Life Swap

by Abby McDonald

  Mouth open, I walk back to the desk and take the papers she holds, outstretched. “Something to do with feminism and the media, maybe.” And then she winks at me, so fast I think I’m imagining it.

  “I… Thank you,” I breathe, clutching the sheets. She nods again, curtly, and stands.

  “Now, I really do have other appointments.”

  And just like that, it’s over.

  I spend the rest of the day packing in a daze. The health center is safe, and I have a maybe–invitation to do a master’s. At Oxford. The ideas dance around my head like some kind of promise, and it’s nearly time to meet Holly for a good–bye drink in the bar when I realize I have one more stop I have to make before I can be done here.

  Light from Professor Elliot’s study filters under the door into the cloisters, so after a quick knock, I walk in. She’s at her desk with a stack of papers, and her whole face tightens when I walk in.

  “You missed our tutorial,” she says with this icy voice.

  “I know,” I reply, calm. She may not think I’m worth anything, but I know now she’s not the only one who matters. “I figured I could miss another attack on me and my terrible morals.”

  Her eyes narrow. “So what can I do for you?” Her tone is like the least helpful thing ever.

  “I came to collect my paper.”

  “Oh, yes.” Lifting a folder from the edge of the desk, she holds it between her finger and thumb like it’s contagious. “It was certainly an interesting perspective, but hardly up to Oxford standards.” She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “I’ll bet.” I take the file and don’t even bother looking at the grade. I know it’ll suck, but that wasn’t the point.

  “I’m sure you’ll have fun back at home.”

  “I’m sure I will.” I’m at the door before I turn back to her. It’s the same as this morning with Dr. Aldridge, but this time I’m the one who’s getting the final word.

  “You know, you’re the one who’s supposed to be the adult here.” I make sure every word carries, not caring when her mouth drops open in a tiny “o.” “I really respected you. I mean, you were so helpful and supportive; it was like my opinions mattered.” I stare at her, this woman who made me feel so smart and so dumb all in the space of one semester. “But you’re just as hypocritical as the rest of them. The minute it looks like I’m not one of Carrie’s little clones, you act like I’m totally worthless.” I shake my head. “That’s not good teaching, but more than that, it’s crappy feminism.”

  I don’t stick around to hear if she’s got anything to say. It wouldn’t mean anything to me, anyway. Besides, I’ve got a good–bye celebration to get to. There’s only the two of us, but who needs a crowd?

  Emily

  I spend the next two days after our premiere inhabiting the delightful state of denial. I sleep on Carla’s floor to avoid Morgan’s wrath, refrain from answering my phone to avoid Ryan’s enthusiasm, and throw myself into studying for finals to avoid thinking about the end of my stay and my impending return to Oxford.

  I am nothing if not a multitasker.

  “Put the poor guy out of his misery.” Carla points a highlighter at me as my mobile begins to vibrate again. “That’s, like, the sixth time tonight.”

  “I can’t.” I look up from my textbook and press “decline call.” “I don’t know what to say to him.”

  “What is there to say?”

  “Um, ‘You know that summer job you’re so excited about us doing together? I’m not taking it, I’m going back to England, and I’ll probably never see you again.’ Yes, that’s just perfect.” I sigh, reaching for my aspirin. Ever since my life exploded into drama, I’ve had the most terrible headache.

  Carla rolls her eyes. “So take the job.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Because of your dream internship, yeah, I know.” Carla fixes me with a stare. “If you’re switching back to the old you, what’s with the outfit?”

  I look down at my powder–blue polo shirt and denim skirt and shrug. “Habit, I suppose. Don’t forget, half my things are still at Morgan’s.”

  “Which you need to get if you’re going to pack in time,” Carla reminds me.

  “What’s the point? She’s probably burned them all by now.”

  “True.”

  I think of Morgan’s drama–queen routine and wonder if I can do without all those trivial possessions. My laptop, for example. Or my passport. “It’s all right. I doubt I’ll need Uggs in the offices of Sterns, Cahill, and Coutts.”

