Dead Girl Walking (9 page)

I swallowed hard. “Is she … still …”

“She’s alive … but in a coma,” my aunt finally said, her voice heavy with sorrow. “There’s no brain activity and she’s not expected to recover. Her body is being kept alive for the organ donation. But once that’s resolved, she’ll be … I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about this—”

The phone went dead.

I listened to the dial tone for long minutes, my head spinning.

Brain dead? Donating organs—from
my
body! What did they think? That I was dead?

Well, I really would be if I didn’t stop them.

I had to go to Community Central right away and rescue myself. If I could stand near my body maybe I would automatically revert back to myself. If that didn’t work, I’d concentrate real hard and pray to God and Grandma. There had to be some way to reverse this mix-up. And I had to do it before The-Body-That-Was-Formerly-Amber was sliced and diced into ready-to-share pieces.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for organ donation. It’s a great program that helps lots of people. This girl I knew, Betina Cortez, was alive because of an organ transplant. After I’d welcomed her to school with an anime-themed basket, we sat together at lunch and she’d confided all about her operation.

That night I’d gone home and asked my father if he would give me a kidney if I needed one. “Right or left?” he joked. Then, because he always made a lesson out of everything, he pulled out his driver’s license and showed me his signed donor card. I pulled out my own license and showed him my signed card. He patted me on the back and said, “That’s my Ambaby.” (A goofy nickname … don’t ask!)

But no more crying or feeling sorry for myself, I vowed. I was getting out of here. Only when I tried the door—it was locked.

Unbelievable!

What kind of family locks their daughter in her bedroom? Totally barbaric! I mean, what if I had to go to the bathroom? Did they expect me to use a bedpan or resort to something worse?

I pounded on the door and screamed, “Let me out!” over and over. My voice cracked, but fury gave me energy. After about five minutes, I heard footsteps.

“Shut up, Leah,” the brother ordered. “I’m watching a DVD.”

“Open the door.”

“Forget it.”

“Come on … ” What was his name, anyway? “Let me out and I’ll shut up.”

“No can do. Doctor’s orders.”

“That’s ridiculous! Why can’t I get out?”

“They’re afraid you’ll try again … you know, to kill yourself. Mental cases can’t be trusted,” he added with a snicker.

“I’m not mental! You don’t understand!”

“I understand a lot, and know better than to trust you.”

“Why are you being so awful to me?”

“Payback, dear sister.”

“But … But I need to use the bathroom. If you don’t let me out it could get ugly in here.”

“What’s the problem? Use your own bathroom. Man, you really are psycho.” Then I heard his footsteps fading away.

That’s when I discovered that the door I thought was a closet actually led to a spacious bathroom—with gold-flecked tile on the double-sink, a glass-encased shower, and a deep spa tub. A plush white bathrobe hung on a wall hook, next to a cupboard filled with rolled towels and a wide array of bath products. On the opposite wall was an enormous walk-in closet, with a warren of shelves full of folded clothes, rows of name-brand shoes, and racks of designer clothes.

Again I wondered, why would someone with this princess life try to kill herself? What more could she want? She already had a great body, mega-popularity, and the financial means to get into any college she desired. Sure, her family wasn’t perfect, but then whose family was? Her brother was an obnoxious gangster punk, but at least Leah only had to put up with one sibling—not triplets.

So why attempt suicide? It just didn’t make sense. Could it have been an accident? Although how could anyone
accidentally
swallow pills? Maybe it was something more sinister? Did Leah have an enemy who stealthily slipped her an overdose?

Doubtful. Even in my wild “dramagination,” as Alyce called my exaggerated ideas, I didn’t think Leah’s suicide was a murder attempt. Her brother said she’d stolen the pills, and even her best friend Jessica mentioned that Leah had been acting distant. Plotting her own death, I thought grimly.

No one tried to kill Leah … except Leah.

I really did need to use the bathroom. Shutting the door behind me, I sat on Leah’s porcelain throne, my thoughts shifting to my own problems. Top of my “Do or Die” list was to get myself over to Community Central Hospital right away. Since I was in Leah’s body, there was a good chance she was stuck in mine, waiting for me to arrive so we could switch back. We’d laugh, hug, and say how happy we were to be ourselves again. We’d become best friends forever. Key the sappy music for the Disney version of a happy ending.

