Untethered (26 page)

“But you’ve got it wrong—”

“No,
you’ve
got it wrong. All wrong. Persecuting me isn’t going to make you feel any better about your mom. Your beef is with her, not me. I’m sorry she hardly ever sees you, but it’s
not my fault
.”

She swipes at her eyes, leaving black streaks near her temples. “Now I don’t want another word out of you or your dad will hear about it. Dinner in fifteen minutes.” She goes out the door and slams it behind her.

Oof. That was a disaster.
My stomach tightens. The one person who could maybe help me isn’t open to listening because stupid Kevin’s put her off. Why did I think he was so perfect before? I’m already sick of being him. So, so sick of it.

Dinner with Kevin’s parents is torture. I try to field all sorts of questions I have no answers to about the swim meet on Thursday and I endure a list of Mr. Phillips’ demands and expectations:
I expect you to win, young man. I haven’t raised you a loser. You’d better get your ass in gear. You’re supposed to be the best. You’d better start acting like it. You’ll never get to college on your grades. This is your ticket young man, don’t blow it.
And then, pointing to the Camaro,
What the hell kind of park job is that?

I eat my steak and baked potato with gusto, loving the redness of the meat and the dairy-ness of the sour cream. “Well, there’s an improvement,” Mr. Phillips barks at me. “I see you’ve finally taken our advice to use a knife and fork!”

I look down at my hands, Kevin’s hands, and the shiny silverware in them. I eye Kevin’s parents in confusion. What? Kevin ate with his hands? Every time I’ve seen him eat, he’s eaten just fine. But, then again, it’s always been sandwiches or French fries.

“Glad you’ve given up on your obsession to drive us crazy by eating like an animal.” Both Kevin’s dad and step-mom talk to me like I’m a nuisance, with an edge to their voice. But they turn to little David when he gurgles and applaud like he’s just recited Shakespeare, “Way to go, little champ!” A quick burst of sympathy pinches my chest. Maybe there’s a reason Kevin’s not shaking Heaven and Earth to come back and reclaim his body.

Back up in his room, I can’t sit still. I miss my family. Mom and her Leftover Surprise. Dad and his work addiction. Even Sam and his chewed up thumbs. I look at the clock. 6:45 pm. If all were normal, my mom would be tidying up right now. Dad would be working — staring at the screen of his laptop like it’d give him the secret to life if he looked hard enough. And Sam. Sam would be up in his room, doing homework or playing with his pet insects or trying some science experiment bound to fizz or foam or fail.

There’s a solid pole of pain right straight down the middle of me. It’s ludicrous. I can’t believe how much I miss Sam.

I sit in front of the computer, entering more chat rooms on astral projection, hoping someone, somewhere can help me. I get kicked out of one group and get sarcastic remarks from the next. I try a third site and hope for the best, but it seems like I’m the only one online. I close my eyes and rub my hands down my face, the way my dad does, startled by the feel of stubble on my cheeks and chin.

All of a sudden I hear a long sigh behind me.

I turn around, expecting Kevin’s step-mom with her hands on her hips. But no one’s there.

You’re imagining things, Sylvie,
I tell myself.

Looking back at the screen, I see someone’s responded to my plea:
I know how you can get out,
it says.

My fingers stumble over the keyboard as I write back:
How?

I watch the cursor blink and then the letters appear one by one:
The truth.

What?
I write
. Like “the truth will set you free?”

The answer comes quickly
: Exactly.

Disappointment drops like a boulder in my chest. It figures I’d come across some religious freak rather than someone serious about astral projection. I’m ready to exit the chat room when I look at the username: KEV.

Goosebumps pop out on my arms and neck. It’s a coincidence. It can’t be him
.
But I need to know.
Kevin?
I write.

The cursor blinks endlessly until finally I get a response:
Listen to me. Tell the truth and GET OUT!

Who are you? WHERE are you? What do you mean?
I pound out. But KEV has left the chat room.

I don’t like it. I don’t like any of this. I don’t scare easy, but right about now my heart’s racing like a Grand Prix car.

Calm down
, I tell myself. There’s got to be a way to make sense of it. Of everything. This isn’t some ghost story. All these voices and stuff, it’s just me, going stir-crazy in this body.

