Switched (7 page)

14

The etiquette of telephoning is quite important and many otherwise perfectly well-bred people often make themselves conspicuous because they do not know the correct procedure in using this modern but almost indispensable invention.
—Perfect Behavior

Donald Ogden Stewart

Willa’s foot skimmed the lukewarm water as her silver raft drifted across the pool. Yesterday had been incredible.

She’d reprioritized her MySpace friends, streamed three new Lubé Special songs, logged some quality TV time, then topped it all off with a sound, dreamless sleep.

The vacation from herself had, in fact, been so fantastic that she had decided to extend it into this morning. She would reclaim her dreary life when she laid eyes on Laura Melon. Not a second sooner.

And that meant the person floating in the Pogues’ heated pool did not answer to the name Willa Tierney Pogue. Her name was Laura Melon.

It would have to be. Willa Pogue avoided bare bathing suit situations at all costs. She never hung out at the pool without the safety of some sort of towel or cover-up.
This
girl—the person she was now—felt fantastic in her black tank.

There was only one problem with this picture: the phone was ringing.

BBBBeeep. BBBBeeep.

Willa popped one eye open and turned toward the sound. “God, that’s loud,” she muttered. She hadn’t even known there was a phone out here. She made a mental note to turn the volume down—or better yet,
off
—when she got out of the pool.

Hello, you’ve reached the . . .

There was a machine out here, too? That figured. God forbid her mother miss an important call from the Junior League while she was underwater.

On the plus side, at least the ringing had stopped. Hopefully, the idiot would just hang up, rather than leave a message. It was probably that loser Blake kid. Why wouldn’t he just give up?

“Willa! Willa Pogue! Pick up the phone immediately! I will
not
have this particular conversation with an answering machine! Do you unde—”

Her mother’s voice vibrated like a cherry bomb. Willa flipped off the raft and plunged into the water.

Her minivacation had come to a catastrophic halt.

Maybe Laura got caught,
Willa considered as she swam to the side.
She never called. Maybe she’s in real trou—

“If you don’t pick up this phone in the next thirty seconds, I’m sending Emory to find out exactly what it is that you’ve been up to down there, because—”

Willa sprinted out of the pool, upsetting a row of patio furniture. Green and white cushions rained down around her as she grabbed the phone.

“Hi, Mom,” she sputtered. “What’s up?

“Don’t you ‘what’s up’ me,” her mother railed. “I hate that expression. It’s so coarse, Willa.”

Willa stifled the urge to throw the phone in the pool.
Tell me why you’re calling,
she thought.
Is Laura in trouble? Am I in trouble?

“Sorry,” she said. “Um, so, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong,” her mother shot back, her voice heavy with disdain, “is that I just received a call from Fenwick. They haven’t received your housing application yet. The deadline was June twenty-sixth! You also haven’t submitted any essays on your summer reading. Orientation begins at the end of August, Willa. That’s just over a month from now. As in
four weeks. What
have you been doing all summer?”

Willa ran a hand through her tangled wet hair and squeezed her eyes shut.
Four weeks.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured her mother. Her tone was even and measured. “It’s probably just a computer glitch. I’ll take care of everything.”

“You’d better take care of this, Willa Tierney. Do you hear me? Do you? Because I’m supposed to be at the Watleys’ right now, playing mixed doubles. Bitsy Perkins had to step in for me at the last minute and her tennis elbow has been a problem all season. . . .”

Willa apologized to the entire Newport tennis circuit and hung up the phone. She looked down at her dripping body and grimaced. Willa Pogue was back. And so were all her hangups.

Wrapped in a huge beach towel, Willa walked across the lawn toward the house. She let herself in through the kitchen. Her damp feet slapped against the bright black and white tile, leaving a trail of sloppy wet splotches in her wake.

“Where, where,” she muttered as she threw open every cabinet door in the pantry. She remembered getting some sort of large envelope from Fenwick a few weeks ago, right after she’d made a snack run to the 7-Eleven. She’d probably shoved it onto one of these shelves, along with the contraband items.

Her eyes came to rest on a large manila envelope. It was folded in half and sandwiched between a half-empty bag of Doritos and a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke.

