A soundless scream burns in my throat, but I can't force any sound past my—Christina's—lips. I scrub the steam off the mirror, I pinch myself, and I run cold water across my wrists, but the face in the mirror doesn't change. Opening the towel, I glance down at a totally unfamiliar body, and I yank the towel around me again like it can protect me from whatever has just happened.
Soon, everyone will wake up. Will they discover two versions of Christina, or, a horrible thought dawns on me, did Christina and I somehow switch places?
I lean against the wall, the towel bar pressing into my back. What in the world happened? Before I can collect my thoughts, someone pounds on the door.
"Shelby, get out of there. I need to get ready." The words are my sister's, but the voice is mine, like listening to myself on old home movies, and I cringe. Do I really sound that whiny? Suddenly, I'm terrified about what Mom or Dad will say if they find out, and I open the door and pull Christina into the bathroom in one swift motion.
She glares at me. "I don't have time for this. I heard the water turn off ten minutes ago; why are you still in here?"
I gulp, waiting for her eyes to catch up with reality. Christina glares at me, but suddenly her brow puckers, and she leans forward. "Shelby?" she asks uncertainly.
Wordless, I point to our reflections in the mirror. Christina turns her face to the glass and gasps.
"What did you do?"
"What did I do?" I ask incredulously. "How could this be my fault?"
She narrows her eyes, and her—my—nostrils flare. I didn't know they did that. I shake my head, trying to focus on what she's saying. "You've always been jealous," she says, gesturing at the body I'm now wearing. "However you did this, whoever you paid to do this trick, reverse it. Now."
"Look," I say, suddenly angry, "I'm not out to get you, contrary to whatever you may think. I didn't pay somebody to do this, and I'm just as pissed as you. You think I want to walk around like a prissy know it all witch all day?"
"Better than being stuck as a worthless scribe who can't even write a spell to get rid of her own acne!" She gestures angrily to her face.
I narrow my eyes. "At least I'd never stoop so low as using a spell for bigger boobs. You did, didn't you? These are totally bigger than you were last summer," I say, slapping my chest under the towel.
She flushes, but she doesn't deny my accusation. "This isn't funny."
"For once, I agree with you. You're the caster; can't you change us back?"
She rolls her eyes, and I notice how vapid I look when my face does that. I make a mental note never to roll my eyes again if I can help it. "I need a spell, stupid. Magic doesn't come out of thin air."
I bite my lip. She's right. "I could try to write something," I offer, thinking of the luck I've had with spells so far this school year, but she shakes her head emphatically.
"What, and blow us up in the process? No way."
"Look, what else are we supposed to do? I can't go to school like this!"
She nods. "You'd have to get dressed first."
For a moment, we just glare at each other, but then one corner of her mouth quirks up in a smirk, and I start to giggle. Soon, we're both laughing at the absurdity, and for a moment, my heart constricts with a forgotten feeling of warmth. So this is what it's like to have a sister who's also a friend, I think to myself. Feeling awkward, I stop laughing and lower my eyes, and Christina gets quiet.
"What are we going to do?" I ask in a small voice.
She taps the side of her—my—face thoughtful. "We have to figure out what happened first. Who did this to us, what spell they used, all that stuff. We can't reverse it otherwise."
My heart starts to pound. "So, what, we're stuck like this?"
She grimaces. "Believe me, I'm not any happier about it than you are. But if you're sure you don't know what caused this—"
I shake my head. "No clue."
She nods. "Then we have to find out who did. Once we know that, we can see about getting a counter spell."
I pause, but the weirdness makes me bold enough to ask her a question I've been wondering for a while. "Who's scribing for you now?"
She shifts her gaze. "You don't need to know right now. But I'm not going to ask for a spell until we know what we're dealing with."
I nod, even though the fact that she won't trust me even when she's wearing my skin stings more than I care to admit. "Fine. But seriously, I can't go to school like this."
"You think I want to repeat sophomore year? Those classes sucked."
Footsteps pad down the hall, and we both freeze. Mom and Dad are up, and I have no idea what they're going to do when Christina and I tell them what's going on. "Let's not tell them," I say in a hurried whisper.
She hesitates, but then she nods. "Dad might be able to figure out what's going on."
"Yeah, but," I pause, struggling with how to put my thoughts into words. "Don't you think they might blame you? After all, you are the caster." Or they might blame me, since they're mad about me selling spells. I push that thought aside; there's no way this could be my fault. Still, I don't want to piss Mom and Dad off any more than I already have, and I think telling them that I'd switched places with their perfect oldest daughter would qualify as pissing them off.
Christina frowns. "I hadn't thought of that." She pauses. "You know I didn't do this, right?"
I exhale slowly, and then I nod. There's no way, right? "Yeah. Like you said, why would you want to be stuck as me?"
***
When we get on the bus, my heart skips a beat. Kelsey is there, sitting in our old seat. She hasn't ridden the bus since she started dating Ryan, and I've barely seen her since our fight. I head toward her, but when she glances up at me, her eyes slide through me like ice. Somebody jabs me in the back, and I glance over my shoulder. Christina glares at me, and then she smoothly slips into the seat beside Kelsey. My best friend turns to her with a tentative smile, and they both ignore me as I make my way to the back of the bus. When I'm not looking in the mirror, it's easy to forget that I look like Christina, and I try to remind myself that nobody knows the truth, but still, Kelsey's snub cuts deeper than it should.
