His body grew stiff from the lack of activity, and he decided to add a stretching routine to loosen himself up. Only the nurse came in, putting the kibosh on his plans. “You may walk the corridors, Mr. Miller, but there will be no bending and stooping. With a head injury like yours, you could faint.”
Max decided she was a bit on the dramatic side, and as soon as she left his room, he got up and started stretching again. Almost immediately, he toppled over and landed on his butt. He stuck to walking after that.
Five-thirty that evening, Mel borrowed a car from a coworker and brought him home during her dinner break.
“Here, sweetie, a welcome home present.” She handed Max a plastic Wal-Mart bag. Inside was a six pack of underwear and a toothbrush. “While I was loading some manure for a customer yesterday, a strong impression came over me that it was time to get you some new underwear and a toothbrush. Weird, huh?”
Gabe. Max sent a silent thank you to Gabe. He hadn’t even thought about having to wear JD’s underwear or use his toothbrush. He may be in JD’s body, but the thought of sharing his underwear grossed him out.
Mel gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and dashed back to work. Tim was off with his buddies, so Max had the place to himself for a few hours. He carefully picked up the trash spread across the living room, not wanting to become dizzy again. The place was even filthier than the day Gabe showed it to him on the monitor. Exhausted by the time he’d finished, Max took a shower.
JD’s clothes fit loosely. After being in the hospital for almost two weeks, he must have lost some weight, though he still carried an extra thirty around, Max guessed. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Used to seeing his own cut, fit body, Max cringed at the flabby reflection gawking back at him. He had work to do, that’s for sure. What struck Max the most was the energy he needed to just carry JD’s form around. His own body felt graceful, strong. JD’s felt clumsy and awkward.
He got dressed and gathered up a pen and paper and began outlining his plan to whip JD into shape. Mel didn’t return at nine, but that was okay with Max. He was achy, tired and in enough pain to warrant taking a pain pill the doctor had sent home with him, after which he crawled into JD’s bed. Although lumpy and hard, Max fell asleep instantly.
Sometime during the night, Max heard voices—one male, one female, arguing. Through the fog of the pain pill, Max couldn’t make out what they argued about. After a few minutes, he fell asleep again and didn’t wake until the alarm clock buzzed at seven the next morning. He dressed in the cleanest clothes he could find.
“I’ll be doing laundry today after school,” he murmured as he brushed his teeth. He rinsed his mouth and readjusted himself in his new underwear. “Tighty-whiteys. Seriously, who still wears tighty-whiteys?”
The living room he’d cleaned last night was a mess again. Pop cans and empty burger wrappers littered the floor once more. “I’m guessing Tim has an aversion to trash cans.” Max scrambled up some eggs since the only other option was Sugar Mania, a cold, sugar packed cereal. He also took the pain pills and flushed them down the toilet. “Not taking these again.” He hated the groggy feeling he got from them.
Hoisting JD’s backpack up on his shoulder, he stepped outside and realized he had no idea where the bus stop was. He hoped to see other kids waiting nearby, otherwise he’d have a long hike to school.
“Although a forty-five minute walk would be good for this body.” As Max poked his flabby stomach, a powerful surge of fear propelled him back against the door. “What the heck?” he muttered, righting himself. He glanced around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Weird.” Max stepped off the porch and headed toward the school. He came around the first corner and saw a group of kids he recognized. The same feeling of impending doom from a few minutes ago rushed him again. JD’s afraid of getting on the bus, Max thought. No, this is beyond fear. He’s scared spit-less.
Max approached the kids with a smile on his face, convinced JD just needed a little self-confidence. “Hey.” He knew several of them, but since he didn’t know who exactly JD knew, he didn’t call any by name.
“Hey, butthead,” said a tall kid Max didn’t recognize. “Heard you killed our star pitcher.” The kid came up to him, shoving his face into Max’s. “We lose the championship game, you can kiss your fat butt goodbye, ‘cause yours will be the next funeral around here.” He rammed his shoulder into Max, knocking him back a few steps. Out of pure instinct, JD’s instinct, Max threw his arms over his face as if to block a punch. The tall kid laughed and several others joined in.