Isn’t it?

I say out loud, “Where
are
you?”

No response. Not a sigh, not a whisper. I take a shaky breath and try to get my bearings. Okay. KEV. Just a coincidence. So what did KEV mean with
Tell
the truth
? The truth. I’ve been telling everyone the truth since the beginning: I’m not Kevin. I’m Sylvie. But no one will listen. No one will believe me.

Except Cassie.

Oh, God
. That’s it. It’s like I’m on the edge of a cliff, peering over – half terrified, half exhilarated.

Cassie. I’ve got to tell her the truth. The WHOLE truth.

But she’ll never forgive me if I do.

Thirty

Nightmare on Kevin’s Street

I dream I’m wearing Cassie’s body. The shadows help me pull it on, but their inky fingers are rough and they pinch my skin in the zipper. I stand before a mirror and watch in horror as the reflection before me changes from smooth and feminine to something else. Hair sprouts on my arms, stubble on my cheeks. My limbs pop and protest as they’re elongated.

The shadows laugh as I try ripping it all off. I scratch at my neck, my forehead, my toes, but when I find a seam and rip at it, more coverings hide underneath. Dread seeps into my veins as I realize I can’t find myself under the layers.

A mask of Kevin’s face lays on the floor. Suddenly its lips open and it whispers, “You’ll never get out.”

Thirty-One

ICU (Or, I C U don’t know what the hell you’re doing)

I don’t go to school in the morning. I go to the hospital instead. I mean, my mom can’t be there 24/7, can she?

I text Cassie to let her know what I’m up to and then make my way to the patients’ wing.

This time I know where I’m going and so it’s easier to get around unnoticed. When I get in front of room 216, there’s no one in the hall. I push open the door slowly.

Mom’s not there. I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time. The room is quiet and there’s no sign of life except a half-eaten breakfast tray on the roll-out table at the foot of the bed. The green curtain is pulled half-way round, so I can only see the bulk of a body under the covers, but not my face.

I approach the curtain, grasping it with shaky fingers.

From behind it comes a sudden grating breath and the rustle of covers.
Wait a minute. I thought I was in a coma.

Then it hits me.
Kevin. He’s in me!

I yank open the curtain, my heart skipping, ready to see my own face reflected at me.

“Who’re you?” says a sleepy voice. The figure under the covers turns to face me. It’s an elderly man, thin and wrinkled. He has a bandage over one eye.

I reel back and knock over the breakfast dishes, sending them crashing to the floor. The old man yelps. I turn around, bang into a chair and then finally make it to the door. I swing it open and run out into the hallway, almost banging into the same nurse with the round glasses from yesterday. “You again!” she yells.

But on Kevin’s long legs I’m too fast for her. I get to his car, slam the door and wheeze like crazy until I finally catch my breath.

What the hell happened to my body? That was
my
room yesterday.

I zoom through all the possibilities: Maybe Kevin is in me and Mom took him home. Maybe the hospital just changed rooms on me. Or maybe ... maybe my body ... died.

No.

Well, there’s one way to find out. I go on Kevin’s iPhone and search the hospital site for a phone number. Then I punch it in.

“All Saints Medical, can I help you?” I hear the snap of gum and picture the same lady who was behind the desk yesterday morning.

I ask her about Sylvie Sydell and wait while she types on the computer. She snaps her gum a few more times, then answers. “She was moved to ICU last night.”

“ICU?”

“Intensive Care Unit.”

My scalp prickles and a yawning fear opens up in my gut. “Why?”

“I’m very sorry, but not only do I not have that information, I couldn’t give it out if I did.”

“But, she was in a regular room yesterday. Is it normal for people to then go to ICU?”

“Like I told you –”

“Okay, fine. Just tell me this: It doesn’t mean she’s getting better, does it? It means something happened so she got worse?”

There’s a long silence on the other end, then a sigh. “I’m sure they’re taking excellent care of her,” the woman says. Then the line goes dead.

I can’t keep my thoughts straight and so I kill the car several times on the way to St. Anthony’s. By the time I make it there, it’s almost lunch hour. I sit, letting the car idle, while I call my mom’s cell phone number.

She answers right away. “Hello?” I can hear beeps and machine noises behind her. She’s not at home giving a massage. She’s at the hospital.

