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I
’ve been cut off. Joules made it very clear. Not a big deal under normal circumstances, but as it stands, Joules is my only ticket to my family. Without her, I have no way of finding out how everyone is, no way to find out if Joules’s negligence is endangering the Ks, no way to find out what’s happened to Michaela, no way to wiggle my way back into my family’s life, where I belong.

I get back to Skyline Drive to find the party’s in full swing. There are so many cars parked along the winding hilltop road that there’s barely enough room for oncoming traffic. I walk up the driveway, passing a couple of groupie types vomiting in the bushes. The scene inside is even more wild. People with cigarettes, drinks and joints fill the halls and rooms. There’s an old guy with his belly protruding from a leather jacket that no longer zips. Some girls not much older than me with raccoon-smudged makeup and ripped-on-purpose fishnets. Band members, model types, even a few guys in suits with slicked-back hair and big gold rings.

They all seem to know me. I enter each room to a chorus of “Hey, it’s the girl herself,” or “Joules, baby,” or “Jujube, come tell Uncle Chaz your troubles.” I just nod and smile and pass them by. No sign of Nigel, but plenty
of his friends are rifling through his liquor cabinet. I look in his room. It’s occupied all right, but by three girls going through his closet, trying on his raggedy T-shirts. I leave them to it.

After a tour of the house, it looks like he’s left. Which means it’s just me, the puker out front, the guy with the belly and fifty or so of our closest friends. I head into Joules’s room to find a couple of guys sitting on my bed playing acoustic guitar. I turn around to leave but then think—where on earth am I going to go? Politely, I ask them to leave.

Finally alone, finally not being pelted by rocks or rain or the fascinated stares of strangers, I flop on the bed, face down. I hate Joules’s life. I hate the look of it, the smell of it, the feel of this hairy duvet cover up my nose. Nigel’s a good guy and all but it makes me so sad to be around him. It’s like being around a puppy with three legs. Every time you see that dog you’re going to be busted up about how things could have been for him, but here he is, hopping across the carpet toward you with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, not minding the missing leg one bit.

It’s too much. I’ve never felt more alone in my life—if it’s even my life any more. I want to go home. I want to be me. I want someone to talk to. I want someone to hold me.

I prop myself up on my elbows and stare at the phone on the nightstand. There’s one person I can call who might make me feel normal again. One person who is still himself, whose face I’ve been staring at for so many years I could close my eyes and draw it.

Will Sherwood.

I haven’t thought to charge Joules’s cellphone all day
and now it’s dead. Which means I don’t have his number.

It’s late—nearly eleven-thirty. Far too late to call anyone’s house. But I’m so lonely I could die and am willing to face anyone’s wrath for a little kindness. I dial 411, jot down the number and pray Will picks up the phone. He doesn’t. A woman does. His annoyed-sounding mother.

“I’m sorry to bother you. Is Will there?”

She’s a bit nicer now and tells me to hold on a second, says she’s not sure he’s still up but will go check. A minute or so passes, a few clicks, then Will’s voice. “Hey, Joules.” He sounds as annoyed as his mother. “If this is to rehash what happened today, I don’t have the energy.”

I don’t know why this does it. He’s not my boyfriend, he’s barely my friend, but hearing his voice makes me start to sob. Hard. I can barely speak.

“Will?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m … I just …”

“What happened? Did something happen?”

I’m sobbing so hard now I drop my head onto the black pillow. “Can you come here? Do you think you could come here?”

“Are you hurt? Should I call for help?”

“No.” I reach for another pillow and wrap my body around it. “I just need someone to hold me.”

“I’m on my way.”

Half an hour later I am wrapped in him. We haven’t looked at each other, haven’t spoken since he climbed through
the window and onto Joules’s bed. All I’ve done is cry uncontrollably and all he’s done is hold me in silence. I adore him for his quiet presence, for all the things he could be saying, asking right now but isn’t. He holds me from behind and strokes my hands, which I have pressed to my chin. Every once in a while he kisses the top of my head. But mostly he’s just there.

I want to tell him what has happened. I want to say how stupid I was to want to step into someone else’s life, maybe even prove to him I’m Andrea and not his cheating girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. But you can’t tell a person something like that. Even your own mother won’t believe you. Will would think it was a crazy prank on Joules’s part. He’d think this was a stupid set-up to get him over here so that Joules could have him back again.

Instead, I do the only thing I can do. I be the only person I know how to be—me.

