Waiting . . . and thinking.
About Lucy. My best friend.
Trying to make sense of this.
I pictured her in her room at night, planning this, plotting it. Plotting to kill her mom and dad. And Kent. Figuring out how she could escape her ugly crimes.
Why, Lucy?
I knew she had been having trouble with her parents. I knew she thought they were too strict. I knew the Kramers didn’t want her to get so serious about Kent. They liked Kent. They just thought that Lucy and him had become too serious too fast.
And so Lucy had fought and argued with her parents.
But who didn’t?
That’s what parents and high school students did. It was a normal part of life. Not a happy part of life, but a normal one.
So, why? Why did she choose to murder them both?
And why did she murder Kent? Kent, who cared for her more than anyone in the world. Kent, who had always been so wonderful, so kind and understanding. So much fun.
Kent. Kent.
I kept repeating his name in my mind. Picturing him alive.
I didn’t want to picture him as I had seen him tonight in the den. I didn’t want to see his outstretched body, and across the room, his openmouthed, winking head.
I wanted to see him moving across the room with that sturdy, athletic walk of his, that confident smile, the flashing blue eyes. I wanted to see his blond hair ruffling in the wind as the three of us tossed a Frisbee around during one of our picnics in Shadyside Park.
I wanted to hear his voice. Hear his high, happy laugh.
Never again, I told myself, forcing back the sobs. I pressed the back of my head against the cool stone wall, picturing Kent alive and happy.
Picturing Lucy. In her own body. Not in mine. Not in the body she stole from me to commit her gruesome crimes.
Why, Lucy?
I had always been such a good friend to her. Even when she was mean to me. Even when she acted superior because she had a boyfriend and I didn’t. I ignored that side of her. I ignored the part of her that could sometimes be stuck-up and cold.
Because I was her friend. Because I wanted to be there when she needed me.
And when Lucy had the car accident, I was at the hospital every day. I was her only friend who came every day without fail. Her only friend who stuck with her, who never gave up hope.
Even when the doctors had given up, I didn’t budge. I knew Lucy would pull through. I never lost hope, never lost my faith in her.
And sure enough, she did pull through.
Lucy was okay, and I was there when we all learned she’d be okay.
I was there. I was always there for you, Lucy.
So where are you now?
Where are you now with my body?
Lost in my troubled thoughts, I struggled to puzzle out what had happened to me on this, the longest day of my life. I shut my eyes. I suddenly felt exhausted.
I hadn’t eaten since lunch. My stomach growled, but I didn’t feel hungry.
I gazed down at my clothes. Lucy’s clothes. The tights torn and stained. The short skirt twisted.
My hand went to the pack around my waist. My wallet. I had my wallet in the pack.
Shaking my head, I pulled it out. Was it my wallet or Lucy’s?
I held it up and examined it in the narrow shaft of moonlight that filtered down between the trees.
My wallet.
I unzipped it. I don’t know why. What did I hope to find?
I slapped at a mosquito on my arm. The wallet dropped to the ground. As I reached down for it, I had an idea.
A desperate idea. A crazy idea.
But if it worked . . .
I dug feverishly into the wallet. It was so hard to see. And my fingers were trembling with excitement.
A few seconds later I found it and plucked it out. An old class photo of Lucy.
I tucked everything back into my wallet, zipped it, and shoved the wallet back into the pack. Then I raised the little photo close to examine it in the dim light.
It was a funny photo. Lucy always hated it.
She had her blond hair pulled straight back. But a thick strand had come loose and stood out at the side of her forehead.
The photographer’s light reflected in Lucy’s eyes, making them appear to sparkle. But her smile was crooked. And she had a tiny smudge on her chin which looked like a pimple.
Lucy hated the photo so much, she wouldn’t give them out to her friends. But she gave me one—on the condition that I put it away and never showed it to anyone.
And now, examining the photo, I climbed to my feet. I ignored my aching muscles and hauled myself onto the wall.
“Whoa!” I struggled to keep my balance. The top of the wall was so narrow and uneven.
This has to work! I told myself.
My crazy scheme. My frantic idea.
To hold Lucy’s photo in one hand. And jump to the other side of the wall.
Maybe—just maybe—the magic will work for a photograph. And our bodies will switch back. And I will be Nicole again.
Maybe . . . maybe . . .
Please work! I prayed.
I grasped the photo of Lucy tightly in my right hand. Held the hand out to my side as if I were holding hands once again with Lucy.
And then I jumped off the wall.
chapter
15
I landed on both feet on the soft dirt.
I knew immediately that it hadn’t worked.
Lucy’s photo was still gripped in my hand. Lucy’s hand. Lucy’s pudgy little hand.
That was all I needed to see to know that my plan had failed. But I examined myself anyway, desperately hoping that somehow I had changed back to me.
But no. I was still wearing Lucy’s black hightop sneakers, her tights, now dirt-stained and torn, her short skirt. I grabbed at my hair. Lucy’s hair, shorter and finer-textured than mine.
