Switched (11 page)

I remembered that she had taken all of the clothes from her bedroom closet. That meant she planned to go away somewhere.

And Grandma Carla's farm seemed the most logical place she would go.

Of course, if Lucy went there, Grandma Carla would see my body and think that it was me. But she wouldn't find it unusual for me to visit.

Several years, Lucy and I had spent parts of our summer vacations up there. Grandma Carla was like a grandmother to me, too.

As I made my way out of the woods, I struggled to
remember the small farm town where Grandma Carla had her farm.

Conklin. The name popped into my mind. Yes. Conklin.

I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out the wad of bills I had grabbed from home. All of my savings.

I counted it as I walked. Yes. More than enough money to get some breakfast. And then buy a bus ticket to Conklin.

I turned the corner onto Mill Road. I saw Alma's, the little coffee shop, across the street. I'll use the rest room to get cleaned up, I decided. I'll buy some breakfast. And I'll hurry to the bus station.

Crossing the street, I suddenly felt a little more hopeful.

I had a strong hunch. A real premonition.

Somehow I knew that I was about to find Lucy at last.

T
he bus to Conklin didn't leave until two in the afternoon. Then the driver had to stop to fix a flat tire a few miles north of Waynesbridge.

As we bumped over the narrow highway that led through the small farm towns, I began to feel more and more nervous.

What shall I say to Grandma Carla? I wondered.

Of course, I'll have to pretend to be Lucy. She wouldn't understand about our switching bodies. And she's so frail, I don't want to give her a shock.

So I'll pretend to be Lucy. And I'll ask if Nicole is visiting.

And then what? I asked myself.

What will Lucy do when she sees I've caught up to her? Will she run again? Will she try to kill me, too?

My best friend . . .

Staring out at the endless green fields, I kept thinking how Lucy was my best friend. Best friend. Best friend.

I repeated the words in my mind until they had no meaning.

Grandma Carla's farm stood a little less than a quarter mile from the Conklin bus stop. I watched the bus rumble away and began to walk along the soft, grassy shoulder of the narrow highway.

Wildflowers bloomed in the field to my left. The tall grasses swayed in a soft breeze.

A column of silvery gnats rose up in front of me. The gnats—thousands of them—circled wildly, silently, like a soft, silver cyclone.

I stepped onto the road to walk around them. A few seconds later Grandma Carla's barn came into view. It had been painted white at one time. I remembered it sparkling in the sunlight as Lucy and I ran inside to explore and climb the hay bales. But now the paint was cracked and peeling, the dark boards showing through.

Behind the barn stood the old farmhouse. A two-story white structure, the house had seemed enormous when Lucy and I were kids. But now it looked
like a small, old-fashioned house with its open back porch and shuttered windows.

“Lucy, are you in there?” I murmured as I eased myself over the rail fence and started across the tall grass of the backyard to the house.

“Lucy, I'm coming. I know I'm going to find you now.”

I stepped up onto the back porch, the old boards creaking under my sneakers. I made my way to the kitchen. And knocked loudly on the door.

“O
h, goodness! Hello!” Grandma Carla let out a squeal of surprise. A smile wrinkled her round face. She pushed open the screen door for me.

“How
are
you?” I cried, wrapping her in a hug.

Her tiny body felt frail, almost brittle. I loosened my hug and stepped back to look at her.

Her gray-blue eyes were as bright as ever. But the rest of her face had faded. She was tinier and more birdlike than I recalled. She reminded me of the flamingos I'd seen one summer in Florida. Like a flamingo whose pink color had faded to powder white.

“It's so good to see you,” she said, grinning at me. “I—I'm just so shocked.” She placed a hand over the chest of her pale blue housedress.

She led the way toward the kitchen table against the wall. She walked slowly, a small step at a time. I guessed that her arthritis was bothering her.

The house smelled of roast chicken. I saw a large soup pot steaming on the stove. I suddenly remembered I hadn't eaten since breakfast.

I turned to see Grandma Carla leaning both hands on a chairback, staring hard at me. She scratched her curly hair. “Now, let me see . . . When were you here last? Two summers ago? Yes. I believe it was.”

“I think so, Grandma,” I said uncertainly. I gazed around her toward the front of the house. “Is Nicole here?” I blurted out.

“What?” She narrowed her eyes at me.

“Is Nicole here?” I repeated. “Nicole told me she might be coming up here to visit you. So I thought . . .”

I couldn't read Grandma Carla's expression at all. Her bottom lip quivered. And she stared thoughtfully at me.

Did Lucy show up here in my body? I wondered, staring back at the old woman.

Did Lucy warn her not to tell that she was here?

