by Marilyn Kaye
But it was no use. She could feel it happening. And when she opened her eyes, she could feel a fringe tickling her forehead and she was looking through thick tortoiseshell frames. She was looking through someone else’s eyes. Margaret’s eyes.
Nobody else had noticed. Their eyes were still closed, but it wouldn’t have mattered if they’d been watching her. This had happened before and no one had been aware, except her.
Actually, there was one other person whose eyes were open. The person who looked like Amanda. Who wasn’t even really a person, just some sort of automatic fake-Amanda, programmed to act like her. Flesh and blood, but more like a robot than a human being.
‘Your mother has to go now, Margaret,’ the medium said. ‘But she’ll come back another time to talk to you again. Do you have anything to say before she leaves?’
There was a silence. It took Amanda a few seconds before she realized she had to respond for Margaret.
‘Uh . . . bye.’
‘She is gone,’ Cassandra said.‘And I’m afraid there are no other spirits waiting to speak with us tonight. But do not despair. This is just the beginning. The spirits have been called, and they will respond. We will meet again on Monday evening.’
Amanda-Margaret rose quickly. She had to let Ken know what had happened to her. But that woman Dahlia clamped a hand on her arm.
‘You poor dear, I feel so sorry for you. Why don’t we go out and have a nice cocktail together?’
‘Sorry, no – I can’t,’Amanda said, pulling free with some effort. She turned – and saw Ken with Other-Amanda, walking out the door. She took off after them, and ran out of the apartment . . . only to see the lift doors closing behind them. Frantically, she looked for the stairs. She flew down the four flights, but when she arrived at the hallway she was greeted by an open lift, with no one inside.
She went outside, with absolutely no idea where she was going. Her heart – Margaret’s heart – was pounding furiously, and she took deep breaths to keep her rising panic under control. She heard voices behind her and hurried around to the side of the apartment building, where no one would see her. She had to collect her thoughts, work out what she was going to do.
She found a bench and sat down. That was when she realized that Margaret’s handbag was still slung across her chest. She opened it and found a wallet. Inside the wallet there was a driver’s licence. In the dark the photo wasn’t clear, but she could make out a name – Margaret Robinson – and an address. There were keys in the bag too. So Margaret probably came here in a car . . . but there were more than a dozen cars parked on either side of this street. How would she know which one was Margaret’s?
And what did it matter even if she could identify Margaret’s car? Amanda didn’t know how to drive.
She explored the pockets in the wallet. Well, that was a relief – there had to be at least fifty dollars in it. She had an address, keys, and money for a taxi. So at least she could get home.
She walked down to the first major street and flagged down a taxi. Giving the driver the address she’d found, she leaned back in the seat and considered her situation. So, now she had become a depressed and badly dressed woman living a sad and lonely life. Why couldn’t she ever snatch the body of someone cool?
At least Margaret didn’t live in a dump. The taxi pulled up in front of a modern building in a decent part of town. Amanda paid the driver and got out. One of the keys unlocked the front door, and she found the name Robinson on one of the postboxes in the hall. Noting the apartment number, she took the lift up to the third floor.
In the seance, Margaret had talked about being so alone. That meant she probably didn’t have flatmates. That was good – Amanda wouldn’t have to start communicating like Margaret straight away. Another key opened the apartment door. Feeling along the wall, she located a light switch and pushed it.
She was pleasantly surprised by what she saw. She’d imagined Margaret living in a place that looked as depressing as she did. But this apartment was very nice. It wasn’t a grand, fancy place, but it was modern, well-furnished, and even trendy. There were hanging plants, a colourful rug on the floor, pictures on the walls. A big framed poster from a rock concert hung over the sofa. Funny – Margaret hadn’t seemed like the kind of person who went to rock concerts. There was a framed photograph on an end table, showing five good-looking people in their twenties on what looked like a tropical beach. Friends of Margaret’s? But then why was she so lonely?
