The Swap (10 page)

He turns to me. “Dang! What happened to you, little man?”

I settle into the front seat. My heart—
Jack's heart
—is absolutely pounding, and my mind's racing for what I'm supposed to say. Something about a cage and nothing about the fight, but before I manage to even get a word out, Sammy takes over. He's wedged himself between me and the door of the truck so there is no way I can close it, even if I want to. And I want to.

“Big boy dropped the mitts,” announces Sammy. “You should have seen him. He dusted the kid.”

“Stud,” says Gunner, shooting me a smile.

He starts up the truck, but that doesn't stop Sammy. He just leaps down onto the ground and runs alongside us.

“Jacko,” he calls out, “if you are not at Owen's tomorrow night, I will personally deliver you a swift kick in the cashews! And, Jack—”

I turn and look back at Sammy running after the truck. “Stick your hands out the window and squeeze. It feels like boobs!”

Oh my god
.

“Try it!” he shouts. He's bent over, laughing.

“Get a load of this guy!” Gunner says, looking back over his shoulder, grinning. “Kid's crazy!”

We pull out of Thatcher onto the main road.

“So, you surprised?” he asks.

“Surprised?” I repeat.

Great.
What am I supposed to be surprised about?

“El Capitán had a work thing, so it's bro time, little buddy!”

I turn away and stare out the window.
Who the heck is El Capitán?

Gunner gives me a weird look. “You feeling okay, buddy?”

I nod and quietly pray he can't tell that I'm on the verge of tears.

But it doesn't work.

“C'mon, man, quit being so soft!” he tells me. “Please tell me you aren't crying like a little girl.”

That's exactly what I'm doing
, I think. I keep myself turned away, looking out the window.

“Take your skirt off, ya big beauty!”

Huh?

“Dude, relax. You stood up for yourself, right?”

I keep quiet.

“Did you win or did you lose?”

I shrug. I have no idea what to say.

He repeats the question. “Did you win or did you lose?”

“Win, I guess.” I finally manage an answer.

Gunner's entire face lights up. “Nails, Jacko!” he says, reaching over and squeezing my shoulder.

Nails?

“You took care of your business, little man. Just, you know, there will be some hell to pay. Let's not tell The Captain just yet, okay?”

“The Captain?” I ask.

Apparently I've said something funny. Gunner laughs and looks at me. “You're sounding a little off, bro. Did you get your bell rung or what?”

I shrug again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Gunner check himself out in the rearview mirror. “Lost about five pounds in sweat today. Good skate this morning with the boys. Grind now, shine later, right?”

He turns the music up. “Nothing better than cruisin' with all windows down, big dog! I can sing as loud and bad as I want.” He pauses and grins right at me. “Gonna stop and get my flow chopped. You in?”

“Uhhh, I guess?” I say. I have no idea what he's talking about.

Gunner looks surprised. “Seriously?”

“Sure.” I shrug. Whatever I said I would do makes Gunner very happy.

His eyes light up and he reaches over again, grabbing my knee this time and squeezing it hard. “Pumped! Proud of you, man. Holdin' it down. What did the girls think of your eye?”

“Huh?”

“It's a good look, Jacko. Beast mode!”

Boys are so weird!

Jack's brother is kind of funny. He smiles a lot. “Bro,” he says. “Pain is nothing compared to what it feels like to quit, right? What did the other dude look like?”

“What other dude?” I say.

Gunner laughs. “The donkey you dusted.”

“Um, oh, not too good, I guess.” Yes, I'm just making stuff up at this point.

“Did you destroy him?”

“I guess?”

“That-a-boy, little man. Flat-out brawl. Showin' a little grit!” He stretches his arm out toward me and ruffles my—Jack's—thick, messy hair. “Showed some jam, bro!”

I work up the nerve to look over at him again. He's probably sixteen or seventeen, I guess. And he has the same blue eyes as Jack and the same wild dark hair. Gunner catches me looking. It's awkward. “You sure you're okay, little man?”

“Yeah,” I manage. “I'm good,” I say with a nervous laugh.

I'm not exactly good! I'm riding in a truck with a kid I just met, and I'm in Jack Malloy's body.

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AS SOON AS I BUST
out the back gym door, I kind of freeze in my tracks. Small problem, right? I forgot to ask Ellie what kind of car I'm supposed to look for.

I stand there and stare out into the bumper-to-bumper line of parents waiting to pick up their kids and just keep thinking,
This has to be a dream . . . tell me this isn't really happening
. But I'm pretty sure it is happening. No, scratch that, I'm positive. First clue? I watch a tall lady with long, wavy fiery-red hair, yoga clothes, and a big beaming smile jump out of a white Volvo, motion to the teacher directing traffic that she'll only be a second, and walk straight for me. She doesn't give me any time to duck the hug. She pulls me in and wraps her arms around me tight. It's awkward, all right—my new face is pressed up against her boobs!

“Day one is in the books, darling!” she whispers into my ear, and it tickles. “You did it!”

