If I Were You

by Leslie Margolis

  “Wait, I’m coming,” I mumble, but the door opens before I manage to get out of bed.

  I rub my eyes and sit up. Things are foggy at first but soon Reese and Ryan come into focus.

  The boys are dressed in matching green sweatpants and white T-shirts with mysterious unmatching stains in various places. They are ready for the day, which makes no sense. Because last time I checked, it was Saturday.

  “Time to hike!” Reese tells me.

  I roll over and bury my head in the pillow. “Too early!” I say with a groan, except of course my words come out muffled.

  The boys race out of the room and I drift back to sleep, despite their noise.

  A few moments later, someone knocks on the door again. This time it’s Anya. “Katie, sweetie. It’s time for our family hike. Let’s go!”

  “Hold on,” I call, rubbing my eyes.

  I glance at the clock again, thinking I must’ve read it upside down. It’s got to be nine o’clock, right? No, the clock will only stand up this one way. But what is Anya talking about? Is she kidding?

  Katie’s whole family is standing in the doorway staring at me as if I am some creature in a cage. A perplexed and kind of lazy creature. This isn’t a joke.

  I sit up fast. “Sorry, everyone. I’ll get ready.”

  “Okay. Glad you are finally up. We’ll give you privacy while you change,” says Anya. “See you downstairs in five.”

  She shuffles the boys out of the room and I swing my feet around onto the floor. Hiking. An early morning hike. Is six o’clock even morning? It feels like the night before. How am I supposed to hike?

  Well, I’m not sure but I suppose it’ll help to dress the part. I try to open up one of Katie’s dresser drawers, but it’s jammed so tightly with clothes, it won’t budge. I try the closet next. Not only do the doors swing open, everything comes tumbling out. Ugh. She’s such a slob! I can’t even tell what’s clean and what’s dirty. What I can tell is that everything is kind of wrinkled. I grab a pair of white shorts and a blue T-shirt. Actually, it’s my blue T-shirt. I lent it to Katie months ago and forgot all about it. It’s as soft as butter, the kind of shirt that looks great on everyone. It’s also nicer than any other shirt in Katie’s wardrobe. No wonder she borrowed it.

  I pull on socks and lace up Katie’s hiking boots. They are hot pink, which is weird—yet another example of Katie’s bold and misguided attempts at fashion. Hiking boots should be brown or tan—the color of dust. That’s what they’ll end up looking like, anyway. But there’s no one to explain this to and no other shoes for me to wear.

  Ten minutes later we climb into the station wagon. I end up smushed between Ryan and Reese’s car seats. It’s a good thing Katie’s so skinny. There’s barely room to breathe, which is okay, actually. Because when I do breathe in, I smell peanut butter and jam.

  I don’t know why Katie’s parents don’t get a bigger car—a Tesla with a third row, maybe, or even a minivan. Maybe I’ll suggest that later on. Because it doesn’t seem fair, making Katie ride everywhere squished in the middle.

  When we finally get to the trailhead it’s six thirty and the sun is barely peeking out over the mountain.

  Ryan and Reese race ahead as soon as they are out of the car. “Wait for everyone else,” Jeff calls, running after the boys, who scramble away with pretend squeals of fear. He roars like a lion and scoops them both up at the same time, one in each arm. They giggle with delight.

  Once he puts the boys down again, they’re off, kicking up dust with their heels, racing and tripping up the mountain like only Ryan and Reese can.

  Katie’s mom is watching, eyes sparkling. She links her arm in mine and we march behind them. I’m still waking up, yawning and rubbing my eyes and missing Katie’s cozy bed. Still, this isn’t so bad. The sun has just risen and it’s not yet warmed the canyon. It’s chilly, but the cool feels nice. I zip up my hoodie and pull it over my chin so the fuzzy inside rubs against my skin.

  The mountain is steep and the guys are ahead of us. Ryan and Reese keep stopping to pick up stones and twigs. They throw pebbles into the canyon below and, at one point, try to drag a branch the size of the two of them put together.

