Switch

by Megan Hart

  I tried not to be excited that he'd been waiting for my

  answer.

  Something with elves and fairies. My eyes are bleeding.

  You're with Arty?

  I loved that Austin didn't abbreviate his texts. Yes. What

  are you doing?

  Thinking about you.

  Something briliantly colored and loud happened onscreen,

  but I couldn't blame the sudden thunder of my pulse on

  that. I glanced at Arty, his mouth ful of popcorn, his entire

  attention taken up by what was going on. I looked again at

  the phone. My fingers stroked the keys, but I didn't type

  anything. I didn't want this to keep going.

  Or maybe I did.

  Or maybe I did.

  What are you thinking about me?

  "Paige," Arty whispered. "I have to go to the bathroom!"

  "Now? Can't you wait five minutes? The movie's almost

  over." I looked at the jumbo-size drink in his cup holder. It

  had been the smalest size and stil contained enough soda

  to float a boat. "Never mind. C'mon."

  Arty squirmed. "No, no, I want to wait."

  "Dude, you'l pee yourself."

  The woman in front of us gave an annoyed glance over her

  shoulder. Since her own three kids had been bouncing out

  of their seats and talking over the entire movie, I wasn't

  realy sure where she got off with the bitchface, but I

  ignored her to focus on my brother.

  "No, I want to wait," he insisted, eyes glued to the screen.

  With a sigh, I watched him squirm. He was totaly going to

  wet himself, but I remembered what it was like to miss the

  best parts of a movie because of a teeny bladder. Not that

  this movie seemed to have any best parts.

  this movie seemed to have any best parts.

  My phone vibrated again, earning me another look from

  Mrs. Grumpy in front of me when I opened it to see

  another text from Austin.

  I'm thinking about how good your hair always smels.

  Once I'd stuck a bobby pin in an electrical socket. What

  can I say? I was young and dumb and it had seemed like a

  good idea at the time. Much like this text-message

  flirtation. Austin's message shot the same frigid-inferno

  tingle up and down my body, and I saved myself from

  gasping aloud only by biting my tongue.

  I was saved from myself by the movie ending. Thanking

  God it wasn't one to have outtakes and jokes scattered

  throughout the final credits, I hustled Arty to the bathroom

  where he peed forever as he chattered about the movie.

  The weight of my phone in my pocket distracted me so

  much I forgot to make him wash his hands, a fact I

  remembered too late when he grabbed mine on the way to

  the parking lot.

  "Paige, you're the best sister, ever. I love you!"

  "Love you too, squirt." I ruffled his hair and helped him

  into his seat belt.

  My phone remained silent, and so did I. Arty talked

  enough for both of us al the way home. By the time I

  puled up in front of my mom's house, he'd relayed the

  entire movie to me, including dialogue, and I marveled at

  how he could repeat word for word eight minutes' worth

  of dialogue but was unable to remember his telephone

  number.

  "Inside and get ready for bed," I told him on the front

  porch. "No fussing."

  "Okay." He was off the moment he got in the door, up the

  stairs before my mom even made it out of the kitchen.

  "He's sufficiently caffeinated now," I told her. "To go along with the sugar."

  "Great." My mom's laugh sounded forced.

  From my pocket, my phone buzzed.

  Her eyebrows lifted when I didn't reach to answer it. "So

  I'm not the only one you ignore?"

  I'm not the only one you ignore?"

  I remembered then I was supposed to be angry with her

  about something. "It's Austin."

  She didn't even try to hide the pleasure on her face. She

  puled a pan of brownies from the oven and settled them

  on top of the stove, then slapped the hot pads on the

  counter. "I'm not surprised. You were crazy about that

  boy for so long—"

  " Crazy being the operative word."

  She turned to face me. "I said I'm sorry, al right?"

  I eyed the brownies, then her. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?" She

  rummaged in the fridge to pul out a bowl of what looked

  like fudge icing.

  "Because you bake when you're upset."

  She held out the bowl to me. "Taste this. Is it too sweet?"

  "I don't want to taste that, Mom."

  "Trying to watch your figure?" She ran a finger around the edge and tasted, then grimaced. "Is this too sweet? I think

  it's too sweet."

  "What's wrong?" I asked more quietly this time, and this

  time, she put down the bowl to answer me.

  "Leo moved out."

  My mom had been with countless men during my lifetime.

  Some had been boyfriends. Some had been dates. Only a

  few had been live-ins, and out of al of them, Leo had

  lasted the longest. I didn't expect to be so surprised he'd

  gone.

  "Why?"

  "I asked him to." My mom waved a hand as she dug in the

  drawer for a rubber spreader.

  Above us, the floor creaked as Arty ran around. I looked

  upward and said, "I'l go."

  "Thanks, hon."

  Upstairs, I wrangled my brother into the bathroom to

  Upstairs, I wrangled my brother into the bathroom to

  brush his teeth, then into bed. I tucked him in tight and

  gave him half a dozen hugs and just as many kisses. I held

  him close. Now he smeled like popcorn and little-boy

  sweat, not candy.

