The Swap (20 page)

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“What do you mean, what are we doing?” she responds.

“I mean, why are we stopping?”

She glances over like I'm crazy. “Sweetie, really? You still don't want to go?”

“Go where?” are the two words that come out before I kind of wish I could take them back.
I sound so dumb
. But I have no clue what we are doing in front of this house.

I turn and look out the window. I know where we are. It's Owen's street. Three houses down from my elementary school and directly across from the big open field where we play capture the flag in after it gets dark. I've spent a hundred nights running around this neighborhood. It's just . . .
what exactly are we doing here?

I turn back to Summer. She's gazing at me. Like, literally just smiling, and we're sitting in the parked car. I have no idea what she's waiting for.

She reaches over and runs her fingers over my hair. “It's so great to finally see your eyes, sweetheart.” She studies me for a second. “We had fun today, right?”

I nod and manage a quiet smile back.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks.

“I'm fine,” I answer, and turn away.

She takes a deep breath. “What's going on?”

“I'm fine,” I repeat.

“Well, okay then,” she says, smiling. “Have fun!”

I turn to her in a panic. “What . . . what do you mean, have fun? Aren't we, like—”

Summer cuts me off. “Oh, right, I totally forgot!” Her eyes light up, and I watch her jump out of the car. I hear the trunk open. Then she slips back into her seat, handing me a gift bag with sparkly tissue paper sticking out and a big pink ribbon tying it together. “Almost forgot!”

As soon as I see the bag I remember. Freckles. “No birthday parties!” she told me.

“Oh boy,” I mumble, and stay exactly where I am, in the front seat. Frozen. “I, um . . . do I have to go?” I try.

“Honey.” Summer sighs; her eyes scan my face. “Why are you so afraid of going to Claire's birthday party? What's going on? Is this about Sassy?”

Sassy?
I look back at her and shrug both my shoulders.
I'm so confused
.

Summer smiles and holds out her open hand. It takes me a few seconds before I realize what she's waiting for, and I follow suit. For a moment we sit in the car, neither of us talking. I wonder if maybe she'll let me just go home. Maybe she can tell how rattled I am. Maybe she'll let me leave.

But instead?

Summer squeezes my hand. “Sweetheart, you don't have to spend your time with Sassy. There are going to be lots of girls that you like there. Just don't focus on her and be with your other friends.”

I take a big deep breath and look away. I look outside. I look at the perfectly cut lawn and the house and the flowers on the front steps.

“Just go and have a good time and don't worry so much. It's just one night.” She pauses and I look back at her. She's smiling wide. “It's just a sleepover!”

“A sleepover!” I repeat, in disbelief. But my panicked expression does nothing. Summer looks a little puzzled at first, then breaks into a huge Summer smile.

“You've done sleepovers before! You've had a million sleepovers!”

I grip my hand tight around the edge of the seat.
I just won't get out! I will not get out. I just won't leave.
Only—

Summer is not exactly on the same page. She eyes my door, stretches over me, and opens it with her reach. “Get out of the car and go, silly!”

“But . . . ,” I stammer, and don't move.

Summer leans in, and before I even realize what's happening, she plants a big wet kiss on my cheek. “Go!” she tells me again, still smiling. “And have fun!”

I get out of the car, holding the frilly gift bag a foot away from me as if it has something smelly in it, and take a few slow steps up the front sidewalk until I'm sure Summer and her white Volvo and her big smile are far enough down the street so she can't see what I'm about to do. And in case you are curious? What I'm about to do is make a run for it! I gave my word to Freckles. I told her I wouldn't go, and I'm not going to go! It's as simple as that. I look all around, up the street down the street. For a flash I picture myself hiding at Owen's. Only how am I going to walk in as . . . yeah, that's not going to work.

I scan the side yard to try and plot my escape route, and I am about to take off back into the woods behind Owen's when the front door opens and a lady in an apron starts talking to me.

“Hey there!” She waves.

I'm standing in the front yard, one hand shoved in my new jeans, one hand clutching the frilly gift bag.

The lady begins walking toward me. “Hey,” she says. She's smiling. “Are you here for a birthday party? Because if you're here for Claire's birthday party, you're in the right place!”

I just stare back.

“I know we've met before, I'm really sorry.” She looks at me, embarrassed. “To be perfectly honest, I can't remember your name. I'm Ruth, Claire's mom, and you are—”

“I'm, um.” I pause awkwardly, then—“Elle,” I tell her. I say it the same way Devon did.
“Elle.
” I let it roll off my tongue and throw in a polite head tilt and a slight grin. I try and seem girlie and normal and not like—

Me.

The lady smiles back. “Elle, of course! That's right. Elle!” She waves me toward her. “Well, Elle, please, come on in!”

For a split second I consider running again. I look to my left, then my right, and imagine myself bolting into the field across the street and staying there sleeping under the stars all night. Man! I'm so rattled.

A chick party! A sleepover? Really!???

The lady in the apron can sense my hesitation. “Come on in, Elle,” she repeats, smiling. “There's just a whole mess of girls having a ball in the basement, nothing you haven't seen before, not a thing to be afraid of!”

“Oh, man,” I mutter, and take one reluctant step forward, and then another. I can't even believe it when my feet move toward the house. When I follow her. When I walk up the front brick stairs. When I step inside.

Claire's house is amazing and huge and smells like popcorn, and I can already hear faint laughter and girl shrieking coming from somewhere. I follow Claire's mom through the living room, past Claire's dad and little brothers, who are parked in front of the huge flat screen. I squint to read the score: Notre Dame twenty-three, Michigan sixteen.

“Yeah buddy, beast mode!” escapes my lips as I watch a Notre Dame fullback blast off running up the right sideline. It's pretty much a fact that my brothers are chilling out, relaxing on the couch right now, watching this. “Dude's a tank!” I say, pumping my fist before I quickly remember that . . .