Amanda moved into what she thought would be a bedroom. She was right, and once again, it was a stylish room. There was a bright blue and white duvet on the big four-poster bed, big fluffy pillows, and a large white dressing table with a matching chest of drawers. A huge full-length mirror was on the wall, and there was a big walk-in wardrobe. That got Amanda’s full attention. She went inside, switched on the light and gasped. Margaret had clothes, and lots of them. On a wall were shelves covered with shoes. Checking things out, Amanda could see that the clothes and shoes weren’t the best brands. Most were from discount stores that sold cheaper versions of the hot new looks, but the things she found were a lot better looking than the awful baggy sweater and wrinkled skirt she had on now.
Why was Margaret wearing this? Just because she was in mourning for her mother? It seemed to Amanda that you didn’t have to dress like an old bag lady just to show you were sad about your mother’s death.
She wandered over to the mirror and examined herself. Taking off the glasses, she found her reflection disturbing. Not just because Margaret was so drab – it was something else. That pasty skin – it didn’t look natural. She rubbed Margaret’s cheek, and then looked at her hand. It was stained with white powdery stuff. Peering closer at her reflection, she saw a spot of normal-looking skin on the cheek.
Hurrying into the bathroom, she took a washcloth and scrubbed her face. More powder came off, and more real skin was visible. It wasn’t just ordinary skin either. Margaret had a nice golden tan! Why had she covered it? Maybe she thought it would look wrong to have a tan so soon after her mother’s death.
It wasn’t just puzzlement that made Amanda scratch her head. It had been itching for a while now, and after scratching harder, she realized why. Margaret was wearing a wig.
This was getting weirder and weirder. When Amanda lifted the wig off, Margaret’s own hair turned out to be a much nicer shade of light brown with some blonde streaks – the kind that must have been put in by a good hairdresser. The hair had been flattened down by the wig, but once Amanda poked at it with a comb for a while, she could see that Margaret had a cute laye red bob. And when she took off the baggy skirt and sweater, she discovered that Margaret had a good figure too.
Rummaging in Margaret’s chest of drawers, she found skinny jeans and a tight-fitting top. A box on top of the dressing table contained lots of makeup, all good brands. She applied eyeliner, mascara, a little blusher and a rose-pink lipstick. Then she stepped back from the mirror and examined herself again.
Margaret was cute! If she’d looked like this at the seance Amanda would never have felt so sorry for her, not even with her sad story. Well, OK, she might have felt a little sorry for her because her mother had died, but not so much that she’d do a body-snatch.
She went back into the living room and looked at the photo on the end table again. Now she recognized Margaret as one of the attractive young people on the beach. That was probably where she’d got her tan. She took the wallet out of Margaret’s bag and examined the driver’s licence again. She could see the photo clearly now, and Margaret looked pretty much like Amanda had just made her look. So Amanda hadn’t given her a makeover – this was how Margaret normally dressed. Exploring further, she found a couple of credit cards in the wallet too.
It dawned on her that it might not be so awful being Margaret Robinson for a little while. She wouldn’t mind living in this apartment. And she was twenty-five years old! She could go to clubs and hang out in places that would never let a fourteen-year-old i
n.
And there was something else – if she remained in this body up to Monday, robot-Amanda would have the operation in her place! Yes, there was a lot about this situation that could work to her advantage.
A phone rang. It sounded like a mobile, so she dived back into Margaret’s handbag.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Margie, it’s me.’ The voice was a woman’s.
Amanda tried to sound casual. ‘Oh, hi. How are you?’
‘Fine. Well, burning up, actually. It’s ninety-nine degrees here, and our air conditioner’s broken.’
Amanda didn’t know what the temperature was outside, but she was very sure it wasn’t anywhere near ninety-nine degrees. It had been cool when she left the seance.
‘Where are you?’ she asked.
The woman sounded amused. ‘Where do you think I am? Miami, of course. You’ll be coming down to visit next month, won’t you?’
‘Um, I guess. I’ll try.’
‘You must come,’ the woman said. ‘It’s been too long. We’ll send you money for a flight. Daddy and I want to see you. Wait, he wants to say hello.’
