If I Were You

by Leslie Margolis

  I giggle out of nervousness. “Of course I did. I mean, it was a temporary thing and I’m completely better now. But why would I lie?”

  “Maybe because you’re avoiding Katie,” he says.

  I’m not sure of what to say, so I hop off and duck down underwater. Then I swim a few laps.

  When I emerge from the water, Kevin is sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs dangling in. “I think you should come clean,” he tells me. “Be honest with her. It’s worse to pretend we’re not a couple. She’s going to find out the truth eventually and it’s going to be bad.”

  “Hah!” I can’t help but laugh because Kevin has no idea how messed up things already are.

  “It’s not funny,” says Kevin. “She’s your best friend. I know you’re trying to spare her feelings and all, but it’s not good.”

  I don’t know what to say. Kevin is surprisingly perceptive and sensitive. It’s totally annoying!

  MELODY

  Another Day at the Beach

  Katie is avoiding me. I know she is. I saw her and Kevin this morning when I was at the bus stop. The two of them fled as soon as they spotted us. I’m glad I was able to distract Ryan and Reese before they noticed her. They’d be crushed if they thought Melody didn’t want to hang out with them and I don’t want to put them through that kind of disappointment.

  Sure, I’m a little upset that my best friend and my boyfriend won’t speak to me, but I know things are pretty complicated. I need to focus on the positive. The sun is shining and the sky couldn’t be a prettier shade of blue. Ryan and Reese look adorable in their coordinating, Hawaiian-print swimsuits. Reese is in blue. Ryan is in red. I’m having so much fun with Katie’s brothers. It’s like having life-size dolls to play with. Except with supersweet and adorable personalities.

  They’re so excited to get to the beach. The two of them practically leap up the steps when the nine o’clock bus arrives. We are first on and they agree that we should sit in the front row, luckily. But then they fight over who gets the window seat.

  “It’s no fair. You got to sleep in the top bunk last night, so I should get the best seat on the bus,” says Ryan.

  “And you get the top bunk tonight,” says Reese. “So I should get the window.”

  “Guys, why don’t you take turns?” I say. “You can switch when we’re halfway there.”

  “How will we even know that?” asks Ryan.

  “The wishing tunnel marks the halfway point to the beach,” I tell them.

  “The what?” asks Reese.

  “I mean the tunnel. You guys can switch when we get to the tunnel and then it’ll be perfectly fair and square.” I don’t want them to know about the magic. They’re too young. Who knows what they’d wish for: a lifetime supply of cookie-dough ice cream, the freedom to watch television 24-7, or real live race cars? It’s dangerous.

  “Okay, fine,” Reese grumbles. “But let me sit here first.”

  I agree, because he’s already in the seat, and miraculously, Ryan does not complain.

  We are on the bus and moving and the boys switch when we get to the tunnel and all is well.

  When we get to the beach, we collect our things and scramble off the bus. We pick a spot by the lifeguard, because it seems like a smart thing to do.

  “Last one in is a rotten egg,” says Reese, racing to the water.

  “No fair!” Ryan yells, following after him.

  I slip out of my shorts and take off my shirt and join the boys.

  Soon we’re splashing in the surf, ankle-deep. The sand is cold and squishy and the water even colder. I am loving this. We race out and when the wave comes crashing down we run away screaming.

  Later on we run into Amira and Jessie, two of my friends from school. They help us collect seaweed so we can decorate the castle we’re building.

  It’s got five towers and a giant moat and a drawbridge made out of pebbles.

  I’m coming back from the ocean with a bucket of water when Amira asks, “Where’s Melody?”

  It’s not the craziest question. Melody and I spend most of our time together. But it still surprises me. I was having so much fun I’d forgotten about our fight and how she avoided me this morning at the bus stop. How she turned back and went home rather than actually speak to me.

  “Don’t know and don’t care,” I say.

  Amira and Jessie both seem shocked.

  Jessie asks, “Did you guys get in a fight or something?”

  “Or something,” I tell her. “It’s complicated and I’d rather not talk about it.”