Lucy. Lucy. Lucy.
I needed the real Lucy here with me in order to get my body back.
But how could I find her? Where had she escaped to?
I yawned wearily. I suddenly realized how exhausted I felt. Every muscle in my body ached. My head throbbed. It took such an effort to hold my eyes open.
Yawning again, I lowered myself to the damp ground. I settled back against the wall and shut my eyes. The cold stones pressed against my back and head.
With a sigh I curled up in the dirt. And fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I lifted my head, squinting against the morning sunlight. A scrawny, brown rabbit peered suspiciously at me across the dirt. Its nose twitched and its pointed ears arched straight up.
With a groan I pulled myself to a sitting position. The rabbit whipped around, silently vanishing into the tall grass.
It took me a few seconds to remember where I was.
I brushed dirt and a wet leaf off my arm. My back ached from sleeping on the hard ground. My throat felt dry. I wanted to brush my teeth, brush the sour taste from my mouth.
As I stood up, a dozen thoughts jumbled into my head at once. Sleep had cleared my mind. But now the frightening questions rushed back in.
Mom and Dad must be frantic, I thought. They must be desperate to know where I am.
But then I remembered that I was Lucy, not Nicole.
Did Lucy go home to my house? If she did, my parents probably weren’t worried at all. They would go off to work this morning, thinking their daughter Nicole was safe and sound.
I brushed the hair back off my face. A large black beetle had crawled into my hair during the night. It dropped onto my hand. I tossed it to the ground.
I’m a disgusting mess, I realized. I need a shower. I need fresh clothes.
I glanced at my watch. A little after seven.
My parents left for work promptly at seven-thirty. It would be easy to sneak into the house, get myself cleaned up, and change into clean clothes.
My clothes would be a little big on Lucy’s body. But she an
d I had traded things before.
I stretched, trying to force away the aches, trying to get my muscles working. Then I made my way through the woods to the street.
It was a hazy, hot morning. The air felt heavy and still. The morning dew stained my sneakers as I trudged through the grass and weeds.
I kept away from the street, keeping low as I walked through front yards and alleys. A rolled-up morning newspaper in a driveway made me stop.
I glanced up at the house. No one seemed to be stirring inside. I picked up the newspaper and began to unroll it.
Would Lucy’s murders be on the front page?
Would the story tell about how the police are on my trail?
My eyes swept rapidly over the newspaper.
No story. No story on the front page.
I pulled the paper open. Two colorful ad sheets fell onto the driveway. I searched the next pages. And the next.
Confused, I folded the paper up and set it back on the driveway. I glanced again at the house. No one watching from the windows.
I hurried on, thinking hard.
Why weren’t the three murders reported in the paper?
Were the police keeping the story quiet until they had captured me?
Was it possible that no one had discovered the Kramers’ bodies yet?
That was possible, I realized. But the two policemen had seen Kent’s body. And they had seen me standing over Kent with the kitchen knife in my hand.
So why wasn’t his murder reported in the paper?
The police are keeping it quiet for a reason, I decided. They’re waiting till they capture me. Then they’ll release the whole story at once.
The story seemed to make sense. As much sense as everything else that had happened to me since yesterday.
I saw my parents’ car backing down the driveway as I turned the comer. I ducked behind the wide trunk of an old maple tree and watched them drive away.
My dad wasn’t wearing his usual blue suit. He looked a mess. Mom looked worried. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t deal with this now.
I had the strong urge to call to them, to go running after them. To cry: “It’s me, Mom and Dad! It’s really me! I know I don’t look like me. But it’s me!”
I wanted to hug them and hold them both close. And tell them what had happened. Tell them the horrors I had seen. Tell them about the murders Lucy had committed in my body.
But I knew they wouldn’t believe me.
My parents are practical, common-sense-type people. They’re very smart, but they don’t have great imaginations.
No way they’d believe I was their daughter Nicole.
Seeing them drive away made me feel even more desperate and afraid. I sneaked into the house through the kitchen door. I was surprised they left it unlocked. Then I made my way upstairs.
I took a long shower and shampooed my hair three times. I wanted to stay under the hot water forever, so warm and cleansing.
I nearly burst into tears when I entered my room. It looked so pretty and neat. The bed was made. The clutter on my desk had been straightened.
This is my home, I thought with a sob. This is where I belong.
But will I ever be able to live in my own house again?
I changed into a pair of faded denim jeans and a white T-shirt. I brushed my hair—Lucy’s hair—back and fastened it in a ponytail.
I spent a long time staring at Lucy’s face in my dressing table mirror.
Why had I ever agreed to switch bodies with her? Was I that unhappy? That desperately unhappy?
As I stared into the mirror, two other faces floated into my mind. Margie and Hannah.
Margie and Hannah knew where Lucy had gone.
They had to know. They were so eager to keep me from going after Lucy, so eager to keep me from finding her.
Lucy must have told them everything.
I stood up and stepped away the mirror.
“I’ll go to school,” I said out loud. “I’ll find Margie or Hannah. I’ll make them tell.”