A gentle tug on his arm had Max spinning around defensively. Icky Izzy. Max had forgotten about her. “Hi.” Her voice came out timidly. “Why are you over here?”
“What?” Max looked at her, confused.
“We stand over there.” She pointed across the street to a corner covered in thorn bushes. “Are you okay? Your mom said you had a concussion. I tried to come and visit, but you know my dad.”
No, actually, I don’t. He followed her over to the thorn bush, noting how skinny she’d gotten. It was the thinnest he’d ever seen her. A good strong wind, heck, any kind of a breeze would blow her right over. Her pale skin was translucent and her watery gray eyes were ringed. She needs a good night’s sleep and a good meal.
“I’m doing better today, thanks. I did some stretches and that helped with the stiffness. The head’s a little sore still, but that will get better with time. The doctor said it could take six months to a year for the headaches to stop.” He rubbed his temples, the pounding lighter today.
“Did he give you any pain pills?” Her pale face lit up as she asked. The thought crossed Max’s mind that maybe her thin body was the result of drug use and, not anorexia.
“Yes, Percocet. But they fogged up my mind too much. I flushed them down the toilet this morning.”
“You did what? Did you forget about the pact?” She looked at him frantically. “JD, I can’t believe you. Sometimes I don’t think you care one bit about it.”
Before he could question her about the ambiguous pact, the bus came. Max turned to go, but Izzy tugged on his arm. “We get on last, remember?” She dipped her head at the tall kid.
Max stepped back next to Izzy and waited for everyone else to get on the bus. He then followed her on, padding down the aisle toward the back of the bus. Max felt like he was walking the gauntlet. Feet shot out to trip him and Izzy, hands delivered punches low on his thighs, too low for the bus driver to see, and someone actually spit at him. Many of the kids shouted out crude names along with calling them The Ten. After Max and Izzy took a seat near the back, the tall kid who was seated in the front turned around and asked loudly, “What do you call a baby born to The Ten?” He paused for a moment then said, “An immaculate conception, because not even Icky is desperate enough to sleep with Lumpy.” Several kids laughed, some ignored him, and a few told him to sit down, including the bus driver.
“He must be having a bad day. That was pretty mild for him,” Izzy informed Max. He thought of the jokes, insults really, that he and Leo had thrown at The Ten. It made him sick. How could he be so heartless? If his parents knew, they’d be disappointed in him. He was disappointed in himself. He sat in silence the rest of the way.
Once at school, Izzy left for her economics class. Max, however, had no idea where to go. He didn’t know JD’s schedule whatsoever. Looking through the backpack didn’t help. He made his way to the attendance office to get a copy of JD’s schedule.
“Hi,” Max smiled at the receptionist. She returned the smile, approaching the chest-high, yellow counter separating the students from the office staff. “My name is Jayden Miller. Can I get a copy of my schedule, please?”
The smile died on the woman’s face. She punched keys on her computer with determination. “Social?” she demanded.
“Excuse me?”
“Social Security number, Mr. Miller.” She spit out her reply, never looking at Max.
He thought for a minut
e, not knowing what to do. He certainly didn’t know JD’s number. He sent a mental note to Gabe, hoping he’d relay it to his mind somehow. Nothing.
“Mr. Miller, I don’t have all day.”
Max couldn’t help noticing her curt tone. “I’m sorry. I was recently in an accident, and I—”
“Yes, Mr. Miller. The entire school is aware of your little accident involving the deaths of three wonderful people.”
Max got it now. She blamed JD for his family’s deaths. “I suffered a head injury, and I can’t seem to remember my social security number.”
She rolled her eyes, punched a few more keys, and after the schedule printed, she slapped it down on the counter in front of Max. “And might I suggest that the next time you’re out driving, you pay better attention to what is going on around you.” She turned and stomped back to her desk.
Max was stunned. How could she make an assumption like that without knowing all the facts? He could understand it from one of his peers, but an adult?
