The Switch Up

by Katy Cannon

  “Because of Mattias?”

  “He didn’t have a lot of family growing up. He was passed from foster home to foster home, never staying anywhere very long. He wanted to give kids like him the chance to grow up the way he would have wanted to. With animals and land and good food and love.”

  I chewed thoughtfully. Luca and Rosa and Antonio had got lucky, coming here.

  “Anyway, I tell you this because it was Mattias who suggested that I reach out to your dad too.” Sofia smiled softly. “A number of years ago, just after we were married, he asked why I didn’t just send him an email. My parents had passed away and Scott was the only family I had left. So I wrote to him. I sent photos from the wedding, pictures of the farm, talked about life here … and then I waited to see if he wanted to write back.”

  “And he did?” Did Willa know all this? I doubted it.

  “Not straight away. But after a month or so, I got an email back, with a family photo – very out-of-date now, of course,” she added, looking me over. I stiffened, my heart starting to race as I imagined Sofia studying that photo and comparing it to me. I could only hope she didn’t notice the all-too-obvious differences between the girl in that photo and me.

  If she had, she didn’t say anything, though. It was lucky for Willa and me that we were at an age where we were expected to change quickly.

  “After that, we exchanged emails a couple of times a year. Until last Christmas, when suddenly Scott’s messages became more frequent. He stopped sending photos, but he asked a lot of questions about our father instead. What it had been like growing up with him, how he’d been when he got older, how he’d died. If he’d been happy.” Sofia gave me a sad smile. “I realized later, he was trying to decide what to do about his marriage. When he left your mum… That’s when it all made sense.”

  “He’d been so angry with his dad for leaving his family when he was younger,” I said slowly, remembering what Willa had said in her dossier. “And now he was trying to decide whether to do the same thing to me and Mum.”

  “Exactly,” Sofia said. “Anyway, when he wrote and asked if you could stay for a few weeks… I was so happy. It meant that those bridges were finally mended.” She wrapped an arm round my shoulder and hugged me tight. I tried to smile, but really, I was worrying about all those messages Sofia and Willa’s dad had exchanged – probably still were exchanging. Luca had already mentioned things that they knew about me – or about Willa – from her dad. How much else had he told them? I really had to concentrate on being Willa. What if I tripped up on a fact they knew and I didn’t?

  Sofia was oblivious to my churning stomach, though. “And now you’re here, I’m even happier, because I get to know my wonderful niece.”

  Her words sparked the guilt in my chest again. Sofia had been nothing but kind, had answered all my questions honestly – and I was lying to her, every moment I stayed there.

  But what else could I do? If I told the truth now, Willa would get into trouble too – and I’d have to go to London with Mabel, who would know the lengths I’d gone to just to avoid spending the summer with her.

  There was nothing for it but to carry out the plan and meet Willa back at Heathrow in three weeks.

  Until then…

  “I’m happy to be here too, Aunt Sofia.” I pulled the stack of recipe cards towards me. “Now, which of these are we making next?”

  The Westfield shopping centre was big, but not as huge as some of the malls I’d been to in America. I grabbed a map from a stand at the entrance, and scanned the list of shops.

  “I think there’s a good bookshop in here somewhere too,” Mabel said, peering over my shoulder.

  I was about to laugh and make a sarcastic remark, then remembered that Alice wouldn’t find her comment hilarious. But honestly, who went to a shopping centre for books? Oh, right – Alice and Mabel. Urgh, I was probably going to have to spend some of my precious shopping day in the actual bookshop, just to keep up the Alice act.

  I’d pestered Mabel about the budget on the Tube there, and it turned out that Alice’s dad must be feeling really guilty about sending her home from Australia. It wasn’t enough to go designer or anything, but enough to make a good dent in H&M’s racks, and still leave me plenty to buy some bras that didn’t dig into my ribs.