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. A little after eight. Homeroom starts at eight-twenty. Plenty of time to get to school and find one of them.
I didn’t want to leave the house. I didn’t want to leave my room.
But I knew I had no choice.
I took all the money I kept in my top dresser drawer—about forty dollars in fives and singles—and jammed it into my jeans pockets. In the kitchen I grabbed a cherry Pop Tart from the box and ate it cold. I slugged down some orange juice from the carton. Took another Pop-Tart for the road.
Then I made my way out of the house, being careful to close the kitchen door securely behind me.
Margie and Hannah. Hannah and Margie.
Their faces hovered in front of me as I hurried to school. Margie was in my homeroom. I wasn’t sure about Hannah. I thought she was somewhere on the second floor near the music room.
Walking quickly, my heart pounding excitedly, I turned the corner onto Park Drive. The front of the redbrick high school came into view.
Most kids were already inside. But a few latecomers were hurrying to the front doors.
I started to jog up the long walk to the entrance. Halfway there I stopped when I saw the two gray figures on either side of the doors.
The two gray-suited police officers.
Watching everyone.
Waiting for me.
Did they see me?
chapter
16
I turned sharply. Began walking toward the street. Not running. But taking long, rapid strides.
The North Shadyside bus pulled up to the stop in front of the high school. I hurried to the bus, planning to jump on.
But the bus was filled with kids arriving for school. They piled off one by one, blocking my escape.
Were the two officers chasing after me? I didn’t dare glance back.
Hurry, hurry! I silently urged the kids jumping down from the bus. Luckily, none of my friends was onboard.
Finally I climbed into the bus. The doors closed behind me. The driver turned the wheel, and the bus pulled away from the curb.
I turned, lowered my head, trying to see out the glass door. The two officers remained at their posts at the school entrance. They hadn’t spotted me.
I turned to see the driver, an old man with a red face and bright blue eyes, squinting at me suspiciously. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked, slowing at a stop sign.
“I—I’m sick,” I lied. “I—” I realized I didn’t have any change. Just the money I had jammed into my jeans pocket.
“Pull over!” I cried. “Please!”
The driver frowned, but obediently pulled the bus to the curb.
“I—I’d better get out,” I stammered.
He opened the door. I leaped down to the street. “Sorry!” I called back to him. But he had already closed the door behind me.
I watched the bus roar away. Then I gazed around. I had traveled exactly one block. Just far enough to escape the eyes of the two policemen.
But now what?
I still needed to talk to Margie or Hannah.
I can’t spend the rest of my life running from those two cops, I told myself unhappily. I have to find Lucy. Fast!
I crept back toward the school, thinking hard. I wondered if there were officers at the back, too. Keeping behind a tall hedge, I made my way toward the back of the school.
“Hey—what are you doing there?”
I let out a startled cry. Turning, I saw a woman holding a garden hose in the middle of the yard. “What are you doing in my yard?”
“Sorry,” I called to her. “I’m just going to school.”
“This isn’t a shortcut!” she called sharply.
I hurried through a break in the hedge out to the sidewalk.
The back of the school was guarded, too, I saw. Two other officers had been posted at the door across from the student parking lot.
I ran across the street and presse
d up close to the tall fence that ran along the football stadium. I stopped there to catch my breath.
I could hear the first bell ring. The kids were all inside now, except for a boy frantically pedaling his bike toward the bike rack.
Keeping in the shadow of the fence, I took a few steps closer to the back of the school. I had a good view of the two officers. They were shaking their heads, frowning as they talked.
Giving up.
They thought I’d show up for school and they’d grab me, I decided. But now they’re giving up in disappointment.
I was right. I watched them step away from the back doors. They disappeared around toward the front, probably joining the other two officers.
I waited a few seconds, making sure they weren’t returning. Then I made a wild dash to the building.
I had a plan. A plan to see Margie.
I pulled open the back door and ducked inside. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light of the corridor. The hall was empty. Everyone had gone into their homerooms.
The second bell rang as I crept to the gym, just around the corner to the right. I pushed open the door and hurried inside.
No one there. The gym already felt like an oven, first thing in the morning. Glancing up at the bleachers, I saw that one end of a GO, TIGERS banner had come loose. The banner tilted over the top seats.
My sneakers squeaked over the polished floor as I trotted to the girls’ locker room. Margie had gym fourth period. Same as me.
My plan was to hide in the locker room until then.
Then I would pull Margie aside and confront her, force her to tell me where Lucy was.
I pulled open the locker room door and stepped inside. The room felt cooler than the gym. I heard the plink plink of water dripping in the shower room.
Where to hide?
I hurried past the rows of wooden benches and dark lockers. Someone had left a black hightop sneaker on the floor, and I stumbled over it.
At the back wall stood a small equipment closet. The door was half open. I pulled it open all the way and peered inside.
Empty. Glancing down, I thought I saw a dead mouse curled up on the closet floor. But as I squinted at it, I realized it was a clump of dust.