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out Red Hair with Yoga Pants is Ellie's mom. First of all, she has milky-white skin and freckles, just like, well—just like Freckles does. Second? She calls me Ellie. Actually,
Ellie honey
. As in, “Ellie, honey, I have the most amazing surprise for you!” When she talks, her whole face smiles, and she doesn't just say “amazing,” she says it like this: “Ahhhh-may-ziiiiing!”

Red Hair with Yoga Pants's eyes are big and bright green, and when she hugs me, she smells really good, like . . . I can't describe it because, honestly, I haven't been hugged like that in a really long time. And when she lets go of my new girl arms and my new girl shoulders, she reaches for Ellie's eight-hundred-pound book bag and carries it for me!

Maybe I could get used to this
, is what I'm thinking as I slide into the front seat. Red Hair with Yoga Pants shoots me this warm, dazzling smile and hands me a bag of takeout from Chipotle and a Mountain Dew.

“You must be starving,” she tells me.

Look, I'm just going to say it. Freckles's mom is unbelievably pretty and not scary and she smells good and she
brought me food
. Not just food, but a grilled chicken burrito with guacamole, salsa, cheese,
and
sour cream!

So what I'm thinking as we pull out of Thatcher is,
this might not be so bad after all, right?
Maybe I can do this
.

I inhale the burrito like I haven't eaten for days. The Captain considers any type of fast food off-limits. Let me put it another way: Chipotle is not on the yes list for the Malloy training table. I'm so hungry I forget that I should probably, like, slow down and not eat like a contestant on
Survivor.
Red Hair with Yoga Pants glances over, smiling. “Wow, you're really devouring that. I guess you're hungry, huh?”

“Yeah,” I answer with my mouth full, wiping the sour cream from my chin with the back of my hand and thinking about how The Captain would get so heated if I did that with him. Heck, The Captain does not even let me eat in the truck!

Red Hair with Yoga Pants reaches over and puts her hand on the back of my neck. “Soooo?”

I try not to flinch.

“Soooo,” she says again, squeezing this time. “Aren't you dying to know the big ahhhh-may-ziiiiing surprise?”

I make a quick decision: the less I say, the better.

I'll just keep quiet, right?

Wrong.

The more quiet I am, the more questions I get.

She glances at me and smiles big. “What are you thinking about over there?”

“How was your first day?”

“How come you still have your gym clothes on? Do they give you enough

time to change?”

“Are you excited about your classes?”

I keep eating and hope somehow the chewing will excuse the not answering.

Red Hair with Yoga Pants doesn't seem to be too mad. “Well, I'll tell you what. It's fine. You don't have to talk. Just relax.”

Okay, thanks
, I think silently in my head.

She glances over and shoots me the biggest smile. “And about that surprise? Are you wondering at all?”

“I guess,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

“Well, I'm going to keep you in suspense until after soccer.”

“Soccer?” I blurt out, remembering Freckles's instructions.

“Honey, we talked about this. I don't feel good about letting you back out just because of a few bad apples.”

Bad apples? What's that even mean? I turn away and press my head up against the glass, just like I do when my dad's lecturing me in the truck.

“Coach Carolyn expects you to be there, Ellie.”

A few long seconds go by where neither of us speak.

“Ellie, I'm talking to you.” For the first time, Red Hair with Yoga Pants sounds a little bit upset.

“I don't feel well,” I say.
It's not exactly a lie
, I think, glancing down at my girlie freckled knees.

“Ellie, seriously, it's not really a choice, okay?” She shoots me a quick glance. She looks so
not
mad, like the opposite of The Captain. She looks more worried, or concerned, I guess.

“Sweetie, you are going to soccer, and you are going to be fine. Just have fun out there, okay? Don't take everything so seriously!”

I settle back into the seat. I watch her drive.

I don't talk.

“Is it you-know-who?” she finally asks.

“Huh?”

“Are you worried about, you know, She Who Must Not Be Named?”

I look at her like she's crazy. “What?”

“Look, I'm going to tell you the same thing I always tell you, and I know you're sick of it, but it's true. Honey, the more open you can be about your feelings, the better you'll feel.”

I nod. But inside? Dude. I am confused.

“Are you worried?” she asks again.

I shrug. Honestly, right now the only thing I am worried about is the fact that I'm a G-I-R-L and Red Hair with Yoga Pants has her hand on my neck again.

We've stopped in front of the Sportsplex. I've been here a million times with Sammy and Owen. Birthday parties. Pickup games. I look at the stairs and the dozens of kids walking in with their soccer gear. I'm pretty sure that this is happening, whether I want it to or not.

Ellie's mom turns to me and hands me a drawstring soccer bag. It's pink.

And look, there's not a big choice here. I take the bag. I take the pink bag and try to force a smile.

“You can do it, honey pie,” she says. “You totally got this!”

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I JUMP DOWN OUT OF
the gigantic black truck and follow Gunner down the strip-mall sidewalk because I have no idea what I just agreed to do or where in the world we could possibly be going.

Gunner ruffles my hair again. “Dude, you got some sick flow, bro.”

“Huh?” I say.

“Nothin' like a good chop to start the season. Need to shake some things up, right?”

I still have no idea what he's talking about, so I decide the best approach is to just keep saying yes.