  “For something you swear is the perfect job, you’re sure not enthusiastic about it.”

  I stiffen. “Because I feel terrible about letting Ryan down.”

  “Sure, sure.” Carla glances back at her notes. “If I didn’t have a killer history final tomorrow morning, I’d be grilling you right now.”

  I sit back in my seat, looking around the busy study section full of panicked last–minute crammers and take–away coffee cups. If only we hadn’t kissed. My life would be so much simpler if we just hadn’t kissed.

  “And even if I did want to come back for summer, which I don’t,” I muse, “I couldn’t give up my dream for Ryan. What kind of girl would that make me?”

  “Julian Morton’s personal protégée?”

  “No! I’d be one of those girls who sacrifices all her own ambition to fit around a boy’s plans.” I cross my arms firmly. “And I hate those girls.”

  “That’s true.” Carla shrugs. “But…”

  “No ‘but.’ There are no ‘buts’ involved.”

  She laughs. “What if you really do want to take the L.A. job, but you’re refusing to even think about it because of Ryan? Isn’t that still making your decision based on a boy?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re not helping.”

  “Hey, I was just putting it out there.” She holds her hands up. “But if you want to let the chance of a lifetime slip by, just because it happens to come with a summer of hot make–out action as a bonus…” Carla’s expression is supremely dubious.

  I sink my head onto the table and groan.

  “I had a plan!”

  She pats my head gently. “Plans change, Em.”

  “Not mine.” I sigh wistfully. “My plans come with built–in contingencies and backup insurance and special allowances for unexpected variations. The plan itself never changes.”

  “So think of this as one of those unexpected variants.”

  I smile sadly. “It doesn’t fit. Summer working on a film in L.A…. How does that get me any nearer to my law career?”

  Carla shakes her head. “Get it together. So you spend the summer in L.A. or London; either way you have to talk to Ryan.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that.” Carla’s eyes flicker over my shoulder, and I turn to find Ryan fifteen feet away, his battered black sneakers approaching fast.

  “Oh, crap.”

  “Em.” His face isn’t happy, and I can’t blame him. If he’d kiss–and–run the way I did, I would be an angry, raging mess by now.

  “Hi.” I try to smile, but he simply towers over me. My stomach tightens.

  “Let’s go talk somewhere.”

  “I’d really love to,” I say limply, “but I have finals and—” He takes my hand and looks at me with those cloudy dark eyes. “I suppose I have time,” I finish in a whisper. He nods and walks away, out of the side library entrance and toward the small memorial garden.

  I follow slowly, apprehension growing with every step. I’m not usually this way, shrinking away from difficult conversations as if I’m scared of confrontation. In fact, I’ve often been the one urging friends to face challenges head–on, rather than let them grow out of all proportion. And here I am, dreading every word because this time it all seems to matter so much more.

  But I can’t delay the inevitable. Soon I’m standing next to the arrangement of shrubbery, just inches away from Ryan, his hurt
expression making me regret being such a coward.

  “Um, hi,” I start.

  “Are you OK?” He’s angry, it’s obvious, but his first question is to see how I am. I feel a pang. He really is one of the good ones.

  I swallow, avoiding his eyes. “I’m fine.”

  “I was worried. I thought Morgan might have”—his lips lift slightly—“killed you. Maimed, at least. You took off so fast after she found us.”

  “Death by lip gloss,” I try to joke, but my words just hover awkwardly between us. “No, really I’m fine.”

  “Look, I know you must feel guilty, like you betrayed her or something.” Ryan takes my hands and forces me to look at him. “And I get that, you’re too nice sometimes, but you can’t break things off, just because she—”

  “That’s not it.” I can’t bear it any longer. He thinks I’m doing this because I’m a good person, not because I’m putting myself first. I swallow. “This—us—I don’t know how it’ll work. I’m leaving in a few days, and then I’ll be thousands of miles away.”

  “But you’ll be back for summer.” He tries to pull me closer. “That’s only two months away. We can email and talk—it’ll be no time at all.”

