Changers Book Four

by T Cooper

  “Yeah,” I say. “But can I ask you something?”

  Tracy nods.

  “Do kiss visions ever not happen at all?”

  “Worry about tomorrow tomorrow,” she says.

  Which wasn’t an answer. Only, it kind of was.

  Change 4–Day 8

  Audrey gazed at me over her shoulder from the front row of homeroom. Glanced away quickly, then looked right back, double-take style, like in cartoons. Eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

  Ah-oooh-ga!

  I shifted my weight from one leg to the other in the back of the class. As (per tradition) Mr. Crowell asked me to stand and introduce myself to my new (a.k.a. old) classmates. He shared with the class that I had recently relocated from Seattle, and that folks should introduce themselves to me, that I was a “real good guy.”

  Chloe whispered, loud enough for everybody to hear, “I’d climb that pole,” and her crew offered up the requisite supporting snickers.

  “Excuse me, Chloe?” Mr. Crowell said. “Was there something you’d like to ask Kyle?”

  “Not here,” she said, and winked real theatrically.

  I smiled at Audrey the next time I caught her eye, but stopped myself halfway through. Her eyes darted away.

  I didn’t listen during the rest of homeroom, I was so totally fixated on figuring out a way to approach Audrey and confess that I’m Kim. But also that I’m Kyle, the dude who’s going to be responsible for her death, maybe, per Tracy, if that little Mary Sunshine is to be believed. How do I tell her the one part, without telling her the other?

  * * *

  I’m still going back and forth over the maddening conundrum of it all when I pop into the boys’ bathroom in between homeroom and history. I barely register when two ninth grade guys part ways for me to pass to the urinal. How they stop talking and laughing when I get near.

  When I come out of the bathroom, Audrey is waiting for me in the hallway, clutching her notebook to her chest.

  “Hey, Kyle,” she says. “My name’s Audrey. Welcome to Central.” She holds out her hand, the charm bracelet on full display. I pretend not to see it, though it is obvious she wants me to.

  “Great to meet you,” I say, taking her hand and feeling how small it is in mine. The bracelet tinkles when we shake.

  “Do you need some help finding your first class?” Aud asks, peering at me with intensity, like she’s a detective on the case. “It’s a big school. Lot of new kids coming in.”

  “Uh . . . uh, sure.”

  “Let me see your schedule.” She points at my backpack.

  As we walk down the hallway, kids can’t help but stare at me. It reminds me of my first day as Drew, except no one is eyeballing me like I’m their next meal. More like I’m Central’s version of Captain America, at least a head taller than most everybody else, even some of the D-line from the football team, whom I recognize from when I played sophomore year.

  “Well, this is it,” Audrey chirps, lingering like she’s waiting for me to say something.

  “Okay, thanks. Really appreciate it.”

  “That all?” she says. It sounds like a dare.

  “All?”

  “All right. Everything all right?”

  It takes every fiber of my will not to wink or nod or snatch her hand and run down the halls and out the front doors and drive far away where we can prepare to avoid our tragic future together.

  “Yep,” I say.

  Audrey cringes. I don’t blame her. Yep is the worst.

  As she walks away, I realize she could break me. That I won’t be able to avoid coming clean if I spend significant time in her presence.

  My plan crystallizes in that instant: In order to keep my shizz together as long as I am Kyle, I need to get the hell out of dodge. Can’t be that tough. I’ll find a place to hunker down. Minimize contact, but keep tabs. After a year, I’ll tell Audrey what happened, she’ll understand, she always does. Then I’ll choose any other Mono besides Kyle, so the car-crash scenario playing out becomes impossible. Changer life hack! Crisis averted!

  * * *

  “Dude, this is insane,” Andy says as I stuff the last of my clothes into my trusty duffel and duck into the bathroom to pack up some toiletries.

  “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “You’re really worrying me,” Andy says, as I shove some toothpaste, a toothbrush, and deodorant into my bag, and try to zip the whole overstuffed thing.

  “I’ve moved out before. To RaChas HQ.”