  Jeff and Anya laugh at their efforts and I watch it all, amazed. This is so superfun. Katie used to complain to me about family hikes. Waking up before the sun, being forced to spend time with the boys … She always tried to sleep at my house on Friday nights so she could skip the outing. Like I said, she doesn’t appreciate her perfect life. She’s the luckiest girl I know.

  Once I’m actually awake and able to enjoy it, the hiking is awesome.

  We zigzag up the switchbacks for close to an hour, getting higher and higher. The fresh air feels awesome and crisp. My legs ache but in a good way. There are birds and lizards and wildflowers growing out of cracks in the mountain. When the boys finally start to complain that their feet are tired, we turn around and head down.

  My stomach is growling, so I’m thrilled when Jeff suggests stopping for breakfast at Jinkey’s Café. I love Jinkey’s and my mom won’t ever take me. She’s wary of any popular breakfast place. Plus, Jinkey’s has refused to cook her egg-white omelets without butter or oil.

  We squeeze into a booth: Jeff and Anya on one side and the boys and me across from them. I make snakes out of the boys’ straw wrappers, drip water on them, and watch them grow. Ryan and Reese shriek in delight like they’ve never seen this trick before.

  “You’re the best big sister, Katie,” Reese says.

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  “I have to pee,” Ryan says, squirming in his seat. “Katie, will you take me?”

  “Of course,” I reply, standing up and helping Ryan out of the booth.

  I notice Jeff raise his eyebrows at Anya, both of them surprised. I should argue, I guess. Tell him I’m too busy, but I don’t have the heart.

  “Let’s go, little dude.”

  When I put my arm around Ryan, he beams up at me and it warms my insides.

  When we get to the bathroom, Ryan says, “I don’t actually need help but I don’t like to go by myself.”

  “That’s cool, buddy,” I say. “I felt the same way when I was your age.”

  By the time we get back to the table the waitress is there and ready to take our order.

  “Chocolate-chip pancakes,” Reese declares loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear.

  “Me, too,” says Ryan.

  Jeff gets eggs and toast and Katie’s mom asks for a vegetable frittata and a corn muffin. A corn muffin sounds divine and I order one, too. Plus eggs and bacon, which is my big mistake.

  “What did you say?” asks Anya.

  I look up, alarmed, thinking Anya must be worried about fat. My mom has talked to me about nutrition and wasted calories enough that I know I’m supposed to order egg-white omelets and at least two vegetables: spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, or peppers—something to make it healthy. But I didn’t think Jeff and Anya would care about that stuff. They included plenty of simple carbs in their orders. So what’s wrong with mine? Why are they staring at me like I’ve grown six heads?

  Suddenly I realize the problem: the bacon.

  I ordered bacon and Katie’s a vegetarian!

  KATIE

  Typical Saturday

  Debbie is watching me as I stare at the trunk of her car, now stuffed full of bags. The realization dawns on me slowly. “We’re dropping these off so we can do more shopping?” I ask.

  “Of course,” says Debbie. “I’m sure there’s more damage we can do.”

  We head back to the mall and we pick up some new swimsuits and after that I can’t even remember what else I bought.

  Three hours later, we’re getting pedicures in the living room. Debbie’s people come to her. I have my feet up and am reading People magazine. One of my favorite singers was arrested for drag racing without a license. Another checked herself out of rehab and shaved her head. It seems weird. If you’re supersuccessful and rich and every
thing, why can’t you just kick back and enjoy life? Maybe go on vacation or go to a spa or take a trip to Australia or somewhere else cool?

  I don’t understand, but I do understand what too much shopping is. I am exhausted and my feet ache. Melody’s mom is tired, too. She’s complaining about a callus on the bottom of her foot and her manicurist, Daisy, assures her she’ll shave it off. This sounds gross, so I bury my head in the magazine again.

  Soon there’s a knock on the front door.

  “Can you get that, Daisy?” Debbie asks.

  Daisy opens the door and in walks some dude with a giant massage table and some fluffy-looking towels.

  “You’re early,” says Debbie.

  “You have a masseuse come to you?” I ask.

  Debbie looks at me, surprised.

  “I mean of course you have the masseuse come to you.” I cough. “I knew that. Um, what’s the occasion?”

  Debbie is still staring—her skinny eyebrows raised high.