Or the music could be a funeral march.

The diagnosis of “no brain activity” was scary. How long did my body have? I could almost hear the death beep as the life support machines flat-lined. There was no chance for a body switch minus one body.

And I wasn’t sure of anything … except fear.

When Great Aunt Mariah died, her son paid over ten-thousand dollars for a polished-mahogany, satin-lined casket, and my parents freaked at the huge cost. They vowed that when it was their time to go they’d skip the fuss and get cremated. Is that what they planned for me, too? If Leah was lurking inside my body, she’d better speak up soon or we’d both be toast.

I walked to the cordless phone, my lifeline to the outside world, and tried to decide who to call. I didn’t have the courage to try my parents again. What about Dustin or Alyce? They’d do anything for me—but what if they jumped to the wrong conclusions like my aunt, and hung up before I could explain? My friends wouldn’t recognize this voice, and if they did, they’d think I was Leah Montgomery. Alyce classified Leah as a “celebrasnob,” and would rather snap pictures of rotting bones than waste a minute with “populosers.” And Dustin turned into a tongue-tied fool whenever he tried to talk to girls (excluding Alyce and myself).

Even if I did call Dustin or Alyce, it was doubtful I’d reach them. Cell phones weren’t allowed inside the hospital—and that’s where my friends would be, sitting with my parents around my comatose body.

Waiting for me to die.

My stomach rolled. I was sure I would barf. I hung my head over the toilet, but only choked out dry heaves. Trembling, I stumbled back to the ornate canopied bed and sank on the satin comforter.

Don’t panic
, I ordered myself.
There has to be a way out.

But nothing made sense, only nonsense, and I couldn’t think of any solution. I needed someone to talk to—a trusted friend who’d drop everything to help me.

Grabbing a pillow, I hugged it to my chest, rocking back and forth. I didn’t know what to do or who to turn to or anything. I’d lost everything I cared about—my family, my friends, my future—and now I was losing my mind.

Miserable hot tears streamed down my cheeks, blotting like scars on the silk pillow. Nothing seemed real anymore—only despair.

I recognized the warning signs of self-pity. I was sinking deep, but what the hell? I didn’t care. Why should I? No one cared about me, not the way I was now. This body wasn’t even me—why couldn’t anyone see that? It was like being adrift in a beautiful yacht with no other passengers. I was my own universe.

Alone.

A metallic jiggling was coming from the door.

Before I could react, the door flew open and I stared at a heavenly vision as astonishing as my grandmother, but way better looking.

The tall, dark-haired, hot guy stepped forward.

And offered to rescue me.

I confess … I drooled a little.

But with tears still damp on my face, I was sure my rescuer didn’t notice the drool—although I absolutely positively for sure noticed every minute detail about him.

Over six feet tall, broad shoulders, long lean legs molded into perfectly fitted jeans and tender blue eyes fixed on yours truly. He was familiar, the way you recognize a famous actor or rock idol. But it was more than that. My inner math geek added it up—the hair, the face, the body: Chadwick Rockingham, Junior—son of Chadwick Rockingham, Senior, owner of the largest car dealership in the county. Two years ago, I’d welcomed him to school with a basketball-themed basket.

“You okay, babe?” he asked in this deep voice that shivered me from head to polished toenails.

Babe. So intimate, so seductive, and so not the sort of thing guys ever said to me. Usually it was, “Hey, help me with this math problem?” or “Could you get me one of those cool welcome baskets for my girlfriend?” When I complained about this to Alyce, she theorized that I was the clichéd Girl Next Door: admired and liked, but never lusted after.

Well, sometimes a girl could use a little lust.

“I was out-of-my-mind worried when I heard you were in the hospital,” he went on, kneeling on the edge of the bed close to me. Ooh, he even smelled nice, like musky aftershave and peppermint.

Chad Jr. was Leah’s boyfriend—off limits, untouchable, not available.

Unless you happened to be Leah Montgomery.

