Dead Girl Walking (23 page)

Eli drove us to Dustin’s house; a single-story wood-paneled home in one of those cookie-cutter neighborhoods.

Dustin’s father, an electrician, was off early and did a double take when I walked through the living room hand-in-hand with Dustin. It was so amazing to be with Dustin again that I didn’t want to let him go. Dustin rarely invited girls to his home, and never one that looked like Leah. No wonder his dad was surprised, impressed even.

I smiled and played it up, leaning against Dustin and giggling like I had hair gel for brains. Dustin whispered, “Cut that out!” while turning an interesting shade of red.

“Are you sure you want me to?” I vamped.

“Amber, can’t you control yourself?”

I just grinned. He’d called me
Amber
.

We headed for Dustin’s self-proclaimed “Headquarters.” Not a bedroom, like a normal person would have, but a room crowded with desks and electronic equipment, including three computers linking networks around the world for radical anti-government reasons. There was no bed. Dustin liked to sleep on the saggy leather couch in a sleeping bag. His mother had given up years ago trying to convince him to sleep on a mattress.

Once I teased her: “It could be worse—he could sleep in a coffin like Alyce.”

Not true; Alyce wasn’t that Goth-centric. But Dustin and I cracked up over his mother’s shocked expression. When Alyce heard about my joke, she smacked my arm hard. Even after Dustin told his mother the truth, she still acted nervous around Alyce.

Eli’s gaze rose to Dustin’s ceiling, where the myriad of keys he’d collected as a locksmith circled the top of the walls. Eli seemed awed, spinning slowly in place to look at the hundred-zillion keys. Dizzily, he caught himself before he tripped over some cables twined like black snakes on the floor.

“Cool,” was all he said as he sat in a swivel computer chair.

Then we sat down and got to talking.

I hardly knew which of my zillion questions to ask first. I stared at these two guys, one a very new friend and the other closer than a brother. At first glance someone might shrug them off as geeks, since they were both smart and went their own way rather than following popular trends. But that’s where their similarities ended. Dustin was a born activist, intense and idealistic. Eli seemed easygoing, considerate and a little shy.

“I never expected you two to hang out,” I told them.

“It was all Eli’s doing,” Dustin explained. “Your pal here wouldn’t leave me alone until I heard him out. He cornered me at school today and told me that you needed him. I thought he was nuts and blew him off—but he kept after me. The more he talked, the more things added up. I knew there was something odd when I met Leah … you … at the hospital. The way you moved and talked made me think of Amber—which made no sense. Then, when you told me about my socks, using the exact words Amber always said … well, I didn’t know what to think.”

“Socks?” Eli interrupted.

Dustin glanced away like he always did when reminded of his color-blindness.

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly to save his pride. “A joke between Dustin and me.”

“Which is what freaked me out.” Dustin shook his head. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you … well, the girl I thought was Leah … and it didn’t make any sense. So when Eli told his impossible story, I listened. I mean
really listened
.”

“And believed,” I said gratefully.

“Not at first. But I was hooked with curiosity and figured why not check it out. Then the weirdest thing happened—as you walked toward me, looking exactly like another girl, I knew it was you. And when you talked about nettles I was positive, ’cause you did that funny crinkly thing with your nose and stuck out the tip of your tongue like you always do when you’re grossed out.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do. Even when you’re not you anymore.” He stared at me solemnly. “Geez, Amber! How did this happen?”

I blew out a sigh, sinking into the cushioned chair. “I wish I knew.”

“You’re so … so different. I don’t think I can get used to it.”

Eli leaned in with a serious expression. “You won’t have to—if we figure out a way to switch her back.”

“I’ve tried and tried, but even when I was in the hospital room nothing happened.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “And by now … my real body is … gone.”

No one spoke for a few minutes, and except for the soft hum from the computer monitors, the room was still as death.