A man spoke. ‘Margie, listen to your mother. We’ll expect you in December.’
‘OK. I have to go now. Bye.’
‘Here, say goodbye to your mother.’
‘Bye, Margie!’ the woman chirped.
Amanda swallowed. ‘Bye . . . Mom.’
They were disconnected. Amanda just stood there for a minute, still holding the phone. Daddy. Mom.
What was going on here?
CHAPTER SEVEN
SO HOW DID IT go with Amanda?
Ken yawned. It was Saturday morning, he was still in bed, and for once he didn’t mind having a chat with his old friend.
I don’t know. She was sort of weird.
How do you mean, weird?
Well, like, at first things were really good. I mean, we were kind of connecting, you know? We talked a lot on the way there. And during the seance I couldn’t even look at her because I was afraid we’d start laughing. I thought things were going pretty well for us.
Cool.
But then things changed. After the seance, coming home, she barely spoke to me. I asked her if she wanted to get something to eat, but she said she wasn’t hungry. So I took her home. And she didn’t invite me to come in.
Did you kiss her?
I didn’t even get a chance. The second we arrived at her place, she went inside and closed the door. She didn’t even say goodbye!
That’s pretty weird. Maybe she’s just not into you. Hey, what are you doing today?
I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.
Why don’t you go to the pool?
The indoor pool at the Community Centre? Nah, it’s too crowded on Saturdays.
Oh, c’mon, you could use a good swim. Work out your frustrations over Amanda. And you’d be doing me a favour.
How’s that?
Lucy goes to the pool every Saturday. It’ll give you a chance to talk to her. Find out what’s going on between her and Dowell.
Ken sighed. Well, if he was going to help Jack he’d have to talk to Lucy sooner or later, and he might as well get it over with. The pool was as good a place as any.
When he arrived, he saw that the pool wasn’t as crowded as he’d expected. He didn’t see Lucy around so he decided to make the most of it. He dived in.
The thing he liked best about swimming was that he could put his mind on automatic pilot and let his thoughts wander. And his thoughts went back to Amanda. He hoped she didn’t go to the pool on Saturdays. Nah, the public swimming pool was probably beneath her.
She’d really been a major disappointment, he thought as he swam his lengths. He’d been feeling positive about her at the seance and when the seance was over he’d looked forward to discussing what they’d just observed, and comparing their reactions.
But Amanda had been totally uninterested in having any kind of conversation. When he tried to talk to her, she acted like the whole thing had been boring. She just kept shrugging her shoulders and saying, ‘Whatever’. He’d asked her if she was worrying about her operation, and all she said was that she hoped she could get a manicure at the hospital! She was like a different person from the one he’d gone to the seance with. Maybe Jack was right, and she just wasn’t into him. Maybe she’d decided his ‘gift’ really did make him a freak.
When he emerged from the pool, he saw that Lucy had arrived. She was setting down her bag beside a table and chairs, and she was alone. He ambled over to her.
‘Hi.’
She looked up. ‘Oh, hi, Ken. How’s Jack?’
‘Fine,’ he murmured, hoping no one he knew could overhear their conversation.
She pulled out a chair for herself and one for Ken. ‘Sit down.’
He did.
‘I was just wondering, what’s it like, talking to a dead person?’
Ken couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘It’s hard to describe.’
‘Did you contact more dead people at the seance?’ she asked.
‘Some people did. Not me.’
‘Do you ever talk to dead people besides Jack? Anyone famous?’
‘No, nobody famous. Listen, Lucy, I really don’t like talking about this, OK?’
She nodded. ‘I can understand that. Because most people aren’t as open-minded as I am. They’d think you were nuts.’
He couldn’t argue with that. Just then, Lucy’s handbag started to beep.
‘Ooh, I’ve got a text message,’ she said. She fumbled in her bag and pulled out her phone. She punched some buttons and looked at the screen. ‘Yay!’ she exclaimed.
‘Good news?’ Ken enquired politely.