  “There is no occasion, Melody. You know that. This is just a typical Saturday.”

  Later that night I’m alone in Melody’s room with nothing to do. Kevin went to the Dodgers game with his dad. Ella and Bea are at sleepaway camp in Wisconsin for the entire summer. Jenna is with her grandparents in Mexico this month and Melody is probably babysitting for Ryan and Reese. I wish I could call her, except I know I’m the last person she wants to hear from.

  And while it seems like I want to call because I’m bored and there’s no one else to hang out with, that’s not totally true.

  I actually want to call Melody because I miss her.

  MELODY

  Supertwins

  “I’m just kidding about the bacon,” I blurt out, practically in tears. The waiter is still watching me, pen poised, with no idea of the stakes. “I meant veggie bacon. You have that, right?”

  I don’t know what veggie bacon is. If it exists, even. But veggie hot dogs exist and veggie burgers do, too. I’ve seen Katie order them. So why not veggie bacon?

  It’s my best way out of this. Katie’s whole family is staring at me like I’m some foreign being possessing her body, which I suppose I am.

  Not that her parents have any actual clue.

  I hope they don’t have a clue.

  I don’t know what would happen if I were discovered. Like, what if Ryan and Reese shared their suspicions and Anya and Jeff took them seriously? It wouldn’t be hard to figure out the truth. Just sit me down in front of a piano and force me to play. Or ask me to do complex fractions or how to spell suffragette. I’m totally bad at stuff like that and a lot more. Katie is a brain and I am not. If Anya and Jeff figured out the truth, I’d probably have to switch back. But would it happen automatically? Or would Melody and I have to go through the wishing tunnel again? Or maybe they’d tell my mom and make me go home, regardless of whose body I was in. I’m so not ready for any of that.

  “I don’t think we have any veggie bacon,” the waiter tells me. He says veggie bacon like it’s in another language, like he’s never heard of it before.

  “No problem,” I say with a smile as I hand back the menu and ignore the stares. “Had to check. I’ll stick with the eggs and corn muffin. Oh, and I’ll take a hot chocolate, too. With marshmallows.”

  Uh-oh. I ordered marshmallows out of habit but I should’ve skipped them because Katie doesn’t really eat them. Reese glances at me for a moment, like he’s trying to figure something out, but he doesn’t say a word and no one else seems to notice.

  Everything is back to normal. Our food arrives and we have breakfast. I go for the hot chocolate right away and the funny thing is, the marshmallow doesn’t taste as delicious as usual. Before I have a chance to ponder the meaning of this I hear the twins fighting. Reese thinks Ryan has bigger pancakes and Ryan is sure that Reese’s portion has more chocolate chips.

  “I can settle this,” Jeff says. He takes both plates and switches them.

  Magically, this appeases the boys. They dig in. I do, too. Everything tastes amazing and it’s awesome being able to eat without my mom staring at me, counting calories in her head and disapproving of the way I chew. She’s probably doing that to Katie right now, and I cringe at the thought. Of course, maybe it’ll be good for Katie to see how imperfect my life actually is.

  After breakfast, Ryan and Reese race to the car and Reese starts crying because Ryan gets there first. “He cheated.” Reese pouts.

  “Did not,” says Ryan.

  “Did too,” Reese insists.

  Ryan yells, “Did not did not did not.”

  “Did too.” Reese stamps his foot.

  “Did too,” Ryan says with a grin.

  “Did not,” Reese replies, and then pauses, confused.

  Ryan claps his hands and dances around in triumph. “Hah! Exactly. I did not cheat. You said so yourself.” It’s a dirty trick. I know because Kyle used to trip me up like that when we were kids.

  I put my arm around Reese and whisper in his ear, “I’ll bet you’ll beat him next time.”

  Reese sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand and climbs into the car, letting me help strap him into his car seat.

  Everyone’s quiet until we get home and then the twins start fighting over their race cars.

  I never realized how competitive the boys are. I try to reason with them but quickly learn there is no reasoning with four-year-olds. They are irrational.

  I need a break, so I head upstairs to hide in Katie’s room. Except it’s not exactly relaxing being here because it’s such a mess. I don’t know how she lives this way, and I realize I don’t have to know. I’ll change things up and organize it myself.

