Dead Girl Dancing

by Linda Joy Singleton

  Impressed with how far she’d gone to help a friend—and not wanting to give her any reason to try out that Taser—I obediently sat down. Hannah’s granny skirt flared out on the blanket as she sat down across from me, keeping her gun hand lifted while she grabbed the straps of her bag and swung it between us.

  “This is how this works.” She spoke with determination. “You sit still and look at what I have to show you. No interruptions.”

  “But what about Eli? He’ll worry when I don’t come back.”

  “I’ll take care of him.” She withdrew a phone from her bag, then flipped it open with her pink-frosted thumbnail. It was a smooth move, actually, since her other hand continued to hold the gun. I couldn’t help but be impressed with her multitasking skills.

  Except I was more anxious about what she was going to do. I watched uneasily while she punched a button and lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Hey, Eli,” she said in a casual tone. “Yeah, it’s Hannah … I know, it is a surprise … actually, that’s why I’m calling.” The gun wiggled as she laughed. “She’s here with me, it’s a coincidence but we just ran into other … Calm down, she’s fine, but she’s having severe stage fright so I’m giving her a pep talk. She says for you to go ahead and she’ll join you soon.” Abruptly, Hannah hung up.

  “All done,” she told me, smiling. I noticed that as she put her phone away, she hit the off button.

  “So now what?” I asked warily.

  “The intervention begins.” She used the butt end of the gun to gesture to her beach bag. “We’ll start with our sixth-grade science trip.”

  When she started pulling out scrapbooks and photo albums, I began to think Hannah’s bag was a bottomless pit. She had each of her many books organized with labels for the year and for the events. The blue album showed Hannah and Sharayah, age eleven, grinning as they paddled canoes and trudged on hikes at science camp. It was cute how they both wore pigtails and similar clothes, and even their poses were alike as they goofed for the camera.

  Seeing them together made me think of Alyce and miss her more than ever. We’d never shared science camp (well, I’d gone, but even in elementary school Alyce shunned social events), but we did camp out once in a house that was rumored to be haunted. We hadn’t met any ghosts but we scared each other by telling stories all night.

  Album by album, I went back down Sharayah’s memory lane. Sharayah and Hannah had been so close that I began to understand Hannah’s motivation in bringing me here. And her resourcefulness was amazing. I mean, the “closed” sign on the bathroom was brilliant. No one would come in to disturb us.

  Including Eli.

  My mind wandered while she pointed to a picture of a golden, long-haired puppy that Sharayah had given her as a birthday gift when she turned sixteen. But each minute we reminisced diminished my hopes of winning the Voice Choice competition. I was running out of time—in more ways than one. The clock on my body switch was ticking, too. I wasn’t wearing a watch so I didn’t know the exact time, but I’d glanced at Eli’s watch before I left him and it was almost three.

  The body switch could happen soon.

  Grammy had said that once it started, there was no stopping the process.

  “Hannah, I’ve seen enough photos,” I said as I closed a book from third grade. “I appreciate all you’ve done, and it’s worked. This was exactly what I needed to get my head together. You’re a great friend.”

  “That’s not what you said when you moved out of our dorm. You cut me off like I was a stranger,” she said with a sniff. “That was just cruel.”

  “I’m really sorry. But I wasn’t myself—it was like I was possessed by a demon,” I added for dramatic effect. Sharayah probably wasn’t the dramatic type, but it always worked for me. “I was horrible, and you’re the best friend in the universe not to give up on me. I can never thank you enough.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “Absolutely. I want to be friends again.”

  “Oh, Shari, that’s what I was hoping you’d say.” Her whole demeanor changed and she lowered her hand—but still held on to the gun. “I was sure all I needed to do was get you to listen to me and remember the good times.”

  “You were right,” I assured. “Your intervention was a success. Since we’re done here, I really need to get back to the contest.”

  “Why?” She wrinkled her brow.