My sobbing has slowed now, and Will rises up on one elbow to look down on me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I take his free hand in mine and trace the veins on the back. I shake my head.

“But no one hurt you, right? Because then I’d make you tell me.”

“No one hurt me.” I look at his hand again. There’s a scab on his knuckles. “I hope this isn’t because of Jou—me.”

He almost smiles. “Soccer.”

I turn around to face him and lay my arm over his hip. He smells of the shower he must have had earlier this evening. But there’s something else. Some sort of fabric softener maybe. In some scent they probably call Ocean
Spray or Summer Breeze. It’s that thing about families having smells. His mother probably doesn’t even realize that, even when they leave the house, her family smells like Ocean Spray. I bet if she did, she’d be glad.

I wonder—if I were to walk into my house tonight, after being gone so long, really gone, would I finally know what it smells like? I move closer to Will and drink in his family.

“What’s different about you?” he asks.

I look up. “I don’t know.”

“It’s like something’s missing.”

Of course. I’m the dulled-down version of her. That star quality Joules normally wears like a skin isn’t sustainable with someone like me at the controls. I’ve barely said fifty words to Will since the switch and already he can sense it. I don’t answer.

“You’re … softer somehow,” he says. “Maybe it’s because you’ve been crying, or because of today, but you’re softer.”

I manage a sad smile. “Maybe it’s this disgusting dead Sasquatch duvet.”

He starts to laugh. We both do. Then he looks at me, really looks at me. “Even your eyes. I don’t know.” He shakes his head and exhales, raising his brows. “It’s strange.”

“Sorry.”

He runs his finger along my shoulder. “Don’t apologize.”

“But I’m being all weird. I don’t want you to think I’m weird.”

“I don’t. I think you’re sweet.”

Okay. This is going to take a moment to process. Here I am being myself, not trying to be Joules like before, and Will Sherwood actually likes it? He pushes hair from my face and stares at me. I shift one leg closer so our thighs are touching. He runs his hand down my back.

It’s about to happen.

Will Sherwood is about to kiss me.

I’ve imagined it so many times I could faint from the tension. The smack-in-the-face reality that it is about to happen. Those wide lips, so ready to smile, are about to touch mine. Well, Joules’s, but still. Mine for now. Outside the bedroom door, the voices and the music carry on as if nothing has changed. But it has. The entire world has changed. Will Sherwood actually likes me.

Of course, I’m in Joules’s shell. What he’s liking right now is me in Joules’s shell. Which isn’t me at all.

He moves closer and lets his eyes close. Just as his lips graze mine, and I lose myself in the sweetest sensation I’ve ever felt, just as the lightning bolt that is my deepest desire coming true cracks into me and shoots electricity down my spinal cord to my toes, I sit up and gulp for air.

He falls back onto the pillow, confused. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” I want to tell him. Look at him lying there, so good and trusting and open. Why shouldn’t I tell him the truth? “What do you think about Andrea Birch?”

He groans, covers his eyes with one hand. “Not this again.”

I need to know. “Would you ever go out with her?”

“I’m not answering
that!”

“No, I swear, it’s not what you think.” I lie down beside him and take his hand again. “This isn’t a trap. I’m just
curious about how people perceive her. How you perceive her.”

“When you asked me yesterday and I told you—you got all upset and started saying crazy stuff about wishing you could switch lives with her, remember? I’m not falling for that again. Why do you keep bringing her up, anyway?”

Wait. Joules wished she could switch lives with me?

I sit up and think back to the horrified expression on her face when we spoke about the wish before. “I said that?”

“You don’t remember?”

“What time was it?”

“What time? God, I don’t know. Last night. You were there.”

“No, but where were we?”

“In my basement. It had just started to rain and we came inside. We were watching TV and—”

“What show?”

He sits up and leans back against the wall. “What’s this about, Joules?”

“What show was it?”

“I don’t know.
The Office,
I think. But we only saw the beginning. Then we started to fight, remember?”

The Office.
Monday night. I know it comes on at ten, I watch it with Bray and Cici usually.

Joules made her wish just after ten.

And so did I.

Which means this switch isn’t my fault, not fully. Joules is every bit as much to blame as me. This should make me mad—furious!—especially since she’s been blaming
me all day. But it doesn’t. It thrills me to know it wasn’t all my doing.

He watches me, shaking his head. “What are you grinning about?”

“I don’t know. You’re right, I’m crazy tonight.”

“I won’t argue with that.” He starts to pull me closer again. “But I don’t mind it. You’re not last-night crazy—scary crazy. You’re just kind of cute crazy. Sexy crazy.”

