Switch

by Megan Hart

  clowns. "Just because you want something doesn't mean

  you should have it."

  "Just because you want something doesn't mean you

  should deny yourself the pleasure," Miriam said serenely.

  "Buy yourself that box. You deserve it."

  "I have nothing to write with it!"

  "Letters to a sweetheart," she suggested.

  "I don't have a sweetheart." I shook my head again.

  "Sorry, Miriam. Can't do it now. Maybe some other time."

  She sighed. "Fine, fine. Deny yourself the pleasure of

  something pretty. You think that's what you need?"

  "I think I need to pay my bils before I can buy luxuries,

  that's what I think."

  "Ah. Sensible." She inclined her head. "Practical. Not very romantic. That's you."

  romantic. That's you."

  "You can tel al that from the kind of paper I buy?" I put

  my hands on my hips to stare at her. "C'mon."

  Miriam shrugged, and it was easy to see how she must

  have been as a young woman. Stubborn, graceful,

  beautiful. "I can tel it by the paper you don't buy. When you're an old lady, you'l be wise like me, too."

  "I hope so." I laughed.

  "I hope you'l come back and buy yourself that box. It's

  meant for you, Paige."

  "I'l definitely think about it. Okay? Is that good enough?"

  "If you buy the paper," Miriam told me, "I guarantee you'l find something worth writing in it."

  Chapter 02

  Shal we begin?

  This is your first list.

  You wil folow each instruction perfectly. There is no

  margin for error. The penalty for failure is dismissal.

  Your reward wil be my attention and command.

  You wil write a list of ten. Five flaws. Five strengths.

  Deliver them promptly to the address below.

  The square envelope in my hand bore the faint ridges of

  realy expensive paper and no glue on the flap, like the

  reply envelope included with an invitation. I turned the

  heavy, cream-colored card that had been inside it over

  and over in my fingers. It felt like high-grade linen. Also

  expensive. I fingered the slightly rough edge along one

  side. Custom cut, maybe, from a larger sheet. Not quite

  heavy enough to be a note card, but too thick to use in a

  computer printer.

  I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,

  I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,

  musky perfume clung to the paper, which was smooth but

  also porous. I couldn't identify the scent, but it mingled

  with the aroma of expensive ink and new paper until my

  head wanted to spin.

  I touched the black, looping letters. I didn't recognize the

  handwriting, and the letter bore no signature. Each word

  had been formed carefuly, each letter precisely drawn,

  without the careless loops, ticks and whorls that marked

  most people's writing. This looked practiced and efficient.

  Faceless.

  The paper listed a post-office box at one of the local

  branch offices, and that was it. Since moving into

  Riverview Manor five months ago, I'd received a few

  advertising circulars, requests for charitable donations

  addressed to two different former tenants and way too

  many bils. I hadn't had any personal mail at al. I turned

  the card over again, listening to the soft sigh of the paper

  on my skin. It didn't have a name or address on the front.

  Only a number, scrawled in the same languid hand as the

  note. I looked closer, seeing what in my haste I hadn't

  noticed before.

  114

  114

  That explained it, then. This note wasn't for me at al. The

  ink had smeared a little, turning the one into a passable

  version of a four, if you weren't paying close attention.

  Someone had stuffed this into my mailbox, 414, by

  mistake.

  At least it wasn't another baby shower or wedding

  invitation from "friends" I hadn't seen in the past few years.

  I wasn't a fan of being put on a loot-gathering mailing list

  just because once upon a time we'd been in a math class

  together.

  "What's that?" Kira had come up behind me in a cloud of

  cigarette odor and now dug her chin into my shoulder.

  I don't know why I didn't want to show her, but I closed

  the card and slipped it back into the envelope, then found

  the right mailbox and shoved it through the slot. I peeked

  into the glass window and saw it resting inside the metal

  cave, slim and single and alone.

  "Nothing. It wasn't for me."

  "C'mon then, whore. Let's get upstairs. We have a

  "C'mon then, whore. Let's get upstairs. We have a

  threesome with Jose, Jack and Jim." She held up the

  clanking paper grocery sack containing the bottles.

  Every woman should have a slutty friend. The one who

  makes her feel better about herself. Because no matter

  how drunk she got the night before, or how many guys she

  made out with at that party, or how short her skirt is, that

  slutty friend wil always have been…wel…sluttier.

  Kira and I had traded that role back and forth over the

  years, a fact I would never be proud of but couldn't hide.

  "It's not even eight o'clock. Things don't start jumping until

  at least eleven."

  "Which is why I stopped at the liquor store." She looked

  around the lobby and raised both eyebrows. "Wow.

  Nice."

  I looked, too. I always did, even though I'd memorized

  nearly every tile in the floor. "Thanks. C'mon, let's grab the

  elevator."

  She had to have been as equaly impressed with my

  apartment, but she didn't say so. She swept through it,

  opening cupboard doors and looking in my medicine

  cabinet, and when it came time to eat the subs we'd

  bought for dinner she made a show of setting my scarred

  kitchen table with real plates instead of paper. But she

  didn't tel me it was nice.