“Come sit down,” Grandma Carla said, pulling out the kitchen chair for me. “When did you leave Shadyside? This morning?”

“A little after two,” I told her.

She raised her eyes to the sunburst clock above the double sink. “It's nearly five-thirty. You must be starving.”

“I—I am kind of hungry,” I replied.

“Sit down,” she urged. “It's lucky I put up a pot of soup. I don't usually make so much since it's just me. But today . . .”

You made a big pot because Lucy is here,
I thought to myself.

“Please. Sit down,” she insisted.

I obediently walked over to the table and sat down in the wooden high-backed chair. I turned when I heard her shuffle from the room. “Grandma Carla, you didn't answer my question,” I called after her. “Is Nicole here?”

“Back in a minute,” she called. “We'll have a nice talk.”

Something about the way she said that made me suspicious. I felt a knot of dread form in my stomach.

Quietly I climbed up from the chair. I crept into the hallway, following her, keeping my back pressed against the wall.

I was a few feet from the living room when I heard her on the phone.

Calling the police.

I
turned to the kitchen. My first thought was to run. To get out of there, away from the farm.

But I stopped and stood frozen in the hallway.

I had come so far. And I had been running for so long.

I can't keep running, I told myself.

I have to get my body back. I have to get my life back.

I burst into the living room just as Grandma Carla hung up the phone. She turned, startled. “Oh—!”

I stormed up to her angrily, my hands balled into tight fists. “Why?” I demanded in a trembling voice.

She stared back but didn't answer. I could see fear growing in her eyes.

“Why?” I repeated. My body began to shake with rage. I felt myself going out of control.

“It will be okay. I called for help,” she said. She tried to back away from me, but I followed her. She suddenly looked even more frail and birdlike.

“I—I trusted you!” I cried. “I've always trusted you. Why did you call them? Why won't you
help
me?”

Her blue eyes stared hard into mine. “Let's sit down and talk about it, okay?” she suggested softly.

Sit and wait for the police to come and grab me? And haul me away for murders I didn't commit?

Her quiet suggestion made me even angrier. “I just came to find Nicole,” I told the old woman through gritted teeth. “Nicole is here—isn't she! Isn't she!”

Grandma Carla didn't reply. She bit her lower lip. Her lips had lost all color, had become as pale as her face.

Her eyes went to the living room window. I knew she was watching for the police car.

I reached out and grabbed both of her arms. “Just tell me where Nicole is,” I pleaded. “Please—tell me where she is, and I'll go. I promise I'll leave and never come back.”

I must have squeezed her arms too hard. Grandma Carla winced in pain. I loosened my grip, but I held on to her.

I had the feeling that if I let go, she would slip away. Vanish into thin air. Leave me alone to face the police.

“I don't know where she is,” Grandma Carla replied, her eyes on the big picture window.

“Why won't you tell me the truth?” I screamed.

I thought I heard a car crunching over gravel. I dropped her frail, bonelike arms. I spun away.

I had no choice, I realized. I had to run. Lucy's grandmother wasn't going to help me—even though she thought I was Lucy.

“Wait! Come back!” she called as I ran to the back. “Please wait!”

I ignored her shouts, shoved open the kitchen door, and plunged out into the backyard. A soft breeze rustled the cornstalks in the field behind the barn.

I turned one way, then the other, searching for a hiding place. I knew I couldn't run far. I was too weary. Too tired of running.

My eyes stopped at the old stone well to the right of the barn. The water was contaminated. The well hadn't been used in years.

Could I hide inside it? Hang on to the stones on the side? Wedge myself in?

No, I decided. Too scary.

What if I fell? Plunged down into the filthy water? I'd drown before anyone could find me and drag me out.

Could I hide in the cornfield?

Maybe for a while. But the corn wasn't quite as tall as me. I'd have to stoop and crawl. The police would find me easily. An open field couldn't hide me for long.

I heard a car door slam. Beside the house.

The sound forced me to move.

I began running across the tall grass to the barn. I had no choice, I decided. They'd search the bam. But there were good hiding places inside. I could bury myself in a mound of hay or straw. Or squeeze into the old tool closet behind the tractor stall.

I heard a second car door slam. The sound sent a jolt down my body, tightening my leg muscles, making my heart pound.

Running as hard as I could, I bolted into the barn. My feet slid on the straw that blanketed the dirt floor. I stopped for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

The air felt cool. I gasped in a deep breath. Another. It smelled so sweet.

So many memories came flooding back to me, triggered by the familiar aromas of the barn. So many wonderful days, so many happy moments.

I forced back a sob.

I knew I had no time for memories. Gray light filtered down from the dirty window in the hayloft above me. In the dim light I saw a tall pile of straw against the side wall, neatly stacked in tied bundles.