Chapter 20

My room alarm speaks to me in a buttery voice. “Good morning, it’s oh-six-hundred.”

I moan, groggy with sleep. Why didn’t I disengage the alarm?

“Turn off,” I say.

The green airbot gives a cough-like whir and lifts off from a stuffed giraffe, floating toward the ceiling. Animals enclose me in a fuzzy hug, and I’m cozy for a split second until memories of yesterday scatter my comfort far and wide.

Bombs. Explosions. Destruction. Death. Stuck forever in Jodine’s body, a body that’s not mine—

I thrash from under the blanket and fling it onto the bed. Tears spring into my eyes. I slug a pillow a few times, then scream into it. My voice grows hoarse.

It’s no use. No amount of head-bashing or screaming will change things.

I’m trapped. Forever.

I shuffle into the bathroom. My eyelids are puffy and scratchy, as if broken glass lies underneath. I’m not charged up about exercising this morning, yet at the same time I could use a session of sweating and slamming some weights around. Something gritty. Something numbing. Something to do until Dad calls and arranges our trip home.

I pull on sweats and plod downstairs. Surprisingly, the gym isn’t vacant. Mrs. K. sits at one of the resistance machines, not moving, wearing turquoise sweats and a washed-out expression.

“I’ll come back later, Mrs. Kowalczyk.”

Mrs. K. turns her head in slow motion. “Don’t. I’m not doing anything in here, anyway.” Her gaze lands on my hair. “You cut it?” Her voice is stretched thin over the words.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It’s still long, just not as long.” I’m so blazing stupid. I should’ve waited to cut it until I wasn’t living with the Kowalczyks.

To my dismay, Mrs. K.’s face crumples, and she begins to cry. “I never appreciated her. Not her appearance, especially not her weight. Her vidgames, her clothes, her singing, her painting—” She breaks off, crying too hard to say more.

I take a seat on the base of the treadmill machine, my mind blank as to what to say.

After another minute, Mrs. K. blows her nose on a tissue. When she speaks, she sounds stuffy and nasally. “I wanted her to be slender, you know. I wanted her to be a painter like me. Not a singer, even though I knew her voice was lovely. I wanted to go shopping with her and buy stylish skinny clothes together, and she really didn’t care about that. She had her own, more casual style. But after a while, she only fit into those revolting navy sweats.”

“My mom likes to go shopping with me,” I say. “Nothing personal, but it’s more fun to go with friends.”

Mrs. K. sniffles. “Jodine never had many friends, either. That snake of a girl, Noni, certainly didn’t count.”

I stay silent. I’m not supposed to know about Noni.

“The thing I feel the worst about,” Mrs. K. begins, then stops. Fresh tears trail down her face and drip off her chin. “I—I can’t believe how insensitive I was to her. She surprised me once, showing me the painting I told you about. It was her first try at a still life, the first time she’d painted anything besides abstract shapes and colors when I let her play around on old canvases. All I could see were the mistakes, not her effort. I told her it wasn’t very good.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think the painting looks that great, either.”

Mrs. K. snaps her head up, and her eyes squinch smaller. “How do you know?”

“It’s hanging in her closet. I mean, I guess it’s the same painting. White vase, some grapes, an apple.”

“I want to see it.” Mrs. K. rises like a shot from the resistance machine.

I lead her upstairs to Jodine’s room. In the closet, I point to the painting. “There, see? It has my—I mean her—initials on it.”

Mrs. K. makes a raw, animal noise. She takes the painting off the wall and cradles it against her chest. “Thank you for letting me know about this. I hope you can get together with your family soon.”

I lean against the closet doorframe and watch her leave the bedroom with the painting. Something deep inside me rushes to the surface, and I feel my mouth curl into a broad, trembling smile. After all these years, she not only appreciates the painting, she wants it. All that work wasn’t for nothing.

It’s a belated but rewarding acceptance. And how nice Mrs. K. said she hoped I got back together with my family soon.

Wait a minute. I give myself a hard mental shake. Oh, man, I’m going crazy. I’m not the one who made that painting, and Mrs. K. isn’t my mother. I drifted into major Jodine mode for a few seconds. Traces of her are much, much too alive and well in this body—that wasn’t just a residual memory. I need to leave this house and get away from things that trigger this type of freaky blending. If that will even make a difference.

I sure hope so. I won’t be able to stay sane if I’m not ever totally myself again.

Back in the bedroom, I find my phone and text Dad. He answers right away.

I’m finishing breakfast. I got the okay from Mr. Behr to bring you home. Shall I meet you at the MT shelter at Alameda Street, by the Institute?

