The Swap (7 page)

Get it together, Ellie!
I tell myself.

Ms. Dean turns back toward me.

“Ellie, I'm sorry, but I have to run and deal with—” She stops for a second and takes a long deep breath. “I'll tell you what.” Ms. Dean begins again. “Why don't you come with me to my office, and you can tell me what is going on.”

That's when I blurt it out.

I don't know what makes me say it! As soon as it's out of my mouth, I wish I could catch up to the words and grab them and stuff them back down my throat.

“I have my period!” I say. (I have not gotten my period yet. This was another thing Sassy liked to point out to me all summer. “Ellie!” she'd tease. “Too bad you're not a woman yet!”)

Ms. Dean's eyes light up. “Well, I can certainly understand that,” she says, smiling like we are totally in on the same girl secret, if you know what I mean, and
I
don't even know what I mean!

Suddenly I just start talking.

Each thing I say is a bigger lie.

“Yeah, um,” I say. “I have the
worst
cramps, and well, uhhh, I have gym and it's like—” I put my hand a little below my stomach, as if I'm suddenly an expert on menstrual cramps. “It
really
hurts,” I completely lie.

It gets worse.

Do you think I can just lie and be normal? I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes. I am such a goody-goody. It's true. I stop talking and try and get myself together, but it's too late to stop whatever I started.

“Oh! Cramps are the worst!” Ms. Dean says, like she knows exactly how I feel. Exactly how I would feel if I weren't a big fat liar. “Poor thing!” Ms. Dean looks like she honestly feels really badly for me. “Do you think you can make it through one more hour?”

I nod and wipe the tears and my runny nose with the back of my hand.

“Try and breathe, okay?”

I nod again.

Ms. Dean starts walking down the hall toward the main office and motions for me to follow her.

“Let's see if we can get you a little bit more comfortable,” she says. Every so often she glances over and smiles. This only makes me feel worse.

How am I ever going to get out of this?

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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THE NURSE TAKES ONE LOOK
at me and jumps up from her seat behind her desk. I guess it's the blood.

“Holy cats!” she says. “What happened to you?”

She has these crazy, twinkly, bright eyes, a heap of blackish-purple hair knotted on top of her head, and she's wearing leopard-print pajama-looking pants and top, with a stethoscope slung around her neck.

“Wowzers!” The nurse looks at me, eyes wide. “First day of school and we have blood!” She sounds almost excited and hands me a wet washcloth. “Here you go, hon. Come on in and sit down.”

I sit down on the cot and take the washcloth off my nose while the nurse bends over and looks real close.

“Hmm,” she says, “doesn't look broken . . .” She's, like, an inch away from my face. She smells like flowers. “I don't really think you need stitches, but dang!” She pauses and smiles big. “Rough day, huh?”

I try and sit up straighter on the cot. I can't stop shaking. I have so much adrenaline going through my body.

“Why don't you lie back?” she tells me.

This is a different nurse than last year. I've never seen her before.

“I'm fine,” I tell her.

I don't feel fine. I'm suddenly really tired and a little bit woozy. I grip the edge of the cot with my hands and try and steady myself.

“Hey, so are you going to tell me what happened to your eye?” She smiles. “That doesn't look like it's from today.”

“Hockey,” I answer.

Her eyes light up. “Hockey? Rad!”

Her eyes are this unreal blue. She's kind of a rocket, as Sammy would say. I watch her as she grabs an ice pack out of the mini fridge and trades me for the damp, bloody washcloth.

“Looks like it might hurt a little bit?” she asks.

I shrug, like, No. Big. Deal. It actually does hurt, though. A lot.

The nurse bends down again and looks real close, right into my eyes.

“Is your vision blurry?”

I shake my head.

“How about double?” she asks. “Do you see two of me?” She breaks into a grin.

“No, ma'am,” I answer.

“That would be scary, right? Two of me! Yikes!” she jokes. I notice she has a tattoo of a half-naked lady riding a tiger climbing up her neck toward the word fearless inked onto her skin in curvy dark script, almost like graffiti. She doesn't look like any school nurse I've ever seen.

I try not to be so obvious. I'm kind of staring.

“Okay, so the nose?” she asks. “What's the story there?”

“Um.” I stop and try and think of what I should say. “I ran into a wall.”

“A wall, huh? Must have been a mean wall.” She laughs. She has a warm, funny laugh. I squint back at her because my nose is sort of swelling and the ice pack is blocking my view.

“Hon, you
really
need to lie down.” She puts her hand on my shoulder and I flinch. “Just lie back, and keep pinching your nose and keep the ice on it, okay?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I say.

I slowly lower myself back onto the cot. The pillow feels good. Man! My heart is still pounding. I'm so amped! I lie there and stare up at the square tiles on the ceiling and replay the fight in my head. I replay it like a highlight video on ESPN, sort of how other people would see it, almost like I'm watching myself on YouTube in super slow motion.

Jack Malloy vs. Porter Gibson 660,000 views

Did I win or did I lose? How many punches did I land? I glance down at my mangled red knuckles. I guess I connected with something! He threw a couple of sloppy punches, but he really didn't hit me besides . . . well, besides the wall . . .I think I landed two or three. I'm pretty sure I got the upper hand. Pound for pound, he's bigger. I'm stronger, faster—I went full out! I replay it again and again. Man. I hate it when guys hide. He was scared. He was all talk! When I fight, I'm gonna throw. I'm not going to back down from anyone.