  As I browsed through the shops, Mabel checking email on her phone behind me, I reminded myself that in three weeks, when I met Alice at Heathrow, we’d be swapping cases again and this whole clothes haul would be hers. That helped, somehow, with choosing which things to try on. I wasn’t picking clothes for me, I was assembling a costume wardrobe for playing Alice.

  I needed clothes that weren’t too far from what Alice would normally wear, but just less … terrible. Things that Alice might wear if she was actually aware of fashion. Which, with some nudging from me, she could be.

  Really, I might be the best thing that ever happened to Alice Wright.

  Eventually, I settled on a few new outfits, plus bras and shoes. Sticking with Alice’s ‘jeans and T-shirt’ look, I went with skinny jeans, a few cute tops (that had no sea-life related puns on them), and then went wild with the accessories to make things more fun. I agonized over an H&M dupe of a designer bag I’d been eyeing up in LA, but eventually had to admit that there was no way Alice would ever have carried it, so I left it on the shelf.

  Still, the jewellery, sparkly flip-flops, and fun bag I did buy would help make the outfits feel a little more like me. And the slightly more on-trend trainers I bought fitted better too. All in all, I was declaring the trip a success.

  I tried to pretend I hadn’t spotted the look of utter relief that it was over on Mabel’s face as she paid. I felt kind of bad for her – she obviously wasn’t a shopping person (which I totally could have told you from her wardrobe) but she’d followed me around all morning, made the right noises when I tried things on – with only one comment about my ‘evolving style’ – and hadn’t complained once.

  “Do you fancy the bookshop next?” I asked, trying to make it sound like the sort of thing I said every day.

  Mabel’s face lit up. “Great plan! Then we can get a late lunch in the food court before we head back.”

  It was a very late lunch by the time Mabel had finished in the bookshop. We ate street food from one of the stalls in the food court, while Mabel explained (in detail) about each of the four books she’d bought, and I pretended that I’d already read all the best books from the YA section, so hadn’t chosen anything new.

  Maybe I should start carrying a book around with me, like a prop. Something to make me look more Alice. The last thing I wanted was Mabel telling Alice’s dad that she was worried I was depressed because I’d lost interest in books, or something.

  Alice’s dad was loads more invested in his daughter’s trip to London than my own parents were in my Italian Hell. There’d been a text message from Dad to make sure I’d got there safely, and a quick call from Mum to check it wasn’t actually as dire as the message I’d sent her made out – which I’d taken huddled in my room with a duvet over my head to muffle my words. Other than that, I’d barely heard from my parents since I arrived in London. Well, apart from updates to their social-media channels, and a few photos of Edinburgh castle and the LA set at 5 a.m. for an early morning call, respectively.

  Work was far more interesting than whatever I was doing, as usual.

  Alice’s dad, on the other hand, wasn’t letting being in the middle of the stupid ocean keep him from checking up on his daughter – and having soppy late night calls with his girlfriend.

  After the first time he called, my first night in London, Alice and I had come up with a warning system. OK, Alice had come up with it.

  “Given the time difference, plus the work on the boat, he’s pretty much got to call at set times. And I know my dad, he’s a creature of habit. Tonight he called me first, then you heard him call Mabel, right?” Alice hadn’t waited for me to agree before she carried on talking. “I bet yo
u he does the same every other night for the rest of the summer. Should be pretty easy for you to avoid having to speak to him when he’s on the phone to her, since he’ll already have spoken to me. Just make sure you’re in your room or something around the time he always calls me, in case he mentions having spoken to you to Mabel, and we should be fine.”

  I was just glad Alice’s dad was out of range for video calls. Those would have been pretty hard to explain.

  After lunch, we caught the Tube back to Mabel’s flat. She had to work at home that afternoon – something she sounded masses more guilty about than was really necessary. I told her I’d be fine, and planned to go exploring the neighbourhood around the flat some more.

  But as we exited the Tube station nearest Mabel’s flat, I spotted a newly familiar face.

  “Hal!” I called, waving my arm above my head when he turned and looked around.