  "Go to sleep, monster."

  He protested, yawning, that he wasn't tired, but his eyes

  were already closing as I ducked out the door. I stood in

  the hal for a few minutes, my own eyes closed. I'd never

  lived in this house, but it smeled the same as al the places

  I'd ever lived with my mom. Dust and chocolate brownies

  and, fainter, below it al, the subtle odor of never-quite-

  good-enough.

  Downstairs, my phone vibrated again in my pocket. I

  clapped a hand over it to stifle the buzz, which sounded

  like a fly in a bottle. My mom had iced the brownies and

  wrapped up half the pan in aluminum foil for me to take

  along. She didn't mention the phone cal, and I didn't try to

  refuse the food.

  She hugged me on the way out the front door, her grip

  fiercer than usual. "Drive carefuly, sweet girl."

  My retort to that had been, "No, Mom, I plan on driving

  recklessly," but tonight I kept those words inside. I hugged

  her back as hard as she hugged me. She didn't have to be

  crying for me to know she was upset about Leo. The

  brownies had told me that.

  "I'l cal you tomorrow, okay?" I said into her hair, which

  smeled as always of Apple Pectin Shampoo.

  She nodded. When she stepped away her eyes were

  bright but she smiled. "Sure, honey. Good night."

  She stood silhouetted in the doorway until I drove away.

  By the time I reached the rail
road tracks the light on the

  front porch had gone out. My car bump-bumped over the

  rails, taking me away from the house that hadn't ever been

  home.

  My phone buzzed again as I puled into the parking lot of

  the Manor. I flipped it open to read al three messages. Al

  from Austin.

  How was the movie?

  Say hi to your mom for me.

  I had to laugh at that. Oh, that bastard. He knew my mom

  had always loved him. More than his had ever cared for

  me.

  And finaly, Cal me when you get home.

  Chapter 14

  I didn't cal Austin when I got home. I didn't cal him the

  next day, or the day after that, and though I tensed every

  time my phone rang, eventualy I stopped worrying. He

  didn't cal me, either.

  The notes arrived every few days but never on a day when

  I might expect one. Only on the days I was convinced I'd

  be left without instructions, a list, a command. I read each

  and every one, committing them to memory before tucking

  them into the slot of 114, a mailbox that had become so

  familiar to me it was like stroking a lover.

  You've done wel. Treat yourself to your favorite dessert.

  That had been a piece of key lime pie so decadent and

  rich I'd made sex noises while eating it.

  You didn't return your essay in time. Clearly, discipline

  means nothing to you. Don't waste my time again.

  A fit body deserves appropriate clothes. Purchase yourself

  an appropriate new outfit. Don't skimp on it.

  A simple suit, navy blue to match my eyes but with a crisp

  stripe of summer green at the hem and on the buttons of

  the jacket. It was the first outfit I'd ever bought I also had

  altered to fit just right. Wearing it, I felt more than

  professional, I felt appropriate.

  Go to the bookstore. Look at the aisle you don't normaly

  browse. Find a book that looks good and buy it. Read it.

  Enjoy it.

  I'd picked a book on the history of movies, trivia mostly,

  but also photos of stars from days past. I'd savored the

  glamour and taken to wearing my hair parted and over one

  eye like Lana Turner.

  For days the notes had arrived in my mailbox, teling me

  what to eat, what to wear, what time to go to bed and

  what time to rise. I was a rat folowing a piper unseen,

  maybe to the cheese nirvana, maybe to a watery grave in a

  river. I couldn't tel.

  I only knew that I didn't want it to stop.

  I want you to be bare for me today, beneath those clothes

  you bought. I want you to feel the coarseness of denim,

  the roughness of wool, the sleekness of satin lining, on

  the roughness of wool, the sleekness of satin lining, on

  your bare ass. Every time you move, you're going to think

  of me and how I own you.

  Voices echoed in the lobby and the elevator dinged, but

  nobody came down the hal to catch me, a thief, taking

  what I hadn't meant to steal. I pushed the card through the

  slot and bent to make sure it had gone al the way through.

  It would be gone when I came home, gone and read by

  the person for whom it had been meant.

  Did she glory in them as much as I?

  Did she deserve them, the smal rewards of treating herself

  to a hot bath, a piece of gourmet chocolate, for completing

  the tasks? Did she force herself to another hour in the gym

  as punishment when she failed to folow the list exactly?

  Or was it only me who looked forward to each day's

  commands?

  Paul had left me another list. Along with the standard

  "copy the files" and "schedule the appointments" he'd added something interesting. Lunch. He'd underlined it

  twice. Like I wouldn't remember to eat?

  Order from China King for delivery.

  He'd added what I should order and in what amount, and

  what time I should place the cal to ensure the food would

  arrive by the time he and his client returned. As if I couldn't

  figure al that out for myself.

  Order enough for yourself, he'd added. At least he was

  being generous.