  It was almost like old times as we giggled over our food

  and watched reality TV at the same time. I hadn't forgotten

  what a bizarre and hilarious sense of humor Kira had, but

  it had been a long time since I laughed so hard my stomach

  clenched into knots. I was suddenly glad I'd invited her

  over. There's something nice about being with someone

  who already knows al your faults and likes you anyway…

  or at least doesn't like you any less because of them.

  She had a new boyfriend. Tony something-or-other, I

  didn't recognize the name. Kira had never mentioned him

  in her text messages or occasional e-mails to me, but the

  way she dropped it casualy into our conversation now

  meant she wanted me to ask about him.

  "How long have you been going out?" I leveled a shot of

  Cuervo and studied it, not sure I wanted to take it. Once

  upon a time I'd been able to toss them back without fear

  of the consequences, but I hadn't done much drinking

  lately. I pushed it toward her, instead.

  Kira drank back the shot with a practiced gulp. "Since just

  after you moved. A long time."

  I didn't feel as if it had been
that long, but anything longer

  than three months was a record of sorts with her. "Good

  for you."

  She wrinkled her nose. "Whatever. He's good in bed and

  buys me shit. And he has a fucking awesome car. He's got

  a job. He's not a loser."

  "Al good things." I had slightly higher standards, or at least now I did, but I smiled at her description of him and

  wrapped up the papers from our food.

  Kira got up to help me. "Yeah. I guess so. He's a good

  guy."

  Which said more than anything else she had. I shot her a

  look. Times did change, I reminded myself. So did people.

  When it came time to get ready to go out, though, the Kira

  I knew faked a gag. "Gawd, don't wear that."

  I looked down at my low-rise jeans. They were boot cut. I

  I looked down at my low-rise jeans. They were boot cut. I

  had boots. I even had a cute cap-sleeved T-shirt. The

  hours of working out I'd been putting in lately were paying

  off. "What's wrong with what I have on?"

  Kira swung open my closet door and rummaged around

  inside. "Don't you have anything…better?"

  High school was a long time ago, I wanted to say, but

  looking at her short denim skirt and tight, bely-baring

  blouse, I figured my comment would be lost. I shrugged,

  instead.

  "I know you have hotter clothes than that." Kira

  reappeared from my closet with a handful of shirts and

  skirts I remembered buying but hadn't worn in a long time.

  She tossed the clothes onto my bed, where they spread

  out in a month's worth of outfits.

  I picked up a silky tank top in a pretty shade of lavender

  and a stretchy black skirt. I held them up to myself in front

  of my ful-length mirror. Then I put them back on the bed.

  "No, thanks," I said. "I'l wear what I've got on. It's comfortable."

  Kira shook her head. "Oh, ew. Paige, c'mon."

  Kira shook her head. "Oh, ew. Paige, c'mon."

  "Ew?" I looked at myself again. The jeans clung to my hips and ass just right, and my T-shirt emphasized how flat my

  stomach was becoming. I thought I looked pretty damn

  good. "What's ew?"

  "It's just, you know…" Kira trailed off and pushed her

  way next to me to hog the reflection. "You gotta show off

  a little bit."

  I looked her over. Even in my stack-heeled boots, I stood

  a few inches shorter. She'd grown her natural red hair into

  long layers that fel halfway down her back. She never

  tanned, so her dark eyeliner looked extrablack and the

  fuck-me red lipstick even redder.

  I looked in the mirror again, turning my chin to one side,

  then the other, to catch my profile. My hair's blond. And

  it's natural. My eyes are blue, but dark, almost navy. I

  look a lot like my dad, which is one reason, maybe, why

  he never bothered denying I was his.

  "I think I look fine," I told her, but the faint sound of

  longing slithered into my voice.

  I spent my clothes budget on simple, brand-name pieces I

  picked up off-season or in discount stores. I'd spent the

  past few years building my wardrobe. Clothes for work

  and casual wear that looked expensive enough to pass as

  classy. I paired them with shoes I couldn't always afford. I

  wasn't going to be Clarice Starling, giving away my

  background with my good bag and my cheap shoes.

  I looked again at my reflection and thought of the whisper

  of satin on my skin. Going without a bra, how my nipples

  would push at the fabric and force a man's eyes straight to

  my breasts. Every man's eyes.

  I picked up the tank top again and held it up. I smoothed

  the fabric over my stomach. Kira gave me an approving

  nod and slung an arm around my shoulders and bumped

  me with her hip. "C'mon. You know you want to."

  I did want to. I wanted to go out and get shit-hammered

  drunk and dance and smoke and rub up on half a dozen

  boys. I wanted to feel a hot, hard body against mine and

  look for lust in a pair of eyes I didn't know.

  I wanted not to worry about proving anyone right about

  me.

