Change Places with Me (2 page)

“Mm,” Rose said as she ate. “These scrambled eggs are fantastic—so rich and creamy. I love the cheddar cheese. It’s like I never had them before.”

“Same old, same old,” Evelyn said.

“Have I told you lately you’re a terrific cook?”

“No,” Evelyn said, “but thank you.” She was finishing up a soft-boiled egg in a special eggcup made of thin white porcelain and using a tiny silver spoon, smaller than a teaspoon, which she’d found long ago at a flea market.

Rose remembered how, as a kid, she’d thought it was gross that Evelyn got things from flea markets, but now she admired Evelyn’s resourcefulness. The round kitchen table was near the window, overlooking a few trees and the sidewalk that led to Belle Heights Drive. A light breeze blew in, rustling blue curtains, and the air smelled sweet. Rose had put on overalls and a flannel shirt and found herself feeling uncomfortable, as if she
had on too much fabric. She took a bite of some rye toast. “What’s with these planes? That’s the third one in fifteen minutes.”

“There are always a lot of planes.”

Which was true—Belle Heights, Queens, was between two big airports. “Is it extra noisy today?”

“Not particularly.”

Rose also heard a blaring sound, like an elephant’s trumpet. “What
is
that?”

“A tow truck, picking up another hydro-bus. There’s a petition going around to get rid of them and bring the old buses back.”

“I hope you didn’t sign it. I like how they look, all red and sleek, with that ladder in the middle and the elevator for handicap accessibility.”

“Those elevators never work.”

“I know. But Belle Heights is never the prototype for anything, and now we’re the first place in the whole city to get buses with hydrogen drives.”

“I wasn’t sure you liked them. When we took that one to Spruce Hills, it kept stalling—you didn’t seem too pleased about that.”

“Well, I should’ve realized—new things take time. There are always kinks to work out.”

Evelyn tightened her lips as if she was about to say something but then didn’t.

“It’s all these steep hills in Belle Heights, that’s the problem—ouch!”

“What’s the matter?”

“I bit the inside of my cheek.”

“You’re not used to talking so much.”

Evelyn didn’t really need to call attention to the fact that they usually ate in silence, did she? Especially since they were having such an enjoyable, relaxed talk now. Anyway, that wasn’t the problem. Rose had recently bitten this same spot before, and nothing hurt so much as biting the inside of your cheek
twice
. Except that there was also a spot on her jaw just beneath her left cheek that hurt, too; a dull, throbbing ache.

“So, Rose, I need to go to work now,” Evelyn said. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” said Rose. Why wouldn’t it be? “What will you be doing today?”

“I have a client interested in a condo in Spruce Hills.”

“Do you like showing places to people?”

Evelyn nodded, getting up and gathering dishes.

Rose reached out, put her hand on Evelyn’s arm. “I’ll do that.”

Evelyn looked down at Rose’s hand. “You usually just wash. I clear.”

“It’s okay—leave it.” Rose took her hand back. “So what do you like about it?”

Evelyn still gazed at the spot where Rose’s hand had been. “Well . . . I like finding the right space for people.”

“How do you know when the space is right?”

Now Evelyn glanced up, at the low ceiling. Their two-story apartment house had low ceilings, except the living room was sunken so it felt more spacious—and Rose realized that she appreciated Evelyn’s nice way of taking a generic Queens living room and giving it a certain polish. Mounting a quilt on the wall, draping a colorful piece of silk on the cozy big blue armchair, reupholstering the couch herself with thick, flowery Italian fabric, putting down an old rug with a diamond pattern that was so big it was like wall-to-wall carpeting. She used to hate that rug and tried to avoid stepping on the diamonds, but there were too many of them. So dumb!

“All these questions, Rose,” Evelyn said. “I’m not used to it.”

Was she bringing this up again? “Isn’t it better than not talking?”

“Yes, it’s—it is better. So. I get to know the client a bit, and then try to imagine a good fit in terms of space. If clothing is said to be a second skin, a home is a third skin.”

“I’m comfortable in all my skins! Did my dad ever go with you?”

“No—he worked such long hours, remember?”

“Yeah.” Her dad had been a camera operator for a TV production company. “One time I said he came home at two billion a.m. He thought that was funny.”

“Rose, I’m so sorry, but this client is meeting me—”

“That’s okay! I’m good.”

“I didn’t sign it,” Evelyn said.

“Sign what?”

“The petition. To get rid of the buses. Just so you know, I’m not against everything new.”