  First, I take everything out of her closet, and then I tackle the dresser drawer. Both are a mess of sweaters tangled up with leggings and inside-out T-shirts and jeans that haven’t fit her since we were in the fourth grade. It takes me an hour to sort and separate. By the time I finish, I find three more of my T-shirts, two pairs of my jeans, my argyle socks, and an ankle bracelet my parents got me when they went to Paris last year. Also, a stuffed animal I left at a sleepover at Katie’s house when we were nine.

  I can’t get mad because I know Katie’s not keeping my stuff on purpose. She’s simply that unorganized. Anyway, by the time I’m finished, there’s a system that makes sense. All of Katie’s jeans are together, and I’ve also grouped her dresses, skirts, and shirts. Sweaters are folded and in a drawer and there’s a giant bag of stuff that’s stained or way out of style or doesn’t fit her anymore or is way too ugly to wear.

  Once I’m done, I’m feeling much better. I can finally relax, except I can’t because the twins have burst into the room.

  They don’t believe in knocking. It’s pretty cute. Usually.

  “Wanna play superheroes with us?” Reese asks. He’s holding a throw pillow from their living room couch.

  “Okay, can I be Superman?” I ask.

  “I’m Superman,” says Ryan, chest out proud.

  “What about Batman?” I ask.

  Reese shakes his head. “No, that’s taken, too.”

  I wrack my brain trying to come up with another superhero name but can’t.

  “Who should I be?” I ask.

  “Catwoman or Wonder Woman,” says Ryan, like it’s obvious.

  “Those are my only two choices?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips. “What if I want to be the Hulk?”

  “You’re a girl. You can’t be the Hulk,” Reese says, giggling.

  “It’s make-believe,” I insist. “I can be whoever I want to be.”

  The boys don’t know how true that statement is, and I laugh to myself. I’m having fun. And just as I suspected, it’s so much better to be the older sibling than the younger. The boys look up to me and it feels great. I call the shots but I’m not going to be a jerk about it. I’m not going to be anything like my real big brother, Kyle.

  I pull a green sweatshirt out of Katie’s dresser drawer and throw it on. “I’m
the Hulk. GGGGRRRR!!!”

  Then I chase the boys through the house out to the backyard. Being Katie is awesome. She doesn’t know how great she has things!

  KATIE

  Surfer Dude

  I have been Melody for almost two weeks now and it keeps getting better. I shop. I get to watch as much TV as I want to. When Debbie is out I get to sleep in. Mornings she’s home it’s workout central but that’s okay. After we’re done exercising, I get to lie around and watch TV or hang out at the beach with Kevin. My boyfriend.

  We ride the beach bus together almost every day and it’s amazing. In fact, that’s where we are right now. Kevin is taking a nap and I am right next to him. I can hear him breathe. Actually, I can hear him snore. This happened yesterday and the day before that, too. Okay, who am I kidding? This happens every single day.

  I used to think that everything Kevin did was cute. Guess what? The snoring is the exception.

  That’s okay, though. I don’t blame him for needing sleep. We did wake up extra early so we could take the first bus of the day, which leaves at seven. Kevin is the one who insisted we get to the beach this early. Apparently that’s when the best waves roll in. And I’m not going to complain because taking the earliest bus means we avoid Melody and Ryan and Reese.

  Kevin is smart to sleep on the ride here. I wouldn’t mind napping, either. Except it’s impossible for me to relax with him leaning on my shoulder, which, I just realized, is feeling a little damp.

  It must be sweat, is what I’m thinking. Except it’s kind of cool out this morning.

  It can’t be drool, can it?

  Oh no, that would be too icky. There’s no way.

  Except I smell cherry-flavored ChapStick, which can mean only one thing …

  I carefully turn my head, look down, and wish I hadn’t.

  Kevin is drooling on my shoulder.

  Yeah, drooling.

  It’s nice that he feels comfortable enough to do this.

  That’s what I tell myself, anyway. And to be fair, there was a time when I thought that anything Kevin did was amazing—even when he drooled. Except that time is not now.