by Shaye Easton
Shakes it, skin to skin.
“It's nice to meet you, Melissa.”
Then she goes.
Chapter Twenty-One
I dream of rain—horrible, pounding rain. The drops hit my exposed skin with enough force to convince me I’m being stabbed over and over again. I break out into a run down a strangely familiar and empty street, trying to escape the icy touch of the water.
A strong gust of wind blows and bowls me over. I collide with the jagged concrete, immediately obtaining dozens of bleeding cuts that sting every time I take a breath. The road is freezing beneath my fingers as I push myself up and back onto my unstable feet, wobbling a few times before becoming reacquainted with the feeling of steady ground.
Just then, another gust of wind comes, threatening to push me over for the second time, but I clench my jaw and push against the wind, determined to remain upright. When it’s passed, I start moving again, running my hands up and down my arms in an attempt to rid myself of the goose bumps covering every inch of my body.
I run for what must be hours, falling and standing, falling and standing, until I spot a dark figure standing at the end of the road, watching me. My mind screams at me to stop running, but my legs won’t obey, pulling me mercilessly forward towards a fate I don’t want to face. But as I get closer, the dark hair transforms into long platinum blonde locks, the skin darkens to a tan, the dull blue eyes grow deep and rich. When I’m a metre away, I finally stop running and the person’s perfectly sculpted face appears.
It’s Sara.
She lifts her arm, a small metal object held tightly in her hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask shakily, my eyes focused on the device.
“I’m taking back my life!” she shouts over the storm. And then she presses the object to my heart and I’m consumed by excruciating pain.
***
I wake up covered in sweat and breathing heavily, the last fragments of the nightmare already fading from my mind. Something about it leaves an uncomfortable feeling in my gut that I carry with me into the day. At first I think it’s just Sara: her face, a ghost from my past, comes back to haunt me. But the more I think about it—while getting ready, on the ride to school, when moving through the halls—the more I manage to unravel the dream.
She’d been holding something in her hand—the device from my memories of being swapped. Could my unconscious mind really have procured a way to swap back?
Despite my gut twisting at the thought of seeing anyone from the lunch table yesterday, I’m desperate to talk to Caden. He may already have the solution, or he may be able to confirm or deny mine.
I’m even more eager to approach Sara again.
Because she touched me.
And I didn’t burn her.
If there was any doubt that she’s Sara Falconer, the girl from my childhood, it’s long gone. I have to speak with her.
The sun is out today. The snow has melted into mush, and everything is slick with dirty water. But it’s sunny. Everyone sits outside at recess, finding dry spots to sunbathe in—a horde of students, all soaking up the light, girls hitching up their skirts to tan their legs. I haven’t seen the sun in what feels like years and I’m constantly squinting, unused to the harsh light.
I spot Caden on his way to the courtyard. I start to approach him, only to get close enough to see he’s already talking with someone else. Or more accurately, smiling and laughing with someone else. With Lauren.
I don’t quite know why my heart sinks. Quickly, I back away and head in the other direction, all thoughts of swapping back fleeing my mind. What am I doing? It’s just Lauren. I like Lauren. Don’t I?
My inner voice rises up and confirms that yes, of course, I like Lauren. She’s never been anything but kind. She invited me into her group. She made me smile. Once or twice, she even made me feel normal.
I’m just being silly.
It’s the Kira thing, I tell myself. Being around any of the lunch crowd makes my cheeks heat up with humiliation, makes my stomach turn with anxiety. I’m just not ready to see any of them yet.
“Melissa!” someone shouts. I turn to see Lauren dodging students, half running down the hallway towards me, and sigh. “Hey,” she says, catching up, a little breathless. “I want to apologise.”
I shoot her a quizzical look.
“What for?”
“For yesterday. For Kira. She doesn’t mean to be, but sometimes she can be really insensitive. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It’s fine.” And it isn’t, but what else can I say?
“Also, I hope this doesn’t mean you aren’t going to sit with us anymore.”
“You really want me around?”
“Uh, yeah. Obviously. Plus, I think Evan might have a thing for you.”
I stare. “Evan?”
“Yeah, haven’t you seen the way he gawks at you all the time?”
“I think you’re mistaking horror for admiration.”
Lauren shakes her head. “Uh-uh. No way. He so wants in.” She waggles her eyebrows.
“Oh my god, gross.”
She laughs. “Wow, that’s a little harsh. I feel bad for Evan, and he’s not even here. Poor guy.”
“It’ll be a learning experience for him: don’t crush on the emotionally unavailable ones.”
“You mean the prudes,” she says, one eyebrow raised, her gaze critical.
I laugh and shove her with my shoulder. “Dick.”
“Speaking of guys, I think a thank you is in order.”
“Yeah?” I say, and swallow. “Why do you say that?”
“For being the ultimate wing woman, duh.”
If I weren’t suddenly so uncomfortable, I’d laugh. I’m a crappy wing woman. “I didn’t do anything.”
Lauren rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you did. You got Caden to sit with us yesterday.”
Oh, that. “That was nothing.”
She’s serious all of a sudden, brown gaze rich with sincerity. “Not to me. Now come on, everyone’s outside.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I’ll pass.”