  I tried to put the morning's note from my mind, but my

  thoughts were focused more on the fact I was bare

  beneath my skirt than anything Paul was having me do. His

  list was longer this time, more detailed, and while I

  enjoyed the new responsibilities and projects he'd left for

  me, I hadn't finished by the time the food came. I'd only

  just managed to colect it from the front desk downstairs

  and set it out on the smal conference table in Paul's office

  when he and the woman from marketing showed up.

  Vivian Darcy. I'd seen her before, a tal woman with blond

  hair she wore in a sleek twist. She wasn't thin but dressed

  like she was and managed to carry it off. Her shoes cost

  more than my rent.

  I had my own lunch, chicken and broccoli, to eat at my

  desk. Paul gave me little more than a glance and closed his

  door. I heard them laughing behind it. They were in there

  for a long time. When the door opened again, I'd finished

  eating and set back to work on the filing I hadn't managed

  to finish before lunch.

  "Paige, bring me the advance proof packet," Paul said

  from the doorway. He'd loosened his tie and taken off his

  jacket and roled up his sleeves. From behind him I heard

  the flush of water running in his private bathroom.

  I nodded as he disappeared into his office, but a moment

  later my stomach sunk. I hadn't actualy finished copying

  the packet. I'd known I needed to do it, it was part of my

  regular weekly projects, but it hadn't been on Paul's list. I

  also didn't want to admit I'd been distracted.

  "Paul?"

  They both looked up. She had puled her chair close to

  his, their heads bent over what looked like a spreadsheet.

  She'd taken off her suit jacket, too, and her breasts

  pushed at the front of her silk shirt.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I haven't finished with the copies of that packet. It wil take me about fifteen minutes, but I'l do

  that packet. It wil take me about fifteen minutes, but I'l do

  it right now."

  I'd been made to feel smal before, but I hadn't expected

  the look both of them gave me. Different looks, neither

  pleasant. Hers was cutting, an arch of brow to indicate

  surprise but not too much, as though she'd expected as

  much from the likes of me. Hers I could deal with.

  Paul, on the other hand, looked blank for the span of some

  long seconds. Then he looked disappointed. "We need

  that packet now, Paige."

  He didn't need to tel me I'd screwed up. I'd have liked it

  better if he had. I could have been angry, then, at being

  scolded. Instead, al I could feel was the vast wash of guilt

  for knowing I hadn't done what I was supposed to do.

  "Ten minutes," I promised.

  "No need to jump through hoops," Paul said. "Just get it done."

  I did it in seven minutes, though it meant cheating and

  taking up al three copy machines at the same time. When I

  handed the packets,
properly colated and stapled, one

  handed the packets, properly colated and stapled, one

  each to her and him, I didn't expect a reward.

  I didn't get one. Not even a smile. Not even a terse thank-

  you. Both of them took the papers and bent back to their

  work without more than a glance at me, and I slunk out of

  Paul's office in disgrace.

  My mood only lasted another ten minutes. I worked for a

  paycheck, not approval, and I'd never given him a reason

  to have any complaint about my work, not even in the first

  few weeks when I hadn't known what I was doing.

  "Paige, can I see you for a minute?" Paul said when Vivian left, finaly, at a quarter to five.

  "Sure. Of course."

  He stepped aside to let me into his office and gestured at

  the chair that had been returned to the front of his desk. I

  sat. Paul sat, too, and looked across the desk at me with

  his hands folded together.

  "I wanted to make sure you were doing al right."

  This wasn't what I'd expected. "I'm fine, thanks."

  "The job's not overwhelming you?"

  I had a bad feeling about where this was going. "No…."

  "Good." Paul looked down at his hands, now clasped

  tightly. "Because I'd hate to think you were unable to keep

  up with the position, Paige."

  One mistake in six months, and he was worried I couldn't

  keep up? I wanted to stand up and walk out, flipping Paul

  the bird. I might have, had he sounded sarcastic or

  condescending. He didn't. He sounded…cautious.

  "I'm sorry I forgot the packet, Paul. It won't happen

  again." I knew it wouldn't. I might forget a dozen other

  tasks, but I wouldn't ever forget to copy the fucking proof

  packet again.

  He stil didn't look at me. His voice quiet but not soft, he

  said, "I hope you won't."

  That was it. He nodded at me and I got up, and I went out

  to my desk to shut it down for the night. My fingers had

  gone cold and stiff and I mistyped the password I needed

  to log out three times before I got it right.

  You wil masturbate in the shower, but you wil not alow

  yourself to come. Your orgasm is a reward for good

  behavior, and you haven't earned it. You wil write, on

  your best paper and with your best ink, how you

  masturbated and how it felt when you stopped, and you

  wil return it to me no later than tomorrow afternoon.

  Disobedience wil not be tolerated.

  You said you wanted discipline.

  With shaking fingers and hot cheeks I passed the

  mailboxes without looking to see if the note I'd shoved into