Rose sat on the stoop—not a real stoop, just a few brick steps that led to the door of her redbrick apartment house in a long row of two-story apartment houses that were all connected—which, it occurred to Rose, made them truly neighbors, people who should care about one another, even if they were all squished together like houses on a Monopoly board before you traded them in for a hotel. She remembered playing that with her dad, how he always made bad trades on purpose to let her win.

Rose looked up; the October sky was the color of concrete. So the sidewalk matched the sky. Maybe it wasn’t the most vivid or gorgeous color, but there was something harmonious about this, like the universe was in balance. She heard Mrs. Moore’s Dobermans scuffling on the stairs behind her, and she got up. As soon as the dogs saw her, Rose knew, they would be on top of her, leashed or not.

“Oh, I didn’t see you!” Mrs. Moore said. “You’re never out here! Down, Cocoa! Down, Fudge!”

“They’re really sweet,” Rose said, though she’d almost gotten knocked down. “Which one is Cocoa? Which one is Fudge?”

“It doesn’t matter. They don’t listen to their names anyway.”

Rose patted the dogs’ strong backs, and they licked her hand. It turned out Cocoa was the one with ears that stood straight up while Fudge’s drooped. She gazed into their eyes—so gentle and trusting! Some people, not Rose, might
only see their size and power. Then she wondered about Mrs. Moore, who’d always lived alone. Rose wanted to reach out
to her—
Because that’s the kind of person I am,
she thought, as if
describing herself to someone she didn’t know. “Can I walk the dogs for you?”

Mrs. Moore looked at her. “I thought you were afraid of them. Just last week, you seemed so alarmed—”

“I’m not scared now, and I’d like to keep you company.” Rose, at nearly six feet tall, towered over Mrs. Moore, who was tiny and stooped with a swirl of hair like white cotton candy. “I really want to try things I’ve never tried before.” As soon as Rose said it, she knew it was true, and decided that for the next week she was going to do exactly that, every chance she got—starting today, Sunday, October 21, 2029.

“I’d be delighted,” Mrs. Moore said, tilting her head up at Rose while handing over the leashes. “A word of warning—they pull.”

Rose held a leash in each fist and got a good grip on them, but the dogs gave her an immediate demonstration of their strength. Basically they carried her along.

“We’ve never had a proper sit-down chat, have we, my dear?” Mrs. Moore said, still gazing at Rose and walking quickly to keep up. “Not that we’re sitting down! But I’m so pleased. I always tried to talk to you—you never said a word.”

Evelyn had brought this up, too. Why mention something from the past if it was no longer true in the present? Such a waste of time, Rose thought, as if you moved to a new house
and someone kept pointing out, “You used to live over there,” like you didn’t know.

At dinner Rose told Evelyn about taking Mrs. Moore’s dogs to Belle Heights Park. “The park looked amazing,” she said. “Some leaves are turning already, burnt orange, the color of fire. I don’t think the leaves have ever been this beautiful. We sat in the dog run. I got so dusty—good thing I had on overalls, though you know what? I’m getting sick of wearing them all the time. When I was walking Cocoa and Fudge, they were all over the place. I thought dogs were supposed to heel.”

“When they’re well trained. No doubt Mrs. Moore spoils them terribly. You weren’t afraid of them?”

“I
love
animals,” Rose stressed. It seemed important that Evelyn realize this and remember it. “Did you sell that place today?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great! You found the right space for that person. This pasta—it’s amazing. What is it, just garlic and oil?”

“And a little red pepper, to give it a kick.”

Evelyn still had on work clothes—a crisp white blouse, black pants, gray blazer, flats. That gorgeous hair spilled over her shoulders, and that smell of lavender, so exquisite. Rose noticed, too, lines around Evelyn’s mouth and eyes. When had Evelyn gotten older? Her skin had always been smooth as a lake. “You know, I saw a video the other day. There’s this new thing. You go into a special room and high-pitched sounds zap your skin, get rid of
your wrinkles. Not that you’re all wrinkly or anything.”

Evelyn touched her face lightly. “I don’t mind wrinkles. Besides, people complain of hearing loss, after.”

“They didn’t say anything about side effects.”

“They never do, do they? Some of these new procedures—I don’t trust them—they pop up out of nowhere and you’re supposed to just put your life in their hands. . . .”

“Whoa,” Rose said. “Did I touch a nerve?”

“Sorry, that just came out,” Evelyn said. “Never mind.”