  “To show the judges what an amazing voice I have. Don’t you want me to be a singing star?”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Um … no.”

  “Come off it, Shari. You’re the most private person I know. You’ve never sung in public! You’re always teasing Eli about his secret passion for karaoke. And you never, ever brag about having a good voice.”

  “So singing isn’t my dream?” I asked.

  “Duh. You can’t stand pop tarts like Britney. You want to be a doctor.” She frowned at me. “Maybe you really have been taken over by a demon. But I won’t give up on you. I still have three photo albums and the scrapbook for the secret club we made when we were in third grade.”

  She eyed me suspiciously and lifted the Taser.

  Then, with steely determination, she picked up yet another photo album.

  While she turned pages and reminded me of a trip to Lake Tahoe and a wild ride on a snowmobile, my hands started to itch. The itch heated up into a strange warmth that spread through my arms. I glanced down and had to swallow a gasp when I saw my fingers glowing. And the rest of me felt weird, too. My thoughts swam in a fog and I felt numb all over, as if I was disconnecting from my body.

  Sharayah’s body.

  What time was it? I tried to ask Hannah, panicked when I couldn’t hear my voice. Sounds echoed all around me, as if I were being swept along a dark tunnel.

  It was happening, I realized. What I’d wished for desperately, yet dreaded, too. I was leaving Sharayah and returning home. Only I wasn’t ready yet. I sent my thoughts out to Grammy, begging for more time because I hadn’t made Sharayah a star. I hadn’t said good-bye to Eli, either. It was all happening too fast, out of control, swirling dark colors mingling with a sense of rushing movement.

  Then I felt myself stop.

  A jolt as if I’d crashed into a wall.

  And when I opened my eyes and looked around, I realized the “wall” wasn’t made of brick or concrete—it was made of flesh, blood, and curly brown hair.

  I was Amber again.

  “Amber! You’re awake!”

  I glanced around, aware of so many things at once: the hospital bed I was in, the tube running from my arm to an IV pole, the half-open curtain letting in dim light from a cloudy day, and the crying woman staring down at me. After being in two different bodies within the past week, facing Dark Lifers and almost becoming the next Voice Choice star, I was me again. Average-looking, savvy, future entertainment agent Amber Borden.

  “Mom?” I whispered, almost afraid to believe this was really happening.

  My mother sobbed and rushed for the bed. Crying my name over and over (which was very cool to hear again!), she wrapped her arms gently around me, tears streaming down her cheeks and falling on my arm—an arm with faint scars from falling in nettles. Memories rushed back at me but this time they were my own: the screech of tires of a runaway mail truck, meeting Grammy Greta on the other side, waking up in the hospital in the wrong body.

  But now, for the first time in weeks, I was in the right body.

  And my mommy was hugging me.

  Soon we were both crying.

  It was like someone shook up a bottle of craziness, then popped open the cork. Everything blurred in a rush of joy and tears. Dad showed up, then nurses and doctors. Mom was like a bull charging up to the doctors, insisting that I was awake, healthy and ready to go home. While Mom battled about protocol and hospital rules, Dad bent down and hugged me so hard that a nearby machine started beeping. And throughout this, I kept studying my body, marveling at my freckles, small
breasts, and chubby thighs.

  I loved being me.

  At some point during the insanity, a phone rang and my father handed it to me.

  “Dustin!” I exclaimed.

  “Amber?” he asked cautiously. “Is it really you?”

  “Yes! But how did you find out already?”

  “I have my sources,” he said in his typical know-it-all tone. “Wow! You sound like the real you again.”

  “Great, huh?” I heard myself and smiled.

  “Supreme greatness. So when can I see you?”

  “Soon, I hope.” I glanced over at my mother, who was glaring furiously and arguing with a doctor. “My parents are working on getting me released ASAP.”

  “So you’ll come home tomorrow?”

  “I think so. Home—what a beautiful word.”