A tall girl with ebony skin slides into the seat next to me and starts talking without preamble. "I've got the notes for Calc, but I forgot to bring you back your sweater."
I frown, trying to think if I know her name, but I don't know any of Christina's friends anymore, and even though this girl lives in our neighborhood, I can't place her. "That's fine?"
She looks at me sharply. "You threatened to make me spit frogs if I didn't bring it back today."
"Oh, um, I was just kidding." I smile, hoping I can convince her, and the girl laughs.
"You're losing your edge, King."
I shrug, trying to figure out what to say. "Haven't had my coffee."
Her nose crinkles. "When did you start drinking that again?"
Oh, God, has Christina switched to tea? Or is she totally off caffeine altogether? I try to sound casual. "Since I started putting in so many hours, um, studying for the Threes."
The black girl leans back against the seat. "I hear that. If this test doesn't kill me, nothing will."
She's a caster, I think, trying to see if that information helps me place her, but it's like my memory is a big brick wall. "Um, about those notes..." I flail.
She pulls a notebook out of her bag and hands it to me. I take it from her and flip it open, but she keeps staring at me intently.
I cough. "What?"
"Where are your English notes?"
"Oh!" They must trade homework. I dig through my bag, frantically wondering why I didn't ask Christina which notebook goes to which class, but luckily, the other girl is looking in my bag, too, and she plucks a green notebook out of it. I didn't know Christina needed help with math, I think, glancing at her mostly blank homework before I swing my eyes back to the notebook from the girl. We pass the rest of the bus ride in silence, copying each other's work, but my eyes keep flickering to the middle of the bus where Christina is sitting with Kelsey, and my stomach tightens. What kind of things is she learning about me? What kind of ammunition will she have later on?
I start to head down the sophomore hall when we get to school, but the girl from the bus gives me a weird look, and I turn around just in time. This is going to be even harder than I thought, I realize. Christina and I went over our schedules together before we left the house this morning, but that doesn't mean I memorized it or anything. And I have no idea if I have class with the bus girl; sooner or later she's going to notice that I'm acting strange. I just have to think like Christina, I tell myself.
"Aren't you going to your locker?" The girl asks as I stand there in the hall, thinking.
I feel like such an idiot; I never thought to ask Christina for her locker number and combination. "Not today," I hedge. "I'll just bring my bag."
The girl frowns. "Okay. I guess I'll see you at lunch."
I nod, resisting the urge to exhale in relief; at least I don't have any morning classes with her. Turning away, I feign confidence as I walk down the hall, but my eyes scan the room numbers, and I'm walking slow enough that a couple of people bump into me. One guy mutters something under his breath, but I ignore him and keep looking at the classrooms. Finally, I find Christina's English class, and shouldering my bag, I take a deep breath and cross the threshold.
Nobody looks up when I walk in, and my shoulders drop in relief. I scan the desks, arranged in a wide circle around the room, facing the center, and I pause. Are the seats assigned? My eyes flicker around, looking for a familiar face, but I don't recognize anyone in this class, and I doubt Christina would bother making friends with normies. Think like Christina. Considering that English is the class she helps her friend in, I'm guessing she's good at it, and when my sister is good at something, she doesn't hide or pretend otherwise.
I walk to a desk in the center of the circle, near the back. It faces the board head on, plus it has a good view of the door. Even if all seats in a circle are more or less equal, this seat looks like the one my arrogant sister would choose if she wanted to show off. The bell rings as I drop my bag, and everyone shuffles to their seats. I hold my breath, but no one looks at me funny or tells me to get out of his seat, and I begin to relax. I can do this. Just think like Christina.
But when the teacher strides into the room and claps her hands, my heart starts to sink. "Okay, everyone. Let's pick up where we left off yesterday. Christina, I believe you were going to start us off today?"
My mouth opens and closes like a fish for a moment, and then I shake myself and reach for the green notebook, but I can't find it. I riffle through my bag, trying to cover my embarrassment, and then I realize with a flash that I forgot to get it back from the girl on the bus. I lick my lips and cross my ankles under the desk. "I can't find my notes."
A couple of people snicker, but the teacher doesn't let up. "That's fine. This isn't a formal discussion; just tell us what you think, what you remember."
My eyes dart around the room, looking for some clue on what the class is discussing. There. On the white board at the front of the classroom, I spot the word "Agenda", and underneath that, "A Tale of Two Cities". No wonder my sister is doing well in English! Dickens is Mom's favorite author, and Christina and I have both read A Tale of Two Cities more times than I can count. I take a deep breath. If the class is discussing the novel, does that mean they're done, or just starting? Carefully, I sift through my thoughts, and finally I settle on the right thing to say. "I don't like Charles Darnay."
There's a beat, and then someone across the circle leans forward. "He's the hero. Why don't you like him?"