There were a few other Fenwick envelopes behind that one.

Don’t panic,
she thought as she tightened her grip around the beach towel.
Four weeks is actually a really long time.

Her stomach issued a long, low growl, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten yet today.

Willa grabbed the envelopes, the Doritos and the Coke and headed back to the pool.

If I have to be myself, I might as well be myself by the pool,
she reasoned.

She spread her bundle on a chaise lounge and waded through the morass of papers. After a few minutes, she heard a loud clanging sound and turned toward the driveway. Laura’s ancient station wagon rolled to a stop.

“Hey! Over here!” Willa raised her hand high over her head to get Laura’s attention. As she did, a few drops of water landed on her housing application, smearing the ink.

Willa frowned and rubbed at the spot. The smudge grew larger.

Laura cut across the lawn. She paused at the overturned row of furniture.

“I know, I know,” Willa murmured, waving toward the heap. “My mom called and was really pissed. I have to, like, get serious about school.” She fanned the papers out in front of her and shook her head. “I have to write some sort of entrance essay or something—about summer reading? I don’t know, though. I think I lost that sheet. But I guess I could call the school. Or maybe do it all online.” She frowned. “That really sucks, doesn’t it? Well, maybe not for you, but it does for me. I hate writing papers.”

When Willa was eight, she’d received a “Build Your Own Volcano” kit for Christmas, along with a note informing her that the toy was for “outside use only.” She’d ignored the note, choosing instead to set up her mini–Mount St. Helens on an eighteenth-century dining room table her mother had recently purchased from an estate sale.

Willa had known the situation was going to end badly from the very start. No sooner had she poured the colored baking soda down the model’s tiny neck than the volcano began to sputter and jerk. Within seconds, the thing had erupted—a fast and furious belch that coated everything in sight.

Staring at Laura now, she was suddenly reminded of her toy volcano. Her normally calm, mellow friend looked ready to erupt.

It’s probably something with her mom’s boyfriend,
Willa thought. She shoved some Doritos into her mouth and leaned back.
Let the lava flow.

“Of course you hate writing papers, Willa,” Laura snapped. “You hate everything. Except for this crap.” She gave the Doritos bag a hard shake, triggering a maelstrom of tiny red triangles. She pointed at Willa’s papers. “Look at this mess. You haven’t even filled out any of these forms and they’ve got orange fingerprints all over them. And they’re
wet.
I can’t believe you.”

Willa’s mouth dropped open. Wait, why was Laura against her too?

Laura picked up a glossy brochure. “Do you know how amazing Fenwick is?” Her eyes narrowed. “No, wait; do you even know
where
Fenwick is?”

Willa shifted her weight uncomfortably. She had a feeling Fenwick was somewhere in Connecticut, but she wouldn’t be willing to put money on that.

Laura scowled. “Of course you don’t! Oh—and I had a great time at the luncheon yesterday, thanks for asking. Honestly, Willa, you’re so spoiled. Don’t you know how lucky you are?”

Willa felt a stray tear wander down her cheek. “Of course you think I’m lucky. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Or what my life is like. You’ve never even met my parents—the people who you work for—have you? Well, you won’t, believe me.”

“That’s such a rich kid’s argument. Who cares that you don’t see your parents that much? They obviously care about you! They send you to the best schools, buy you the best clothes; you have houses that are nicer than the ones in magazines . . . don’t you know how—”

“And don’t
you
know that the cheapest way to pay for anything is with money?”

Laura blinked. “What?”

Willa shrugged. “You heard me. Once you have money—a lot of it—the best of everything isn’t that huge a sacrifice, is it?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it that way.”

“Of course you hadn’t. You were too busy thinking about how good I’ve got it.” She looked at Laura. “You just don’t get it, do you? You’ve got it pretty good yourself.”

Laura sat down on the foot of the chaise lounge. “How could you think my life is anything other than horrible?” she asked quietly.

Willa pulled her knees up to her chin. “I see the way you and your mom are together. You guys are a team.”

“I guess. I mean, I know. My mom is great,” Laura allowed. “But—and I’m not trying to be argumentative here or anything—I do spend my days scrubbing toilets. Other people’s toilets. Doesn’t that guarantee an instant gold medal in the my life sucks the most contest?”