  “I’ll bet it is. So chill and enjoy being back, but then I want to know everything. Like, how did the audition go?”

  “Don’t ask.” My smile faded.

  “You bombed?”

  “Worse. I never made it. But I can’t talk about that here,” I added in a whisper. “I’ll explain later.”

  “Call me when you’re home.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  “And Amber, just so you know … ” he paused, suddenly awkward.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s great to have you—the real you—back.”

  I looked around at my parents and swelled with emotion. “I know.”

  After a long night of tests and examinations, I was released the next morning. My little sisters tackled me when I walked through the front door, a tiny team of triplet football players wearing protective plastic trainer pants.

  “Sissy, Sissy, Sissy!” Melonee, Olive, and Cherry screamed as they grabbed my legs and hugged.

  I winced at the pain from my bruises (I had been hit by a truck, after all), but hugged them back. I couldn’t get over how they’d grown. I was like Rip Van Winkle returning home after a hundred years, although it had been less than two weeks. But a few weeks for little kids is like a century. My sisters had learned new words and could string some together in short sentences. They each had new talents to show me. Olive could do a backward somersault (obviously not taking after her gym-resistant big sister), Melonee could count to eleven, and Cherry kept saying “Knock, knock,” then giggling whenever I said, “Who’s there?”

  I was thrilled to see my cat Snowy, but she wasn’t as friendly as Kitty Calico and gave me attitude (until dinner, when I snuck food to her under the table). Mom made a welcome-home, triple-layer caramel cream cake for me, and I showed my gratitude by taking two slices. Afterward, feeling sleepy and full, I went to my room—where I finally found some alone-time to make an important phone call.

  Eli, Eli! Answer!

  But he didn’t.

  The stupid phone rang and rang until the voicemail picked up. Where was Eli? I agonized. Why hadn’t he answered? By now he must have realized I’d switched back to myself, so he should have tried to call me. Yet he hadn’t.

  Discouraged, I left a short “Call me ASAP!” message.

  Then I tried Alyce’s number.

  I was still reeling with regret over not being there when she needed me. But now I was home and I would help her through her crisis—no matter what it was. It wouldn’t be guy troubles, since she was too picky to go out with anyone. So that left either school/homework issues, complications with graveyard photographing, or something to do with her mother.

  Usually her problems were mother-related.

  So when her mother answered my call, I got a sick feeling in my gut.

  “Hello … Is Alyce there?” I asked nervously. “This is Amber.”

  “I know who you are,” she said coolly. What did she have against me, anyway? I’d always been extremely nice and polite to her.

  “Can I talk to Alyce?” I asked.

  “Why would you want to do that?” Her hostility was sharp enough to draw blood.

  “Because I’m her best friend.”

  “My daughter has no friends.”

  “That’s not true!” I argued. “Please tell her I want to talk to her.”

  “Unfortunately, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  Click. Dead phone.

  Oh, great, I thought grimly. That went well … not.

  I stared at the phone in my hand, blaming myself for handling that all wrong. But what else could I have said? Did Alyce really hate me or was her mother lying? I thought back to our last conversation, how insistent Alyce was that I come home right away, then her anger when I’d refused. She’d needed me and I’d let her down.

  Was our friendship really over?

  Reaching across the bed, I scooped up my cat before she could protest and hugged her to my chest, a tear trickling down my cheek and landing on her silvery fur. If only I could read Alyce’s mind to know what was wrong. She wouldn’t talk to me, so how could I help her? I didn’t dare go to her house now. Not when Attila the Horrible Mom might answer the door and slam it right in my face. But I could try at school. Alyce and I shared classes, so she couldn’t ignore me forever. Somehow I’d fix everything and we’d be BFFs again.

  The phone rang, and I grabbed it.

  “Alyce?” I cried, hopefully.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” came an amused male voice.