She pouts.
“God, alright. You’re making me feel guilty.”
“And so you should.” She links her arm with mine and half drags me down the corridor, out into the sun.
But when we get within range of her group, I stop dead in my tracks.
“Oh my god,” Lauren says, her steps faltering along with mine. “Is that the new girl?”
It is. Sara is sitting at the table, eyes bright and full of energy as she chats with the group. Everyone is staring at her, enraptured. She’s a blonde bombshell, radiant and lively, and she stands out like a bright star amongst a sea of darkness. Even then, something about her gives me the feeling that it’s all a charade: that the real darkness isn’t lurking in the shadow of the courtyard walls, but inside this one girl.
“Why is she sitting with us?”
I look over at Lauren who in turn frowns at the table. It’s understandable for me to have an aversion towards Sara, but Lauren?
“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing.”
“I don’t like her. She gives me weird vibes.”
You can say that again.
Lauren pats me on the shoulder and leans close. “Strap in, weather girl,” she murmurs. “Shit’s about to get stormy.”
We approach the table, stopping before them. “Any room for us?” Lauren asks cheerily, though anyone could hear the demand in her voice.
“Of co—” Levi begins.
“No,” Sara interrupts, her gaze piercing and malicious as it lands on us. She cocks her head. “Sorry. It’s already too crowded.”
The table can happily sit four to a bench. With two benches, and only six currently seated, it can easily fit two more. Piper, who’s closest to us, subtly shifts to take up more room.
“Seriously?” Lauren’s got her I’m-about-to-slap-a-bitch face on.
“Well, maybe one of you could fit on the other bench,” Sara says,
gesturing across from her. “It’s Lauren, right? How about you sit there?”
“And Melissa?”
Sara looks over at me. The memory of yesterday afternoon, when she grabbed my hand, rises to the forefront of my mind. She said it was nice to meet me. And now—
“Melissa can sit elsewhere. Can’t you, Mel?”
Lauren fumes beside me. “No, she can’t. Kindly fuck off.”
Sara smiles but doesn’t move and everyone else at the table has their eyes trained downward or away.
“Levi,” Lauren says. “What are you doing? Tell the bitch to move.”
Levi opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything.
“The truth is,” Sara says, “no one really wants Melissa here. No one wants to say it because it sounds harsh, but it’s true. She’s just too—,” she meets my eyes, “—freaky.”
I stare at her, unable to believe this is happening. If she really did swap with me, then she’s had to deal with everything I have. Numb senses. Freezing cold skin. Heat surges. And yet here she sits, perfectly normal in appearance, and accusing me of being a freak.
I want to scream hypocrite, but I can’t. Not with everyone here.
“What the fuck, guys? Why aren’t you defending us?”
“Her,” Evan corrects. “We’re not defending her.”
And I think, So much for that crush.
Lauren huffs. “Fine, we’ll sit somewhere else. I don’t particularly like hanging out with the trash anyway. It smells.”
She takes me by the arm, but I don’t budge. I’m caught in a staring match with Sara, and I know I can’t back down. Her deep blue eyes burn with a strange mix of smugness, knowing, and resentment. Then she winks.
I glower and turn away, allowing Lauren to tug me across the courtyard. “She’s got them all brainwashed,” she mutters. “Fucking bitch. We’ll just sit with Caden.”
I stop. “Um, no, we won’t.”
But in the end, it doesn’t matter, because the air starts shifting around me—the tell-tale sign of an incoming heat surge. “Lauren,” I manage to get out. Then the heat rushes into my chest and explodes throughout my body. It’s lava flowing through my veins. It’s colour dancing behind my closed eyelids. I fall to my knees, fighting desperately to hold in a scream. I clench my fists in a hopeless attempt to distract myself from the pain. My fingernails bite into my palm, drawing blood.
When my thirty seconds is up, I notice the irritation in my hands and stare down at the scarlet crescents on palms, the blood startlingly red against my ghost pale skin.
I look up. Lauren’s backed up a couple steps and at first, I fear she’s going to abandon me, having truly realised who it is she’s befriended. But if it was even a choice for her, she doesn’t make it. Her eyes skip down to my bloodied palms, up to the drying tears around my eyes. And all I see is understanding and compassion. “Come on,” she says softly, “let’s get you to the bathroom.”
The sinks in the female bathrooms are white, but my blood turns the basin an ugly pink. After a minute, the blood clots. Another minute and the wounds have healed. I hide my hands, so Lauren won’t see how fast I heal.
“You okay?”
I nod. “Happens every day.”
“I can’t imagine it getting any easier.”
I look down.
We’d been standing in an empty bathroom, but just then the door opens and someone strides in. And I say strides because it’s Sara, confidently disrupting our peace, her long, perfectly curled blonde waves flowing behind her.
“You just can’t leave us alone, can you?” Lauren all but spits.
Sara looks between the two of us, unfazed. “Lauren, it’s time for you to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere, you—”
Her gaze sharpens into a knife. “Lauren. Leave.”
And amazingly, bizarrely, frighteningly, she does. She walks out the door without another word, indifferent as she leaves me behind.