“Well, on a far more important subject, it’s time to cut my hair.”

“Cut it yourself, you mean?”

That was what she always did, a pair of scissors and a ruler for the bangs, which fell into her eyes, and occasionally she grabbed the ends, too, and took off an inch or so. “No, I want a real haircut this time, at Sassy Cuts. No bangs, but long enough so I could put it behind my ears if I want, or have it behind one ear and not the other.”

“That’s certainly specific. Let me give you some money.” Evelyn pulled her wallet out of her bag and gave Rose a few folded bills.

“I’ll pay you back. I’m thinking I could get a job.”

“Oh?”

“Not sure what yet.” Inside the bills was a small folded piece of yellow paper. Rose opened it. A receipt from a place called Forget-Me-Not, for $1,600. That spot on her jaw began to ache again, and she winced.

“Your cheek still hurts,” Evelyn said, concerned.

“It’s okay. What is this?” She held the paper up.

Evelyn glanced up quickly. “Oh, was something in there?”

“It says Forget-Me-Not.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You spent sixteen hundred dollars there. Yesterday. When I was at the zoo. The gorillas were so close, it was like I could touch them.”

“It’s a flower shop.” Evelyn took hold of the receipt.

“That’s a lot of money to spend at a flower shop.”

“I keep an account there. I send housewarming gifts to clients. It adds up.”

“Can I see it again?”

But Evelyn had already put it back in her wallet and snapped her bag shut.

Belle Heights High School was enormous, bursting at the seams with over two thousand students, but on Monday morning Rose found something wonderfully energizing about all these personalities in one place. Overcrowding or not, there was something new to notice anywhere you looked—a girl with silver jewelry in her braids, a guy with a forehead tat
too that said
If you can read this, you’re too close
. Rose hoped it
was a Sün-Fade tattoo; some things just weren’t meant to be permanent. She sighed, feeling so good—never mind that that strange red light had been there again that morning, behind her eyes and still there once she opened them. How could it be both inside and outside? But all she’d had to do was blink a few times and it was gone.

Morning classes went by in a flash, instead of dragging endlessly, and she talked to kids as if she fit right in, just like they did: “Tough math test!” “Did you finish that bio thing?”
At lunch in the cafeteria, the student who worked the scanner looked at her, down at her tray, and back at her again. He had dark bushy hair and eyebrows so thick they almost formed a unibrow, and he was several inches shorter than Rose.

“Never thought you were the scuffin type,” he said. “A scone or a muffin, maybe, but not the combo.”

“It looked good,” Rose said.

“Garbo talks!”

“Garbo?”

“Greta Garbo—a silent movie star. Silent, like you—before now, that is. When she finally made a talkie, everybody got so excited to hear her voice, the posters said, ‘Garbo Talks!’” He picked up the scuffin and tossed it around like a baseball. “This thing is dry as dust. You’ll need this.” He put a pineapple juice stick on her tray. He was talking like they knew each other. They didn’t, really, but Rose smiled at him. “She smiles! Stop the presses!” He was starting to sound like someone in an old movie himself. “Except, let’s try a second take.”

“What?”

“That smile looks, well . . . kind of Photoshopped or something. Hey, sorry.” He put his hands up like he was surrendering.

The line bunched up behind Rose, and she moved on.

She noticed Kim Garcia at the end of a long table, which was where she always sat, and gave her a big wave and an even bigger smile. But Rose wasn’t able to catch her friend’s eye. She made her way over through the crowds and sat on the bench opposite Kim, her long legs bunched up beneath the table.

“How was your weekend?” Rose asked.

Kim had a long, ropy braid down her back, pale-gray eyes, and light-brown skin, and she always wore colors that didn’t quite match—olive green and red, for instance. But Rose thought she looked really good.

As usual, Kim brought her own lunch; today she had a tuna sandwich and blueberry yogurt. “My weekend?” she said.

Rose took a bite of the scuffin. It crumbled to gravelly bits in her mouth, and she had to work hard to swallow it. Still, it was sweet, and the juice stick that turned from solid to liquid helped, she had to admit. “Did you have fun? I went to the zoo. It was really great. I never get tired of seeing the gorillas.”

Kim blinked at her. “I wasn’t sure you were speaking to me.”

“Of course I am! You’re my oldest friend.”

“You got so freaked out at my place, and then you just left, no explanation—”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s long over.”

“It was only last Friday.”

“Feels like a lifetime ago. Speaking of which, I’d like to be called Rose from now on.”