  Beside me, Mabel frowned at her phone again. I was guessing work. I hadn’t really taken in everything she’d been talking about over lunch (I’d been mentally compiling outfits that I could make from the new pieces we’d bought, and how they’d look on a) me and b) Alice) but it seemed some research project she was working on was having money issues, and whoever was supposed to be solving it was clearly rubbish. Which explained all the panicky emails they kept sending her.

  Well, if Mabel was about to announce she had to head back to the university for yet another meeting, then I was going to need entertaining. Plus Hal and I were due a discussion about how he could best act as my alibi while I went to my theatre course.

  All my plans were coming together nicely, just as I’d known they would.

  ALICE: HELP!

  WILLA: What? What happened? Do I need to get packing and disappear before the police show up and arrest me for travelling on someone else’s passport?

  ALICE: Oh God, do you think that might happen? I thought once we were through passport control we were safe… How many laws do you think we’ve broken already?

  WILLA: Alice. Calm down, it was a joke. We’re under sixteen anyway, so they’d probably just blame our parents.

  ALICE: THAT’S EVEN WORSE!

  WILLA: So, why were you texting during the day if it’s not an ACTUAL emergency? I thought we were catching up tonight?

  ALICE: That’s the emergency. There’s some food festival in the village this week and it starts with a big party tomorrow night. Everyone’s going and Antonio said he’d show me around…

  WILLA: Antonio? Seventeen-year-old, six foot of Italian hotness, Antonio?

  ALICE: That’s the one.

  WILLA: I’m really not seeing a problem here.

  ALICE: Then you’re not looking hard enough. I was all excited for maybe half an hour before the terrible reality set in.

  ALICE: What was I thinking, saying yes? I mean, it’s probably not a date anyway. But if it is … what was I thinking? I can’t go on a date!

  ALICE: I mean, I’ve already written a list of at least ten major things that might go wrong.

  WILLA: :/

  WILLA: Of course you have. So, what do you want me to do about them?

  ALICE: Tell me what happens on a date. Tell me what to expect.

  ALICE: And most of all

  ALICE: TELL ME WHAT TO WEAR!

  WILLA: Ha! That I can do. Actually, I just bought you basically a whole new wardrobe that you are going to LOVE.

  ALICE: Except that wardrobe is in London. And I’m in Italy.

  WILLA: Which is even better, because it means you have MY wardrobe.

  ALICE: I don’t understand your wardrobe.

  WILLA: What’s not to understand?

  ALICE: How do I put them together? I mean, what do I wear with what? I’m not used to your style of clothes!

  WILLA: Trust me, I know. I’ve seen your suitcase.

  WILLA: Wait, what have you been wearing for the last week, then?

  ALICE: Stuff I could make sense of. Like jeans and tops.

  WILLA: So basically, the closest you could get to your own clothes.

  ALICE: Yeah. I tried your flouncy skirt and red top but… Well, it went wrong and we’re not talking about it.

  WILLA: My wardrobe is wasted on you.

  WILLA: But because I like you – and because you’re being me right now – I will help you.

  ALICE: Thank you! So, what do I wear to impress a boy?

  WILLA: This really is new territory for you, isn’t it?

  ALICE: Totally.

  WILLA: OK, let’s start with something easy. Go find the denim skirt I packed – the one with the frayed hem, not the one with the patches. It’s shorter.

  WILLA: And once we’ve got the clothes sorted, you’re going to have to video call so I can help you with your make-up and hair.

  WILLA: And then we’re going to talk about me for a while, because you’re not the only one who’s had new experiences this week, you know.

  WILLA: OK?

  WILLA: Alice?

  ALICE: When you said shorter, you really weren’t kidding, were you?

  It was hard to carry a basket full of cakes and tug down the edge of my skirt at the same time, but so far I was managing it. Willa’s idea of acceptable village-food-festival wear was kind of different to mine, but I’d asked for her advice, so I had to take it. Which was why I was wearing the very short denim skirt with the frayed hem, and a bright red top that hung off my shoulders.