Sure, if you want to ride that far.

It’s fine, kiddo. I can be there in about an hour. Uh, what do you look like?

I cringe. Weird question to hear from my own father.

Heavy. Shoulder-length curly hair and freckles. Green sweats. Can’t miss me.

Okay. I asked Granddad if he wanted to come, but he’s being reclusive. We just got notice he was awarded a room at the retirement home, and he’s busy starting to pack. You can help us move him in on Saturday if you want.

Sure. See you soon.

I sign off, trying not to think of Granddad leaving. Or what he thinks about my situation. At least I’ll get to see him before he moves out, but I have an awful feeling he prefers packing to seeing me in my new body. I think he’s as afraid as I am what his reaction will be.

I’m done here. Who cares about working out this morning? I send a text to Blair and Krista, force myself to clean up Jodine’s room, and return the stuffed animals to the bed. I blow a sad kiss to the green airbot. In the kitchen, I nibble breakfast and discover a note that says Nettie is visiting her brother. Our hug last night was good-bye, then, which kind of sucks. I speak a message, thanking her for the friendship and food, then dictate a farewell for Dr. and Mrs. K.

I check my phone. It’s ten minutes before my regular meeting time with Vonn at the park. If I hurry, I might be able to catch him before I ride to the Red Zone. If he even shows up.

I take the MT and rush down the sidewalk to our normal meeting place. The image of Vonn’s real face bobs in my mind. Superguy. Do I care that he isn’t ever going to be that hot again? A teensy bit, yes, but not as much as I would’ve expected.

Mostly, I just want him to be at the park.

“Please be there, please be there.” I puff the words into the damp morning air. When I turn the corner and see him on our usual bench, I nearly short-circuit with relief.

He glances up. He looks as if he’s been slugged in the stomach.

I halt beside the bench, gasping from my run. “I don’t— I thought—” I take a deep breath and start over. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to say good-bye before I went back home.”

Vonn stands. He touches my arm and lets his hand drop. His eyes have lost their spark, their impish glint. “Me too. I’m not sure where ‘home’ is anymore, though.”

It’s more difficult for him, living on his own. I almost feel guilty for having a family to go back to, even though going home won’t be easy. “What about your mom? Is she in the Blue Zone where you usually live?”

“She lives there, but I dunno if I’ll see her. Right now she’s too busy saying ‘I told you so’ and yelling about how reckless I am. Like she says Dad always was. I’ll let her unwind first. I can stay at Matt’s until I’m ready to go back to my old apartment.”

Words wedge in my throat. Not only is that sad to hear, I don’t know what will happen to our relationship now, since we live far apart. I struggle against a powerful wave that threatens to flatten me, an unjust and extra shove from the universe when I’m already groveling on my knees. I’m not ready to lose Vonn on top of everything else. Hopefully he’ll want to keep meeting with me, somehow. I try to regain control over my emotions so I can ask.

He scuffs his shoe on the pavement. “I keep thinking this is a bad dream, and I’m going to wake up soon. I feel totally upside-down. There I was, thinking I was Superguy to the rescue, helping people and improving national health, and now I’m stuck being boring old Matt Williams. My plans backfired, big time.”

I don’t know what to say to that. There may not be actual words that will help in this kind of situation. I give his shoulder an awkward pat. “Would you like my phone number in case you want to call, or my email to write to me?”

“You want to keep in touch, when we’ll never be our real selves again?”

I tilt my head, pressure building behind my eyes. I will not cry. I will not. “Of course I do! We got to know each other in these bodies, not our real ones. You’re not Matt inside. You’ll always be Superguy to me.”

Vonn slumps, almost wilts. “It means a lot to me that you think that. Thanks, Geekling.” He fingers a coil of my hair. “You know, I’m sorry you’ve never liked this hair. It’s cool, like a bunch of tiny springs.”

That’s beyond sweet, but I tell him my email address to avoid dwelling on the dismal thought that these tiny springs will be mine for the rest of my life. “I’ll send you my new number after I buy a non-Institute phone. Since my old one got blown up in the bombing.”

“My email is vonnderfuljerk@gridlink.com.”

A cracked laugh erupts from my throat. His address is clever and kind of silly, just like he is. I slip my hand into his. “I gotta go meet my dad. See you around, I hope.”

“Try to have a good Thanksgiving.” He gives me a loose hug with his free arm.

“You too.” We unlink our fingers and head off in opposite directions. I wonder how long it’ll be before we get together again.

I’m done with the Institute, done being a Reducer. I don’t know what my life will be like now, but I’m going to try as hard as I possibly can to take Vonn into the next part of it.