  “I’m not coming back.” I feel something inside me break as I say it. All this avoidance has been to delay those words; as if saying it out loud makes my decision final. This really was just a brief escape from my real life.

  Ryan frowns. “I don’t get it.” I slowly detach my hands from his.

  “The job with Julian Morton, I’m not taking it.”

  “What?”

  “I got an internship offer, the one I told you about.” Ignoring the confused look in his eyes, I keep talking. “I’ll be working in a law office all summer, so I won’t be coming back. And after that, it’s my final year, so I’ll be studying through my holidays.” I try to keep my voice steady. “So it just won’t work with you. If we’re not going to be spending time with each other, what’s the point in pretending?”

  He’s quiet for a moment. I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I study the leaves shivering slightly in the breeze.

  “You’ve already made your mind up, haven’t you?”

  I nod. “You know how important this is to me. I can’t just throw it away for a fun summer on some movie.”

  Ryan exhales, his whole body going still. “So all that stuff you said about letting go and being happy was just bullshit.”

  I flinch. “That’s not true.”

  “So why won’t you even think about the internship?” Ryan grabs me again, pulling me into him until I can feel his body against me, so I can’t help but look up into his eyes. “Just think about it.”

  “I have! But I can’t change my life around for you.”

  “No, not for me.” He shakes his head. “For you, for what you really want to do. You’ve loved this movie, Em, you know you have. The writing, the production. Admit it.”

  I stay motionless in his arms. “Of course I’ve enjoyed it, but—”

  “But nothing! Do you have any idea how many kids would kill for this chance?” I don’t answer. “So why are you so scared to give it a shot?”

  I wrench away. “I’m not scared! You don’t understand. I’ve worked my whole life to get on this path. This is what I want!”

  Ryan looks at me, his expression slowly closing off. I know I picked this, but still it hurts more than I expected.

  “Well, this is good–bye, I guess.” He clears his throat. “You fly back to England on Friday?”

  “To Florida,” I say, digging tiny half–moon prints into my palms. This is worse than how it was with Sebastian. “I’m going to meet Natasha. Then home.”

  “Right.” He nods slowly. “I’ll drop by a copy of the movie before you go; you should have one. You did a great job.”

  We did a great job, I think. But saying that would be useless, so I just nod. “Oh. Thanks. I’d like that.”

  “So…”

  We stand, awkward.

  “Good–bye,” I say softly. Ryan tilts his head slightly in acknowledgment. Part of me wishes he would keep fighting, kiss me, say anything to convince me to stay, but we don’t have somebody writing this scene for us, and life doesn’t happen like that.

  I just walk away.

  Tasha

  God, I’ve missed the sunshine. After Em and I meet up, we dump our bags in the hotel and hit the beach right away. The moment we step out of the lobby, I turn my face up to the cloudless sky and sigh. “Ahh…”

  Em giggles. “You had sun in England!”

  “That was so not sun.” I close my eyes and try to absorb the warmth into my bones. “That was, like, this pale weak glow pretending to be sun. This is the real thing.”

  “Did you bring sunscreen?” Em asks, checking her tote. I only met her an hour ago, but already I know she totally wasn’t exaggerating about her organizing kick. We sent digital pics so we would recognize each other coming off our flights, but it’s still a trip to see her with all that honey–blond hair, a cute little pink shirt—and such a crisp accent.

  “Chill.” I grin, pulling my big tortoiseshell shades on. We’re based right across the street from the sand, and the water is sparkling at me like an invitation. “I’m, like, immune to it, remember?”

  “Whereas I’ve gone through about three bottles of SPF thirty since I’ve been here.” Em waits for the cross light to turn green, oblivious to the group of college boys who are totally checking her out. “Do you think it’ll be warm enough to swim?”

  “Swim, lounge, whatever…” I spy a gap in the cars and grab her hand, pulling her into the street.

  “Tash!”

  “C’mon, you don’t understand: I’ve been dreaming of the beach since the day I left!”