He took the schedule, looked it over and left, noting JD shared only one class with Emma—second period Journalism. He’d finally get to see her. He folded up the schedule and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans as he headed for his first class, P.E. The familiar twist in his stomach kicked up as he entered the locker room. Stay calm, JD. You’re in my house now. Sports are what I do. Max grinned as he pulled open the door. The sweet smell of sweat wrapped around him like an old friend. Max welcomed it with open arms. Finally something familiar. Since yesterday, every space, every scent, was JD’s life. But this, the locker room, was Max’s domain. He strutted straight down the first row of lockers toward his old locker, stopping dead as he rounded the corner.
His baseball jersey lay draped over the locker door, and a poster, signed by what appeared to be the entire Baseball team, hung from a string over the jersey. It simply stated: RIP Max. Gone, but never forgotten. Max forced the lump in his throat down.
“Yeah, you should feel bad, Lumpy. Why couldn’t you have died instead of him? Like anyone would have cared.” Max turned as his teammate Jeff Morgan passed by, shoving his shoulder into Max’s chest. Max doubled over with an “Oof.” Two other guys from the team repeated Jeff’s actions. Max turned and left before it could get worse.
He stood in the middle of the room, wondering where JD’s locker was and feeling sick. He’d have to ask coach. He didn’t want to see him, let alone talk to him. Coach adored Max, and Max thought of him as a second father. If a secretary who didn’t even know Max hated JD, he could only imagine how Coach would react. Max forced himself up to Coach’s office door and, for the first time in his life, timidly knocked.
“Enter,” boomed Coach.
Max pushed the door open and stepped inside. Coach looked up from the papers spread across his desk and frowned. Max immediately dropped his gaze to the floor. Coach was a big guy, about six-foot-three and weighed a good two-twenty, with a slightly bulging tummy and rapidly receding hair line. Max guessed him to be about thirty-five years old.
He came around the desk and right up next to him. “How is everything going, JD?” Max almost didn’t recognize Coach’s voice. Instead of the usual booming baritone sound, it was soft, gentle. Max’s heart warmed. JD likes Coach.
“Um, okay. Some of the kids are pretty mad at me for what happened. I promise, Coach, I wasn’t drunk or anything. It was an accident.” Max looked up into Coach’s kind green eyes.
“I know. My brother’s an attorney. Don’t say anything, but he told me last night they won’t be filing any charges against you.”
“Really?” Max’s grin went ear to ear.
“Really, son.” He patted Max on the shoulder. “But remember, you didn’t hear it from me.”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll talk to the team today at practice, tell them to lay-off.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. They will probably just be sneakier about the abuse.”
“Good point. But if it gets to be too much to bear, you let me know. You’re not alone, JD. Please remember that. I know we’ve talked about things going on at your home a little, and I want you to know I’m here for you.” Coach walked around to his chair and sat back down. “There haven’t been any more mysterious marks across your back, have there?”
“No.” Max didn’t have a clue what Coach meant.
“Good. I know you swore up and down to me that no one beat you, but if I see them again, I’m calling social services.”
Someone beat JD? Certainly not his mother. It had to be Tim.
“Did you need something, son?”
For a moment, Max forgot why he was there. “Oh, I can’t seem to remember where my locker is, or the combination for that matter.”
“Maybe you should sit out for a few days. I heard you went through the windshield. Besides, we’re doing softball today. I know how much you hate softball. A head injury is a perfectly good excuse not to play.”
“Softball? I love softball,” Max said. Though not exactly baseball, it was close enough. Maybe when the other kids saw how well JD via Max could play, they’d back off. Maybe Coach would even let him play for the team. Max knew that was a stretch, but he lived his life pushing his body to the limit, so why not try?
“You really did hit your head,” Coach laughed. He handed Max a slip of paper with the locker number and combination. “Suit up.”
Max hustled to the locker and grabbed JD’s clothes from inside. They smelled terrible; Max almost retched. A couple guys around him laughed.