  “Tuck it in,” Willa had said, watching me through the laptop screen. “Now untuck half of it. No, not like that. Like this.” Even with her demonstrating with her own top on the webcam, mine still didn’t look quite like hers. She had sighed. “It’ll do. Now, hair. Then make-up.”

  I’d attempted the Dutch plait she’d done in my hair on the plane three times before giving up. “OK, part it on the side, and spritz some of the stuff in the gold-and-pink bottle through it,” Willa had instructed eventually. I’d done as I was told, my arms aching from holding them above my head, trying to braid my hair. “Now run your fingers through it and scrunch it up a bit. Perfect!”

  Pausing to look in the mirror, I’d been amazed to see soft waves falling around my shoulders. My hair never did that. It felt like magic. And lots easier than Dutch braids.

  “Make-up next!” Willa had announced, looking gleeful.

  I’d drawn the line at the brow kit and the contouring, but even so I was wearing a lot more make-up than I was used to. Thick black mascara, a lip-gloss that matched my top, and even a touch of eyeliner. I’d assured Willa that, given my tendency to turn bright red at the slightest hint of embarrassment, blusher was really not needed.

  The finished result made me look more like Willa – and less like myself – than ever before. I just hoped I could keep the Willa confidence that came with it for the whole night at the festival.

  Even if Luca was looking between me and Antonio then rolling his eyes a lot.

  “Are you dressing up for my brother?” Luca asked, as we walked together up the hill towards the village. “Or hoping to catch the eye of some other Italian guys at the festival?”

  My eyes widened and I glanced quickly at Antonio to see if he’d heard. Given he was only a few steps ahead, talking with Mattias, I had to assume he did, although he gave no sign. I swallowed down the embarrassed panic rising in me, and focused on staying Willa – she wouldn’t be thrown by a comment like that, so neither would I.

  “Neither,” I said, as airily as I could. The effect was only slightly ruined by the wobble in my voice.

  I was a different person here in Italy – not just because I was pretending to be Willa, but because all the things that made me Alice had been taken away. I wasn’t a professor’s brainy daughter, named ‘most likely to die locked in a library’ by my classmates. I wasn’t the one who never went to parties, or who hated clothes shopping. And most of all, I wasn’t the girl whose mum had died.

  I was someone new, which was kind of scary and brilliant at the same time.

  And to
night, I wanted to be the sort of girl who’d go to a festival in a remote Italian town on a hill and not worry about how she didn’t speak the language well enough yet, or overthink what would happen if someone tried to talk to her, or panic about somehow saying something embarrassing or rude in her learner Italian. I didn’t want to be the Alice who’d need to plan every moment of the evening, or know exactly what happened next. I wanted to be the girl who’d smile and laugh and love every second of it. A spontaneous, free Alice. An Alice who’d just enjoy herself without getting anxious or shy or awkward.

  I wanted to be the sort of girl that Antonio – or any boy, really – would enjoy spending time with. Who’d get asked to a party because a guy wanted to go with her – not because he was just being kind to his foster mother’s niece. (My latest theory was that Sofia had asked him to look after me at the festival.)

  I’d spent most of the last twenty-four hours imagining how Antonio might hold my hand as we walked around the stalls, or lean in close to explain what they were selling, his mouth against my ear so I could hear him better over the party going on around us. Imagined him not caring about the festival at all himself, just wanting to watch me enjoy it.

  I’d even imagined that he would kiss me.

  Not that I was ever going to admit that to Luca.

  I knew that Antonio probably didn’t think about me that way at all. But that could change, right? If I let go, if I laughed and danced and had fun in a way that I’d never managed as Alice – maybe Antonio would start to see me differently. Or at the very least forget about the socks in my bra thing.

  “People really go all out for the festival,” Luca said, and I was grateful he’d changed the subject. “Last year there was dancing and music until one in the morning. And the cakes…” He shook his head. “I’d never tasted anything like it.”