“Lucy! Lucy!”
I didn’t even know I was shrieking her name.
I leaned over the side, peered down, down, down, into the darkness.
“Lucy! Lucy!”
The well was so dark, so deep.
I couldn’t see her. But I could hear her frantic splashes, hear her short, gasping cries of terror.
I could picture her arms and legs, thrashing wildly, slapping at the water. I could picture her face twisted in horror, arched back out of the water. Sucking in breath after breath.
The water must be so cold, so dirty.
I could picture her hands reaching up, desperately grabbing at the wet stones of the wall. Slipping off. Slipping off again.
Grabbing and slipping. Grabbing and slipping.
“Lucy! Lucy!”
I could hear the wild thrashing, the echoing splashes. Her desperate, hopeless attempts to stay afloat.
“Help me! Nicole!”
Her voice floated up, ringing as if in a vast cavern. She sounded so far away. Miles and miles away.
She called up only once.
“Lucy—I’m here! Lucy—keep swimming! Lucy—don’t give up!” Leaning over the side, staring into the deep darkness, I shouted down to her.
But she didn’t call up again.
And the splashing sounds stopped a few seconds later.
And I stared down, feeling the coldness of the stones on my waist, leaned farther down, listening, listening.
Listening to the deep silence.
Listening to her drown.
Drown in my body.
My best friend. Drowned at the bottom of the old well in my body.
I let out a sob as strong hands grabbed my shoulders. Kent pulled me up, away from the well. “Kent—she—she—” I stammered.
He held me gently. Pulled me close. “I know,” he whispered. “Nicole, I know.”
“I couldn’t help her,” I choked out, my entire body starting to shake. “I couldn’t save her, Kent. I couldn’t do anything for her. Nothing at all.”
“I know,” he repeated tenderly. “I know.”
He held me tightly and guided me toward the house.
We were halfway across the yard when Lucy stepped out from behind a tall evergreen shrub.
Her hair fell, wet and tangled with mud and leaves, to her shoulders. Her clothes were soaked, her white tennis shorts stained with mud.
My mouth dropped open. I tried to call her name, but no sound came out.
I felt my knees buckle, my legs go weak, felt myself start to slip to the ground. But Kent held me up, held on to me tightly, as if holding himself up, too.
Walking slowly and deliberately, she stepped in front of us. She pushed the wet, matted hair off her face with both hands.
She had the strangest smile on her pale lips. A pleased smile. A triumphant smile.
“Lucy—!” I finally managed to choke out. “Lucy—how did you get out?”
I wanted to run to her, to throw my arms around her, to hug her and cry for joy.
But her cold smile held me back.
“You—you’re out! You’re here!” I cried.
Her emerald eyes locked on mine. She didn’t utter a sound.
My body is okay, I found myself thinking.
A shameful thought, I know. I should have been thinking only of my friend. But staring at her—at her in my body—I couldn’t help myself.
I couldn’t help it. I found myself thinking: There’s still a chance Lucy and I can switch back. Still a chance I can get my own body back from her.
She moved quickly.
I felt Kent’s hand slide off my shoulder as Lucy dived forward.
He uttered a short cry of surprise as Lucy grabbed his head in both hands.
“Let’s switch, Kent,” Lucy said, her voice watery and strained. “Let’s switch—okay?”
Kent tried to pull back.
But Lucy proved too strong for him.
Gripping both sides of his head, she gave it a hard twist—and wrenched the head off his shoulders with one strong tug.