“Hi. Hello, Mo ... Mrs. Sydell. I’m a friend of Sylvie’s and ... uh ... some of us here at school are wondering how she’s doing.”

Mom mumbles, “Oh, well, good of you to call. She’s, well, she’s still—” but she doesn’t finish because she starts sobbing. High-pitched, wailing sobs that wrench my heart.

“Sorry,” I say and hang up, feeling more on-edge than I did before.

Cassie’s at Kevin’s cafeteria table looking pale and worried. The second she sees me, she jumps up and follows me in line. I scan the place, but don’t see Sam anywhere in sight.

“Where’s Sam?” I say, grabbing a tray from the pile more out of habit than hunger. I’m not sure I can swallow anything at this point.

“Didn’t come to school this morning. I’ve texted him a billion times, but he hasn’t texted back.”

I put the tray back on the pile and take a cup instead. Now I really know I can’t eat. I’m just going to grab a Coke to settle my stomach.

I tell Cassie about the ICU. Her perfect lips settle into a pout. “We gotta do something.”

“I know. And here I am at St. Anthony’s acting like Kevin. It’s ridiculous. It’s just, until I figure out what to do, this is where I can hang.”

By now we’ve reached Kevin’s table. I set the Coke down and plop into a chair. Cassie sits next to me.

Bryce shoots his finger at me like a gun and winks. “So you two kissed and made up, huh?”

I ignore him. Everyone at the table starts talking about their plans for Halloween. Someone’s brought a ton of bite-sized candy bars and dumped them in the middle of the table. I take a mini Butterfingers and eat it without even tasting it. I don’t listen. Instead I look around, hoping Sam will show up.

That’s when I see Tori Thompson standing in front of Mimi Wilder’s group. There’s no way she’s up to any good.

Inside, I cringe and automatically glance toward the exit, wanting to flee before Tori makes her way over to me. But then I remember whose body I’m wearing and a surge of satisfaction swells through me. I get up and go to Mimi’s table.

“A little early for Halloween, isn’t it?” Tori’s saying. She puts her hands over her mouth in mock embarrassment. “Oh, I’m so sorry. That’s not a mask; that’s your face.” She hands her a box of Clearasil. “Here. This’ll help.”

Mimi’s chin trembles and she looks like she’s about to cry, but she swipes her eyes and swears at Tori, her blotchy face turning red.

Tori shares her toxic grin with me, and I smile back. “So,
Victoria
,” I say. “Pick up any other products at the store? I’m sure the pet section’s got some stuff that’s perfect for you. Bones for bitches. Or some pomade for frizzy poodle hair.”

“Where do you come off—”

“Ah! But what you really need is a muzzle.” I wink at Mimi, whose face has brightened considerably, and leave Tori spitting insults behind me.

When I get back to Kevin’s table, everyone’s looking at me funny but no one bothers to ask what just happened. They’re still talking about Halloween.

“... haunted house tomorrow night. Nelson Strange works there every year. I guess it’s supposed to scare you shitless.” Sarah grins widely.

“I’m in,” says Latisha Harper. “Nelson Strange. He’s so damn hot!”

“Hey!” Ryan protests.

“What? I can look. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Dude’s got blue hair!” Bryce laughs.

“Still hot.” Now Latisha looks back to Ryan. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s, like, totally in love anyways.”

“Yeah,” I say, forgetting to keep the snotty tone out of my voice. “Melissa Scott.”

Latisha giggles. “Melissa’s been trying to get into his pants forever. But believe me, he’s not interested. Everybody knows he’s been totally crushing on Sylvie Sydell since freshman year.”

When Ashley and Rhea murmur assent, my head starts buzzing and my heart speeds up. “You’re kidding.”

They’re kidding. Right?

But they’re serious.

And it explains everything. All the times he swept the hair off my forehead, all the times he complimented my work, all the times he smiled at me for no good reason. And the way he got annoyed when I tutored Kevin. And the kiss.
Oh. My. God.
The kiss. It wasn’t just to make me feel better.

And here I was too wrapped up in my own plans to even notice. Too wrapped up in wanting Kevin. Wanting to feel normal and pretty and never realizing that Nelson saw me that way all along.