Then Dustin tapped his desk top, swiveling in his chair and clicking commands onto a keyboard. “Never say never,” he declared in the tone he used to use when on the debate team. “Even when obstacles seem insurmountable—like when I’m pitted against some mega corporation—there are battle strategies. I can’t stop big money from funding dirty politicians, but I can still fight back.” He waved, as if his hand were a magic wand, toward the monitor where a handsome silver-haired man smiled. “Meet Councilman Beaumont, a great family man, friend to the environment, and all-around good guy. At least that’s what he wants his voters to believe.”

“I’ve seen his commercials,” Eli said. “But what does this have to do with Amber?”

“I’m getting to that. First, look at the councilman’s official website, where he makes nice with the public. His people invested tons of money and energy into their website to win over voters. But voters don’t know that his influence is for sale to the highest bidder, and since my sources won’t go public, I have to attack the councilman in a more subtle way.” He clicked a few more keys and a different website popped up. At first glance this looked exactly like the official Beaumont website, except the picture of Councilman Beaumont showed him with a sly expression as he stood with a sleazy-looking guy, his hands on a large envelope. The caption below the picture read: Councilman for Sale!

“Anyone searching for the dishonorable Councilman will find my alternate website,” Dustin explained proudly.

“Score one for the good guys,” I said, applauding. “Alyce would call Beaumont a corruptician.”

“Actually, she did.” Dustin hit a button and the screen blacked out. “I hope this website and others can even out the justice scales—at least until they’re shut down. I didn’t solve the problem, but I found another way to fight back. And you can, too, Amber.”

“How? I’m stuck in this body.”

“You can still get your life back. You do want to go home, don’t you?”

“More than anything,” I admitted softly. “But my family won’t even recognize me.”

“I did,” Dustin pointed out.

“Only because you have a very strange mind.”

“A logical mind has to accept the impossible when there is no other explanation. Unfortunately most people aren’t logical.” Dustin twisted his lips in a way that told me who he was thinking about.

“Like Alyce,” I said sadly.

“When I talk to her about you, she shuts me down. Today she skipped school. Afterwards I went by her house, and her mother wouldn’t let me in—said that Alyce didn’t want to see me.”

I nodded, understanding too well. Alyce moved on emotion. I’d known her long enough to sense when one of her dark moods was coming on, and could tease her back into smiles. But I couldn’t make her smile if she wouldn’t let me prove who I was.

I wanted to go to her house right now and make her listen. But when I glanced over at the clock, panic struck. An hour had passed since I’d left Jessica’s party—soon Luis would arrive to pick me up. All hell would break loose if I wasn’t there. Each time I’d run away, Leah’s father had had someone bring me back. He’d warned that there wouldn’t be a third time—that he’d send me to DeHaven, where I’d never be able to escape.

Unless he couldn’t find me.

I’d hide out with my friends, change my appearance, and start over with a new identity. But what would it change? I’d still be living a lie, pretending to be someone I wasn’t, unable to live with my family.

And what about school? My career? My future?

Running would solve nothing. Besides, no matter how far I traveled or how much I changed my appearance, Mr. Montgomery would find me.

Dustin patted my trembling hand. “You okay?”

“Not really. I want to stay, but I better leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Eli furrowed his brow. “You don’t have to go anywhere. We’ll protect you.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Dustin agreed. “I have a network of friends who can help.”

“So does Mr. Montgomery,” I pointed out. “Rich and powerful friends.”

“So what?” Dustin shrugged. “You don’t have to pretend you’re Leah. We’ll help you explain to your parents that you’re alive. Last time I saw them, they were talking about funeral arrangements. It’s not fair to let them go on thinking the body in the hospital is all that’s left of you.”

“It’s not fair that I look like this.” Tears blurred my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone … all I know is that if I don’t go back, things could get worse.”

“She’s right.” Eli folded his arms across his chest and turned to Dustin. “Mr. Montgomery is bad news. Our families hang in the same social circles, so I’ve seen him con people. He comes off as sympathetic because he puts up with an alcoholic wife. But I’ve heard rumors that he bullies his employees and even his family.”

