by Alesha Dixon
“One . . . two . . . three!”
I read through the passage. Nothing happens. I read through it again from the top, just to be sure. But I’m still Naomi.
“It didn’t work!” she yells.
I realize that I would have been disappointed if it had. I’ve spent hours lost in daydreams about what it’s like to be Naomi Starr. About how amazing it must be to have no problems at all; to be so famous that you get freebies wherever you go and people act crazy when you walk into a room. I’ve wondered what it feels like to be so talented at something, that you know exactly where you belong and where your life is going.
I’ve only been Naomi Starr for a few hours and it’s been everything I dreamed of. No one has spoken over me or walked into me and pretended I don’t exist. I haven’t had to worry about going to school and sitting through boring lessons I don’t understand. No one has purposefully reminded me that I’m excluded from a party because I’m not cool or interesting enough to be there.
And best of all, no one has thrown mashed potato at my head.
“Let’s try reading it out loud,” she instructs, picking up her copy of the book.
But that doesn’t work either. We read it out loud together three times, just in case.
“ARGH! Why isn’t this working?” she yells, throwing the book across the room and then sitting down in a strop.
It’s very odd to watch myself acting that way. If the situation wasn’t so serious, I’d be laughing at how much of a diva it looked like I was being. If I ever tried to behave this way at home, my brothers would find it hilarious, make fun of me and then play some kind of prank to put me back in my place, like throwing a bucket of ice water over my head while I slept.
Come to think of it, maybe it is a good idea to swap back. She is NEVER going to survive in my house.
“Hang on,” I say, running my finger across the sentences we’ve been reading. “Maybe it’s not a case of reading the passage. Maybe it’s about listening to it.”
She blinks at me. “Like, get an audio version?”
“No, listen to what the passage is saying. It’s about seeing things through someone else’s eyes, right?” I read it out loud again slowly, so we can really take in the words. “Sometimes, to learn about yourself, you need a different view. Step into someone else’s shoes, tread in their footsteps, see things through their eyes. See how you shine.”
“The book wants us to see things from each other’s point of view?” She looks at me in disbelief. “But whyyyyyy? I’m very happy seeing things from MY point of view!”
“It’s saying that we’ll learn something about ourselves by being in each other’s shoes.” I take a deep breath. “I think we have to go along with it. Maybe that’s the way to swap back.”
“Are you serious? The way to swap back is for me to live your life? How can I possibly be expected to do that? I can’t live in that house! Sleep in that bedroom! Your brothers are so loud. Your dog is so smelly. And seriously, what is with the flannel pyjamas, Ruby? FLANNEL. This can’t be happening to me! I can’t go to school! I’ve never been to school before – I don’t even know what to do at a school! I’m NAOMI STARR. I can’t be around . . . normal people!” She hesitates, before adding, “No offence.”
“None taken.”
And I mean that. I’ve seen how Naomi lives her life and this is definitely going to be a challenge for her. She paces around a bit more lost in thought and then eventually stops, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes.
“I guess it’s the only thing we can do. No one will believe that this has happened. If we tell anyone, they’ll think we’re crazy,” she admits, looking crushed. “How long do you think it will take? Are we talking hours? Days? MONTHS?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll swap numbers, use each other’s phones and keep in touch. We can send updates and help each other out. Give tips on how to be . . . us. I know it’s going to be strange for you going to school, but if you could go along with it and not get me expelled that would be great.”
“I think I met one of your school friends earlier,” she remembers. “Someone with pink hair.”
“Beth!” I grin, thinking about how Beth would react if she ever found out that I’d lived a day as Naomi Starr. “She’s my best friend! She’s great, you’re going to love her. Which friends of yours should I know about?”
Her eyes drop to the floor and she mumbles, “None.”
“Oh. OK.” She doesn’t have ANY friends?
“Do you really think this will work?” she asks, changing the subject. “You really think if I pretend to be you and you pretend to be me, suddenly we’ll just magically switch back?”
“I think it’s worth a try,” I say confidently. “And maybe it will be fun! It’s like stepping into a virtual reality or something.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure. Whatever. We had better get on with it. The sooner we do this, the sooner we’ll switch back. And make sure you keep me updated every day. I’m guessing your phone is somewhere in your room?”
“Yeah, on my desk, usually under a book. I’ll text my number from your phone right now. I found it on the floor before I left.”
“I threw it across the room when I read some mean things about me online,” she explains, before glaring at me. “Try not to make my reputation any worse than it is right now. I have a career and I don’t want that to be ruined for ever.”
“Don’t worry, your mum already gave me a lecture about that. I promise I won’t ruin anything.”
I can’t believe this is happening. This is ACTUALLY happening.
It feels like I’m in a dream. I get to be Naomi Starr! NAOMI STARR! I get to be a famous pop star with no troubles and a life of luxury. This is like the craziest, most amazing dream EVER! I’m so happy and excited, I’m scared that I’ll BURST.
I have to make the most of Every. Single. Moment.
“I hope for your sake that we’ve swapped back by tomorrow night,” she says glumly, going to open the door.
“Why?”