“Wow! I
love
it! A girl who loves football!” Claire's mom says, surprised and smiling. “How awesome is that!”

I look at her and flash a smile. “I could sit up here and watch a little bit,” I offer.
I had to try, right?

Claire's mom laughs. “Oh, but then you'd miss all the fun! If you want, I can put your gift with the other presents, or you can put it right over on the table.” She gestures to the kitchen table stacked with a huge mound of colorfully wrapped presents, glittery eye-catching gift bags, and a tower of boxes tied up in two giant ribbons. I take a tentative step into the kitchen and set down Summer's frilly bag.

I shove my hands deep into my new jeans pockets. Claire's mom is just standing there, smiling at me.

“I'm sorry,” she starts. “It's just, your hair—I can't stop staring! It's such a beautiful deep red hue.” She pauses, eyes bright. “I bet you get that a lot, huh?”

I shrug both my shoulders. “Sort of,” I answer.

Claire's mom leads me down a long bright-yellow hallway with a billon framed family photos. She talks as we turn the corner and head down a set of stairs. “We have a lot of food, Elle, I hope you're hungry! Pizza, dip and chips, and my personal favorite, a yummy salad!” She laughs. “Tons of junk and cake, lots of cake! Do you like at least one of those things?”

“Yes, ma'am,” it slips. “I mean, uhh, yeah, thanks,” I say, sounding flustered.

When I turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs, I'm not expecting it. The room is lit up by a glittery disco ball hanging from the ceiling and music is blaring from two towering speakers—it's loud. Bodies are sprawled out everywhere, two to a beanbag chair, four draped across couches, two playing Dance Dance Revolution in front of a flat screen on the thick, shaggy carpet. I think I'm the only one not dressed in pajama bottoms and a soccer T-shirt and crazy striped socks.

I take a step backward, not forward, and consider running again.

Get me outta here!

My throat feels hot and tight. I wish I was at Owen's, crushing
Call of Duty
. Instead I'm standing on the edge of slumber-party mania, with a bunch of girls I recognize from school, all of them seventh graders. There's so many of them! I scan the faces—Kaitlin, Blair Thompson, Tori, Sassy Gaines, Aspen, Girl Sammie. Besides soccer yesterday, I have never talked to any of them in my life. I told you. I'm shy. I don't talk to girls. I'm not like Sammy. I'm not the type of guy who knows what to say. For a few seconds, nobody even notices me standing there, then—

“Girls!” Claire's mom raises her voice above the noise. The entire room suddenly goes silent, even the music is turned down, and every single one of them stops what they are doing, turns, and looks at me.

“Elle's here!” she announces.

Honestly, I have never been so completely flustered. I stand there with all eyes on me in my new lavender sweater, my new jeans, and nervously lift my hand to my hair and fiddle with it. I can't seem to actually speak, and I'm in the middle of coaxing out a smile and a nod and wondering who exactly Claire is and how I'm going to know it's her when this small blond girl with short stubby pigtails, wearing a T-shirt with sequined letters that spell out birthday goddess! across the front and a diamond-looking tiara crown on her head comes running at me. I remember her face from soccer.

“Elle!” she squeals. “Oh em geeee! I love your new name! Elle! How sophisticated!” she shrieks in my ear and literally jumps up onto me with a hug. “Oh my gosh, I'm so glad you're here!” She talks so fast and loud. “You look
so
amazing! Your hair, it's like awesomesauce! You're so, so, so pretty! No. You are
gorgeous
!
Très chic!
” she declares.

I step back and try very hard to not, like, make a face that says,
“Whoa. Dude. You are talking way too loud.
” Instead . . . “Thanks,” I say quietly, and smile.

For a few seconds I stand at the bottom of the stairs, not really sure what to do, but then I see Mackenzie. Mackenzie from soccer.
That Mackenzie
. Only this time she's not in her Thunderbirds gear. She's wearing silky pajamas like the other girls, and her long blond hair is down around her shoulders.

“Elle!” she shouts from across the room, and comes running at me too. I let her throw her arms around me. “Why did we not think of this fabulous name sooner? Elle! I love it.
Love!
” She hugs me for a solid five seconds. I counted. She smells like cinnamon. I try to play it cool while Mackenzie takes my hand and pulls me over to the love seat and sits one inch away from me, her arm laced through mine. “Come snug!” she says.

My heart is racing. My palms are sweating. I try not to stare at her rocket body or her blue eyes, and focus instead on the pink hearts all over her pajama bottoms.

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims, noticing my staring. “These are
seriously
the most comfy things I have ever worn!”

I pause for a moment and try to think. “Yeah, uhh, they're cool.” I nod.

Smooth! Not.

Mackenzie stands back up, staring at me wide-eyed, smiling. “I am seriously so mesmerized by your hair right now! You look hot, girlie, and I mean that in the non-creepiest way possible!”

I manage a shy smile and look around me at the out-of-control dancing and squealing. It's so loud down here. Also? My heart is beating about two hundred miles a minute, because Mackenzie has sat back down and she's still holding on to my arm while we are squeezed together on the couch. Our shoulders are rubbing.

“Hey, by the way,” she says, leaning in and cupping her hand around my ear. “I hear a certain
someone
has been acting super sketch.” Mackenzie stops whispering, and I follow her eyes to a crowd of girls watching us from the other couch across the room. As she looks, she wriggles closer and proceeds to lace her fingers around mine. My chest is pounding. I'm sitting on a love seat two inches away from Mackenzie, holding hands with a girl for the first time in my life. Man, do I have butterflies! It feels so weird. Weird good. I can just hear Sammy. “Dude, she's bangin'!” he'd say.