by T Cooper
I scroll through my phone again, feverishly researching party drugs, and after a few more minutes I offer, “From what I can tell, it could be three or four hours until this wears off. You should go home, I’ll deal from here.”
“I’ll stay,” she says. She goes over to where April’s and Jenny’s purses are on the dresser, fishes through for their wallets in hopes of finding IDs. April has a card with her address, but Jenny doesn’t. She opens Jenny’s phone, but can’t get past the security code.
“It seems like you have some experience with stuff like this,” I say.
“All high school girls have experience with stuff like this,” she replies flatly.
“Listen,” I start, but stop when I catch Audrey’s expression. It’s fallen. Confused. Worse: disappointed. So disappointed, for the first time I’m actually relieved she doesn’t know it’s me underneath the Kyle muscle suit.
We sit in silence for a few more minutes. Unsure what else to do, I go back to scrolling through my phone to read more about roofies. One blog says they’re supposed to make you “lose your inhibitions,” feel more “affectionate,” have more “sexual interest,” when you’re on them. Did a dude write this crap? Passing out cold is not “sexual interest.”
I’m such an idiot, I didn’t notice anything was wrong with Jenny until it was too late.
“I know you didn’t drug them,” Audrey says out of nowhere.
“Oh, thank god,” I say. “I swear, I had no idea he was going to—”
“I know,” she cuts me off. She seems sad.
“Do you want to sit on the bed?” I ask, before realizing how it sounds. “I mean, get some rest until they wake up?”
“I’m good.”
“I’m sorry this is happening,” I say.
“It doesn’t sound like it’s really your fault.”
“I should’ve guessed something was up.”
“Why would you? You’re just a guy.”
* * *
I’m kissing somebody, deeply, the softest lips I’ve ever felt. I reach my hand around both sides of her warm cheeks, kiss more intensely for a few seconds before pulling back, slowly opening my eyes and realizing I’m kissing . . .
“Kyle. Kyle. KYLE!”
Whoa, what? Wait. I jolt awake, Audrey jabbing my shoulder to rouse me. I squint, disoriented. Finally I realize where I am. In the upstairs bedroom where the horrible scene played out.
“Good morning, morning glory,” Audrey says sarcastically.
I stand up, notice Jenny and April groggily gathering themselves, not entirely sure what happened. (Thankfully nothing close to what could have.) Sunlight peeks through the curtains, a few early birds cheep-cheeping outside in the trees.
“Hey, aren’t you the quarterback?” Jenny says.
I nod.
“Did we?”
“We did not,” I assure her.
She seems relieved.
The four of us head downstairs. There are kids sleeping all over the living room. Draped across every surface like those melting clocks in DalÍ paintings. We have to hold onto the railing to step over one of my offensive linemen, Buster, who’s sprawled across the last four stairs, a half-empty bottle of malt liquor clasped in his hand. I see his car keys dangling from his wallet chain. I pluck them free, figure he won’t be needing them anytime soon.
We go outside, the humid air thick, making the hair on my arms instantly damp. I click the fob until I hear a car unlock, then I help April and Jenny into the backseat of Buster’s 4x4, open the door for Audrey to ride shotgun, and back down the driveway, avoiding as many empty bottles as I can.
It’s silent in the car on the way to April’s house, except for directions Siri announces from the phone. The wind whips through the open windows, blowing stray Popeyes napkins around the wheel well. In the rearview I see Jenny scrolling through her Snapchat, watching silly five-second videos from the night before. Shared memories that last as long as a sneeze, then vanish as if they never happened at all.
Change 4–Day 21
Today, while we (ostensibly) did some homework, I told Andy almost everything about what happened at the party. When I finished, he said I should report Jason to the local police for drugging and sexually assaulting a minor.
I dialed the station three times, hanging up each time before anyone answered.What was I going to say? I wasn’t exactly the perfect witness.
