If I Were You

by Leslie Margolis

  I hide in Melody’s room until I hear the creak of the gates opening and Debbie’s car speeding out of the driveway. Then I head downstairs and eat the salad. Still feeling hungry, I order a pizza. And luckily the place takes credit cards, since I can’t find any cash.

  Once I finish I’m not sure what to do, which is bizarre because I’m always at Melody’s. When my mom and Jeff went on their honeymoon in Hawaii, I got to stay with Melody for ten whole days and we had the most amazing time. But being in the house alone is kinda creepy. The Marrakesh tile, hand painted and imported from Morocco, feels cool on my bare feet. The hallways are so empty that my voice echoes. I play pinball in the game room. I watch some reality TV in the screening room. Then I paint Melody’s toenails, each one a different color of the rainbow.

  Eventually I wander back upstairs to Melody’s room. I decide to go through her closet, pick out something to wear in case I get another day at the beach as Melo. And I hope I do because it was fun, for the most part. Except every single one of Melody’s bathing suits is dark and drab.

  I head to Debbie’s closet instead, which used to be a bedroom. Sailing in through the door, I realize I have hit the jackpot. The closet is humongous and it’s filled with racks and racks of the most fabulous clothing I have ever laid eyes on. Debbie has an entire section devoted to bathing suits and beachwear and that’s where I gravitate. It only takes a few seconds to find my favorite—a gold-and-white-striped V-neck one-piece with a large cutout on each side. It fits me perfectly and looks amazing with Debbie’s sheer white cover-up. I head over to her wall of shoes and select a pair of gold high-heel sandals. They, too, fit as if they were made for my feet.

  With the look complete, I stare at myself in the mirror from every angle, piling my curls on top of my head and then letting them fall down again.

  I look absolutely irresistible. Like I could seriously model, if I wanted to.

  Hmmm … thinking about modeling makes me think of fashion shows and how fun it would be to have my own private one right now, since Debbie’s fabulous wardrobe is literally at my fingertips. I step out of the heels, shrug out of the cover-up, and take off the bathing suit. I try on a silver-sequined ball gown, then a black lace one with a zipper that goes all the way up the back, and then an emerald-green sheath. Next I try on Debbie’s designer jeans and knee-high boots and a variety of sweaters and silky tops and tanks. I keep going and soon stumble upon the most gorgeous red minidress I have ever seen. I put it on immediately, and then find some matching red stilettos.

  I look amazing, but there’s room for improvement. I head to Debbie’s vanity and put on some makeup.

  As I am admiring my stunning reflection in the full-length mirror I hear a knock on the door. Someone is here. I kick off the heels because they’re too high to actually walk in and hurry downstairs. When I look through the peephole I see Kevin standing on the front stoop.

  My heart does that flippy thing again as I open the door.

  “Hi,” I say, confused as ever that he’s here. Because we only just met this morning at the beach. He’s not supposed to know he lives on the same street as Melody.

  Except obviously Kevin does know. Because he doesn’t say hi back. Instead, he gives me this sweet little smile and leans in and kisses me.

  MELODY

  Being a Miller!

  The sun is sinking below the mountain peaks in the distance. It’s my favorite time of day: dusk, right before darkness makes its sneaky, creepy descent. The sky glows warm and fuzzy. No one’s in a hurry at six o’clock. Everything is quiet and mellow, as if the whole world is wrapped in a big fuzzy blanket.

  Katie’s house stands in front of me, quaint and brick and two stories high with three cozy bedrooms upstairs. As I walk up the path to the front door, I smell sweet herbs. The giant terra-cotta pots on either side of me overflow with basil and violet, spearmint and thyme. I know because we helped her mom plant them one Saturday in the spring.

  Ryan and Reese were there, too. When Ryan had to go inside to use the bathroom, he didn’t take off his shoes like he was supposed to, and he tracked in mud, but Katie’s mom didn’t scream and yell. She didn’t even raise her voice.

  Instead she simply had a nice talk with Ryan, explaining why she’d asked him to remove his shoes in the first place—to avoid this messy scenario. Then she helped him get a rag and soap and a bucket of water and she showed him how to clean it up himself, which he did without complaint.