With a great deal of effort, Max put the stinky gym clothes on and headed out to the field. He braced himself for the abuse he knew was about to come his way.
Chapter 6
“Lumpy Larry,” groaned Jeff. Never in his life had Max been chosen last. Not ever. The humiliation choked him. He hung his head and moped over to Jeff’s team. He hadn’t seen this cruel side of Jeff before. They had played baseball on the same team since ninth grade, and never had Jeff been so downright nasty to anyone, at least not that Max had noticed. Jeff put Max last in the batting order, another first for Max, and assigned him to right field. Max didn’t play outfield, let alone right. At least there’s only time for two innings before class ends. Max hustled out to right field and waited for balls that never came his way.
“Okay, Lumpy. It’s your ups,” Jeff grumbled at Max’s turn at bat. “Don’t swing at it. I want you to lean into the ball and let it hit you. The pitcher’s been throwing to the inside the whole game. You’ll get first base and that will force the player on third home. We’ll score the winning run.”
“But—”
“No but’s, Lumpy. Got it?” Jeff jabbed him in the chest.
Max nodded, picked up the bat, and walked up to the plate, stepping soberly into the batter’s box. The familiar rush he got whenever he played ball surged through him. He smiled, pushed his glasses up tight to his face, and pulled the bat back high, assuming the stance he’d used a thousand times before. No way was he going to let the ball hit him. He’d show Jeff and everyone else. Max glanced over to Jeff, who narrowed his eyes. Coach stood directly behind Jeff and gave Max the thumbs up. Max nodded. He turned to face the pitcher, who grinned widely, no doubt thinking an easy out stood before him. The ball came soaring at Max. JD’s nerves tick up. Just relax, JD. I got this. Softball was much slower than baseball, and he knew his swing would easily hit the mark. He brought the bat around hard, so hard he almost fell over. He missed. He stumbled a few steps and moved back from the base.
What happened? Why did that feel awkward and clumsy? Max didn’t do awkward and clumsy.
“Stay focused,” he mumbled.
“Just take the hit, Lumpy. You’re never going to make contact with the ball. Who you trying to kid?” asked the catcher, a scrawny tenth grader.
“I can do this,” Max insisted. He took a few practice swings, but still, the feeling was off.
He stepped into the batter’s box, and once agai
n, holding his bat erect, he waited for the pitch. And again he missed, by a long shot.
Why couldn’t he do this? It didn’t make any sense to Max. He was the star pitcher. He’d earned a scholarship to UCLA for his skills. Then it hit him. This was a game of skill, and JD had no skill, at least not in baseball. All of Max’s knowledge couldn’t make up for JD’s lack of talent.
His confidence now shaken, Max stepped back into the box and lifted the bat. He would have to lean in and let the ball hit him. There was no other way. As he stood there waiting for the pitch, an image of Gabe telling him he needed to help JD came to his mind. How would letting the ball hit him help JD? Everyone already knew JD the loser. Max needed them to see JD the winner. He needed to prove he was good at softball. He took a deep breath and concentrated with all he had on the pitch. He only needed one hit. Certainly Max could get him one hit. It flew straight down the middle. Max watched as it crossed the plate in the strike zone, dead center. The perfect pitch. And he didn’t even take a swing. He’d chickened out–a first for Max.
“Strike three. You’re out. Team A wins,” shouted the ump, a short kid with snow white hair.
Before Max could chastise himself, Jeff flew across the ball diamond, his arms flailing as he screamed, “You freaking moron. What don’t you understand about letting the ball hit you, huh, Lumpy? Maybe if I beat the crap out of you, you’ll understand.”
“Jeffery Morgan. Six laps, now. And if you lay one hand on JD today, or any other day, you’ll be suspended from playing in the game next week. Do you understand me?” Coach’s booming voice could intimate the largest of men, let alone a twelfth grader.
“But. . . Yes, sir.” Jeff turned and ran across the field to the running track. “Good effort, JD. I admire a man who doesn’t give up.” Coached patted him on the back before jogging over to keep an eye on Jeff.