Did Will Sherwood just call me sexy? And does he mean me or Joules? I need to know. “You mean physically, right?”

“Honestly? Not at all.” He tugs on my hair playfully. “I mean you. You’re so different. I don’t know what’s going on but I like it.”

I want to kiss him so much my lips hurt. “Enough to undo the breakup?”

“More than enough to undo it.”

“We can start fresh? Today is day one?”

“Today is whatever day you want it to be.” He pulls on my shoulders. “Now get over here.”

I could wrap my arms around his neck. I could nuzzle his earlobe. I could run my hand along his arm. I could have the greatest night of my life. And I could do it without guilt because Joules lied to me about the wish. She cheated on Will, she lied to me, she’s mean to her dad—why do I feel I owe this girl so much?

Besides, what’s the harm in a little kiss?

I pull away and stand up. “I have to be someplace.”

“Now? It’s after midnight. Where do you have to go?”

“To Andrea Birch’s house.”

He exhales hard and falls against the pillows. “I swear to you I wasn’t doing anything with her in the music room. I was playing, she came in. End of story. I’ve been alone with other girls in other classrooms, why are you getting nuts about Andrea? Because of that thing I said?”

Here it is again. I try to sound casual. “What thing was that?”

He stands up and reaches for his car keys. “Now I know you’re going insane. Come on, I’ll drive you.”

“Just tell me—what did you say about Andrea?”

“Ugh.” He rolls his eyes. “You really want me to repeat it?”

“Yes.”

“Just that there was a time I might have had a bit of a crush.”

“A crush on Andrea?”

“Yes, now can we drop it?”

I smile, roll his admission around in my mouth like a caramel and nod once. “Yes.”

T
here was no way to get to Joules last night. Will dropped me off at my real house but my bedroom window was locked up tight, and in spite of all my tapping, the girl just lay there in my bed, mouth open, probably drooling on my pillow. Will drove me home without asking any questions about Andrea Birch.

So here I am at school on Thursday for the second day without my body. And want to hear something weird? It’s feeling less like someone else’s body by the hour. Like a drastic haircut, it’s starting to feel normal. What doesn’t feel normal is that today kids are looking at me, pointing, whispering. I check my outfit for errors, but with ripped black skinnies, floppy work boots and a white T-shirt I could hardly go wrong. I guess someone might think the studded belt was a bit much if Andrea Birch were wearing it, but as far as the students of Sunnyside High know, she isn’t.

More stares from a group of cheerleaders. Two girls in a stairwell giggles.

Is it my hair? I braided it today to keep it off my face during Art class—were braids declared to be a joke overnight? I notice two police cars out on Chapman. No flashing lights or anything exciting, just parked at the side
of the road with no one in them. I almost hope they’re here to arrest me for the wish.

Joules waits for me by her locker, and from the way she’s got her arms crossed and from the look on her Andrea face, it’s clear she’s plenty mad.

“How did you manage to get the paparazzi interested? I’ve been trying nearly my whole life.”

I open the locker and pull a pencil case down from the shelf. “You’re talking to me?”

“Seriously—how?”

“When I tell you my news, you’re going to adore me. No kidding. There may even be hugging.”

“And what were you and Nige doing in Balboa last night, anyway? The wish probably didn’t work because you were off chowing down on pizza at the beach. It probably got stale or something.”

“Are you remotely interested in what I have to say? Did I mention it concerns Will?”

The arms are uncrossed, and though she’s not quite hugging me, she’s tugging on my arm. “What? Tell me!”

I’m feeling a little evil this morning and jump on the chance to torture her. After all, she did lie about her side of the wish. “He’s such a nice guy. Have I ever told you how much I admire him?”

“Shut up and tell me. What happened?”

“And he has such an open, friendly face, don’t you think?”

She shoves me. “Tell me!”

“I was looking at him last night and I thought, wow, this guy could be in movies. He’s just got that likeable boy-next-door quality that female audiences would go for.”

“I swear to God, I’ll get a dragon tattoo right across your face …”

“Okay.” I tuck my binder under my arm and turn to face her. “You and Will are back together.”

She closes her eyes and leans against the lockers. “Thank you.” A deep, relieved sigh parts her lips.
“Thank youthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.
“ Her eyes fly open; she’s horrified now. “Wait. Please tell me you didn’t sleep with him!”

“I didn’t even kiss him.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t easy, you know. He was really hurt that you cheated.”