  Last time I tracked mud in my house my mom screamed at me and then called for Greta, the weekend maid, and made me apologize to her for making more work, which was humiliating because Greta wouldn’t even look me in the eye. Then later I caught her staring at me with a pitying glance.

  But dwelling on the past is like scribbling storm clouds on a perfectly sunny picture. There’s no need and no point because everything is different now. I’m a different person, better and luckier. I need to enjoy it while I can—for this whole entire summer—because that’s what I wished for: to start the summer over as Katie. And here I am. It’s happening and it will continue to happen. It’s got to.

  I raise my fist and am about to knock on the front door out of habit when I realize I don’t have to. I belong here and I even have my own key. I hope. Katie is always losing her key, so with a rising sense of dread I take her backpack off my back and unzip the front pocket.

  Yikes! Everything spills out before I can stop it: crumpled tissues, a Rubik’s Cube, a pad of paper and three purple pens, an orange highlighter, and a blue hair band. Also, my silver hoop earrings—the ones I loaned her back in March and haven’t seen since. Katie claimed they vanished and I know she wasn’t lying. Lots of things vanish in Katie’s world. Katie is the most unorganized person I know. It’s pretty annoying but I guess I can help her now. Help myself, that is. After I put on the earrings, I reach for the special hook where Katie’s key is supposed to be clipped but it’s not there. Of course it’s not there.

  I groan out of frustration at Katie. Even though she acts like she’s got the world figured out, her room and her backpack and everything else on the inside are a mess. It drives me bananas.

  I stuff her things back into her bag, vowing to put them in their proper place later on tonight. Then I zip the bag shut and open up the main section to finally find the key at the very bottom—along with five quarters and three pennies—all of which I deposit in her Hello Kitty change purse. A change purse I got her for her birthday last year in an attempt to get her more organized. It’s empty, which is so typical. If Katie were here I’d ask, “Do you like digging around the dregs of your backpack for quarters when you’re trying to buy a juice at lunch?”

  And she would roll her eyes and say, “Melo, it’s not good to be so rigid,” or something like that, except I don’t need to worry about that because she’s not here. Not really, anyway. I’m Katie!

  I feel lighter and happier and jumpier every time I say the words, even quietly to myself in my own head. Katie’s head. Ha ha!

  I’m Katie I’m Katie I’m Katie. I’m smart and funny and regular-looking—cute, even, but not too cute that everyone is always fawning over me like my looks are the only things that matter. Like that’s all I am.

  But better than being Katie is that Katie’s family is now my family. I’ve got cool parents who actually pay attention to me, and two awesome kid brothers.

  After forcing the smile off my face, I unlock the door and step inside.

  To my left is the living room, which has been taken over by Ryan and Reese. Lego bricks and Matchbox cars are everywhere and a gigantic blue racetrack extends from one corner to the other. There’s also a drum set and a guitar and an old, beat-up piano that Katie knows how to play. She’s been taking lessons since she was four years old.

  “Daddy!” I hear from two darling little voices as the boys race toward the door.

  “Nope. It’s just Katie,” I say to Ryan and Reese, who skid to a stop when they see me.

  It�
��s hard to keep from falling to my knees and giving them gigantic hugs. Ryan and Reese are my favorite kids in the whole entire world, both sweet and adorable with their reddish-blond hair and bright blue eyes. They are not identical twins, though. Ryan is a little taller and his nose turns up and he doesn’t have as many freckles as Reese, whose hair is stick straight. Ryan’s is wavy. Plus, Ryan is always picking his nose and Reese bites his nails. Katie claims to not be able to tell them apart but I think it’s an act. They really are their own kids, distinct and amazing.

  Reese seems disappointed I’m not their dad. His hands go to his mouth as he gnaws at his thumbnail. Ryan grins at me, bashfully. He worships Katie, follows her silently with his big blue eyes whenever they’re in the same room. Not that she notices.

  “What are you guys up to?” I ask brightly as I drop my backpack at the foot of the steps.

  “Reese made a car but he won’t share it,” Ryan says with a pout.

