by Tish Cohen
“Got it.”
“If anyone asks if he’s in the country, say no. And feel free to play with the paparazzi. Be coy. Tell them Nige may or may not be in Europe, or northern Canada, something like that. Or say this rehab facility is so exclusive they only take a few patients at a time.”
The principal and Mr. Mansouri are in the parking lot now, shooing away the photographers. I start to open the door. “I don’t think I’ll actually talk to them, if that’s okay.”
Sue spins around to look at me, clearly surprised. “Really? Okay, whatever you want. But enjoy all the attention, sweetie. You’re on top of the world today. You’re the girl the rest of us want to be.”
I climb out and try to ignore the photographers, who are moving closer and chattering excitedly. Some of them call out questions: “Where’s your dad, Joules?” and “When’s Nigel coming home, darlin’?”
I lean into Sue’s window and look at her and say sadly, “I’m not.”
“What?”
“I’m not the girl I want to be.”
Then—what choice do I have?—with Mr. Mansouri and the principal yelling at the photographers and threatening to call the police if they don’t step off school property, I hurry past the crowd and duck my head as they shout out questions: “Where’s your father?” “Do you miss Nigel?” “Do you think he can get sober?”
If I thought the situation was scary before, from within the safety of a locked vehicle, it’s about fifty times more terrifying on foot. My shoulders actually rub against one guy he gets so close—what is he trying to do, get a shot right up my nose? And I can’t escape them. Even if they get kicked off school property, I can see them with their telephoto lenses from across the street.
As I rush toward Leighton Auditorium, I notice Will waving me toward him.
“Follow me.” He grabs my hand and we run along an outdoor hallway that stretches the length of the auditorium. He leads me down some steps and motions toward a huge grouping of piney bushes with twisted, crippled trunks and plenty of bare space beneath for us to climb inside. We both fall to the bare earth and peek out beneath the greenery to see what’s going on over on Chapman.
He grins, leaning on his elbows. “So, what, you’re telling me this new and improved Joules Adams lies down in dirt now?” He pokes me in the side. “What happened to that girlish aversion to things that go bump in the mud? You used to be petrified of insects.”
I shrug. What’s a little pill bug when you’ve changed hundreds—and I do mean hundreds—of diapers? Please. At least bugs aren’t covered in human excrement. “What can I say, William Benjamin Hugo Sherwood? I’m an enigma.”
His brows shoot skyward. “An enigma who knows my terrible second middle name?”
I laugh a little and roll onto my side to face him. “Seriously. What were your parents thinking?”
“I’ve never told you that. I’ve never told anyone that. How did you find out?”
When I was over at his house that day working on our school project, it was kind of cold and we were making hot chocolate—those little packets that you mix with boiling water. I had finished my work so I volunteered to heat the water and do the mixing. While I waited, I looked around the room and tried to commit to memory every detail of the place he grew up in. There was a little stack of mail on the counter that had spilled over, and right there on the top was a letter from the school to William Benjamin Hugo Sherwood. A girl obsessed doesn’t forget a detail like that, not even three years later. “I have my ways.”
“Sneak.”
“Hugo.”
He laughs, but his cheeks are tomato red and it makes me feel bad for teasing him.
“Come on, I’m serious,” he says, growing more anxious. “I don’t want that to get around.”
The expression on his face is starting to resemble fear now. It makes me realize something. Even with things going well between us—or between Will and Joules—he is still afraid to fully trust her. He isn’t quite sure what his girlfriend will do with this information. I lean closer to poke him playfully in the arm. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”
And the fear melts away from his features. He shoots me this super-appreciative half-grin that says he really does see me—Joules—as someone he could care about. It sends a gush of warmth from my chest to my toes. “Thanks, Joules,” he says.