“Can’t you talk?” he asked with deep concern as he knelt at my bedside. “Leah, tell me you’re okay.”

“Ooo-kay,” I repeated in a daze.

“You sure? You’re not like yourself.”

“I … um … I’m not?”

“You need to get some color in your face and fix your hair.”

My hand flew to my hair, and I wondered if I could figure out how to style Leah’s hair and apply her makeup. I was the low maintenance type—just a dab of lip-gloss, and a quick brush through my curly hair before I captured it back with a hair clip. Leah’s silky locks hung limply around my shoulders.

“Still, you look good to me.” Chad leaned closer to me, which made me a little dizzy. “I was going crazy not being able to be with you.”

“You were?” I asked, breathlessly.

“All I could think about was you, but your parents wouldn’t tell me anything, except that you had some extreme flu.”

The flu?
Was that the official story? Leah Montgomery will be temporarily absent from life due to illness—a much more acceptable excuse than attempted suicide.

“When I tried to see you, they wouldn’t let me in. Your father said you were highly contagious, but I figured he was lying, blowing me off because he doesn’t trust me around you.”

“Should he?”

He chuckled. “Definitely not.”

“You don’t seem very dangerous,” I couldn’t resist saying. Immediately I wanted to slap my mouth shut when I realized how flirty that sounded. I knew better—really I did—yet my ridiculous thudding heart drowned out that logical voice in my head. Instead, another voice said that I might not get another chance like this with someone like Chad, so why not have a little fun?

“Seriously dangerous—at least when I’m with you,” he said with a wicked grin. “That must be why your door was locked. But a lock won’t keep me out.”

I had a feeling they’d locked the door to keep the “crazy girl” in rather than to keep anyone out. But why spoil this intoxicating moment with awkward details?

“I’ve missed you so much,” he told me, folding his strong fingers around my hand.

“Wow … uh … Really?”

“It’s been hell, not knowing what’s going on with you. But you’re fine now and that’s what matters. Real fine,” he whispered huskily as he stared at me in this intense way. “You make me so crazy.”

“A good crazy?”

“Very good. Oh, Leah, I freaked when I heard you were sick, but everything is all right again, now we’re together.”

Be still my raging hormones. I almost forgot who I really was. Girl-Next-Door types didn’t make guys like Chad crazy. It just didn’t happen in the hierarchy of high school. Not because I’d inherited Dad’s large nose and Mom’s flat chest; it went deeper than appearance. It was a caste system, like where people in other cultures believe they evolved from lowly insects into human beings. In my school caste system, Leah was a goddess, while I was an invisible worker ant.

So when Chad bent over and kissed me, I didn’t pull away. Whoa baby, he knew what he was doing.

A kiss from Chad was like eating only one potato chip when you wanted to rip open the whole bag and devour them all. When he pulled away, I was ready to grab him back for more. But then he asked a question that changed everything.

“Want to get out of here?”

Instantly, my sanity returned.

“Out of here? Hell, yes!” I exclaimed, feeling suddenly foolish for going gaga over a kiss. I didn’t even know Chad, and it was Leah he liked anyway. Still, escaping with him wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.

“So let’s get moving,” he told me.

“But how can I leave without being caught?”

“The same way I got in. Locked doors can’t stop me,” he said with a confident wink. “There’s always an angle, and I know them all. When I heard you were released from the hospital but they wouldn’t put through my calls for you, I waited for the chance to come over. Then I snuck through the back door.”

“No one saw you?”

“Only Angie, but she’s cool with me and won’t say anything.”

I almost asked who Angie was, but that might make Chad suspicious. As long as Chad believed I was Leah, he was my one-way ticket out of here. I’d pretend a little longer; at least until I could get back to my own body.

“Turn around,” I told him as I got off the bed.

“Why?”

“So I can get dressed.”

“Since when did you develop modesty?” Chad’s intimate, flirty tone gave me an uneasy feeling he’d spent more time with Leah’s naked body than I had.

My cheeks grew hot. “Please turn around,” I said firmly.

Chad shot me a puzzled look, but did as I asked.