  “Ryan didn’t share his plane yesterday,” Reese says.

  “That’s because you always break them!” Ryan cries, finger inching toward his nose.

  “I was trying to fly it,” says Reese, stomping his foot. Reese is a big foot stomper. “That’s what planes are for.”

  “Not Lego planes. Plus, your fingers are always wet!” yells Ryan.

  He has a point but I don’t say so. Neither does Reese, except he does quickly remove his pinky from his mouth. Then he turns around and bolts upstairs.

  “Wait for me!” Ryan calls, scrambling after him.

  I am left in their wake, along with the faint smell of sweet-and-sticky boy. I inhale deeply. Katie is so lucky. She has no idea. What a great thing to come home to every day—the energy and passion and warmth of two lively people who actually want to see you.

  My house is always so cold and empty, my footsteps echo when I walk.

  “Katie, is that you?” Katie’s mom is calling from the kitchen.

  “Yes,” I reply, my voice wavering. I want to address Katie’s mom by her name, Anya, like I usually do, but of course I can’t. “Yes, Mother. I’m here,” I add. Katie’s been calling her mom “Mother” ever since her parents got divorced. It sounds weird coming from my lips—too stiff and formal. Of course, it sounds weird when Katie says it, too. She’s still so mad that her parents split up even though it happened years ago. I mean, yeah, it’s got to be hard but guess what? Katie still has two parents who love her a lot and now they don’t spend all their time fighting. There’s no tension in her house. Everyone has moved on and is happy with their lives. And Katie has two homes with two awesome stepparents and two new brothers to boot. That’s so much better than having parents who stay married for the sake of appearances, parents who don’t even speak to each other, but that’s another story. One I don’t have to live in right now because I’m Katie!

  Let’s just hope everyone sees me that way. Because as excited as I am about this whole body-switching thing, I can’t hide my nervousness. I’m worried Katie’s mom will recognize me as the impostor that I am. And then what happens?

  Of course, if I fooled Katie, then I’m sure I could fool her mom.

  This is what I tell myself as I stroll into the kitchen, where Anya is unloading the dishwasher.

  “Hi there!” I say, still surprised that my voice sounds so much like Katie’s—high-pitched and sharp around the edges. Her words escape her mouth in a clipped tone, like she’s not wasting any time.

  Katie’s mom’s hair is pulled back in a loose bun. Red strands have escaped, framing her narrow freckled face. She’s sweaty and flushed. If she were wearing makeup it would be running, but Katie’s mom never wears makeup. My mom, on the other hand, is obsessed with makeup. She will not leave the house without it. Actually, she will not leave her bedroom without it.

  I’ve figured out that there are moms who transform themselves and moms who go out into the world declaring this is me. My mom is all about covering up the truth, and I’m not just talking about her wrinkles.

  Funny thing is, my mom and Katie’s weren’t always so different. They used to be great friends. That’s how Katie and I met. We went to nursery school together and we had playdates every week.

  I’ve seen old pictures of my mom and Anya, both of them in yoga pants and tank tops, their hair in loose ponytails. It’s like they started at the same point but Katie’s mom went in one direction and mine in the other.

  “How was the beach?” Anya asks, like she’s really interested in the answer.

  “Amazing!” I say, trying not to grin too widely because I’m still feeling amazed. The beach was life altering, which I could add but don’t because, duh, this is a secret.

  “Glad you girls had fun,” she says, smiling sweetly. “How’s Melody?”

  “Good,” I say with a shrug, wondering why she’s asking. “Great.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks. My spidey-senses tell me this is a leading question. Problem is, I don’t know where she’s going with it. Why would Katie’s mom be so interested in me?

  “Why do you ask?” I wonder.

  She looks at me strangely and I start to panic, like she must know something’s up. Obviously they had some conversation about me, meaning Melody, that they are privy to and I’m not. I should just go along with things, pretend I know what’s what. Be cooler than I am about this whole thing and act more confident like Katie would.

  But it’s too late. My cheeks feel warm as Anya tilts her head to one side and stares at me, appraising. She opens her mouth like she’s about to ask me another question, but before she does, we hear the door open again and this time it’s Ryan and Reese’s dad, Jeff.

