“You’re joking, right?”
“Um … no.”
“Come off it, Shari. You’re the most private person I know. You’ve never sung in public! You’re always teasing Eli about his secret passion for karaoke. And you never, ever brag about having a good voice.”
“So singing isn’t my dream?” I asked.
“Duh. You can’t stand pop tarts like Britney. You want to be a doctor.” She frowned at me. “Maybe you really have been taken over by a demon. But I won’t give up on you. I still have three photo albums and the scrapbook for the secret club we made when we were in third grade.”
She eyed me suspiciously and lifted the Taser.
Then, with steely determination, she picked up yet another photo album.
While she turned pages and reminded me of a trip to Lake Tahoe and a wild ride on a snowmobile, my hands started to itch. The itch heated up into a strange warmth that spread through my arms. I glanced down and had to swallow a gasp when I saw my fingers glowing. And the rest of me felt weird, too. My thoughts swam in a fog and I felt numb all over, as if I was disconnecting from my body.
Sharayah’s body.
What time was it? I tried to ask Hannah, panicked when I couldn’t hear my voice. Sounds echoed all around me, as if I were being swept along a dark tunnel.
It was happening, I realized. What I’d wished for desperately, yet dreaded, too. I was leaving Sharayah and returning home. Only I wasn’t ready yet. I sent my thoughts out to Grammy, begging for more time because I hadn’t made Sharayah a star. I hadn’t said good-bye to Eli, either. It was all happening too fast, out of control, swirling dark colors mingling with a sense of rushing movement.
Then I felt myself stop.
A jolt as if I’d crashed into a wall.
And when I opened my eyes and looked around, I realized the “wall” wasn’t made of brick or concrete — it was made of flesh, blood, and curly brown hair.
I was Amber again.
24
“Amber! You’re awake!”
I glanced around, aware of so many things at once: the hospital bed I was in, the tube running from my arm to an IV pole, the half-open curtain letting in dim light from a cloudy day, and the crying woman staring down at me. After being in two different bodies within the past week, facing Dark Lifers and almost becoming the next Voice Choice star, I was me again. Average-looking, savvy, future entertainment agent Amber Borden.
“Mom?” I whispered, almost afraid to believe this was really happening.
My mother sobbed and rushed for the bed. Crying my name over and over (which was very cool to hear again!), she wrapped her arms gently around me, tears streaming down her cheeks and falling on my arm — an arm with faint scars from falling in nettles. Memories rushed back at me but this time they were my own: the screech of tires of a runaway mail truck, meeting Grammy Greta on the other side, waking up in the hospital in the wrong body.
But now, for the first time in weeks, I was in the right body.
And my mommy was hugging me.
Soon we were both crying.
It was like someone shook up a bottle of craziness, then popped open the cork. Everything blurred in a rush of joy and tears. Dad showed up, then nurses and doctors. Mom was like a bull charging up to the doctors, insisting that I was awake, healthy and ready to go home. While Mom battled about protocol and hospital rules, Dad bent down and hugged me so hard that a nearby machine started beeping. And throughout this, I kept studying my body, marveling at my freckles, small breasts, and chubby thighs.
I loved being me.
At some point during the insanity, a phone rang and my father handed it to me.
“Dustin!” I exclaimed.
“Amber?” he asked cautiously. “Is it really you?” “Yes! But how did you find out already?”
“I have my sources,” he said in his typical know-it-all tone. “Wow! You sound like the real you again.” “Great, huh?” I heard myself and smiled.
“Supreme greatness. So when can I see you?”
“Soon, I hope.” I glanced over at my mother, who was glaring furiously and arguing with a doctor. “My parents are working on getting me released ASAP.” “So you’ll come home tomorrow?”
“I think so. Home — what a beautiful word.”
“I’ll bet it is. So chill and enjoy being back, but then I want to know everything. Like, how did the audition go?” “Don’t ask.” My smile faded.
“You bombed?”
“Worse. I never made it. But I can’t talk about that here,” I added in a whisper. “I’ll explain later.” “Call me when you’re home.”
“I will,” I promised.
“And Amber, just so you know … ” he paused, suddenly awkward.
“Yes?”
“It’s great to have you — the real you — back.”
I looked around at my parents and swelled with emotion. “I know.”
After a long night of tests and examinations, I was released the next morning. My little sisters tackled me when I walked through the front door, a tiny team of triplet football players wearing protective plastic trainer pants.
“Sissy, Sissy, Sissy!” Melonee, Olive, and Cherry screamed as they grabbed my legs and hugged.
I winced at the pain from my bruises (I had been hit by a truck, after all), but hugged them back. I couldn’t get over how they’d grown. I was like Rip Van Winkle returning home after a hundred years, although it had been less than two weeks. But a few weeks for little kids is like a century. My sisters had learned new words and could string some together in short sentences. They each had new talents to show me. Olive could do a backward somersault (obviously not taking after her gym-resistant big sister), Melonee could count to eleven, and Cherry kept saying “Knock, knock,” then giggling whenever I said, “Who’s there?” I was thrilled to see my cat Snowy, but she wasn’t as friendly as Kitty Calico and gave me attitude (until dinner, when I snuck food to her under the table). Mom made a welcome-home, triple-layer caramel cream cake for me, and I showed my gratitude by taking two slices. Afterward, feeling sleepy and full, I went to my room — where I finally found some alone-time to make an important phone call.
Eli, Eli! Answer!
But he didn’t.
The stupid phone rang and rang until the voicemail picked up. Where was Eli? I agonized. Why hadn’t he answered? By now he must have realized I’d switched back to myself, so he should have tried to call me. Yet he hadn’t.
Discouraged, I left a short “Call me ASAP!” message.
Then I tried Alyce’s number.
I was still reeling with regret over not being there when she needed me. But now I was home and I would help her through her crisis — no matter what it was. It wouldn’t be guy troubles, since she was too picky to go out with anyone. So that left either school/homework issues, complications with graveyard photographing, or something to do with her mother.
Usually her problems were mother-related.
So when her mother answered my call, I got a sick feeling in my gut.
“Hello … Is Alyce there?” I asked nervously. “This is Amber.” “I know who you are,” she said coolly. What did she have against me, anyway? I’d always been extremely nice and polite to her.
“Can I talk to Alyce?” I asked.
“Why would you want to do that?” Her hostility was sharp enough to draw blood.
“Because I’m her best friend.”
“My daughter has no friends.”
“That’s not true!” I argued. “Please tell her I want to talk to her.” “Unfortunately, she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Click. Dead phone.
Oh, great, I thought grimly. That went well … not.
I stared at the phone in my hand, blaming myself for handling that all wrong. But what else could I have said? Did Alyce really hate me or was her mother lying? I thought back to our last conversation, how insistent Alyce was that I come home right away, then her anger when I’d refused. She’d needed me and I’d let her down.