“It’s okay. I appreciate your honesty, and admit I’ve had serious issues.” She stared down at the glass with hate and longing. “After last night, I couldn’t sleep and finally came down here at four in the morning.”
I frowned at the faint bruise on her cheek, knowing exactly what had upset her last night.
“It’s all so overwhelming,” she said with a heavy sigh. “You can’t know … how I feel … like everything is out of control and I can’t find the right direction to turn. I’ve screwed up so many times, so why even bother to try? I just couldn’t take it anymore and was going to quit my meetings. I poured this glass and … well, nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I never took a drink.”
“You’ve been sitting here since four in the morning?”
“Staring at a glass.” She laughed bitterly. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“Not really. You’re stronger than you know. You can beat this — I know you can.”
“You always say that.”
“I do?” I asked, surprised.
“Many, many times. But I’ve never believed you … and somewhere along the way I know you stopped believing in me, too.” She sighed. “All I can say is, I’m sorry. I’m a lousy mother.”
“At least you try. Your glass is still full.”
“That’s right — it is.” Her smile hinted at sadness and pride as she stood swiftly and picked up the glass. I tensed for a moment, afraid she’d drink it. But she marched into the kitchen and dumped the entire glass into the sink.
I followed her and applauded. “Go, Mom.”
“Yeah, I’m going all right — going to call my friend in AA and talk about what almost happened.” She turned toward a granite counter. “Thanks for your support, Leah. It means more than you’ll ever know.”
She held her head high as she crossed the room to pick up a cordless phone. I had an impulse to wrap my arms around her and hug … as if she were really my mother.
Ridiculous! I told myself as I watched her leave. There was only one “Mom” for me, and even if I had to stay in this body forever, Mom would always be the slightly overweight, always over-worked, mother of four daughters.
Yet I seemed to care for Leah’s Mom, too — confusing!
What kind of freaky phenomenon was going on here? Did Leah’s body have its own memories? Would they gradually replace mine? No, I couldn’t let that happen. I refused to forget who I was. Identity was deeper than skin, somewhere trapped in between.
So why did my heart ache for Mrs. Montgomery? This feeling was stronger than an intense craving for chocolate. Perhaps it was similar to Mrs. Montgomery’s longing when she stared down at the ruby-red liquid.
Weird thoughts, I told myself. Get over it, Amber!
With resolve, I opened a kitchen cupboard.
And poured cereal.
* * *
By the afternoon, I’d finished my workouts and spent a few hours watching soaps with Luis. He filled me in on the plotlines while I munched on his delicious homemade cheesy popcorn. When Angie came by, she shot us a disgusted look. But all she asked was if I’d done my exercises and homework. Wow — she was acting almost friendly.
When the soaps ended, Luis went outside for gardening chores and I returned to my room. I tried to figure out Leah’s password to her computer, but couldn’t. If I could read through her emails it would help to know her better, save me from any embarrassing mistakes.
Once school was over, my phone started ringing — Jessica, Chad, Kat and Eli. I let the machine pick up for the first three, but when I saw Eli’s name on the caller ID, I couldn’t grab the phone fast enough. We talked, nothing serious, just casual stuff that seemed more interesting when shared with Eli. I had to admit, even to myself, that I was falling for him. How could Leah have preferred Chad?
After I hung up, I sat on Leah’s bed and thought about my day. Strange, surreal, almost enjoyable. I was starting to feel comfortable in this skin. When I stared at myself in the mirror, I wasn’t only looking at Leah or at Amber, but at a blend of the two of us.
AmberLeah.
A knock on my door startled me out of my thoughts.
“Leah, are you busy?” Mr. Montgomery asked as he opened my door.
“Uh … not really,” I said, sitting up straight and clasping a small pillow on my lap. “What do you want?”
He draped his arm on my computer chair. “I just had an enlightening talk with your friend.”
My heart skipped a few beats. “Who?”
“Jessica Bradley. She said that you seemed to be avoiding her calls today,” he added, with a disapproving glance at the phone on my desk.
“I’ve been busy doing homework,” I lied.
“Is it done?”
I nodded.
“Excellent,” he said with a nod. “I’m pleased by how well you’ve recovered. So pleased that I’m returning these.”
A set of keys dangled from his fingers.
“My car keys!” I rejoiced, taking the keys. I could almost smell my freedom, and couldn’t wait to tell Eli and Dustin I had wheels to go wherever I wanted.
“You deserve them,” he told me. “Jessica told me how you helped come up with the fundraiser plans, so I figured you’d need your car. You aren’t expected back in classes till Monday, but there’s no reason you can’t help Jessica.”
“Help Jessica do what?” The sharp end of a key stabbed my palm.
“I’ll make an exception for such a worthwhile endeavor. I told Jessica you could go, and that I’d be happy to donate cases of canned food.” Smiling, he gave my braid a light tug. “Have fun — at the fundraiser.”
29
The auditorium displayed a huge blow-up of my (hideous!) junior year picture on a pedestal surrounded by boxes of canned food. What a send-off! I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. No one but me saw the irony in memorializing a foodaholic with a canned-food drive.
Even more ironic — the dead girl was present.
Dustin and Eli had both tried to talk me out of attending, afraid I’d break down. But Mr. Montgomery’s direct order could not be ignored. So I arrived early to set up, carrying boxes and bags of canned food.
Every time I walked up near the stage, I cringed at the life-size picture of my own face. My hair was frizzed on one side, my eyes were squinting because the photographer’s lights were too bright, and a pimple poked out on my chin. Could Jessica have found a worse picture of me? Doubtful.
Kat was also pitching in to help, carrying canned food with a cheerful attitude. I found nothing to be cheerful about, and kept busy to avoid talking to anyone.
The memorial was scheduled for four o’clock.
At ten to four, there were still only three of us present.
I knew it, I thought, both angry and relieved. No one is coming.
But then the door opened. Dustin and Eli stepped in.
Dustin held a box loaded with canned food. Eli carried just one can — but it was the largest can I’d ever seen. He’d put a bow on the top like it was a birthday gift. Then he came over to me.
“Here’s my donation.” He had a twinkle in his eyes.
“Couldn’t you find anything bigger?” I joked.
“I’ll try next time you have a memorial service,” he joked. He handed me the giant can of chocolate syrup.
My arms strained to hold it. As I carried it over to one of the growing pile of canned goods (quite a few donated by Mr. Montgomery), there was a rumble of voices. I looked over my shoulder and saw dozens of my classmates, and some teachers, filing into the room. Principal Kimbrough was even there, taking a seat in the front row.