Page 12 of Switch!
I hear a familiar pop as Caleb turns his head and stares out the window. Through him I can see the parking lot and past it a mowed lawn which ends when reaching the—
June thirteenth.
I still don’t know if the words I hear like this are thoughts or memories, so I’ve settled on calling them impressions. This one is accompanied by a sense of anxiety. How come? Beyond the parking lot is a stadium where Caleb must have history. I focus on the massive structure, a sense of accomplishment rising inside him, and I get impressions of previous games. Scores, the names of rival teams, how often he scored… His sense of pride crashes just as suddenly, replaced by anxiety.
June thirteenth.
Whatever. He’s probably worried about some upcoming game. During the summer? When school is already out? That doesn’t make sense, and I don’t have time to waste on it. I turn around and look behind me. I have to lean to the side slightly to see past the other students, but I only need to catch a glimpse of myself—an elbow jutting out and the top of my head—before I get another impression.
After school. Outside.
The same as yesterday. Whatever they had planned has been rescheduled. I’m not entirely surprised. I need more details, so I continue to stare at myself, ignoring the people who have begun to notice, because hate is filling Caleb like a thick black tar. What did I ever do to make him feel that way?
“Mr. Anderson, please wake up!” Mrs. Dewey has noticed me. Again. “And as for you, Mr. McCain, if you would care to explain why you find him more interesting than this lesson?”
I make Caleb turn around, and out of pure instinct, I have him open his mouth and say, “Sorry.” His voice sounds even deeper from the inside. The teacher nods at me. Then she starts walking down the aisle with a determined expression, so I quickly release Caleb and make myself sit upright. There’s only a little drool this time, which I quickly wipe away.
“Sorry!” I splutter. “I was listening.”
Mrs. Dewey stops her approach. “Do you need to see the nurse again?”
I think about it. I doubt my mom would let me go home early a second day in a row. I won’t get away with this for three more weeks. I know Caleb and his friends are planning something, and they aren’t exactly creative. I only need to avoid them after school. “No, thank you. I’m fine. Sorry.”
At the end of class, Mrs. Dewey asks me to stay behind. I’m not in trouble. She’s concerned. I pretend that I’ve had trouble sleeping lately and say that my mom scheduled a doctor’s appointment. Maybe I can convince the school that I have narcolepsy, allowing me to use my powers more often. So lame. Clark Kent only needed to find somewhere private to change into Superman. I’ll have to leap into the nearest bed and hope someone I want to possess is nearby. Beware the Sleepy Avenger!
But only if it’s his naptime.
— — —
I stayed up late doing research on the silver cord. No hard science is available, but most people seem to be in agreement about one thing: The silver cord ties the soul to the physical body, and if that breaks, it means death. I’ve already felt the cord being strained by distance. I don’t want to push my luck. This thought is on my mind after sixth period as I wind my way down unfamiliar hallways.
The school has other exits besides the main entrance. In the past, students were allowed to use any of them. Concerns over school shootings changed that. Now most of the doors have alarms that go off if anyone tries to use them. Except for those leading to the teachers’ parking lot. I manage to slip through those doors without an issue, and just to be safe, avoid the student parking lot by walking the long way around to where the buses wait. That gets me home, and I rest easy thinking I’ve found my solution for the next three weeks.
I’m stopped by a teacher the next day, but after asking nicely if I can leave through the exit anyway, she relents. I’m not so fortunate on my third attempt. I’m caught by a different teacher who lectures nonstop while escorting me back to the main entrance. That works, since his presence is as good as having a bodyguard. As soon as I’m outside, I stand next to the officer on duty while searching for any sign of Caleb and his friends. Once certain that I’m in the clear, I sprint to catch my bus. I make it, but not before breezing past Dean. We make eye contact, so I know he saw me, but he was too far away to do anything about it. A close call.
I try the same exit again on Thursday and am nearly there when the stern teacher from the day before notices me. Instead of escorting me back to the main entrance, he warns that I’ll be sent to the principal’s office if he catches me again. I wait until I’m at the end of the hall before glancing over my shoulder and see him still standing there, watching me. Figuring that he’ll be on high alert from now on, I try to sneak my way out to the main entrance, ducking into doorways and searching for threats before darting down the hall to the next hiding place. And it works!
I’m not so lucky on Friday. I’ve almost reached the main entrance when a familiar voice makes me go rigid with fear.
“Got you!”
Caleb. He’s behind me and stays that way, even after grabbing the back of my neck and squeezing mercilessly. I try to pull away, but this only makes it easier for him to guide me forward, his fingernails breaking my skin. When I notice our destination is the restroom, where there will be fewer witnesses, I lock my knees. My shoes skid along the floor until someone else loops an arm around my waist and lifts me up. I can hear Dean cackling as my head is used like a battering ram to shove the door open. I’m momentarily blinded by pain as we burst into the restroom. When I’m placed on my feet again, I try to get my bearings, but I’m shoved up against a wall before I can.
Caleb is standing in front of me, glaring.
Dean’s attention is on his phone. “I texted Elliot,” he says before pocketing it. “What are we going to do?”
It’s the same question I ask myself. What am I going to do about this? I need to—
Caleb slugs me in the stomach, his fist remaining buried there as I crumple around it and try not to puke. I don’t think he’s holding back. The pain is unbearable. I’m bent over and retching when I hear Dean’s hyena laughter again.
“Better get him to the toilet before he barfs all over us.”
I’m grabbed by the shoulders, and when I look up, I find myself being shoved into a stall. I try to resist by placing my palms flat against the walls and locking my knees again. The force from behind is too strong. I buckle, when I should have been focusing on getting inside Caleb’s head so I could stop this.
“Thirsty?” I hear him huff.
I notice then how the toilet is full of stale urine, like it’s backed up, the water a deep amber in color. Hands shove down on the back of my neck, so I squirm and twist, trying to escape.