“Because of the concert.”
“What concert?”
“Didn’t Mum tell you? I’m supposed to be performing in Berlin to seventeen thousand people.” She offers me a small smile. “I already skipped out on one concert this week; there’s no way they’ll let me get out of another.”
And just like that, the happy feeling vanishes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
(AS RUBY)
“I can do this,” I say out loud, gazing up at the building in front of me. “It’s just school. I’ve seen schools in movies. It’s not a big deal.”
I head up the concrete steps and push open the door, stepping into a long, empty corridor. It has a lot of truly terrible artwork up on the walls and it smells funny. No wonder people hate school if it smells this bad. The strip lights along the ceiling are also weirdly bright. Are they trying to blind their students?
Before I left Ruby at the Ritz, she told me that I’d have missed most of the morning’s lessons by the time I got here so to head to the school library and wait there until lunch. Apparently, all I had to do was find Beth and stick with her. We have all our classes together.
I walk towards the double doors at the end of the corridor, as Ruby instructed me to do, and let out a long sigh.
As IF I am at school right now. Me. Naomi Starr. In a school.
This whole situation is so wrong it makes me want to puke down this gross uniform.
“Ruby! There you are!”
I jump as a voice bellows down the corridor. One of the doors I just sauntered past has swung open and a scrawny, dark-haired man with glasses and a thunderous expression has stuck his head out of it. He has a weirdly small head and scrunched-up features. He reminds me of an angry ferret.
“Where have you been?” he asks, coming to stand in the doorway. “And where exactly are you going?”
I am not prepared for this ambush.
“Uh, where do you think I am going?
” I ask, hoping he’ll give me the correct answer to his question.
“I have no idea, but I know where you should be! In my lesson! Do you have a reason as to why you’ve missed a morning of classes?”
“Yeah,” I shrug, remembering what Ruby told me to say. “I had a doctor’s appointment. Didn’t my parents tell you? They rang reception this morning.”
He frowns. “I didn’t get the message.”
He shoots me a suspicious look but then steps back, gesturing into the classroom. “Come on then, sit down. You can catch up on what you missed later, including the test at the start of the lesson.”
I guess Ruby was right about the doctor’s appointment excuse working.
“Don’t worry, they’ll believe you,” she’d said confidently, leaning on the reception of the Ritz as the concierge sorted a prepaid taxi to get me to the school. “I’ve never been in trouble before so they won’t suspect anything. And frankly, I’ll be surprised if anyone even notices I haven’t been there all morning.”
It wasn’t part of the plan to go straight into lessons, but I don’t really have much of a choice. The angry-ferret teacher is staring me down.
“Cool,” I say, striding into the lesson. OK, so I wasn’t prepared for this, but it’s not like I can’t handle it.
Please. I’m Naomi Starr. I can handle anything.
“Where shall I sit?” I ask him.
“In your normal seat,” he replies grumpily, closing the door and going to his desk at the front.
Luckily, there’s only one spare seat in the classroom so I’m guessing that’s mine. It’s in the middle towards the back. I take in my fellow classmates, most of whom haven’t even bothered to look up from their books at my arrival. This is highly unusual for me. Normally, when I walk into a room, everyone pays attention.
I know I’m technically Ruby right now, but still. It’s irritating.
That girl with pink hair, Beth, is sitting at a table by the window and sits up straight when I walk in, giving me a wave. I acknowledge her with a nod.
“OK, where were we?” the teacher says in a tired voice, turning to the white board behind him, which has loads of equations on it.
Ugh. This must be a maths lesson.
The teacher, whose name I discover is Mr Jones, starts droning on about something boring and I take the opportunity to have a good look at my surroundings. That’s what the stupid book wants me to do, right? See things from Ruby’s point of view or whatever, and then I can learn something about myself and transfer back to my life.
OK, so through Ruby’s eyes I can see the following: a lot of bored students are pretending to listen; the boy next to me is doodling in his textbook; the girl next to him clearly hasn’t brushed her hair in a couple of days; the girl in front of her is texting underneath the desk; and a boy on the other side of the room is flicking ink at the people in front of him.
What can I learn about myself from this? I don’t suit a school atmosphere.
Great! I feel totally enlightened. I close my eyes and hope that’s enough to land me back in my body.
“Ruby, am I disturbing you from your nap?”
I open my eyes to see Mr Jones glaring at me.
“No, don’t worry about it,” I reply graciously. “Carry on with . . . whatever you were talking about.”
His beady, ferret eyes go all wide, like they might pop out of his head. Some of the other kids in the class swivel in their seats to look at me with confused expressions.
“How kind of you. I don’t know what’s wrong with you today, Ruby, but please refrain from closing your eyes and instead pay attention in my class,” Mr Jones replies through gritted teeth, before pointing at the board. “Now, how about you come up here and solve this equation for everyone?”
“No thanks, maths isn’t my thing.”
This prompts a ripple of giggles and even more baffled expressions. I wonder if Ruby is really good at maths and that’s why my reply has had such an effect.
“I see,” Mr Jones says, bristling. “Perhaps detention is your thing?”