  “Which is presently an ash heap. Like your brain, apparently. You really think you can run away for a whole year?” he asks, chuckling. Which kind of makes me mad. “What are you going to do for money, shelter, food? You haven’t thought this through. Trust me, I’ve been homeless and I’ve been housed, and housed is way better.”

  “You don’t understand,” I say, rummaging in my closet for a jacket. Dang, I forgot to buy something at ReRunz that’ll fit my new frame. “Can I borrow your jacket?”

  Without waiting for a reply, I grab Andy’s oversized military coat from the back of the desk chair. As I do, he snatches it. And then we’re each tugging on one end of the jacket like dogs over a chew toy.

  “Dude, let go,” he says.

  “Don’t be a douche. Let me take it, and I’ll bring you another one when I come back.”

  I give one last yank on the jacket, and it comes free, sending Andy off-balance, stumbling in the space between us.

  “You’re the one being a douche,” he says. “Totally selfish and self-centered, all in the supposed name of Audrey.”

  And then I sock him. Out of nowhere. My fist just reflexively cocked back, and I let it fly.

  “What the . . . ?” he yelps, grabbing his eye and sitting back on my bed.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, shocked at myself.

  “You’re taking swings at me? This is crazy. You know that, right? I don’t know if it’s a hormonal imbalance, or maybe you’re just an asshole now, but what the fuck, Kyle!”

  “You wouldn’t even have a place to stay if it weren’t for me,” I argue, trying to modulate my voice. “I risked everything to make that happen, so I have no clue where you get off telling me I’m the selfish one.”

  “Risked what, exactly? I already knew about Changers. Soon enough, everyone will. Secrets are never secrets forever. It’s naïve that you people believe that.”

  “You people?” I yell, yanking the duffel and Andy’s jacket off the floor. I hurl the jacket at him. “Keep it. It’s too small anyway.”

  I storm out. He watches me for a few seconds, almost like he’s seeing whether I’m actually going to leave. And then, as I’m stepping over the threshold, I hear his voice.

  “If you walk out that door, I’m telling your parents,” he says calmly. “Everything.”

  Change 4–Day 9

  Obviously I couldn’t leave.

  Can’t stay. Can’t leave. Can’t kill myself. Can’t build an Alien sleeping capsule and seal the door for nine months.

  So here I am, back at school, and Audrey is helpfully walking me to class after homeroom again, and this time she leans close, up on her tippy-toes, and says, “I feel like we’ve met before.”

  This is of course my cue to come out. It’s like she intuits me, or thinks she does, and all I have to do is say it. Two little words: It’s me. Even a nod or wink would suffice, and all would be well. At least in this moment.

  But I can’t do it.

  So I take the fraidy-cat route and ask, “Sorry, what was that?”

  It’s obvious I heard what she said. She seems humiliated, regroups: “I asked if you wanted to sit together at lunch today.”

  “Yep,” I say. “Catch you later.” It’s official: I’m the yep guy. Maybe that alone will put her off.

  In American civilization, the teacher starts lecturing about the Baron de Montesquieu and the ambition of man. Separation of governmental powers into executive, legislative, and judicial branches. Wh
ich I guess was pretty forward-thinking for the middle of the eighteenth century. And yet this guy who wrote all about liberty and how government should be set up so no man should be afraid of another man wasn’t in support of American independence? Convenient inconsistencies. Akin to The Changers Bible.

  The teacher segues into the theory of environmental determinism, how some people believe where we live makes us who we are. Hitler was into that BS, used it as proof that white Nordic cultures were superior to others. And Thomas Jefferson used it to rationalize African colonization, because tropical climates supposedly make people who live in them “lazy,” “promiscuous,” and “uncivilized.” Whereas people from northern climates are “hard-working,” “rational,” and thus completely “civilized.” Gross. I wonder how the climate explains Jefferson fathering six kids with his slave Sally Hemings?