“I’ll never cheat on him again. I swear. Make sure to tell him. Promise?”

A group of niners walk by, again, whispering and staring at me. One of them pulls out a cellphone and takes my picture. I nudge Joules. “What’s with everyone? Why are they so fascinated by me today?”

“You don’t know?”

I shake my head.

“The paparazzi staked out the restaurant where you and Nige went last night. Your photo was on Perez Hilton this morning.” She rolls her eyes. “You and Nige eating pizza, through the window. I’ve been trying to get on Perez for
ages.
Then you go and get famous your first day as me while I’m waiting in the freaking rain. It’s not fair.”

That’s all? Nigel Adams’s daughter is on a gossip website and everyone has to stare? It’s not like they haven’t been staring at Joules’s lousy face for years anyway. This makes her famous?

She continues. “I mean, that photo could travel. It could be in
People
or
In Touch
by Monday. Look at you.” She waves her arm toward me and groans. “You’re gorgeous.”

I watch her, all twisted inside out about missing her shot at fame. “Joules, do you even know why we were there? Do you even know why the paparazzi tailed him?”

“No.”

“Because ‘Rockabye’ went platinum—I told you last night.”

“Oh yeah.” She stares at the sky and thinks for a moment. “He has plenty of people to celebrate with. He’d have been okay if you’d said you had plans and bailed. I do it all the time and he’s totally fine.”

“He has people but you’re the one he wants to love him. Don’t you see that?”

The bell rings and people rush past us to get to class. Joules narrows her eyes and glares at me. “Don’t roll around in my world for one day and tell me how to live it, okay? I’ve been with my dad a lifetime. I think I know him better than you.”

Walking backwards, I head toward Art class with her sketchbook pressed to my chest. “Do you, Joules? Really?”

“Of course!”

“What does he take on his pizza, only at Mama Rosa’s, that he doesn’t usually take?”

She thinks about this a moment, then reddens. “I don’t have time for pizza toppings. I need to get busy analyzing your life like you’re analyzing mine.”

As she stomps toward the stairs, I call, “The real reason he’s getting this press is because he announced all
‘Rockabye’ proceeds are going to that family with the boy that died. The Glass family. Nigel’s a decent guy, Joules. He’s worth your time.”

“Good to know.”

“Everyone sees it but you.”

“Later, Dr. Phil.”

Later, on my way to Algebra, which is way at the front of campus in no-man’s-land, I pass by the little clay-roofed building that houses the office and the library. All around the exterior are these tropical-looking bushes that the custodian always has to water. I see him every morning. With all the rain last night, I wonder if he has to water anyway or if he gets the morning off. Sometimes I watch him and feel bad that he has to empty all the trash cans and everything. Clean up after all of us slobs. It bugs me. I mean, he’s an adult; it should be the other way around, but here are all these kids—not super-rich but most of them have it okay—and he has to clean up their balled-up candy bar wrappers and crumpled pop cans. And then there are the teachers who get to sit at desks and write on chalkboards while he’s out there with a garbage bag. It makes me think about his mother and what she imagined for him. Probably not this.

It’s the kind of thing that depresses me to pieces.

I hear voices outside the office and slow down. As I get closer—close enough to hear what they’re saying—I realize Mom is here. The second bell rings but I ignore it, instead heading down the steps to where I can sit on a
bench as Joules and pretend to fuss with my shoe.

“ … but they’re changes only you can make, Brayden Jacob,” Mom says. I look over to see Kaylee and Kaia in the double stroller. Michaela stands behind Mom’s legs, still clutching the taffy-colored dog. I notice she’s dressed in her sandals and a long T-shirt of Cici’s, cinched with a belt. Brayden leans against a railing and stares at his shoes. “Breaking lifelong patterns takes deliberate and determined choices. And I can’t make them for you.”

Bray mumbles something I can’t hear.

“Those friends of yours are good people, but they’re choosing a destructive path. What you have to remember is they are making that choice for themselves. You can choose something else entirely.”

Those losers he hangs out with. They must have gotten into trouble again. I’ve told Mom to make him dump them but you heard her. It’s all about choices.

Two policemen come out of the office and I see now that the glass door has been boarded over with plywood. Someone has broken into the office, and from the way the cops are looking at Brayden, it’s pretty clear they think he was involved.