I snort. “I don’t think so. Pretty stupid thing to say. No one likes detention, right?”
“That’s it. You’ve landed yourself detention for this evening.”
“Are you serious? For what?”
“For an appalling attitude!” Mr Jones claims. “I don’t know what has got into you!”
“Just because I didn’t come up to the front of class and solve an equation, I get detention? That’s SO unfair!” I turn to the boy sitting next to me. “Is he always like this? Because if so, you guys should really sue. I can recommend an excellent lawyer.”
“RUBY!” Mr Jones cries, his face a dangerous shade of red. “How dare you speak to me like this!”
“I wasn’t speaking to you; I was talking to this person.” I jerk my head at the boy sitting next to me, before shooting Mr Jones a warning look. “And if I were you, I’d be seriously careful about your tone because I wasn’t lying. My lawyer is the best in the country.”
There’s a collective gasp from the other students, before they burst into giggles, enjoying the drama. I don’t really get what the big deal is. Hello, if someone is going to be rude to me, then I will be rude back. No one tells me what to do.
Mr Jones looks as though he might explode with anger. He points a finger at the door.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Class,” he wheezes. “NOW.”
“Perfect!” I jump to my feet, grabbing my bag. “Yeah, this wasn’t really working for me. Can someone point me in the direction of, like, a relaxation room? I’m guessing you don’t have spa facilities here, but maybe there’s a lounge or something where I can get some coffee?”
They stare silently at me. Mr Jones’s jaw is on the floor.
Wow. These people are so rude.
“OK, whatever, thanks for the help,” I mutter under my breath, marching out of there and closing the door behind me with a slam.
There are no signs anywhere, which is super annoying, so I make the decision to go to the library until lunch. I’m guessing it will be quiet there, so at least no one will bother me and I can ask that Beth person where the lounge is later.
The library is empty, so I sit in one of its very uncomfortable chairs and wait for lunchtime.
YAWN. This is so boring. I slide down into the seat and WISH I at least had Ruby’s phone on me to go on social media or something. My experience of school so far hasn’t exactly gone well. Who does that Mr Jones think he is? I can’t believe Ruby puts up with him. And how long are students expected to sit in lessons for? I was only in there for a maximum of ten minutes and that was enough, thank you very much.
Suddenly, a horrible bell rings out loudly. I can hear commotion in the corridor outside the library as kids spill out of their classrooms.
THANK GOODNESS. Lunchtime. I hope they have good restaurants in this place because I’m famished.
“Ruby! I thought you might be hiding in here.”
Beth comes over, drops her bag on the table and then puts her hands on her hips.
“What WAS that?” she asks.
“What?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe your showdown with Mr Jones? That was crazy!”
“It’s not a big deal. He’s SO annoying. Also, don’t you think he looks like an angry ferret?”
“You’re going to be in a lot of trouble. I saw him marching towards the headmaster’s office after class.”
“So?”
“So, this is really unlike you,” she says slowly, as though I’m not getting something. “Ruby, you’re acting strange today. Is everything OK? Did you find that book you were looking for at the British Library?”
“Huh?” Then I remember our conversation this morning when she helped me get a taxi. “Oh, yeah. I did. So, shall we go have lunch?”
She nods, a smile creeping across her face. “OK. Are you sure everything’s all right? I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“Lik
e what?” I ask, following her out of the library and into the chaos of the corridor.
Ew. There are people EVERYWHERE.
“I don’t know. You’re just . . . different. You’re even walking differently. It’s like you’re much more sure of yourself.”
“What kind of food do they serve here?” I ask, bored of the conversation. “Do they have a selection of restaurants or just the one? Because I have a few dietary requirements that I’ll need to inform the chef.”
Her stunned expression reminds me that I’m meant to be Ruby and she would know how many restaurants there are because she goes to school here all the time.
“I mean . . . what do you feel like eating today?” I say quickly, hoping that covers my mistake nicely.
“Whatever the vegetarian dish is, like we always get,” she replies, still watching me suspiciously.
Pretending to know exactly where we’re going, I follow her round a corner and down another corridor, towards a set of bright green doors.
Who decided on the interior design of this place? They should be fired.
Beth swings open the door and I’m hit by a wave of noise. I gasp in horror at the sight before me as I step into the room. It’s not a restaurant at all, but some kind of canteen. There are kids everywhere and they’re all talking over each other, laughing loudly and showing each other things on their phones, while cutlery scrapes and clatters on plates.
Worse than that, there isn’t table service! I don’t see one waiter, not one. Instead, we’re expected to pick up a gross, damp tray – a TRAY – and queue up to get our food from a bizarre buffet-type serving area.
“You are joking, right?” I blurt out, disgusted as Beth passes me a tray.
“This tray’s not too wet,” she insists, holding it out for me. “The one below it is worse. I’ve checked.”
I take it reluctantly, holding it at arm’s length.
“EUGH, it smells so GROSS in here!” I retch as we join the back of the queue. “I am not eating anything served here.”
“It doesn’t look too bad,” she says, craning her neck to see over the people in front of us.