  I puled my tank top over my head and after a second's

  hesitation, unhooked my bra. The satin tank top slithered

  over my head and fel to my hips. My breasts swayed

  under the smooth fabric. My nipples tightened at once, and

  I shivered.

  "Let me get you some makeup," Kira said.

  She lugged her huge purse over to me and puled out pots

  and tubes and brushes and glitter. I love glitter. I hadn't

  worn glitter in forever, either. No place for it here, in my

  new life.

  "I'l do it." I wouldn't dream of sharing makeup that had

  been on her face. No teling what germs could be passed

  on that way. I waved her away and went into my

  bathroom, where I rummaged beneath my sink.

  I puled out my own box of tricks and treats. Lipsticks in

  berry shades, eye shadows in rainbow hues. Lots and lots

  of half-used black-eyeliner sticks and a few bottles of

  liquid eyeliner. I shook one, thinking it must have dried up

  after al these years, but when I unscrewed the cap with its

  built-in brush, the makeup inside was stil smooth.

  I painted a mask. It looked just like me, only brighter.

  Bolder. More. Once, I'd worn this face every day. Once,

  it had been the only one I had.

  My makeup finished, I squeezed into the tight black skirt. I

  left my legs bare. I'd be chily on the walk from the parking

  garage to the bar, but hot enough inside once I started

  dancing. From my closet I puled out a truly fucking

  fabulous pair of pumps.

  Kira had been bent over her phone, fingers stabbing out

  messages, but her eyes widened and she reached for the

  shoes. "Oh, wow. Steve Madden!"

  "First pair I ever bought." I stroked the smooth black

  patent leather. Four-inch heels. Most men couldn't have

  told the difference between a Steve Madden shoe and a

  Payless pump, but they looked twice when I wore them.

  Sometimes more than twice.

  I slipped into the shoes and stood, adjusting to the way my

  center of balance shifted. My mother had taught me the art

  of how to walk in heels this high. I used to raid her closet

  as a kid and parade around the house in her shoes.

  I smoothed the silky shirt over my bely and hips and

  I smoothed the silky shirt over my bely and hips and

  turned around to look at myself one last time in the mirror.

  "Ready to go?"

  "I guess so," Kira said sulenly. "Except now you look awesome and I look like shit."

  "You look hot," I promised. What were friends for?

  She was convinced, more because she wanted to believe it

  than because I'd tried hard. "Okay, let's go get shit-

  hammered!"

  I saw him again, that dark-haired man. This time, he was

  coming in as I was going out. We passed each other not

  so much like two ships, as much as one ship passing while

  the other crashes into an iceberg. I couldn't be offended

  that his gaze slid over and past me, taking in the short s
kirt

  and high heels without a second look. He had his head

  down and was talking urgently into his cel phone. He

  didn't have attention to spare me. And it wasn't his fault I

  was trying so hard to pretend I wasn't looking back at him

  that I ran into the edge of the door frame hard enough to

  leave a bruise.

  "Smooth move, Ex-Lax." Kira smirked. She hadn't even

  "Smooth move, Ex-Lax." Kira smirked. She hadn't even

  noticed it was the man from earlier that day. "Nice to see

  you can hold your tequila."

  I shrugged off the sting in my shoulder and didn't reply. His

  sleeve had brushed my bare arm as he passed, and the

  hairs on it al the way up to the back of my neck had stood

  at that brief, simple touch. A slow, tumbling rol of

  sensation centered in my bely.

  He lived in my building.

  Chapter 03

  I shouldn't have been so surprised. I saw a lot of

  Riverview Manor tenants at Miriam's shop, and in the

  Morningstar Mocha, the coffee shop at the end of our

  block. I ran into them in the post office and parking garage

  and at the grocery store, too. Harrisburg's a smal city.

  Even so, I couldn't shake the memory of those dark eyes,

  that thick, dark hair. The brush of a shirtsleeve on my bare

  skin. Fuck. I was horny, no two ways around it, and no

  wonder. It had been ages since I'd had sex with anyone

  but myself.

  We had our choice of places downtown, but I wanted to

  go to the Pharmacy. We took a cab since I wouldn't drive

  after drinking, and the walk that was fine on a Sunday

  afternoon in sweatpants would be too long to make at

  night in heels…and shit-hammered.

  The bar was packed, even for a Friday night. We pushed

  through the crowd toward the bar, Kira leading. She

  stopped abruptly and I ran into her. Someone ran into me.

  Someone also grabbed my ass, but when I turned to see

  who it was and possibly haul off and smack the shit out of

  who it was and possibly haul off and smack the shit out of

  them, al I could see was an ocean of possible culprits.

  "Hey, Jack," Kira said, and I turned.

  Shit. Jack had been the love of Kira's life our senior year, when he transferred in from another school. She'd plotted

  and schemed for months to get him to ask her to the prom,

  determined to get in his pants. It hadn't worked, so far as I

  knew. I only knew that once Kira had keyed one of his

  girlfriends' cars.

  Kira didn't know Jack and I had fucked each other