Here’s the thing about Bray. He’s one of these kids who gets too big a kick out of things. He gets bored easily, and if one of his moron friends suggests something illegal, if it’s just the slightest bit funny or if Bray has had a dull day, he’ll go along with it. He’s not a bad kid but he’s naive. Always figures, “Ah, we won’t get caught.” And Mom, she loves him so much and is all about
him
making better choices. But Bray’s too immature for that, he’s too easily swayed by the promise of a fun night. Maybe one
day he’ll make smarter choices, but right now he can’t. Or won’t.

Mom needs to police this kid. He needs to be forbidden to hang with those guys. She sees the decency in everyone, but those guys aren’t decent. I try to tell her, but that’s Mom. She knows best and, in her eyes, even the most gruesome murderer could change if he’d only remember he is not his past and he has the control to make better choices. Even Charles Manson.

I’ve tried to talk to Bray. I’ve pointed out what sort of futures these other guys are setting up for themselves and how he is different. He could have it good. But he winds up calling me Mandrea and I end up pounding him, and then he doesn’t take me seriously.

I watch as the principal tells Brayden to head to class. Mom talks to Mr. McCluskey for a bit—the police do too—and then everyone starts to look around as if the conversation is done and they need an excuse to leave. The cops go first, after leaning over and giving the Ks a little poke that makes them giggle and kick their fat, sandaled feet—it’s nearly impossible
not
to give the Ks a little poke that makes them giggle and kick their fat, sandaled feet. The principal says goodbye with a half-salute that Mom probably enjoys—he doesn’t even look at the twins before he goes, probably because he sees enough kids over the course of a day and can’t stand the sight of a couple of possible terrors in the making.

Finally it’s just Mom and the girls. But she doesn’t leave right away. In the morning breeze, she pulls a sheet of paper out of the diaper bag, reads it over, then tacks it to the bulletin board beside the office door. Then she
reaches into the diaper bag again and gives Kaylee and Kaia each a small plastic container full of Cheerios, which makes their feet even happier than the cops made them.

Mom smiles and it’s all I can do to stop myself from running over there, wrapping my Joules arms around her and begging her to believe I am still her daughter. To just accept that sometimes freaky stuff happens and let me come home. I’m not kidding, it hits me so hard in the gut I could throw up.

She slides the sunglasses down from the top of her head onto her nose and, holding Michaela’s hand, wheels the babies toward the steps up to the quad, which she will have to cross in order to walk them home. But there are, like, eight steps. She can’t possibly get a double stroller up them alone.

I drop my bag and run over to her, grinning like an idiot. I’ll help her. I’ll lift the front end while she lifts the back and I’ll get a few seconds of her to keep me going for the rest of the day. As I approach, I say, “Hi, Mrs. Birch. Can I help you up the stairs?”

She narrows her eyes at me, obviously recognizing me from the other morning in my bedroom with Joules, and takes a step backward as if she’s thinking about bolting. Then Mom motions toward the stucco wall, behind which is a ramp I didn’t know existed. “Thank you. But I’m okay with the ramp.”

Idiotic of me. Of course there’s a ramp. How else could a wheelchair or a dolly get down to the office? I can feel my cheeks burn. “Oh, right! I forgot about that.”

Mom stares at me through her dark glasses, the wind fluttering her bangs. She’s wearing the thin silver necklace
I got her for her birthday a few years ago. It’s too thin, I know, for an adult to wear, but it was cheap and pretty and I thought it would match her hair. Anyway, she wears it all the time. If she ever thought it was stupidly thin, she never mentioned it.

“Your babies are adorable,” I say, leaning over to squeeze Kaia’s sandal. “You’re a little cutie, aren’t you?”

Kaia laughs, kicks at me playfully and says, “Again! Again!”

Kaylee sets her Cheerios on her lap and holds up her chubby arms. “Up!”

How I would love to pick her up.

Mom laughs and pulls the stroller away, with some struggle, and points it toward the ramp. “Thanks for your offer. You have a nice afternoon now.” Without another word, she wheels the girls away.

Out on the street, a car honks. Traffic roars past. I stand there, staring at them until the principal comes out of the office again, walks past me and mutters, “Second bell has rung, Miss Adams. Get into the office and get yourself a late slip.”

I wander back to where I dropped Joules’s bag.

Before I head into the office, I stop at the bulletin board to see what Mom posted. It’s one of those flyers where the bottom is cut into phone number tabs you can pull off and take with you. What it says thumps me in the stomach: “Mother’s Helper Wanted.”

Which means two very rotten things. Joules is being no help with the kids. And Andrea Birch is being replaced.

I rip off a tab and slip it into my pocket.