking with nerves. Maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe he just really needed the bathroom. I gulp.

  There’s a flush, and then he comes out of a stall right in front of me. He looks up and flinches.

  “Will?” My teeth are clenched tight to stop me from crying. He steps around me and begins to rinse his hands. “What’s going on?”

  “You tell me.” His voice is quiet, and he’s still not looking at me.

  I swallow. “You haven’t called me back.”

  “No.” Now he’s taking a paper towel and carefully drying each hand like it’s some kind of ritual.

  “So what’s… ?” I choke. “Why are you being like this?” The door swings open and a blast of music follows a couple of girls in. I ignore them. “Will, talk to me.”

  “What is there to say?” Everything about him is shut off: blank stare, hard jaw. And then he softens, just for a moment. “Unless it’s not true. It isn’t, right, Natasha? It’s somebody else. They got it wrong.”

  He’s looking at me hopefully, brown eyes wide. But I can’t lie to him.

  “What happened, with the newspaper and Tyler…” I try to explain. “It was a long time ago, and I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to think…”

  But Will’s face has shut down again, and I can see the hurt, so clear.

  “Think what, Tasha, that you were some kind of fame–hungry whore?”

  I freeze.

  “Or maybe you didn’t want me to know you were leading me on, just using me.”

  “This wasn’t about you!” I cry, but he won’t listen.

  “God, when I think what a fool I’ve been…”

  “Please, Will—”

  “You must think I’m so pathetic not to even date me.” His eyes are like ice. “I mean, you’re happy to fuck anyone else who comes around!”

  I gasp. This isn’t Will—this is some kind of stranger. I don’t know this guy.

  He goes to leave, but then turns back for a moment, and when he speaks, every word is dripping with contempt. “You know, I’m glad we never got together. Who knows what I would have caught?”

  I stumble back against the wall as he disappears out into the club. I can’t move. I can barely even breathe. My reflection is just a daze of skin and hair and teeth, and, god, I can still hear that last shot.

  Who knows what I would have caught.

  I lurch into a free cubicle and fall onto my knees, but there’s nothing but dry heaves. I’m shivering, alone, and nothing matters because this is how it’s always going to be. Every guy, every time.

  It hurts too much to stay there thinking, so I stumble out and back up to the bar. A cute boy with stubble appears to take my order like he can read my mind, and within ten seconds I have a vodka in front of me. And another. The burn makes me shudder after so long, but then it brings a numbness down my body a
nd I know I’m on the right track. Screw my pledge, screw changing, screw Will. I may as well enjoy what they think I already am.

  I find Holly on the tiny dance floor with the crew girls and quickly get into the beat. All I care about is escaping the sharp pain lodged inside my chest, but the drinks and the heavy bass aren’t working. I can still feel it. I can still hear Will’s voice. I dance harder, throwing my body around as if I’m just a few steps away from numb oblivion, but still I know deep down it won’t work.

  Then I feel a touch against my arm. I turn, half hoping it’s Will, come back to apologize and make things right, but it’s only a blond boy, hair ruffled in the way they do here; dark shirt; jeans. I swallow back my disappointment and turn away, but he’s dancing closer, moving his body to try and match my beat. I let him. He’s looking at me with interest, attraction, and maybe if I focus on that, I’ll forget the way Will’s eyes were so cold.

  His arms reach around my waist, and now I’m pressed against him, my dance moves grinding my hips into him. His body is hot, and I wonder if it could melt away this ice. Face against my cheek, lips breathing by my neck. I feel myself responding without a thought.

  It’s been so long since I’ve been touched like this.

  When he tugs me off the dance floor, I don’t resist. I’m dizzy but still sober enough to follow him into the dark corner, through a door. My back is pressed up against a wall, and his lips are on mine before I realize I’m back in the bathroom, just inches away from where Will destroyed me.

  I close my eyes. Hands on my waist, my hips, my ass. He’s pressing into me, hard, inching my skirt up with one hand on my bare thigh, the other pawing at my chest.

  I don’t feel a thing.

  Bending his head, he begins to kiss and lick at my neck. I stay, motionless, blinking back the tears in my eyes. I catch sight of us in the mirrors: dirty graffiti, dim lights, and my own blank face. It’s empty, hopeless.

  And then I snap.

  “No.” I push him back. He reels, surprised, but comes right back in, hands on me again. “I said no!” I shove at him, harder, and wrench myself away.

  “What the fuck?” He narrows his eyes, breathing heavy.

  “I’m done,” I tell him, a weird calm settling over me. This won’t make anything go away. I’ll just hate myself in the morning.

  “Don’t tease.” He crinkles his eyes up in what I’m guessing he figures is a smile, reaching out to stroke my cheek. I slap his hand away. His eyes darken. “Come on, stop playing. I know you’re up for it.”

  “Changed my mind,” I say coolly, making to push past him, but the boy grabs my arm.

  “No way, you’re that girl, the one from the video.” He’s still trying to be charming. “You were hot.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but he doesn’t get the sarcasm.

  “So, how about it—wanna make a sequel?”

  And that’s when I get it, taking in his drunk eyes and slurred voice. Tyler was different from this; I actually wanted to be with him, for him. He was cute and charming and kissed like a dream, and maybe he wasn’t worth the cost I’m doomed to keep paying, but at least I hooked up with him out of real desire and not this angry ache to make the world go away.

  So I go.

  “Bitch.”

  I’ve already turned to go when he swears, and I don’t bother with a reply, striding out of that place with way more dignity than I had going in. I find Holly and let her know I’m leaving early, grab my coat, and head back to Raleigh. It’s damp and windy on the dark street, but I don’t feel the cold. Something major just happened, and I need to think it through.

  I’m worth more than this.