I smile and look down. The pressure of this moment is mammoth. Here we are, hidden away, our faces not even twelve inches apart, and the kiss I’ve imagined sits all around us like a glass bubble. One false move and I shatter it. The urge to babble idiotic nonsense is rising up my esophagus and onto my tongue but I clamp my lips shut so I don’t start yammering on about the lumpiness of the root beneath my stomach and how we’ll need to get late slips and what sort of excuse we can use for why we’re late because we can’t exactly say we were lying in the bushes. Believe me, if I open my mouth right now, that’s what will come out.
So I say nothing at all.
The silence I hope will inspire the kiss starts to fester and stink instead. Will blows hair out of his eyes and changes the subject. “So, yeah. You sure know how to stir up a Monday morning with all those photographers.”
I nod, disappointed. “I had to shower with the bathroom curtains shut in case these guys were crawling down the hillside with telephoto lenses.”
“Good thing you’re semi used to it. Anybody else would be a wreck.”
I am anybody else, I want to say. I am a wreck.
“Who do you have staying with you at the house while Nigel is away?” he asks. “You’re not alone, I hope.”
I roll my eyes, grinning. “Who do you think?”
“Seriously? All of this is fake?”
“Yup. He watched baseball all day yesterday, drank beer, ate leftover Chinese.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Nope.”
“He’s been at home all this time? So, the getting on the plane thing, the sad expressions, the waving goodbye—that was all pretend?”
“A hundred percent.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow. He put on quite a show. You did too.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not proud of it, believe me.”
We stare at each other in silence for a moment. Then he looks away and blushes. “I can’t believe you know about Hugo. I can never look you in the face again.”
I shimmy a bit closer and let my chin drop onto his shoulder. “Don’t look away, WBHC. I think it’s cute.”
This mischievous smile spreads across his face and he rolls me onto my back and tackles me, trapping me with a knee across my lower half. The weight of his leg, the umbrella of leaves, the feel of his breath on my cheek, it’s so intense I could burst. My skin is hot and tingles shoot through my body.
He pushes my hair off my cheek and I could faint from his touch. Kiss me, I want to scream. Kiss me!
Suddenly, I don’t care what I’ve promised Joules. Will and I are hidden. No one will ever know it happened. Joules will never find out. It’s the chance of a lifetime, to kiss the one boy I’ve crushed on for years. I’m Joules, it’s not even cheating. Besides, wouldn’t it all be in the interests of securing him for her?
He trails one finger along my hip and shakes his head as if he too is floored by what’s happening. “Joules …”
I let my lips brush against his jawline. “I know.”
He closes his eyes and groans softly.
There’s no going back now. I wouldn’t stop what is about to happen even if it meant being Joules forever. It would be an even trade. I push my body against his and feel his hand move under my shirt and slide up my back.
Then it happens.
There’s a grunt or a gasp outside of the bushes, I’m aware someone is there, and suddenly the weight and warmth of Will’s thigh is gone and my legs are cold. We’re being pushed apart. I look up just in time to see Joules dive down between us and get her shoulder in my ribs as she drops.
Will stares, sh
ocked, as Andrea Birch props herself up on her elbows and shoots each of us an angry grin. “Aren’t you guys way late for class?”
“Hey, we’re, uh, we were kind of in the middle of something here,” says Will, eyeing me as if to ask if I invited her.
“Yeah? Cool, I’m bored. That’s what it’s like to be Andie Birch,” she says. “B-O-R-I-N-G.”
I see what she’s doing here. She’s trying to make me look like an idiot for when we switch back. I snort. “Then maybe you should get to class. Isn’t Mrs. Leonard passing back the tests today?”
“I’m thinking it’ll be more fun if you walk me there. Joules.“
She wants to separate me from Will, I get that. But she destroyed what was quite possibly the greatest moment of my life, and part of me wants her to pay. “Nah. I’m good.”
“She’ll see you in class, Andrea,” Will says. “We just need a minute.”
Her head snaps around to face me. The look in her eyes is pure wickedness. “Walk me there, now. Joules.”