He’s worse than that, I thought uneasily, remembering his creepy obsession with Leah’s appearance and the sting of his slap.

“I don’t want Amber to go back anymore than you do,” Eli told Dustin in a grim tone. “But if she doesn’t, Mr. Montgomery will probably send the FBI looking for her.”

“Let them look,” Dustin argued. “They’ll never find her.”

“What kind of life would that be? But if she goes back, it’ll give us time to come up with a plan so she can get away for good.”

“No!”
Dustin smacked his fist on his desk, rattling pens in a container. “I’ve searched Mr. M online and he’s deep into shady dealings, even if no one can prove it. Amber isn’t safe around that creep. If you won’t protect her, then I will.”

“I never said I wouldn’t. I-I care, too.” Eli bumped his elbow on the desk and caught the container of pens before it fell over.

“Then work with me to hide her.”

“Excuse me! I’m right here.” I threw up my hands, shoving between them. “I can make my own decisions.”

“I just want to help,” Dustin said.

“Me, too,” Eli added.

“Arguing isn’t solving anything,” I pointed out.

“Okay.” Dustin studied my face. “Tell us what you want.”

“Yeah,” Eli said. “Where do you want to go?”

They both watched me, waiting. But I didn’t know … I had no idea what to do. It was like being trapped in a pitch-dark room with no windows or doors. No way out.

Eli couldn’t hide me in his house—not with Chad living there. And Dustin couldn’t exactly offer to share his couch. Where did that leave me?

Homeless in a borrowed body.

So I said, take me back.

To Leah’s life.

I stopped by the kitchen and raided the fridge. Leftover chicken, tangy vegetable salad, and a big slice of blueberry pie. Yummm …

When I returned to my room—surprise! The flat-screen TV, computer, and phone were back. Was Leah forgiven for her past bad behavior, or being rewarded for future favors?

The phone blinked with the number “2,” so I pushed on the “collect messages” button and crossed my fingers, hoping the calls were from Eli or Dustin. No such luck.

“Leah, you there?” came Jessica’s voice. “I tried your cell phone but it’s still not picking up. What happened to you? Why did you go off with Chad’s brother? Chad was so pissed he hardly said a word during dinner. Call me.”

The second message was also from Jessica.

“Leah, it’s late and I’m worried about you. If you don’t call soon I’ll try your parents.”

Oh, crap. Just what I didn’t need tonight!

Then I panicked because I didn’t know Jessica’s number. And twenty-three minutes had already passed since she’d left the message. If I didn’t contact her soon, she might call Leah’s parents and say that I’d left her party. Fortunately, the phone had a call-back feature. With heavy relief, I dialed Jessica’s number.

She answered on one ring, peppering me with questions.

Where were you? Are you in love with Chad’s brother? Why didn’t you come back for dinner? Are we still best friends? Is Chad’s brother a good kisser?

I assured her we were still best friend and denied kissing Eli. To avoid answering the other questions, I asked her about the fundraiser—but I didn’t like her answer.

She really was going to have a canned-food-drive memorial service for “that poor Amber Borden.”
How was I supposed to respond to that? I considered telling her the truth—that no one would attend, not even Dustin and Alyce. Alyce would be insulted about the whole canned-food thing, and Dustin shunned school events.

If I wasn’t already presumed dead, I’d die of humiliation.

While I was reeling with all of this, Jessica asked me the most outrageous question ever spoken in all of human existence. A bad situation squared by a
worse
situation:

“Will you come to Amber’s memorial?” she asked.

Forget. It.

I invented an excuse about a doctor appointment on Friday. Jessica begged me to postpone it, but I refused.

Then I called Dustin and clued him in.

“You’re joking,” he said.

“I wish I was.”