  The boy, the drinks, the way I just gave up and figured I should be the girl they think I am—it’s all beneath me, and I don’t think I got it until now. With cold splatters of rain spiking my face, I finally figure it out. Fooling around with Tyler wasn’t wrong or bad, no matter what everyone tries to make me feel, but if I let their dumb preconceptions rule my life, then I’m acting like they’re right.

  It won’t ever go away, but I can get past it. I am past it. Sure, there are people like Carrie who can’t deal with the fact I wanted to be there—to make out with a guy I wanted, to fool around because it felt damn good, not because I’m brainwashed or damaged—but that’s their problem, not my fault. Will still cuts me and it hurts, but now the pain is dulled with disappointment because I know that the guy I thought was so great is just weak. Holly stood by me, Emily propped me up even though the girl’s never met me, but the one person I figured knew me better than anyone now couldn’t take it. He bailed.

  I’m stronger than them. It’s a crazy thought after spending the past twenty–four hours on the constant verge of a breakdown, but as I cross into the Raleigh quad, I know in my bones it’s true. Will can’t handle the idea that I have a past, Carrie can’t deal with me not fitting her vision of a “real” feminist, but I’m the one who’s kept going. Emily was right: I’m braver than I ever knew. I came to Oxford, I made people see me differently, I scored top marks on my essays, for god’s sake, and they can’t take that away from me no matter what mean things they say.

  I let out a slow breath, pausing a moment to take in the old stone buildings and soft golden lights spilling out over the grass. I’m strong enough to take this.

  And just like that, it hurts a little less.

  Emily

  By the end of the week, I’m overwhelmed with emotion: excitement over Ryan, nervous anticipation for our big screening, growing unease about my return home, and a final layer of guilt about hiding the truth from Morgan. In short, I’m a mess.

  “What do I do?” I appeal to Carla for the hundredth time this week. “Surely I have to say something?”

  “Why bother?” Casting a critical eye over my now-uniform denim skirt/polo shirt combination, she pulls a black dress from her wardrobe and passes it to me. “It’s your premiere night—go sexy for once.”

  I take it without complaint and turn, quickly stripping down to my underwear and pulling it on. “But I’m lying to her—all the time!”

  “So tell.” Carla doesn’t seem bothered by the moral ramifications of my situation. “Just get ready for a world of drama.”

  “Oh god, you’re right.” I pause, imagining yet again how my roommate would react—with tears and tantrums, no doubt. “I just have to keep quiet until the end of next week. Then I’m gone and everything will be back to normal again.” The words sound reassuringly rational as I turn to assess myself in the mirror. The dress buttons up the front in a military style, but the cut hugs every one of my barely–there curves. “Isn’t this sort of… tight?”

  “That’s the point; Ryan’s going to flip.”

  “Oh, well… all right.” I look at myself again, secretly warming to the idea of any boy flipping over me. “You’re sure it’s all right for me to borrow?”

  “You’re still going to lend me the party government papers?” I nod. “Then we’re cool.” Carla carefully applies a layer of bright scarlet lipstick and blots. “Let’s go. Your big debut awaits!”

  Professor Lowell has organized for all the class film projects to be screened in the auditorium as if it’s a proper premiere, with a student audience seated on the tiered red seats and drinks afterward. The room is already full when we arrive, and I hunt through the crowd for a glimpse of Ryan.

  “I’m nervous,” I whisper to Carla, who’s looking around the collection of film students and drama kids with all the focus of a hunter seeking out her prey. “What if it’s awful?”

  “Then you’ll feel like crap,” she says matter–of–factly. “But it won’t be; it’ll rock. I mean, is it really going to be any worse than their movie?” Carla nods toward the clique of gum–snapping girls who have sat passing notes and copies of InStyle in the back of every class.

  “Good point.” I try to relax. “And besides, I’ve only been studying film for two months. I’m never going to be as good as the others.�
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  “There you go.” Carla grins. “It’s all about perspective.”

  “And rationalizing the bad things away,” I agree, before being swept up into an enthusiastic hug. “Ryan!” I catch my breath as he releases me.

  “Ready for battle?” he says. Then his eyes widen as he takes in my outfit. “Wow. Uh, I mean…” He swallows. “You look great, Em.”

  “Thanks,” I say breezily, but inside I’m dancing. Somehow I don’t mind being objectified when it’s Ryan—and he’s doing it with such blatant admiration. “You’re looking rather dapper yourself.”

  “Why thank you,” he jokes, adjusting the smart jacket he’s wearing over that favorite Thermals T–shirt and jeans. “I figured I’d better make an effort. You know Lowell’s invited industry guests, right?”

  “What?”

  Ryan nods, glancing around. “People he knows from studios, some agents.” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but I can sense nerves radiating from his body. I slip my hand into his and squeeze it gently.

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “Sure you guys will,” Carla agrees. “I mean, your obsessive film–geek perfection plus Em’s planning. How can you fail?”

  My grip on Ryan’s hand grows tighter as we sit through the other films. Some are terrible, some are fun, and although privately I think ours is far better than any of them, I can’t help but wonder if I’m blind to the reality of the situation. After all, somewhere along the way, hundreds of people thought that Blonde Ambition should get a theatrical release. What if this is our Blonde Ambition?

  Oh god.

  Finally, I see our opening credits flash up on–screen. Ryan’s entire body goes tense, and I find it hard to breathe. It dawns just how important this project is to me. For what must be the first time in my life, I don’t care about my class grade, only about everybody around me. I want them to love it the way I do, to believe in the story I worked so hard to create.

  I mean to keep watch on Carla’s face and study her reactions, but before I know it, the scenes are flying past on that big screen and then it’s over. I can hardly believe it: two months of work for just those few minutes in the spotlight, our piece over quicker than it takes to cook a bowl of pasta or give my computer a thorough clean.