I shake my head, forgetting for a moment that I'm wearing Christina's body. "He's not the hero. Just because he's the protagonist doesn't mean he's the hero." I pause. "Actually, he may not even be the protagonist."
The teacher smiles. "An interesting idea. Can you expand on it?"
And just like that, we're off and running. Even though I'm usually quiet in class, I get into the thick of the debate this morning, trading opinions and trying not to get too mad at my classmates, and I'm gratified by the end of the block that I've made a few of the other students agree with me. I'm actually having fun, but when the bell rings and we all pack up, the teacher singles me out as I'm heading into the hall.
"Great job today, Christina."
And just like that, my heart sinks and I feel worthless. I'm not me anymore, and it doesn't matter how good I felt about the conversation; everyone just thought I was my already perfect sister.
I muddle through the rest of the day, and even though it's gratifying for me that Christina's math class doesn't seem that difficult (and the teacher seems surprised when I raise my hand to answer his questions), I'm feeling pretty miserable by the time I get on the bus. When Christina gets on after me and cocks her head, I forget to worry about what our friends will think if they see us sitting together, and I move toward the center of the bus and slide into the seat beside her.
"You didn't tell me Kelsey is dating a normie," she hisses as soon as I sit down.
I shrug, frustration bubbling just under my skin. "You didn't tell me you cheat on Calculus."
"It's not cheating; it's called friends helping each other out."
I glance around the bus. "Speaking of friends, where is Kels? And the girl I sat with this morning."
Christina glances toward the sparsely populate back of the bus. "Jada? She has cheer practice after schools."
I can't hide the surprise in my voice. "You're friends with a cheerleader?"
She snorts, her—my—nostrils flaring again, and I cringe. "You're one to talk. Kels and that little boyfriend of hers? Seriously?"
"It's not like I'm friends with Ryan."
"She seemed to think you were the reason they were dating." Christina pauses, studying me. "Did you introduce them?"
I feel heat building in face, but I try to act nonchalant. "Something like that."
Her eyes narrow. "Something like that?" She stops, considering. "Please tell me you didn't try to write some kind of love spell."
"Kels wanted to know who her secret admirer was! I was just trying to help," I say defensively. The words linger in the air before I have a chance to think about their implications, but Christina's eyes go wide.
"So you can scribe! Has the suckiness just been an act, all these years?" Her voice pitches up slightly, and I feel eyes shift toward us.
I shake my head, shushing her. "This really isn't a conversation we should have here."
I expect her to keep arguing, but to my surprise, she sits back against her seat and looks away. "Fine," she mutters. "But don't think this conversation is over."
"Fine," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
We ride the rest of the way in silence, and I can tell Christina is dying to interrogate me, but I walk fast when we get off the bus in the neighborhood, and thanks to her long legs, I'm able to pull ahead of her. She has to either jog to catch up to me, or let me go for now, and just like I hoped, she falls back. I shake my head and smile to myself. Sometimes, my sister is so predictable. If our positions had been reversed, I would have chased her to the moon and back, but Christina has always been too careful not to look silly, and running after me through our neighborhood would definitely count as silly.
Still, once I get back to the house, I steel myself for the conversation I know is coming. What should I tell her? Since she's already guessed the truth, part of me wonders if I should confide everything to her; my sudden success, the thing with Kels, and the fact that none of this started happening until Miah began paying attention to me. A lump forms in my throat at the thought; I haven't heard from him since I flaked out on him for the last spell battle, and now that he and Becca are back together, I know I'm not likely to.
I drop my bag with a thump and close my eyes, wishing I could wave a magic wand and start the whole school year over.
"Shelby?" Mom's voice comes from the back of the house, and without thinking, I answer.
"In here!"
She comes around the corner and glances at me. "Is your sister home yet, sweetie?"
It hits me like a freight train. Even Mom can't tell the difference! I swallow back the sudden urge to burst into tears. "She was behind me, I think. She'll be home soon."
Mom frowns. "I really wanted to talk to her, but you and I need to go or we'll be late. I guess I'll leave a note."
"What did you want to talk to her about?"
Mom shakes her head. "Never mind. Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
She stares at me. "It's Tuesday."
I wrack my brain, trying to figure out what Mom is talking about, but the truth is, I've never paid much attention to Christina's schedule. "Right, Tuesday," I say, hoping she won't notice the tension in my voice.
She gives me an odd look, and then she disappears into the kitchen—to leave me a note, I guess. Then she reappears, holding her purse. "You want to drive?" She dangles the keys in front of me, and I swallow.
Christina is close to finishing her supervised driving hours, and she'll probably have her full license by the end of the year. But I haven't even started driver's ed yet, and the idea of driving Mom's car makes my panicky. "No, that's okay."
She raises an eyebrow. "Are you feeling all right?"
I nod impatiently, wondering what will happen if we aren't out the door before Christina gets home. "Aren't we going to be late?"
Slowly, she nods and opens the door. We walk to the car in silence, and I spot Christina at the end of the street. I can't see her face, but I imagine she's furious that she won't be able to pry any answers out of me right now. When we drive past her, though, I realize her expression isn't angry.
She's terrified, like she's seen a ghost.