Page 33 of Switch!
“That’s it,” I reply. “Goodbye, Travis. Take care of yourself.”
The phone beeps in my ear. I pull it back to see that he hung up, and I can’t help but smile. I often saw myself as weak, but apparently, I had some fight in me.
I feel better now. My mother isn’t in danger. She doesn’t even realize I’m gone. This couldn’t have worked out better! I can finally let go of the past and focus on a future of my own creation. A new life. A new adventure!
Twelve ↔ Chapter
Tacoma is beautiful. I swear the colors are more vivid here. Over the past month, I’ve repeatedly set out to explore the city, marveling each time the eclectic skyline comes into view. I like to park my truck in the hilly downtown area and wander, visiting museums or browsing through shops and galleries. Although it’s never long before I’m drawn to the outer edges of Tacoma where the Puget Sound—a body of water that flows inland from the Pacific Ocean—encircles most of the city protectively. That isn’t the only guardian. Mount Rainier looms over the city, the snow-dusted mountain one of the largest in all of Washington state. I find much to appreciate when venturing outside the city too, especially when hiking in the nearby state parks.
Not everything is perfect. I don’t enjoy being at home. My new parents are okay. I mostly only see them during meals, which I don’t talk much during. Caleb didn’t either, since that was easier than guessing what his father would and wouldn’t approve of. What his parents lack in emotional support, they compensate for in other ways. The credit card I found in Caleb’s wallet and used to refuel his truck on the drive here, for instance. They haven’t taken it back or set a limit on how much I can spend, as long as it’s used to pay for gas and nothing else. Caleb would often buy drinks or food when fueling up and never got in trouble for it, but I play it safe and pack my lunch at home before setting out. Sometimes dinner as well, since they keep Caleb on a loose leash. He doesn’t have a curfew, which I take full advantage of, mostly to avoid the McCains. I don’t feel any sort of kinship for them, so I’m either out exploring or locked in my new bedroom, which I’m not crazy about either.
The house itself is an old two-story building that has recently been renovated. Caleb’s mother keeps saying that it’s small, but after living in an apartment my entire life, it feels luxurious to me. My bedroom is upstairs and overlooks the front yard and driveway. That’s fine. What I don’t like are Caleb’s possessions. He doesn’t own much that reflects my personality. Swords and knives are displayed on my dresser, because that’s how I remember him doing it before. He has a ton of clothes, but fashion has never been my thing. His taste in posters is predictably aggressive: a shouting gladiator from that gory300movie, a selection of fighter jets to appease his Air Force father, and a couple of bikini-clad babes with vacant expressions. Caleb owns dumbbells, a bunch of sports equipment, and a laptop that he mostly used for porn. I’m in no position to judge, but I also did other things with my computer. That’s all I’ve discovered so far. There are still boxes that need to be unpacked, but I’ve given up hope that I’ll find anything I actually like. Caleb and I were two very different people, and I’m stuck in the awkward situation of pretending to be him. At least when it comes to outward appearances. So when I sit on my bed at night, I’m sitting in a stranger’s room.
Maybe I should have traded lives with an adult. Someone who lives alone. That would give me the freedom to be myself. I’m not sure that’s even a choice anymore. The silver cord broke. I didn’t die, obviously, but only because my soul was safely in this body. That’s my theory. I’m not planning to test it anytime soon, because I have another one: If I step out of this body, I might drop dead. Even if I don’t, I’m not sure what would happen to the person I attempt to possess. Would they switch places with me and become Caleb? Considering the risks, I’ve made peace with never finding out. For better or worse, this is my new body and my new life. Mostly it feels like a massive upgrade, but then summers are always ideal. I have yet to face the realities of school. Or work.
I’ve been applying for jobs, wanting to spend less time at home. I don’t have any true work experience and neither does Caleb, but I’m hoping his good looks will open a few doors. I apply at bookstores, coffee shops, and a museum, but nobody calls me back. When my parents catch wind of my plans, they find a job for me. Major McCain works with a guy whose brother owns a barbeque restaurant. One hastily filled-out application later and I’m gainfully employed as a waiter. Not my dream job, but it’s gotta beat flipping burgers.
Caleb has more strength and hand-eye coordination than I ever did, so being a waiter is easy in his body. He does especially well with the tables full of ladies, although even with the guys, I’m able to draw from his knowledge of sports when they chat me up about the most recent game. I always check scores online before each shift, yawning my way through the results as I commit them to memory. Anything for bigger tips.
I’ve made an impression on my coworkers too. One of them in particular. Her name is Sarah Willoughby. She’s already replaced my fantasies of Ashley. I first spotted her curled up in the corner of a booth, small and thin with a bob of blond hair. Her large brown eyes are usually focused on a book when she’s on break. Sometimes they focus on me instead. I’ve started saying hello to her each day. Sarah says it back with a smile before she returns her attention to whatever she’s reading. The books have changed five times and I’ve only worked here for two weeks. I’m impressed! I’ve tried to figure out what she’s reading and failed, but it can’t be anything contemporary. The covers are always muted and worn. I’m dying to find out what’s beneath the surface, so on a day when business is slow, I wait until she’s on lunch break and try to strike up a conversation.
“What you got there?” I ask, aiming for casual and cool.
Sarah pauses reading to look up at me. She’s sitting in a booth outside my section that I pass on the way to the kitchen. She holds up the brown cover so I can see it, the title and author spelled out in cracked gold lettering:The Little White Birdby J. M. Barrie.
“It’s called a book,” she says sarcastically. “You should try reading one sometime.”
“But watching the movie version is so much faster,” I joke, sliding into the seat across from her. When she grimaces, I ask, “Am I bothering you? Should I go?”
Sarah shakes her head. “No. You’re fine. It’s just been one of those days.”
“Maybe I can make it better.” I’m feeling good about this line, especially when I add a smile, but to my surprise, it doesn’t go over well.
“Listen, Caleb—” Her attention doesn’t dart down to my nametag as she says this. We’ve never formally introduced ourselves, and yet she knows my name just as I know hers. “I can guess where you’re going with this, and before anyone gets hurt feelings, you’re not my type.”
Her tone is friendly, almost playful, so I draw on experience that isn’t my own and say in a confident tone, “You sure about that? I’ve caught you checking me out before.”
Her cheeks flush but she doesn’t deny it. “Have you?”
“Yup. Just the other day. I glanced back and you were staring at my buns.”
She grows even redder. “What made you look over your shoulder?”
I shrug easily. “I like the way you bite your bottom lip when you read. It’s cute.”
Sarah laughs and shakes her head. “You have nice assets of your own. Listen, I’m sorry if I stared too long, or if I sent any mixed signals, but I’m not into athletic types.”
“Why not?”
Sarah exhales. “Because my idea of fun isn’t jogging first thing in the morning or going to the gym after a long shift.”
“Who’s asking you to?” I reply. “I’m not into athletic types either.”
She smiles again. “Fine, but all that time at the gym could be spent together instead or—forgive me if I’m stereotyping—be used to better your mind so we can actually have an interesting conversation.”
“I see.” I knock my knuckles on the table and stand. “Thank you for your honesty. I’ll leave you to better your mind in peace. Oh, and I know most people read that book because it contains the origin story of Peter Pan, but don’t skip to that part. You’ll miss the most romantic chapter.”
Her mouth becomes an “O” of surprise. As for my own, I make sure I turn away before allowing myself a smirk. I have a spring in my step during the rest of my shift, and for a very rare reason: I feel good about who I am. Caleb’s muscles wouldn’t have been enough. If I’ve won over Sarah at all, it’s because of who I truly am.