Audrey tried to explain to April and Jenny more about what had happened as she walked them to the door when we dropped them home. (Well, what almost happened in my case with Jenny, and who knows what happened with Jason and April before he took off.) Audrey gave them her phone number and said for them to call if they had any questions, or wanted to talk, or wanted to report that they were dosed by Jason. She said she would back them up, and that I would too.
Both girls half-listened, anxious to get inside, take a shower, sleep it off, and move on. It was hard for them to see the upside of bringing charges against the former QB, of stirring up a whole hornet’s nest of accusations that would expose them to the worst kind of trolling. And for what? It wasn’t like Jason would ever do time. And they’d be seen as pariahs. We’d all read enough news stories. We’d all seen the Hunting Ground documentary.
When Audrey came back to the borrowed car and got in, her face was flushed. I asked her if she was okay.
“Sure,” she said, and nothing else all the way back to the party house to return Buster’s truck.
I parked, then killed the engine, trying one last time before Audrey could hop out. “I’m here if you want to talk about anything,” I said.
She shot me a glare of pure disdain. “What could you possibly know about feeling powerless?”
Change 4–Day 22
I need to talk to somebody, but there’s nobody who will truly understand. Nobody I can trust. Tracy? Hell no. Mr. Crowell? Yes, definitely, back in the day, but now I’d be too afraid he’d rat me out to Tracy, who would in turn rat me out to Turner and the Council. And then my father would find out. And Dad is obviously not an option. He couldn’t handle even the idea of my sexual assault when I was Drew. I can only imagine the wave of disappointment he’d drown me in if I confessed I was almost the perpetrator, because I was wasted, and had hurt feelings, and wasn’t clued into the fact that my date had been drugged into oblivion. He sees Kyle as the answer to his every Changer prayer. I’ve heard him bragging to all his Council friends about how great it’s going to be to have Kyle representing Changer Nation.
I wish I could talk to Mom. But after all the trouble I gave her last year, with running away, living with the RaChas, being so constantly and deeply depressed—I can’t make her live with the knowledge of what her son allowed to happen.
This afternoon during study hall, I even paced back and forth in front of the school counselor Ms. Hayes’s office, contemplating going in, but I didn’t have the guts to knock on the door. I also bailed on football practice, not telling anybody in advance, a cardinal sin in Coach Tyler’s book. I couldn’t bear to see Jason’s dumb face, was afraid of what I might do to it when I did.
I also avoided Audrey. Purposely came late to homeroom, left early to use the bathroom, studiously avoided her in the halls and at lunch, skipping our shared class. It wasn’t until I was leaving for home that I finally saw her, exiting the counselor’s office that I’d been too punk to go in.
“Hey,” she said from behind me.
“Oh, hi,” I responded, pretending I hadn’t noticed her.
Audrey picked up her backpack that was sitting on a bench. “Do you want to get some coffee with me? I have my mom’s car, I can give you a ride.”
* * *
The cute twentysomething barista pours a foam heart on my latte. Right in front of Audrey. The flirtation is thick.
“I think this is for you,” Audrey says sheepishly, passing me the coffee with the barista’s number inked on the sleeve.
We sit at a rear table and sink into the couch beside o
ne another. But not too close.
“Does that happen often?” Audrey asks, almost sort of wounded. It reminds me of how people treated Destiny while I stood by feeling like an invisible sack of trash in the corner. (Be careful what you wish for the obvious takeaway there.)
“No, not too often,” I finally answer. And it’s not a lie, given I’ve only lived twenty-two days of it. “It’s just people being people.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“I’m sure guys give you their numbers all the time. Or girls. Whatever . . .” I trail off.
And POOF.
It slipped out. I didn’t mean to let it. I recall the kiss vision. The crash. I’ve got to stop this familiar train. She can’t know I know her. Know her know her. You know?
“You’re not a bad guy, Kyle,” she says then. “I know you think that Friday night was about you, but it wasn’t.”