‘Simon Dowell wants to know if I’ll go to the basketball game with him on Tuesday evening.’
‘Oh.’ He scratched his head. ‘Are you going to go?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
‘Um, well . . . you know, Simon has a reputation. I’ve heard he’s kind of a player, if you know what I mean. Do you really like him?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘He’s OK. But if you don’t think I should go out with him, I won’t.’
He wished he could tell her it was Jack who was concerned, not him. ‘Well, I can’t tell you what to do. I just wanted to warn you.’
‘Thank you, Ken. Listen . . . what are you doing later?’
‘Later?’
‘Mm. Like, tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ he repeated stupidly.
‘I thought maybe you’d like to come over to my place.’ She lowered her eyes demurely. ‘My parents are going out.’
Ken swallowed. ‘Uh, thanks, but, no, um, I have to do something. See ya, Lucy.’ He jumped up and hurried to the boys’ locker room. Once he was safe in all-male territory, he leaned against the wall and let out the breath he’d been holding. Oh, great. She thought he was interested in her – and not in a big brother way. What had Jack got him into? Man, if his best friend wasn’t already dead, Ken would have killed him.
Maybe Jack heard his thoughts, because he didn’t try to contact Ken the rest of the weekend, and Ken could think about more important subjects. Like the next seance on Monday.
He’d decided he was definitely going back. That Cassandra, the medium – Ken didn’t have any experience with mediums, but she seemed like the real thing. Her voice, when she related the messages from Margaret’s mother, sounded sincere to him. Like she was really listening to another voice, and like she really cared.
That poor Margaret! He hoped the medium would be able to help her. Maybe if she knew her mother was OK, in heaven or whatever, she’d feel better and be able to get on with her life. The older woman, Dahlia – she seemed a little nuts, but it was possible she actually had experienced other live s. Lots of intelligent people believed in reincarnation.
But the one who had really touched him was Stevie. The boy really cared about his family, and he was desperate to help them.
Ken was dying to talk abou
t this, to share the experience. But he couldn’t tell his friends – they’d just laugh. And how could he explain his own interest without revealing his gift? Lucy knew about it, but he was afraid to talk to her about anything. She’d only think he was coming on to her. So for once he was really looking forward to the gifted class. His classmates were the only people he could tell.
He arrived early at class that Monday. Emily was the only other student already there.
‘I bought a Get Well Soon card for Amanda,’ she told Ken. ‘Will you sign it?’
Ken grimaced. Of course he’d have to sign it – it would be childish and mean to refuse. And it wasn’t as if he wanted her to die, or suffer terribly. But what would he write?
Emily had already contributed her message. ‘Hi, Amanda, we miss you!!! Get well quickly!!! Love, Emily.’
After thinking a moment, he scrawled,‘I hope you feel better soon. Best wishes, Ken Preston.’ It was the kind of thing you’d write on a card that was going to someone you barely knew. But that was how he felt about her now.
He sat at his desk and waited impatiently for the others to arrive. Emily made each of them sign the card, and when Madame arrived she had to sign it too.
As soon as the bell rang, his hand flew up. So did Tracey’s . Madame called on her first.
‘Madame, could we take up a collection to send Amanda some flowers?’
‘That’s a nice idea, Tracey,’ Madame said.
Charles didn’t think so. ‘Her family’s rich. They can afford to buy her plenty of flowers.’
Madame frowned. ‘That’s not the point, Charles. We want Amanda to know we’re thinking about her.’
Martin raised his hand. ‘I’m not thinking about her.’
Jenna turned to him. ‘Just fake it, Martin. It’s the right thing to do.’
‘I think she likes roses,’ Tracey said. ‘Yellow ones would be nice.’
‘Roses are really expensive,’ Emily said. ‘I don’t know if we’ll be able to collect that much money. Are tulips in season now?’
Ken slumped in his seat. Personally, he felt like agreeing with Charles and Martin. But mainly he wanted this discussion of flowers to end so he could bring up his news.
