Page 5 of Switch!
“About anything in particular?”
Melvin shrugs. “No idea. I just spaced out, I guess.”
I still can’t let it go. “Then why were you looking at me?”
“I don’t know.” Melvin grimaces. “Was I staring? Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I just felt like you had something you needed to tell me. Even if it sounds weird or is hard to explain, you can talk to me about it.”
I watch as he thinks it over. Carefully.
Then he shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Cool.” I feel like a balloon that has lost its helium. I don’t even have the motivation to keep the conversation going. Moving back to my seat would be cold, so I stay where I am and let an awkward silence fill the space between us.
We’re halfway to school when Melvin reaches into his backpack and pulls out his book. I glance at it. Then I do a double take because I recognize the cover. And the title.The Invasion of Normandy. It’s possible that I saw the book before and simply forgot about it. I don’t normally pay attention to what Melvin reads, but the human mind is full of surprises. Or maybe somethingdidhappen yesterday. By the time we arrive at school, I’ve reached a conclusion. The only way to know for sure is to try again.
And I will. Today.
Three ↔ Chapter
Middle school was when my career as a victim really took off. Everyone seemed eager to pick on me, like there was an awards ceremony for bullies at the end of the year and they were all competing to win the coveted Golden Wedgie. So I went on the defensive and began sitting at the front of each class, figuring I’d be safe there. Not the best strategy. I soon learned that everyone could see me, but I couldn’t see them, making me the perfect target for spitballs and other dumb pranks. I changed tactics when starting high school and sat in the back row instead.
That’s where I am now. Calculus is one of my least favorite subjects, made worse because Caleb and I share this class. At least there aren’t book reports or whatever that we have to team up on, so we don’t interact much. I only need to make sure I get here before Caleb does, since he always stands in the doorway with his friends, blocking the entrance for anyone he wants to mess with. This game stops when the teacher, Mrs. Dewey, shows up, but she’s often late. Much like today.
From my seat, I keep a wary eye on Caleb and try to figure out what he has going for him that I don’t. I immediately cross brains off the list. I don’t know how smart he is, but intelligence isn’t valued in my school. Not by most of my peers. Caleb doesn’t have a pleasant personality. He isn’t nice to anyone, from what I’ve seen. That just leaves the physical. I guess he’s good looking, for a guy. I don’t remember ever seeing a single pimple on his face, and when he smiles, girls sure seem to notice and teachers let him get away with absolute murder. His hair is short, brown, and perfectly styled, but what I really envy is his body. Caleb plays football. I’ve heard teachers praise him when his team succeeds. That explains the muscles. Caleb is beefy in a way that I’ll never be. Trendy fashions actually look good on him. I’ve been to the mall and tried on what the popular kids wear, but the clothes always hang off my skinny frame, making me resemble a mop that’s trying to disguise itself as a human being.
I don’t see what else could make Caleb popular. His body must be the answer. That seems incredibly unjust, considering it’s down to sheer luck. If I’d inherited better genetic traits from my parents, I might be standing where he is now, guffawing with my best buds and saying stupid things to the girls who are forced to squeeze past me. Not that I’d actually behave that way. If I was at the top of the food chain, I wouldn’t be such a jerk. The only reason I want up there is so nobody will pick on me. I don’t want to be Caleb. I only want to look like him.
Is that possible? I was planning to duplicate the experience with Melvin on the bus ride home, but I could try now instead. Why not? I glance around to make sure I’m not being watched. Then again, it’s not like anyone will notice if I fail. And if it does work… I imagine forcing Caleb to pull down his pants and flap his ass cheeks at the teacher when she walks in, like his butt can talk. “Hello, Mrs. Dewey. You might notice that I look handsomer than usual today, even though my breath stinks.” Yeah, that little fantasy is all the motivation I need.
I focus on Caleb and let myself dream, but not just of revenge. That’s not what I was thinking of with Melvin. I wanted to escape my life by becoming him, so I do the same now. I envision how awesome it would feel to flex my arms and have impressive biceps bulge in response. I try to imagine smiling at a pretty girl and seeing her blush instead of recoil. And I picture myself swaggering down the middle of the hallway between classes, rather than skirting the walls in fear. I want to feel that sort of confidence. More than anything. I want to be fearless!
My head spins and I nearly throw up. The sensation is worse than the first time, and more confusing, like losing my sense of direction while swimming and being unable to find the surface. I’m drowning in opaque black waters, pushed along by an invisible current until I finally slam into something hard. Then I feel intimidated, because two of Caleb’s friends are now up in my face. Elliot and Dean are grinning instead of leering, their blurry expressions friendlier than what I’m used to. They’re not looming over my desk. They’re standing by the door. So am I.
Holy shit, it worked!
“Did she cry?” Elliot asks. His voice is muffled, like someone speaking through a pillow.
Dean snorts, the sound distorted. “Of course she did! Girls always cry when I dump them.”
“Bullshit,” Elliot responds. “I bet they feel relieved.” He shoots me a wink and thwaps my chest, which feels firmer than I’m used to. “Good news for you though, huh?”
I should reply, but I can’t seem to make Caleb’s mouth move. Or any other part of his body. Confusion overwhelms me, and after a few seconds, I realize it isn’t my own. The feeling is similar to what I’ve known before but also changed somehow, much in the way that two varieties of apple can taste different despite being the same type of fruit.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asks.
Now they’re both looking at me, waiting for an answer, but I still can’t respond. Their images waver in front of me as I try to open my mouth. I feel my jaw move, but from far away. I can sense my actual body! The real one that’s sitting on the other side of the classroom! I attempt to turn my awareness toward it, like reorienting my mind, and feel the hard plastic seat pressing against my butt. I can also feel the taut muscles of Caleb’s back. My attention is divided in two. I don’t know where to focus anymore until I hear my name.Hisname.
“Caleb,” Elliot says. “Dude! You’ve got to tell him.”
“Tell me what?” Dean asks.
Elliot’s eyes narrow. I expect him to ask Caleb if he’s okay. Instead he shakes his head in irritation. “Caleb has been aching to get into Ashley’s pants ever since you started dating her. It’s all he ever talks about.”
“Be my guest,” Dean says with a scowl. “You think I care?”
The confusion I feel is replaced by another emotion. Fear. I’m not sure if Caleb is as familiar with it as I am. Maybe he hasn’t built up a tolerance, because it hits him hard. Both of us, actually. The panic is overwhelming. To escape it, I focus on my body again and leap. My vision goes black. I plummet through darkness and slam into another wall. Then I wince against blinding light until it fades to normal and I find myself at the back of the classroom again, safe and sound. I’m certain that Caleb will turn around and point an accusatory finger at me. He doesn’t. Instead he places a palm on his forehead, like it hurts. Then he says something I can’t hear and his friends laugh. Mrs. Dewey enters the room, forcing them to take their seats. Even then Caleb doesn’t look at me, but he does seem dazed.