  KATIE

  Lunch and Lunges, but Not in That Order

  On Saturday morning, I wake up to someone screaming Melody’s name from downstairs. It’s confusing until I realize she’s calling for me.

  “Melody? Melody, answer me!” Debbie is yelling with such intensity I’m kind of afraid to respond. Of course, I’m also afraid not to …

  I hop out of bed and go to the railing.

  “Yeah, Mom?” I ask, gazing down.

  “Don’t lean on the railing like that,” she says. “It’ll get loose again and I just paid Manny to tighten the screws.”

  “Sorry.” I hold up my hands and back away.

  Debbie makes her way upstairs. She’s in workout clothes and her face is red and sweaty and she’s guzzling water from a big bottle of Evian.

  Whenever I see a plastic water bottle, the number thirty billion pops into my brain because that’s how many plastic bottles end up in landfills every single year. It’ll take a thousand years for all of those bottles to decompose.

  That’s not even the scariest thing about plastic bottles. They also contain a ton of gnarly chemicals and often those chemicals leach into the “purified” water they contain, which means the chemicals end up in your body and that can’t be good.

  A much safer option—as Jeff and my mom have been telling me for years—is to drink from a glass or stainless-steel water bottle, one you can clean and then refill with filtered water.

  I’m surprised Debbie doesn’t know this since she’s all about healthy food and exercise. Yet there’s nothing less healthy than ingesting a bunch of random chemicals. I don’t say a word, though, because that’s not Melody’s style.

  I won’t say my best friend is meek because I’m not rude. But she’s not one to stand up for herself or voice strong opinions. She’d rather stand back and let things happen around her.

  Instead I wait patiently to see what Debbie has to say.

  “Those thighs aren’t going to stay that way if you don’t work out,” she warns.

  I am not sure how to respond to this, so I keep my mouth shut. I do wonder why Debbie is worried about Melody’s body, though. It’s amazingly perfect.

  “Come on. Let’s do some lunges around the pool,” Debbie says.

  “I’m still waking up,” I say, rubbing my eyes. This is both the truth and what I hope is a valid excuse.

  “If you do lunges with me now we can go shopping afterward,” Debbie says, grinning.

  Suddenly I’m wide-awake. My mom hardly ever takes me shopping and when she does she’s all about Old Navy and Target and wherever is having a big sale.

  Something tells me sale isn’t a part of Debbie’s vocabulary. It doesn’t need to be.

  A Saturday afternoon shopping spree sounds amazing. I stretch my arms up over my head and grin. “Okay, I’ll do it! Just give me a few minutes to change.”

  “See you downstairs in five,” says Debbie, pointing to her big gold watch. “I will be timing you.”

  Once she’s gone, I head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. Then I slip out of my pajamas and into a pair of black spandex capris and a blue tank top, pulling my curls into a tight ponytail on top of my head.

  Melody’s mom is doing sit-ups when I get downstairs. She’s out of breath but still moving fast.

  I stand there and wait for her to finish.

  “Come on, lazy bones. Join me!” she huffs.r />
  “I said I’d do lunges,” I reminded her. “Not sit-ups.”

  “When I said lunges I meant work out with me. Come on, babe. Didn’t you say you had nachos on Monday? And I can tell you’ve been roasting marshmallows again. Your hair smells like smoke.”

  I quickly grab a lock of my hair and sniff. She’s right. It smells like last night’s bonfire with Kevin. We’ve been roasting marshmallows almost every night this week. And spending our days at the beach, which has been incredible.

  It’s funny, though. I’d forgotten about the nachos from Monday. I wonder why Debbie cares. I mean, what’s the big deal? So I had lunch. Everyone has lunch. But before I defend myself, I think, what would the real Melody say in this situation? And the answer is nothing.

  We do sit-ups and then lunges around the pool. Our hands are on our hips and we are bobbing in time.

  “It’s like we’re soldiers in the war against fat,” Debbie says.

  I laugh because this is genuinely funny. When I think about wars, images of backyard swimming pools surrounded by white and lavender roses don’t really come to mind.