  Em laughs and follows me across the street, and soon we’re sprawled under that glorious hot sun. “See, this is what I’m talking about.” I kick off my sneakers and bury my toes in the bleached sand. A sense of total peace sweeps through me. Screw therapy—we should just send stressed people to a tropical island for a couple of weeks. It would wind up costing the same, I’d bet, and there’s none of that “tell me about your parents” crap. “You keep your stuffy libraries and cold cobbled streets—I’ll take sun and ocean any day.”

  “You don’t have to convince me.” Em flops backward and stretches, her shirt riding up over her already–golden stomach. “I’m a convert. Oh, I’m dreading getting back to the cold.”

  “Sucks to be you,” I agree. She laughs.

  “I still can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met! I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

  “I know!” I exclaim, stripping down to my navy bikini. “I was scared this would be totally awkward. I worried all the way on the flight I’d hate you.”

  “Me too,” she confesses, peeling off her skirt. “Or that we just wouldn’t click, and then we’d be stuck in a hotel room together all weekend.”

  “Watching pay–per–view and raiding the minibar just for something to do,” I finish. Then I look at her scarlet bikini and shake my head. “I still can’t get over how different you look. There were photos of you up on the Raleigh website, and now…”

  “I know.” She blushes. “But I think I like it. People treat me differently now; they don’t just assume I’m serious and boring.”

  “Right! And now guys act like I have an actual brain instead of just breasts.” I pause. “Or, at least, the ones who haven’t caught the video do.”

  “Oh, Tash.” Em reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Will was a bastard, but they’re not all like that.”

  I shake away all thoughts of him. “Say that again.”

  “Bastard? Oh, not you too!” She makes a face. “Ryan loved making me swear. I don’t know what it is about my accent.” Her eyes get kind of sad, but she keeps talking before I can say anything. “Anyway, is Tash OK? Or do you prefer Natasha?”

  “Natasha is best,” I decide. “Or Tash. But Tasha
is like someone else now. It’s weird, how it just stopped feeling like my name.”

  “I think it’s great.” Em lies down, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun. “You get to reinvent yourself, how other people see you.”

  “And what about you—is it Em or Emily?”

  She pauses. “I don’t know if I’ll get a choice, but for now I like Em. Em’s the girl who has the fun, spontaneous adventures.”

  “Like taking off for spring break in Key West.” I hold up my hand for fake high fives. She whoops and hits my palm.

  “Spring break, baby!”

  We fall back down, giggling.

  “But seriously”—Em props herself up on one arm—“what exactly are we doing here? It seems rather extravagant just to take a holiday.”

  “But we need it,” I insist. “I need the time to recover, and you need the time to figure out you’ve got to take the internship in L.A.”

  “Tash!” Em’s eyes cloud over again. “We’ve been through this. I want the law job!”

  “I know.” For somebody so smart, she sure is being dumb. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t want the film gig too.” And I have forty–eight hours to convince her, before she goes back to Oxford and snaps into old Emily mode. I have a feeling I wouldn’t like old Emily much.

  “You of all people should understand,” she scolds me. “I can’t pretend to be somebody I’m not. That was never the point of all this.”

  “I know,” I repeat, my voice totally sweet. “Which is why you need to admit you want to explore the film thing more. So you’re not lying to yourself.”

  I wanted this vacation as breathing space for me, but the minute Em filled me in on her career crisis, I knew I had to do something. She may not see it yet, but this weekend could set her whole path in life. It’s up to me to make sure that path leads to happiness, cute boys, and creativity, and not a nervous breakdown by the time she’s twenty.

  I fix her with my best knowing look. She doesn’t budge. “Whatever.” I roll over and make like I don’t care. “But you’re the one who keeps telling me about how this switch makeover thing is about finding new sides of our identity and, like, not letting other people’s expectations define our identities.” I’m quoting her own emails back at her, and she totally knows it. “So I’m just going to chill here, and then we’re going to dinner and maybe a club. But if you feel like emailing Lowell and telling him you’ve changed your mind, just let me know.”