It’s too creepy, too abnormal, not to be supernatural.
“Now,” Sara says, and her face is grim and reluctant. “What do you want to know?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I want to know everything. A million questions rage war in my brain, scrambling to be heard. It’s too much. I just stare.
“Do you want to know who I am?” she asks, walking around me, circling like a predator. “Do you want to know who I’ve become? What about where I’ve been all this time, or what I know, or why you stand out like a sore thumb, and I don’t?” I’m still staring, my lips unmoving. “Ask me a question, Melissa. Go ahead.”
I fumble to get my words working. In the end, all that comes out is a breathy, “I don’t understand.”
Sara stops, frowns and cocks her head to one side “Not a question, but alright.”
“You’re Sara. From—”
“From the farm, yes. From our childhood. But I thought that was obvious. Ask me something difficult.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Sara sighs and shakes her head. “I’m giving you an opportunity here to learn about me and you want to know why? Amateur.”
“You sent away Lauren.”
She rolls her eyes. “We couldn’t very well talk about this with her here, now could we?”
“But how? She . . . she just left.”
“It’s called being very convincing.”
Just like that, my irritation ignites, “Look, I’m asking you questions here, as you wanted. The least you can do is answer them seriously.”
Sara exhales, watching me for a long moment. “You’re right, I’m sorry. That particular question is a long story.”
“So?”
She shoots me a short sneer. “So recess is only twenty minutes. We don’t have that kind of time.”
“Give me the short version.”
“There is no short version.”
I blow out a breath. “Fine, then how can you touch me? You shook my hand yesterday and it didn’t burn you.”
“Easy. Because we’re two of a kind. Our souls intuitively recognise each other. For you to hurt me would be detrimental to your continued existence and vice versa. And so we just…can’t.”
“What do you mean can’t?”
“I mean, if you were to take out a gun right now, with every intention of shooting me dead, you still wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. Not you you, but your soul. It would stop you. Freaky, hey?”
“How do you know all this?”
She smirks. “Finally we’re getting to all the good questions. I know this because Kathryn educated me in all things supernatural. I was homeschooled when I was younger because I was different. She told me why when I was eleven. It was like finding out I was adopted, but worse. I’m sure you know the feeling.” Her eyes gleam cruelly as she relishes in my pain. I want to slap the expression off her face.
But I calm myself, and slowly ask, “You say you were different. You mean, like me?”
She’s suddenly extremely interested in her nails. “Pale as a ghost, heat surges every other day, skin that burns. A childhood spent skipping from town to town. It was rough.”
“But…?”
“But I wanted to go to school like a normal kid, so we fixed it.” she shrugs.
I laugh humourlessly. “You fixed it. Just like that?”
“Fake tans to fix the skin tone. A little magic to ditch your so-called heat surges. There wasn’t much we could do about the cold skin, unfortunately. I just have to be careful.”
I raise both brows. “I’m sorry, you said magic?”
“It’s not exactly magic. We had someone alter how my soul consumes heat. Instead of daily bursts, it’s slowed to once a month. It’s much easier to hide that way.”
“How does that work?”
She waves a hand. “It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s not. Tell me.”
Sara looks up from her nails to fire a glare, gritting her teeth. “Ask me something else.”
�
��See, this is what I don’t understand,” I say, raising my voice. “You come in here, after being a complete bitch all day, and demand that I ask questions about you. And then you don’t even answer them! What is your end game here? Because I sure as hell can’t see it.”
“Ask me something else.”
“Why are you here?!”
“Because you are!”
I blink. “Because I…?”
“Because if you die, I’m good as dead. And Kathryn wants both of us alive—she wants me to protect you, so I’m stuck here.”
I watch her, a realisation dawning. “But you don’t want that. Don’t you? You don’t want to swap back.”
Her gaze is hard like ice, but the truth shines through the cracks, confirming my fears. “Satisfied?”
I stare at her, not knowing what to think. She wants to die? Dread settles down on my chest, almost crushing it. I feel the black mouth of death reopen and swallow my future. This is not the girl I spent my childhood with. This is a cold-hearted stranger.
I’m solid as stone, rooted to the spot. “You’re going to kill us both.”
There’s no remorse in her eyes. She doesn’t care. “Everyone dies. The point is to die on your own terms.”
“These aren’t my terms.”
And maybe she does care—if only a fraction, if only for a second. She blinks and the sliver of compassion vanishes. “But they’re mine. I knew you wouldn’t leave me alone until I explained myself, so I did you a favour by cutting to the chase. All I ask is that you do me a favour and stay away from me.” She starts for the exit.
“Is that a threat?” I ask, louder.
Sara stops and looks back. “Isn’t it always?”
And she goes.
***
The sun has retreated by the time lunch swings around. I search for Lauren in the courtyard and eventually find her already seated with Caden and his friends. I watch the group for a second. They’re all sports players and beach-goers, all tanned and perfect and mean. I’m aware of the fact that I’m stereotyping, judging them on their appearance, hating them without knowing them, but after the day I’ve had, I don’t have it in me to let them change my mind.