  “Oh, Eli! I’m the opposite of disappointed,” I assured him, sitting up and further disturbing Snowy, who hissed at me and indignantly scampered over to the edge of the bed. “I’ve been worried about you … and Sharayah.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “And Sharayah seemed okay when she called a few hours ago. She’s with Hannah.”

  “She is?” I relaxed against my pillow. “That’s a relief. I worried about what happened after I left, but Sharayah will be fine with Hannah. I think Hannah is great—despite the stun gun.”

  “Stun gun?”

  “A Taser. I’ll tell you everything when I see you. Are you back home?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, hurry! It’ll be so cool to be with you and be myself. We can … ” I hesitated. “Well, finish what we started without breaking any moral or legal laws.”

  “I’d like that—but it could take awhile. There’s something you should know about the Voice Choice competition.”

  “Oh … that.” I frowned. “Sorry I bailed on you but I couldn’t help it. Hannah forced me into an intervention.”

  “What?”

  “You know, an intervention. It’s usually for someone on drugs, or alcoholics, but Hannah did it to remind me—I mean, Sharayah—of their friendship. She had all these albums and—”

  “That’s really interesting,” he interrupted. “But something major has happened that you need to know about.”

  “What?” I gripped the phone, imagining illness, car accidents and Dark Lifers.

  “Relax, it’s nothing bad. It’s ridiculous, really,” he said with an odd laugh. “I mean, I never expected anything like this to happen. I only stayed in line because I thought you were coming back. When I handed in the form, which I’d filled out fast and sloppy, they saw the name Rockingham and kept calling me ‘Rocky.’ Before I could explain, these official dudes led me to a stage, handed me a mike, and told me to start singing.”

  “Oh, poor Eli! How embarrassing!”

  “It was at first, but all my goofing off with karaoke kicked in and I had fun.”

  “You’re just being nice so I won’t feel guilty for leaving you in such an awful situation. I’m so sorry I ever made you take me to that contest.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m not, and neither were the judges.” He chuckled. “I made it to the finals.”

  It was strange and wonderful to fall asleep in my own bed and my real body that night. Although it was hard to sleep with my mind spinning so fast, going over everything that had happened. Some of it was good—like being with my family and seeing my own face in a mirror. There was also Eli’s accident
al success. Who knew he had a fabulous voice? I was happy for him, but disappointed for myself because he had to stay in L.A. for a week.

  But it was Sharayah I couldn’t forget. I was worried that my mission to help her was incomplete. I’d been wrong about her dreams and almost set her up for a competition she would have hated. And I didn’t restore her self-esteem or mend her broken heart. There hadn’t been enough time to even leave her a letter of encouragement. The only thing I’d left behind was my GEM. What would she think when she found it? Would she remember anything that had happened the last few days? If she did, how would she handle knowing that Gabe was a Dark Lifer?

  Not well, I suspected, which made me feel even worse. I had to be the worst Temp Lifer in history. If Sharayah did gain self-esteem and return to being a loving sister, loyal friend and top student, the credit would go to Hannah. Not me.

  Sharayah was lucky to have a best friend who stuck by her no matter what and never gave up on their friendship. That’s the kind of friendship I used to have with Alyce. But by not being there when Alyce needed me, I’d let her down.

  Would she ever forgive me?

  Tossing in my bed, I finally drifted off to sleep.

  But somewhere in the middle of dreaming, I found myself surrounded by light and moving as if on an invisible escalator. I was rising up, up … until I was stepping into a surreal world where a path of silvery clouds led me to Grandma Greta.

  Cola was there, too, sitting on what seemed to be a comfortable leather couch, his Duty Director lit up like holiday lights. He barked and rushed over, tail wagging. I hugged him, enjoying the tickles of his doggy tongue on my face. Then I looked up at Grammy, tensing because I was afraid of what she’d say about my first (and last) Temp Lifer mission.

  So I said it for her.

  “I know, I know … I blew it. I’m so sorry I let you down, Grammy.”

  “You haven’t let anyone down,” she told me. “You fulfilled your duties splendidly.”