  The theory seems so stupid now, insidious even. But people still believe equally dangerous things, about who should be allowed to marry, or pee in a public bathroom, or not have children, or have sex with each other, or serve in the military, or live in safety. And these days, they aren’t even bothering with the fancy dressing of a phony science excuse. Change may be coming, but it isn’t coming fast enough. Look at the Abiders. The more difference is sewn into the fabric of humanity, the more a certain segment is going to feel threatened and try to extinguish it. Makes me want to bail on this whole Changers mission and live a tiny life in isolation. Me and Audrey in a cottage, in a seaside village with a post office and a coffee shop. Maybe a used bookstore. No responsibility to change anybody’s mind, ever. About anything.

  * * *

  Over lunch I keep it to small talk with Audrey. She’s still wearing the charm bracelet, letting it creep out of her shirt cuff as she moves her arms to speak or eat. She keeps asking searching questions, and I volley every single one back in a way that proves I’m a newbie here at Central, fresh off the boat from the Pacific Northwest, moving here because my mother got a professorship at Vanderbilt, like the packet from the Changers Council instructed. It’s scary how easy it can be to lie once you get going.

  As lunch progresses, and it becomes clearer Kim is not going to join the party, I can tell Aud is losing heart. Which breaks mine. Afterward we walk toward the one class we have together: environmental science. On the way, I notice Kris taping something to the lockers at the end of the hall. When we get closer, I see what it is: a stack of purple flyers with Kim’s face on them. Underneath: Have you seen me?

  “Any luck?” Audrey asks Kris, while I barely manage to stand by, my face flushing hot and purple as those flyers, I’m sure.

  “Nothing,” Kris mumbles, sticking the last piece of tape to the bottom of another flyer, near a number to call with any information about the disappearance of Kim Cruz. “The police still won’t treat it as a missing persons case.”

  Audrey leans into Kris, and then they embrace for a long time, while I continue to panic inside.

  “Kris, this is Kyle. Kyle, Kris,” Audrey says.

  I reach out my hand to shake Kris’s, and he turns away.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  “Is it?” Kris asks.

  “Sorry,” Audrey interrupts. “We both lost somebody we care deeply about.”

  “That’s terrible,” I say.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Kris snots back, his face red, like he’s been crying.

  “Well, I’m really sorry about your friend,” I say, and I can tell Audrey’s eyes are boring into mine from the side, searching for ANY clue that I recognize who or what Kim Cruz is. I go on: “I once lost somebody close to me, and it was the hardest thing imaginable.”

  Which is true. Chase. Nana. Audrey. Myself.

  Kris mumbles a reluctant, “Thanks,” and wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

  “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “Can you bring my friend back?” he snaps.

  Yeah, in fact, I can.

  “Come on,” Audrey whispers, and squeezes Kris on the shoulder as we pass by.

  I wonder how Aud must be dealing with seeing Kim’s face all milk-cartoned around, knowing full well that Kim ain’t exactly “missing,” and she sure as heck ain’t ever coming back.

  Tracy and Destiny were right. I’d made her complicit in my deceptions. I’d put Audrey in a position where she had to lie to someone she cared for too. All to protect someone who was presently dicking her over.

  * * *

  The day ends in PE. We’re running a mini, modified parkour course, and the teacher disappears for a minute, then returns with Coach Tyler. They’re both staring at me from across the gym. Pointing.

  Moi? I gesture. Coach Tyler waves me over. I run up to him, like old times on the football field when I was Oryon.

  “Where’d you play ball before?”

  “Someplace,” I start, trying to remember the dossier.

  “Speak up, son.”

  “Seattle. Northeastern High.” (I think.)

  “What position?”

  “QB.”

  “Why aren’t you playing here?” Coach demands, while the PE teacher returns to the rest of class.

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “There’s a lot going on, with the move.”

  “Yeah, I heard about some family matters, from Mr. Crowell. I’m sorry to hear about your father’s illness.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I say, falling right back in line.

  “Is his health improved?”

  “Yessss,” I respond, anxious about where this is headed.

  “Good. I want you to play for us, then. We start ten minutes after the final bell. Today. I’ll leave some practice gear in the locker room for you.”