At first I think I'm dreaming. But then I realize it's the nurse.

She's sitting on the edge of the cot now. “So we kind of skipped something epic.” She stops and smiles. “Your name?”

“Jack,” I tell her, sitting up a little too fast. “Jack Malloy.”

“Whooooooa.” She puts her hand on my shoulder again. “Sweetie, relax, you really need to lie back down.”

I'm not used to anyone calling me sweetie.

It's weird, but there's something about the nurse that is just, like, really calm and soothing.

“Listen, Jack Malloy,” she says, “how about we give your dad a call?”

Honestly? Maybe today is the weirdest, luckiest day of my life, because as soon as the nurse mentions calling my dad? Like, that
exact
same second? Some girl dressed in her gym clothes walks through the door, and she's crying. She's not just crying, she's, like, bawling. I have no idea who this girl is, but let me tell you, I am grateful.

The girl who saves my life has the most beautiful long dark-red hair I have ever seen, green eyes, and a thousand freckles. She's
really
pretty. I'm about to smile at her, in a thank-you-for-saving-my-life kind of way, when out of the corner of my eye I see—

“Mr. Malloy,” says Ms. Dean. Her voice is stern.

The girl? Freckles? She glances at me and then quickly looks away, and I watch as she drops her huge book bag, plops down across from me on the other cot, and buries her head in her hands. The nurse moves straight for Freckles, and Ms. Dean walks straight to me.

Ms. Dean is no-nonsense. She's always dressed really fancy and serious looking. For what seems like forever, she just stands there with her arms crossed, looking straight at me. My heart is still racing from the fight and my nose is stuffed up with bloody snot and I suddenly have major knots in my stomach—I have
never
been in trouble before.

“Mr. Malloy,” she finally starts. “I understand you had an altercation?”

I don't say anything.

“Well?” she asks. “Is this an accurate statement?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I answer softly.

“What was that?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I repeat, lifting my eyes to look back at her.

“Jack, I can't tell you how disappointed I am.”

More silence.

She lets out a long sigh. “Honestly, Mr. Malloy, what happened is simply unacceptable.”

I stare at the floor.

“Yes, ma'am, but he started it when he—” I start to explain, but then I stop. One, because the more I talk the more my nose begins to kill, and two, I just hear my dad's voice booming in my head: “
Actions speak louder than words, Jack
.”

Ms. Dean shakes her head. “I expect more out of you, Jack. You showed extremely poor judgment.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I answer.

“Everyone at Thatcher looks up to you.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I say. I have the worst lump in my throat.

“You're an eighth grader, Jack.” (Long pause.) “You're an honor student.” (Longer pause.) “And quite frankly . . .” She stops and glances up at the clock on the wall. “I'm not looking forward to calling your father.”

You know that feeling you have when you're about to cry? I bite down on my bottom lip, to hold it in, to keep it inside.

No hockey.

No sleepovers.

No friends.

No life.

He'll probably yank me out of Thatcher and make me go to Saint Joe's.

“Jack?”

I look up.

“Do you have anything more you'd like to add?”

“No, ma'am,” I lie. I know better than to say what I'm thinking, to say how I feel.

“Mr. Malloy, for the time being . . .” Ms. Dean looks at her wristwatch, then back at me. “I'm going to hold off calling your dad. But you and I are going to have a serious discussion on Monday.”

For a second, I'm completely relieved. But then it hits me:
Monday will be here soon enough. How much will change, right?

I watch Ms. Dean turn and leave.

“Whoa, easy does it,” I hear the nurse, then I feel her hand on my shoulder. “Just relax,” she says. “Lie back.”

I do. I fall back.

I give in.

Everything is sort of foggy.

I turn on my side and look over at Freckles.

She does not look happy.

She's got big fat tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Middle school sucks, huh?” I whisper. I smile really gently. She looks so sad.

“My entire life sucks,” she answers.

“Yeah?” I say. “I can relate.”

“Probably not,” she mumbles. “Boys have it so easy.”

“Um.” I turn my head again toward her. “Have you looked at me?”

Freckles lets out the tiniest smile, but then, just as quickly, the smile fades, almost like she remembered something.

“So what happened to you?” I ask.

She looks so . . . I don't know. Defeated. She doesn't say a word. I move the ice pack away so she can see my messed-up face.

“Want to trade places?” I say.

She almost laughs.

“Yeah,” she answers. She says it so softly I can hardly hear her. I watch her close her eyes.

“We could, like, magically trade lives, right?” she says.

I just nod and close my eyes too. “You be me,” I whisper. “And I'll be you.”

“Holy bananas! Wouldn't that be fun?” I hear the nurse say. “You two could do a swap, a little switcheroo!” She giggles. “Help each other out.”

This nurse is kind of crazy cakes, but in a good way.

The room gets really quiet.

The lights go off.

And the last thing I remember is the nurse whispering into the darkness, like she's casting a spell. “See the world through eyes anew, until you learn what's deep and true. Heart and courage to speak and feel, will return you to the home that's real.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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