“Walk there yourself. Andrea.”
Will watches me, confused.
Joules rolls onto her back between us and lets one of her hands caress her belly. “Guys, how do you know if you’re pregnant? And is it bad for the baby if you do it a few more times once you’ve conceived?”
“You are NOT pregnant, Andrea. You’re not that kind of girl.”
“I don’t know. These days I think I kind of am. I’ve been in the bushes with Shane so many times, you know? And little Stewie Mercer. And Alan King. And what’s-his-name from the cafeteria—you know, the one who can’t work the cash machine so they make him stack boxes in the back? The one who pulls his hairnet right down over his eyebrows?”
I grab her arm, haul her out of the bushes and, after an apologetic glance back at Will, I march her toward English. “I was just getting him back for you, you idiot. Nothing happened yet.”
“Looked like lots was happening. A deal’s a deal, Birch Tree.”
“I’ve been going through hell all weekend. Excuse me if I actually enjoy getting your boyfriend back. You have no idea how much good I’m doing for your life.”
“You think I enjoy yours? That Brayden kid keeps going on about how smokin’ Joules Adams is—did you know he had the hots for me?”
“Of course!”
She shudders. “And those short people with the diapers! Why do I have to do all the changing from the time I get home? Sam completely reeks of some kind of candy floss lip gloss. And the stuff in your closet—seriously. You have almost nothing to wear. I swear to God, if I have to live one more day in your life I’m offing myself.”
“And now when we switch back, Will’s going to think I’m a slut!”
She smiles coyly. “He won’t. I’ll keep him so busy he’ll never think of you again. There. Problem solved.”
“What about Bray? Did Mom ground him for the office break-in?”
“Are you kidding? Your dad gave him some yard work but your mother thinks he just needs counseling. She keeps saying things like, ‘You are better than your past, Brayden. You can only rise above it if you choose to.’ Crap like that. He totally takes advantage.”
“It’s his friends. I don’t trust them, you know?”
She nods. “Tomas and Dillon? They’re not so bad. Neither is the little one—Ace, is it?”
“I’ve seen the way they look at our things when they’re over. And Mom’s bracelet went missing a few months ago. I swear that Tomas kid took it.”
Joules starts laughing. “You’re such a dreamer, Birchie. Like anyone in their right mind would want to grab anything from your house. The whole place is covered in crushed Cheerios and vomit and work charts, and all your freaking TV plays is The Weather Show. Believe me, your belongings are safe.”
It’s too much. I can’t take hearing about any of it. I want my life back. My eyes tear up and now I feel sick about being willing to swap my entire family for a moment with a boy.
Joules looks at me and hisses, “Stop it. Joules Adams does not blubber at school.”
I step behind a huge arched column and lean over the rail so no one can see me. “I’m tired of this. I want to switch back.”
“People will see you. Me. Cut it out!”
“I can’t stand it any more. And what if we never figure out how to undo it?”
“We will. We totally will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know you have to think positive. Believe it.”
“Yeah, I tried that the last time and look where that got us.”
She thinks about it a minute, then brightens. “I know. What if we do the Wizard of Oz thing. Tap our heels together and say ‘No place like home,’ like Dorothy and Toto.”
“This isn’t a movie, Joules. It’s real life.”
“It’s worth a try. You don’t seem to have any better ideas.”
“Don’t be an idiot! That story is pure fiction. And Dorothy had the witch’s ruby slippers.”
She laughs sadly. “Yeah. We need some glittery red shoes.”
Glitter. Wait a minute.
Gran’s gloves—I’d forgotten all about them. I was wearing them when I made the wish.
She picked up those crazy rubber gloves in Africa—that much I know. But Gran never did tell the whole story. Maybe there’s more to it. Maybe there’s some reason for the gloves to have some sort of freakish special abilities. Who am I to say the wish didn’t come from those froufrou-ed dishwashing gloves that smelled like old tires?