“And I spend my days being a disappointment,” Willa said, laughing. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “And just so you know, I did do a little cleaning yesterday. Not a lot, I guess, but a little. It didn’t seem all that bad.”

“Well, how about this new development? The magnificent Dr. Pool has a daughter. Try to imagine NASCAR meets the
WWE SmackDown
and that’s Angie.
And
she’s decided we’re BFF. I definitely rack up some bonus points for that, don’t you think?”

“No way. Angie at least
likes
you. The kids I meet at boarding school barely even talk to me.”

Laura sighed. “I’m sorry, Willa.” She sank back onto her elbows and squinted into the sun. “I don’t know, it’s like I got drunk at that luncheon yesterday or something. Drunk on your last name. I know it’s crazy, but I just kept imagining myself at Fenwick, taking classes, studying, filling out my college ap—”

“It’s not crazy,” Willa blurted out. Her mind was on overdrive, her hand dipping into that box of Fruit Roll-Ups again. It was all so clear. The next few months stretched before her, smooth, light and tasty.

“What? What are you talking about?” Laura said, sitting up. Her voice was tinged with worry. She’d been inside the Fruit Roll-Up box before too. She knew it was dangerous.

“Look, since you’re obviously such a perfect match for Fenwick, why don’t you go—as me? Just for this semester,” Willa said, trying hard to contain her excitement. “Take classes, relax, get ready for college—do whatever—and I’ll move into your house and take over your cleaning route.”

Laura frowned. “Look, I know you don’t want to go back to school. And I know you have a lot of forms to fill out, so maybe it’s just the stress that’s getting to you—”

Willa shook her head. “It’s not the stress. Don’t you get it? We already pulled this off. If nobody at the Fenwick thing suspected anything, I don’t see why we’d have a problem.”

“You don’t, do you?” Laura said, laughing. “Willa, yesterday we switched places for three
hours.
You’re proposing we switch for over four
months.”

“You say potato, I say—” Willa paused. “Wait, how does that one go?”

“Never mind. The point is, this is more complicated than my putting on an expensive outfit and borrowing your invitation,” Laura said, her voice stern. “Plus, the thought of
you
wanting to clean is a joke. You’re the biggest slob I’ve ever met.” She ended with a grand, sweeping gesture at Willa’s stack of Dorito-stained papers.

“Hey! I’ve gotten
a lot
neater since we’ve met, haven’t I?”

Laura didn’t even bother to answer.

“Okay, fine,” Willa said, trying hard not to sulk. Laura was taking the entire Fruit Roll-Up box away from her, placing it on a shelf far out of her reach, and she was desperate to stop her. “I’m messy. But anything’s better than school. And I
did
clean a little bit yesterday. Plus, I’ve watched you. I’ve learned a lot.”

“Yesterday doesn’t count. I’m sorry, but pushing around a vacuum for a few hours isn’t cleaning. This job’s not as easy as it looks. Besides, in the fall people are back from vacation. My mom and I have a pretty hectic schedule.”

Willa couldn’t let go. She needed this. “So what? You can teach me. This’ll work, Laura. I swear. We can do this, just—”

Laura groaned and raised a hand, cutting her off.

“Look, as much as I’m dreading these next few months,” she said, “I just can’t. I’m sorry. I hate to let you down, but I can’t do this. Think about what would happen if we got caught. We’d get into so much trouble. Even worse, we’d get my mom into trouble.” She shuddered. “And if that happened, I just couldn’t live with myself. So let’s just stop the whole ‘wouldn’t it be great if’ thing because it’s never going to work.” She tightened her ponytail. “I mean, maybe you’ll have a great time at school and I’ll discover some sort of deep-seated love for cleaning.”

“Do you honestly believe that?” Willa asked.

“No.” Laura’s voice was smaller now. “I honestly believe that the next few months are going to be awful. But I can’t switch places with you, Willa. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Willa said. “I understand.” She meant it, too. She knew Laura was every bit as miserable as she was.

Willa stared down at her heap of forms. “I should get ready for school.”

“Back to cleaning for me.”

Laura pushed herself onto her feet. As she did, loose Doritos danced around on the chaise lounge.