“Rose? Why?”

“It suits me, like a second skin.”

Kim sighed. “How many skins do you need?”

“Hey, remember when we were in second grade, and we had to do that post office project, and we were supposed to write letters to kids in first grade, but we got in trouble because we only wrote letters to each other, so then Ms. Zimmer separated
us and I threw a fit? My dad said I needed extra care and attention because I was ‘sensitive,’ but I don’t think Ms. Zimmer agreed with him.” Rose took another bite of the juice stick. “You remember my dad, don’t you?”

“Rose . . .”
Kim shook her head, as if brushing dust out of her hair, and took a deep breath. “Yes. Of course I remember him. He called me Kimmy—nobody else did.” She took what was left of Rose’s juice stick. “He always had these great little jokes. Like, a man wants to take piano lessons. He’s told the first lesson costs fifty dollars but the second lesson is only five. He says, ‘Can’t we start with the second lesson?’” Kim started to smile, but it didn’t turn into an actual smile. “I remember you, too.”

“Well, I should hope so!” Rose looked across the cafeteria. “That wall video for the boys’ basketball team. Isn’t that Nick Winter? The cute one?”

Nick Winter was one of the most popular guys in tenth grade. He was in Rose’s bio class and virtual lab, last period of the day. His hair was always messy in what looked like a carefully planned way, and he was tall, like Rose, with a diamond in his front tooth. She’d seen it once, sparkling in sunlight. He was gorgeous. What would that diamond look like up close, if he leaned in to kiss her?

“I wonder if I should try out for the girls’ basketball team,” Rose said, thinking it would give her something in common with Nick.

“Basketball? You?”

“Why not? I’m tall. In middle school the coaches were all
over me to join the team.”

“The tryouts were in September. It’s way too late.”

“Oh, too bad. Well, there’s always next year.” Rose smiled—a smile she was sure did
not
look Photoshopped.

“I’ll try to remember,” Kim said, half to herself.

“Remember what?”

“To call you Rose.”

In bio, Rose’s lab partners were Selena Kearn and Astrid Mills, who were best friends and the two most popular girls in tenth grade. Selena, an ex-girlfriend of Nick’s, was all bouncy red curls and freckles; Astrid was a blond beauty with stick-straight hair and glowing skin. She always wore black; today, a black dirndl with black leather ties. Astrid was sure not to question Rose’s name change, as Kim had, because once upon a time Astrid had been Abigail; she’d changed her name in sixth grade. She’d understand.

Rose found herself staring at Nick Winter at the next virtual lab table, willing him to look at her. But why should he notice her now, any more than he ever had? She didn’t look any different, in the same overalls and the same flannel shirt and the same bangs she had to push out of her eyes—why’d she always let them get so long?

“Is she seriously serious?” Selena said to Astrid. “Nick?”

Rose gave her head a little tilt. “He’s not too hideous.”

“Oh my God,” Selena said. “Now she thinks she can just chime in.”

“She must be ill,” Astrid murmured. She often spoke in a low voice; people had to lean in to hear her.

“Never felt better!” Rose said brightly, and turned to Selena. “How come you broke up with Nick?”

Astrid let out a sharp laugh. “Who told you that?”

Selena’s face burned behind her freckles. “It was a mutual decision. We decided it would be best if we saw other people.”

“Sure,” Astrid said, “except he started seeing other people before arriving at this so-called mutual decision.”

“Why are we even having this conversation with
her
?” Selena asked. “She’s not part of anything!”

Just then the bio teacher, Mr. Slocum, was standing before them. Rose could swear she saw her own reflection in his shiny, bald head. “I trust you’re discussing your observations on the dissection? The outline is due in fifteen minutes.”

“No problem!” Selena said. “Such an interesting project!”

Mr. Slocum took a moment to give Rose a hard look. “You’ve been paying attention, I hope?”

“Absolutely,” Rose said.

“You think I can’t tell when my students are off in la-la land? I’ve been teaching for thirty years.”

“That’s wonderful!” Selena said. “You’re so dedicated.” As soon as he left, she said, “What observations? The whole project was a disaster!”

“You should write the outline,” Astrid said to Rose. “You were the one who messed it up last week.”

True, last week’s assignment had not gone well. “Okay, just
catch me up on what I missed,” Rose said. “By the way, you may find this interesting, Astrid, since you changed your name a few years back. My new name is Rose. It suits me like a—”

“Whatever,” Astrid muttered.

That was easy,
Rose thought, relieved.