  Except Debbie seems totally serious.

  We lunge until I’m out of breath. “How much longer?” I huff.

  Debbie checks her watch. I didn’t realize she was timing us. “Another minute and then we can move on to free weights.”

  “I never agreed to free weights,” I argue, forgetting for a moment to act more like the real Melody. This is getting hard and it’s hot out.

  “Humor me, Melo. Pretend this is fun.”

  The swimming pool is gorgeous, but after a while the scenery gets boring.

  “Hey, why don’t we go to the beach?” I ask.

  Debbie’s nose crinkles up. “Too sandy. Plus, you and Katie have been there every day this week. That’s why I got you the bus pass.”

  I gulp, guiltily.

  “We could hike,” I suggest.

  I realize that today is Saturday, which is my real family’s hiking day. Okay, it’s a drag getting up early in the morning, but hiking an actual mountain is way more fun and probably better exercise than endless lunging around the swimming pool.

  “Too dusty,” Debbie replies.

  I am out of ideas. I wonder if Melody does this a lot. Exercises with her mom, I mean. If so, she never told me.

  Twenty minutes later, after the lunges and the weights and the leg lifts, I am panting and exhausted and ready to lie by the pool.

  “Let’s go in,” says Debbie, waving a hand toward the water.

  “Great idea!” I say. “I could float around for an hour, at least.”

  “Are you kidding, lazy bones? We’re doing laps!”

  “No,” I groan. “My arms feel like they’re going to fall off.”

  “You’ll be fine,” says Debbie. “And you do want to go shopping after this, correct?”

  She’s got me there. We go in to change into bathing suits and when we get back, we each do ten laps freestyle and ten of the breaststroke and then three butterfly and then, when I feel as if I can’t move, I tell her I’m done.

  “Great. We already worked off our lunch. We’re way ahead of the game.”

  “So we can actually shop now?” I ask.

  Debbie smiles as she readjusts her ponytail. “Sure. Meet me at the car in twenty.”

  She hops out of the pool, grabs a towel, and heads inside.

  Soon we’re in Debbie’s car zooming toward the mall and then we are inside, where Muzak pumps in from invisible speakers, real plants look plastic, and everything is bright and shiny.

  Our first stop is a boutique where every salesperson knows Debbie and Melody by name. Debbie immediately finds a slinky silver cocktail dress for herself. “This will be perfect for the Fourth of July,” she says, admiring the dress on the hanger.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Oh, we’re not going anywhere. But your father and I are going to be in San Francisco,” she says. “At least that’s what he promised. He’ll probably find some excuse and back out of it, last minute. You know your father…”

  I don’t, actually, so again I stay silent.

  Debbie doesn’t notice. She tries on three more dresses that would be perfect for the event but she can’t make up her mind, so she buys them all.

  Our next stop is the juniors department at Nordstrom. I try on a pair of skinny jeans and a silky white tank top. On Katie it would look ridiculous, I’m sure. But on Melody, it’s gorgeous. I look sixteen and stunning and I cannot stop looking at myself in the mirror. I am pleased, to say the least. And Debbie is, too.

  “I used to be young and thin like you,” she says with a sigh. She keeps making weird comments like this, but whatever. We buy the jeans and the top and two dresses. One is red and the other is black with a gold shiny stripe running down the side. Both are short and kind of tight. Not exactly Melody’s style, but they look so amazing, I can’t pass them up.

  Next I pick out a zebra-striped dress and hold it up to my body, admiring myself in the mirror. “Animal prints?” asks Debbie, raising her eyebrows.

  “Is it too much?” I ask, checking the price tag and trying not to look too shocked by the number printed on it. I have never spent even close to this amount of money on an item of clothing and I don’t think my mom has, either.

  “No, I’m just surprised. But go ahead and try it on. I’m sure it’ll look stunning on you.”

  I try the dress on. It does look amazing—clingy in all the right places. We buy the dress and some matching wedge sandals and a new headband and silver hoop earrings to go along with it.