I searched the first drawer in Leah’s dresser and found stacks of folded socks. Another drawer scored an orderly selection of lingerie. I walked into the spacious closet filled with rows and rows of brand-name fashions, and finally chose a pale blue T-shirt and a pair of hip-hugging, sequined jeans. It felt strange wearing someone else’s clothes—almost as strange as wearing someone else’s body. The simple act of slipping on jeans and a shirt felt unnatural, as if my brain was disconnected from this body.

“You can look now,” I told him.

His eyes darkened as he smiled, then whistled low.

“Does that mean I look okay?”

“Totally irresistible,” he said, slipping an arm around me and kissing my neck. Shivers tickled my skin. “What’s the hurry to leave, anyway? I could lock the door and—”

“No!”

“It wouldn’t take long—”

“Not now. It’s too soon.”

“It’s been too long for me, and I thought you’d feel the same way.” He blew on my neck and I felt so dizzy I could hardly breathe.

“Um …” Deep breath. “We should … uh … go now.”

“Whatever you say. We can make up for lost time later. And don’t forget your purse again. It’s over there, by the hamper.”

“Uh … thanks.” I bent over to slip the strap of a small red vinyl purse over my shoulder. It was surprisingly heavy for a micro purse and I wondered what Leah kept inside. But that was the least of my concerns, and could wait.

Right now, I was getting out of here.

Thanks to Chad, the door was no longer locked. As I stepped into the hall, I was dizzy with freedom. But scared, too. Everything was still so confusing. When I looked down the unfamiliar hallway I hesitated, uncertain. To the left was a long hall, and to the right, a staircase.

I started to turn right, but Chad grabbed my arm. “Where’re you going?”

“Um … outside?”

“You’ll never make it if you walk past your parents’ room. The door is open and I heard the TV blaring, so your mother must be in there.”

“Oh … yeah. I’m all for avoiding her.”

“We’ll cut through the kitchen and then go around the garage,” he said.

I nodded, as if this made perfect sense. Then I followed him to the left, relieved to see a curved wooden staircase as we turned a corner.

“Shh. Be real quiet.” He put his finger to his lips. “Hunter is playing games.”

Hunter who? I almost asked. But I stopped myself and just nodded, as if I knew exactly who Hunter was and why he would prevent me from leaving. Tiptoeing down the stairs, we came out into a tiled hall with a high ceiling. Again I had no idea which way to go, so I followed Chad.

Electronic beeps blasted as we passed what I guessed was a game room. Chad put his finger to his lips in warning. I nodded, moving as silently as possible considering that my legs were still rubbery. We made it through an enormous kitchen and out a back door without being stopped.

The sunlight was so bright that I squinted and shaded my eyes with my hand. I paused to catch my breath, inhaling freshly mown grass. Straightening, I glanced around at a driveway leading up to a garage the size of my entire house. Bigger, actually.

“Where’s your car?” I asked Chad.

“My car?” He wrinkled his brow and shot me another one of those puzzled looks. “Don’t you mean my bike?”

“Bike?” I asked, surprised that he hadn’t shown up in a hot sports car.

“Duh. You know I drive a motorcycle.”

“Oh, yeah. Your bike.” I smiled nervously. I’d never been on a motorcycle before, but I could give it a try. “Is that what we’re taking?”

“After the stink you made last time you rode with me and a bug smashed on your neck? We’re not trying that again. Besides, my GSXR 1300 is so powerful, everyone would hear it and know I was here. I walked over.”

I frowned, trying to remember the distance between Leah’s neighborhood and Community Central Hospital. Too far to walk, for sure.

“Why are you just standing there?” he said impatiently. “You want to get caught?”

“No, but I’m still tired. How far will we have to walk?”

“Walk? You can’t be serious.” He laughed like he was playing along with a big joke. Then he reached for my purse, rifled through it and brought out a key ring. “We’ll drive like usual.”

Then, before I could say anything, he’d pushed a button and the garage door rose up, revealing a hot blue convertible and a gray SUV. He clicked another button and the convertible’s lights flashed.

“Come on,” he urged, handing me back the purse.

“But won’t Mrs. Mo … my mom get mad if I take her car?” I asked nervously.

“Why would we take her car? We’re going in yours.”