  And BAM, I’m on the football team, taking snaps at practice after school and being given pointers by—of all people—Jason, who takes a special interest in me, because, as he says, “Something about you reminds me of me.”

  Shudder.

  The new QB-1 this year, Darryl, who had been in Jason’s shadow for the past three seasons, apparently sucked at last week’s game. Central got spanked by thirty-one points, with Darryl throwing five interceptions on the night, before (mercifully) spraining his thumb. The second I throw my first twenty-yard spiral and hit the receiver smack in the middle of his numbers at practice, it is clear there’s going to be a new QB-1 in town.

  I have to say, there was something supernatural about how my body moved on the field. It was like the pads were sewn to my muscles, the helmet an extension of my skull, nothing like when Oryon was bouncing like a bobble-head doll all over the field in the same equipment. As Kyle, the harder I ran, the more I wanted to run. The more snaps I took, the more accurate my passes. It was like I didn’t even have to think; the ball went where I wanted whenever I released it. I had no idea where the skill was coming from, but it wasn’t the worst to have dominion over my body in a way I’d never had, not even as Ethan.

  Coach Tyler and Jason kept eyeballing each other like, This boy’s a ringer. In fact, I think the offensive coach might’ve uttered that exact phrase, right before he told me to get some rest and come back tomorrow, that my new jersey number (8, Jason’s old number) was going to be waiting for me, and that my first game was Friday.

  Change 4–Day 11

  Audrey and I are in a routine. We walk together from homeroom to first period, then wave to one another at lunch, and then I avoid her for the rest of the day. I eat alone, but I catch her checking me out at least a few times during lunch period. Nobody sits with me, so I gobble my meal as quickly as possible with my headphones on, head down.

  * * *

  “Howdy,” this guy Brady says to me in the locker room while we’re suiting up for practice. I recognize him from English class last year. He maybe said two words to me (well, Kim), but I didn’t get a vibe one way or the other from him. Good or evil.

  “Excuse me?” I say.

  “I’m Brady.” He holds out a fist.

  “Kyle,” I say, tapping his
knuckles with mine, then go back to tying my shoulder pads.

  “I know who you are. Everybody knows who you are.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he says. “I heard Coach yesterday, already talking about a D-1 scholarship. And my sister, she’s a sophomore. She says there’s a running bet for whoever goes up and talks to you first in the cafeteria and gets invited to sit down. I think it’s up to fifty bucks.

  “That can’t be true.”

  “Lotta rumors about you too,” Brady continues, even though I’m not trying to keep this convo going.

  I guess I’m curious about what these “rumors” are, but there is no way I’m letting him think I care. I nod, tie my cleats.

  “Chloe, you met her? Head cheerleader? Kind of hot? Anyway, she says you used to be a model for Louis Vuitton. She says there’s a picture of you shirtless in one of her European magazines.”

  I laugh.

  “It’s true!” he says. “It is, isn’t it?”

  I say nothing, grab my helmet, and jog out to the field.

  * * *

  The coaches are all over me, trying to get me caught up on memorizing the plays, how to run our offense. It’s a lot to remember, and to be honest, they sort of treat me like I’m dumb. Well, who can blame them—they’ve been coaching Jason as QB-1 for the last three years.

  Speaking of whom, as practice is letting out, Jason gets all up in my business, hopping around and quizzing me on plays, imparting little tips about our crosstown rival’s defense. I see Audrey walking up in the distance behind him, can’t take my eyes off her. And of course Jason notices. Great.

  “What time are we leaving?” Audrey asks him, though she’s peering at me through my face mask. I kind of pull a lips-closed grin, but I don’t think she can see my mouth.

  “Give me a few minutes,” he says, like she’s a pesky mosquito. “This is an important game tomorrow night.”

  “No problem,” I say, “I have to get home anyway.”

  “You need a ride?” Jason offers eagerly.

  “I’m good.”

  “Audrey, this here is my protégé, Kyle.”

  “We’ve met.”