I need to talk to Gran. Now.
“What?” asks Joules. “You want to try?”
“No.” I motion toward her black T-shirt and my yellow one. “Switch tops with me.”
“What? Forget it. I like this one.”
“I have to go someplace and I don’t want the photographers to follow. And give me your headband and sunglasses.”
“Seriously? You’re going to screw up my term if you miss class.”
“Like you ever cared about that.”
“I do! And anyway, I’m not changing tops …”
“You want your life back, Joules? Or would you rather live out your life in dirty diapers and vomit?”
She looks around and motions for me to follow her to the little alcove where the custodian parks his truck. The place is covered on three sides and private enough, as long as no one happens along. There, she pulls off her top and motions for me to do the same. “Where are you going? I want to come.”
“You can’t. I can’t get an absence right now. I have the Stanford interview soon and I cannot afford to have another strike against me. Besides, there’s the paps.”
Joules snorts and pulls the black T-shirt over her head. “Paps. I swear, Birch Tree, you are the un-coolest girl ever. Even in my body.”
As I race down the hallway in my old shirt, she calls after me, “Aren’t you going to tell me where you’re going?”
“I’m going to see someone about a pair of ruby slippers.”
chapter 18
Turns out I didn’t need the disguise. I stayed within school grounds and exited onto the street from the gym building—way on the other side of campus from where the paparazzi were posted—and jogged along a short alleyway until I got to Harbor Boulevard.
Gran’s apartment is almost alarmingly normal. She lives in one of these Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs cottages in town, complete with pretty white curtains in the window. She has flowers in her garden and a straw mat in front of a glossy blue front door. I don’t know what would be more fitting for her—maybe an African baobab instead of the lemon tree, and a scattering of poisonous frogs instead of impatiens.
I knock on the door, and right away she flings it open. “Yes?”
“This is going to sound weird.”
She squints at me. “Is this about my newspaper? Because I’m on the Internets now.”
“No.” I step closer. “Gran, it’s me. Andrea.”
“Excuse me?”
/> One of her neighbors, a woman carrying a baby boy, looks concerned and calls from her porch, “Are you okay over there?”
Gran waves that she’s fine, which sort of annoys me. I mean, she doesn’t know Joules at all. How does she know Joules isn’t working with some gang of home invaders who are hiding in the bushes, about to pop out and storm the house? Gran says, “I think we’d better go inside.”
Inside, the house is even more normal. The walls are white and the tiny foyer has a sensible gray mat for wiping your shoes and a sturdy bench so Gran can put on her sneakers “without falling over and breaking a hip like some kind of old wrinkly.” She leads me into the living room and motions for me to sit on her long, striped sofa.
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”
“Gran, I know it’s weird, but I’m Andrea.”
She drops into a chair and examines me. “My granddaughter?”
I nod.
Her eyes, blinking confusedly, travel from my shoes, up my legs and torso to my face. “Andrea Birch?”
“Yes. It makes no sense but, see, I was really upset. I’d missed the model tryouts and getting the free jeans and Mom was mad at me and Cici and Sam took my lip gloss and then Michaela was in my room and I couldn’t even talk to Will—”
“I don’t understand. Who’s Will?”
I sigh and look up at the ceiling. “Only the greatest guy who ever lived. So there I was, and Mom told me to do the dishes and, well, I just took off. I ran as far as the bridge where the trains go overhead and, you know, Joules’s life looked so unbelievably good—I mean, she actually kissed him right there in front of me, and I did a really stupid thing. Gran, I wished we could switch lives. And now I have my Stanford interview coming up. So stupid! It’s not like I thought …”
“Oh dear.” Gran holds her hand up for me to stop so I do. “You really are Andrea.”
“Yes! I am. And I’m stuck in Joules’s body.”
“Well,” she says with a snort, “there are worse bodies to be stuck in.”
“Gran.”