  The boys scream as they scramble down the steps, cheering and tripping over each other like puppies, both desperate for their dad’s attention.

  Anya and I look at each other and grin and then we both wander into the living room.

  Reese and Ryan are ordering Jeff to sit down and listen to their concert. He flops down on the couch, cheerfully, and pushes back his wavy blond hair to reveal warm dark eyes. He’s in jeans and a blue-and-white-checked shirt.

  Reese is on drums. Ryan plays the recorder. The combined sound is horrific and at the same time wonderful—music to my brand-new ears.

  I feel as if I’m in the middle of a sitcom. Except not the kind where the parents are always fighting and the kids are bratty and filled with snarky comments and everyone’s up to no good. I mean the last three minutes of every sitcom, where everyone gets along and is nice and loving and the hijinks are over, the misunderstandings resolved: a shiny, perfect, happy family.

  After listening to the boys’ show, Jeff gives them a standing ovation.

  “That was amazing, guys,” Anya says.

  Jeff kisses Anya hello, then hands her a loaf of bread. “It’s fresh from the farmer’s market.”

  “Oh, and still warm,” says Anya, truly pleased.

  Jeff says hi to me and asks me how my day was.

  “Dad, you’re not listening!” Reese yells.

  “I have been listening, but now I need to help with dinner,” Jeff explains, laughing good-naturedly. “I promise I can hear you from every room in the house.”

  “That’s good, right, Daddy?” asks Ryan.

  “It’s perfect,” says Jeff, kissing the top of his head.

  I follow him and Anya into the kitchen, all of us wanting to escape the noise but not saying so.

  As Jeff heads to the center island he rolls up his sleeves, revealing the Emily tattoo on his right forearm. Emily was the name of his first wife, the twins’ mom, who died when the boys were barely a year old.

  I try not to stare at the tattoo when I see him but it’s hard not to notice. It’s large and the letters are in fancy cursive with a garland of flowers surrounding her name. He rubs it absentmindedly on occasion. I’ve noticed Katie’s mom looking at it, too. I wonder what that’s like. Knowing there was someone important before you. Before and after you, that is. Katie’s mom and Jeff da
ted when they were in the sixth grade, and then broke up when his family moved away, only to meet up again years later. It’s weird to think about.

  I can’t imagine wanting to marry any boy I know, including the one I’m secretly dating. But I don’t need to think about that now. Not when this is the beginning of summer, and not my problem anymore. I’m not the one who’s secretly dating Kevin. Katie is.

  I wonder if she’s figured it out yet. That’ll be interesting …

  I wonder if she realizes this is real, that we’ve actually switched bodies. Knowing Katie, she probably still thinks this whole thing is a dream. She doesn’t believe in anything she can’t see. We’re different like that. And obviously I’m right.

  “So you never answered me. How was your day?” Jeff asks. I mean Jeff asks Katie. Me. How would Katie answer this question?

  “Great,” I say, and because Katie’s answers are never that simple I add, “Melody and I went to the beach and it was pretty foggy, actually. Not what I was expecting. And the bus was crowded, too.”

  “I hope you were still careful with the sunscreen,” he says.

  There’s a lot of talk about sunscreen in Katie’s house because Emily died of cancer. Plus, Jeff is an environmental scientist. He’s a professor at one of the nearby colleges, Cal State Northridge.

  “I was,” I say, rolling my eyes like I knew Katie would. “You don’t always have to remind me, you know…”

  Suddenly there’s yelling from the living room. Reese and Ryan are fighting about whose turn it is to sleep on the top bunk. They switch off nightly yet can never keep track. Jeff sighs and Anya puts down her knife. “I’ll handle them if you finish cooking,” she says.

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” Jeff replies.

  Once Anya leaves, Jeff turns to me and says, “Okay, sport. Want to help with dinner?”

  It seems like I can’t say no. Katie wouldn’t, I don’t think. And anyway, I don’t want to. “Sure, why not?”

  He surveys the kitchen island. “Looks like we’re having veggie burgers and salad. You can chop the carrots.”