  Then we get three more pairs of designer jeans each, the kind my mom always says are a waste of money.

  When all the new clothes are piled up on the counter by the cash register, they tower over me and Debbie and the saleslady.

  I’m wondering if Debbie’s going to ask me to cut it in half or take out a few of the pricier things, except she isn’t even paying attention. She’s on her cell making an appointment with her hairdresser.

  When the saleslady adds everything up and gives us the number, Debbie throws down her credit card without even blinking. I don’t even know if she heard the final amount but she doesn’t seem concerned, either way.

  She only seems annoyed that we have to stand around for another five minutes while the saleslady folds everything and wraps it in tissue paper and tucks it into bags.

  Now that Debbie is off the phone she rolls her eyes at me, impatient.

  Once the bags are ready, I grab them—three of them stuffed full—and we head to the shoe department. Same deal—everything I want I get. New pink Uggs, flip-flops with sparkly rhinestones, black strappy leather sandals and the same pair in brown because I can’t decide between the colors. “Get both,” says Debbie, looking bored.

  “Ready to go to lunch?” she asks as the guy in the shoe department is running her card.

  I nod. “Sure.”

  Rather than go to the regular old food court, we find a table at the fancy café at the other side of the mall.

  Debbie gets a salad with light Italian dressing on the side. When I try to order my favorite—an eggplant pizza with extra cheese—Debbie puts her hand on my arm and says, “Sweetie. Do you really need extra cheese? Do you know how much cheese goes into a regular pizza?”

  I shrink back from her. “Yeah, not enough,” I say. “That’s why I ordered extra.”

  “Well, I hope these cute new clothes still fit you after this meal,” she jokes. At least I think she’s joking. She lets me go ahead with my order, but doesn’t look too pleased.

  Soon after that her phone pings with a text. She reads it and then says a bad word I won’t repeat.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Your father promised me he’d be back tonight, but now he’s stuck in San Francisco with another work crisis. We’re supposed to have dinner with the Demseys at Raul’s and you know it’s impossible to get a table at Raul’s. I’ve bee
n waiting to go there for months. But does your father care? No!”

  “You can still go without him,” I say.

  My mom smiles to herself, sadly. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

  Melody told me her mom gets Botox treatments that take away any expression on her face, but it’s not true. Debbie’s forehead doesn’t wrinkle like a normal person’s, but she still looks sad.

  “Want to see a movie? Maybe we can invite Anya and Katie over,” I say before I can stop myself. My mom and Debbie never hang out anymore and they probably haven’t spoken in years. It’s an absurd suggestion. But I don’t know, I guess I’m missing my real mom. Even though it hasn’t been that long.

  “I don’t think Anya is interested in hanging out with me. No offense, sweetie. She’s got better things to do.”

  When the check comes Debbie doesn’t even glance at it. She just plucks her AmEx out of her wallet and places it on top of the little folder.

  “Ready?” she asks, picking up her shopping bags.

  I grab mine, too. When we get to the car, Debbie’s mom opens her trunk.

  We throw the bags inside. I didn’t think there was such a thing as too much shopping but I am exhausted down to my bones.

  When I head to the passenger side of the car and open the door, Debbie asks, “Where are you going? You only want to do one round today?”

  I laugh because I think she’s kidding. It seems like we bought out half the mall. Except no. Debbie is totally serious!

  MELODY

  Wrong Order

  I’m in the middle of some crazy dream when I hear pounding on my door. It’s a hard, heavy sound that I don’t register at first, probably because I’m not expecting it. I open one eye and look at the clock, which reads 6:00 a.m. Who could be at my door at that crazy hour? And wait a second! Who am I?

  I check my arm. It is still skinny and freckled, which means I’m still in Katie’s body. Phew! I’ve had the most amazing week, hanging out with her brothers. We’ve been to the beach every single day and it’s been awesome. We’ve splashed in the surf and made sand castles and I even struck a deal with Anya. As long as I take care of Ryan and Reese, I don’t need to practice piano. It’s a total win-win situation. Except I assumed I’d get the weekends off.