“It kind of was.”
She edges closer, puts a warm hand on my knee. Which sends an electric current through all my limbs, and ends with a whoosh through my heart. “Everyone makes mistakes. Trust me, I have made plenty.”
I resist asking what she means by that.
“I talked with Ms. Hayes confidentially about all of it,” Audrey continues. “April and Jenny want to pretend like it didn’t happen. I don’t even think they believe it happened. It’s always like this.”
“He’s done this before?” I ask, aware of the answer.
“Last year he tried it on Chloe, the head cheerleader. But my friend Kim knocked the drink out of her hand and called him out.” She checks my expression, maybe fishing for any recognition of the incident in question.
I play dumb. “Kim sounds badass.”
“Yeah. She is. Was. Is,” Audrey cycles quickly.
“That has to be hard for you. He’s still your family.”
“Family is what you make it,” she says, sounding like every queer self-help book I’ve ever read. “My brother needs to be held accountable for what he does. But he never is.”
“He will be, one day,” I say, but I’m not so sure.
“On Earth Two, maybe,” Audrey quips.
It feels so warm and familiar between us.
“Well, I should probably get going,” I say, every cell in my body telling me not to.
“Yeah, me too.”
But it’s obvious she doesn’t want to leave either.
Change 4–Day 27
We won the game again. Woo. But it was by a lesser margin. I simply wasn’t feeling it. Barely tried. Yet still managed to throw two touchdowns, and the running backs did the rest.
Honestly, I kind of want to quit football. (Like I did as Oryon.) The exaltation of playing, of capitalizing on what my body was built to do, can’t outweigh how gutting it feels to spend time with Jason—the dog crap you can never get out of your shoe tread, even with a toothpick. We never said a word to each other about what happened at the party. Or him being a serial sexual predator, because 1) in his mind he isn’t, and 2) me confronting him would blow up my life even more. I mean, why would it be my duty to punish Jason? I tried that in the past. Nothing changed.
The definition of insanity is repeating the same behavior and expecting different results. I read that somewhere.
Anyway, the point being, nothing I say to Jason is going to make him have a come-to-Jesus moment where he says, My, I have been a garbage person my whole life, haven’t I? I’m heading to therapy STAT! I’m not fixing that dude. I can’t even fix myself. And my energy is better spent elsewhere, keeping my Audrey vision from coming true.
Which is why I decided to say “peace out” to the Changers Mixer, so I could avoid hearing again about my responsibility to #maketheworldabetterplace.
I told Mom I had the runs. Doused hot water on my face, pushed it into my hair to look like sweat, and opened the door to the bathroom to let my concerned mom in, Dad right on her heels. “He feels clammy,” Mom said, touching her cheek to the back of my neck.
Dad was furious. “The mixers are required.” This was not acceptable perfect-model-Kyle behavior.
Mom shot him a look. The kind that said, Uh-unh, not again, buddy. As in, You messed with my kid last year, and that almost tore us all apart, but I’m not letting you do it again, because if you do, that’s going to be it. (At least that’s how I interpreted her look.)
“It’s one meeting,” she said sternly. “He’s attended every other one.”
“Come on, he played four quarters last night and he was fine,” Dad argued.
“Well, he’s NOT fine now. What’s he going to learn this year that he hasn’t learned the last three? What’s he going to miss, a potato-sack race? A dunk tank? A pie-eating contest?” Mom asked, making the mixer sound corny AF. “I mean if he’s contagious, he probably shouldn’t be around other people anyway!”
Dad studied me, the fake perspiration on my head, thought about it for a few seconds, and then gave in, sucking his teeth. “I’ll get you caught up on what you missed when I get home.”
I grunted (because I was too sick to talk).