“I can just imagine Jessica announcing over the loudspeaker, ‘May she rest in peace and please be sure to drop off your canned food.’ That’s sick.”

“Jessica thinks it’s brilliant. And she’s sure the whole school will come to say good-bye to me. I’m sure only a few teachers will show up. You and Alyce are my best friends, and you won’t be there.”

“What makes you think that? I can’t speak for Alyce—especially since she isn’t speaking to anyone lately—but I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Don’t you dare go!”

“How can I resist?” He chuckled. “Should I bring a can of soup, chili, or fruit cocktail?”

“Not funny. I can’t even guess how my parents will react when they find out about the memorial.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” His tone changed instantly. “Yeah, that would be rough on them, especially when they’re planning their own … well anyway, I see your point. Sorry for being an insensitive jerk.”

“You’re not a jerk, and only marginally insensitive.”

“It’s hard to mourn you when I’m talking to you. But I know this sucks for your family. I don’t know how to stop them from finding out about the memorial. Damn, you really have to tell them the truth.”

“When I’m free of Leah’s family, I’ll make my parents listen and prove who I am.” I sighed. “But I don’t know how long that will take. Leah’s father may not let her go even when she turns eighteen—whenever that is. Isn’t that sad? I don’t even know her birthday.”

“July fourteenth.”

“How do you know?” I asked, surprised.

“From surfing online about the Montgomerys. I’ve found interesting stuff. Rumors about a shifty connection to a congressman named Donatello. Ever hear of him?”

I didn’t answer right away, ashamed to admit about the dance. “I’ve heard a little.”

“Nothing good, I bet. He acts like he’s a respectable family man, but he was accused of beating up a hooker. He denies everything of course. If he shows up, stay away.”

I nodded silently.

Then I changed the subject, asking Dustin about his latest campaigns. He launched into the political buzz about who-did-what, etc. I admired his zeal for justice, even if I wasn’t sure about his methods—like the “fake official” website he was creating to expose the use of illegal chemicals by a supposedly organic nursery.

Even though we were talking about flowers, the word “nursery” reminded me of the weekend I helped paint the triplets’ nursery canary yellow. Mom was on bed rest by then, so Dad and I tackled the walls, splattering yellow paint all over ourselves. When Mom saw us, she laughed so hard we were afraid she’d go into early labor.

That evening, as I changed into Leah’s nightgown, I was still thinking of the family I missed and wondered if they were thinking of me, too. I crawled under Leah’s silky sheets and drifted into a sleep … dreaming of yellow paint and laughter.

Another day, another daily schedule.

Only this time when Angie handed me the printed sheet, she didn’t scowl. And when I thanked her, she even said, “You’re welcome.” No feet stomping or door slamming. Not exactly the road to BFF status but hey it was a start.

I stared helplessly in the mirror at my tragic case of bed head. Without Jessica’s help, I didn’t know how to style my hair. So I twisted the blonde tangles into a braid and flipped it out of the way. Then I tossed on the most comfortable jeans and shirt I could find and headed for breakfast.

Mrs. Montgomery sat alone in the dining room by a large picture window with the shades closed. She wore a lavender robe and stared at nothing. She was turned away from the table, with one arm leaning on the glass-top table and her fingers curling around a wine glass.

I stared down at the ruby liquid shimmering in the glass, disappointed.

She must have heard my footsteps, because she turned her head toward me. A myriad of emotions played across her face: surprise, worry, shame.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she said, pushing the glass away.

“You don’t owe me any explanations.” I really didn’t know what else to say. I hardly knew her and was likely to say something completely wrong. Retreat was the safest option. “I’ll just get some cereal and go back to my room.”

“Don’t go.” Her hand shot out to gently touch my wrist. “We should talk … about many things. We don’t do enough talking.”

“Because you do too much of
that
.” I gestured to the wine glass. Immediately I covered my mouth, shocked at my rudeness. “I’m sorry … I shouldn’t have—”

“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.