The mixers are supposed to feel like reunions, but never actually do, because everybody’s new in their V’s, and nobody can tell who’s who, and plus, we aren’t really friends anyway seeing as we all go to different schools, and have nothing in common besides being Changers who happen to be dispersed throughout the Southeast. It’s like expecting everyone to be friends because they all live in Tampa or like avocado rolls.
Mom helped me into bed and brought me some orange Gatorade with ice, which has always been my favorite thing when I’m under the weather. As we heard Dad close the garage and take off, Mom confided, “I’m so happy I don’t have to go to that mixer either,” and winked.
Which made it seem like she might be onto me but doesn’t care. With Andy still at work and Mom exiting to “reclaim her time,” I flipped open my laptop and started binge-watching Battlestar Galactica from the beginning.
What is it about witnessing the end of life as we know it that makes you feel so much better?
Change 4–Day 28
Tracy came over first thing this morning, after missing me at the mixer yesterday. Making sure I wasn’t still “sickly,” and couldn’t “infect the baby,” she perched a hip on the bed, her growing belly cloaked in a cornflower-blue linen tunic, and grilled me on my life as Kyle thus far.
Turner the Lives Coach apparently sits down with each Y-4 Changer at their final mixer, to get a preliminary vibe about how our Cycles are wrapping up, now that we’ve had the opportunity to experience at least a taste of all our lives.
“I’ll need you to write him an e-mail with an update for your file,” Tracy says. “And there’s another matter.”
I sit up in bed.
“There’s a second Changer at Central,” she reveals matter-of-factly.
“Really? Who?” I ask.
“Her name’s Charlie, and she’s a freshman.”
“Charlie?”
“Yes, Charlene, goes by Charlie,” Tracy clarifies.
I was actually surprised. I always wondered whether there was another Changer at Central with me.
“I told her to keep an eye out for you,” she adds, “but as you can imagine, there might be an intimidation factor with you being, well, who you are.”
“And who is that?”
“You tell me.”
“Touché. Are Charlie and I allowed to talk?”
“Of course, silly,” Tracy says. “But I mean, obviously you can’t, well—”
“I know!”
“I wanted to make sure you remember the rules.” She gives me a look that suggests she has a long list at the ready of times when I didn’t.
“How could I forget?”
“How’s it going avoiding Audrey?” she inquires, changing the subject.
“It’s okay, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I mean, I’m not dating her or anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” I say de
fensively, like Audrey’s not all I think about, and like we didn’t recently share this incredibly complicated and challenging bonding experience together.
“If you can, keep things tickety-boo,” Tracy says, patting me on the leg under the cover. “Let’s get you through the year, and we’re home free.”
“This feels strange,” I pop out. Because as annoying as she is, I miss the old Tracy. How we used to talk.
“What does?”
“This,” I say. “You and me. It feels like we both have walls up or something.”
“I think I see what you mean. I’m not sure what it is.”
“Me neither.”
“I don’t think of you as a kid the way I did the past three years. You don’t need me as much as you did before,” she suggests.
“That’s not true.”
Tracy seems startled. “It isn’t?” She smoothes the collar on her tunic. “You are growing up, Kyle. Changer or not, you’re about to graduate and enter the real world.”
“And you’re about to start a family.”
“Looks that way,” she says, absently patting her stomach. “No putting the toothpaste back in the tube now.”
“Are you talking about Mr. Crowell’s sperm?” I joke.
Tracy squeals. “Kyle! Inappropriate!”
“You brought it up.”
She grabs my toes through the blanket and wiggles. “You’ve always had that sense of humor. Since day one. Anyway, I’ve got to meet the realtor.” She gets up to go.
“Good luck finding your dream home.”
“You’re doing well, Kyle,” she offers, squinting. “Better than you realize.”
“Thanks,” I say. As she walks away, I yell after her, “Do the visions ever not happen at all?”
Tracy freezes. “It’s impossible to know everything,” she answers, unlike the last time I asked.
“You’d tell me if you knew, right?” I press.
But she’s gone.
Change 4–Day 48
