[Mrs. Sheffield]
What has gotten into Cybil? She has been always the most compliant child. “You didn’t change your shoes.”
[Darcy]
I couldn’t tell her I had no idea which shoes would be better. “Oh. Um. I forgot. Sorry.”
“Well. It’s too late to turn back now. Maybe you can hide your feet.”
“Uh, yeah …” I say, though I have no idea how I’d do that. At least she forgot about the bracelet, which I’m still wearing, hoping maybe it’ll be okay.
We stop to drop Tommy off at school, the mother giving him several dozen instructions on what to do and not do in class, on the playground and during lunch. Tommy grunts in response and runs to catch up with a pack of boys.
Mmm. I run my fingers over the leather seat. I could get used to being driven to school in a sky blue BMW convertible, even with the top up. Sure beats the school bus. I finger the strap on the red studded leather bag I’d found on the dresser. I start to rummage through it. I need a few more details about Cybil’s life if I’m going to be living it.
“Please, Cybil,” Mrs. Sheffield says. “We really need to go to Sylvia’s Closet right after school. It’s on my schedule from three to four. I have a client coming to the office at four fifteen.”
The bag search will have to wait. Maybe in Home Room. “Mother, really, we can go shopping for a dress tomorrow. Get your nails done from three to four.” The words just fell out of my mouth. It’s amazingly easy to talk to Mrs. Sheffield that way. You’d think I was speaking to Joey.
“I get my nails done on Wednesdays, you know that.”
She took me literally! And she sounded kind of upset, or maybe confused was more like it. “Um, Mother ….” I reach over and touch her arm. “Take the hour and do something fun. You know, something you wouldn’t usually do.”
Mrs. Sheffield pulls over and stops. For a second I think she’s so shocked by my suggestion that she can’t drive. Then I realize we’re in front of the school.
“Like what?” Mrs. Sheffield looks as if she really doesn’t have a clue.
“Um, meet a friend for coffee. Check out that new book store. Go to the Pioneer Museum.” Okay, that last one sounds lame, like something a tour guide would say.
“The Pioneer Museum? Hmm.” Mrs. Sheffield tilts her head to one side, then the other. She smiles. “The Rogers are renovating an old barn in Lorane into a country house and they want me to decorate it. Maybe I could get some ideas at the museum.”
“Sounds good!” I figure I’d better make my escape before she changes her mind and starts in about Sylvia’s Closet again. I hop out of the car. “See ya!”
“Bye.” Mrs. Sheffield gives me a distracted wave as she pulls away.
For a nanosecond I have a hiccup in my nervous system and start walking sort of hunched over, my arms folded around my waist, hoping to slither into the school unnoticed. Then I remember! Darcy, no, Cybil, yes! It’s a little scary, but I stand up straight, lift my chin, stick out my now impressive chest and stroll casually toward the door. All around, eyes focus on me. Every guy I pass, from dork to hottie, checks me out. This I am not used to. I take a deep breath, hoping I can make it as Cybil.
Suddenly I see Vanna Leon, Erin Bailey and Rachel Alcott heading my way. “Cybil!” they squeal in unison. I forgot that the pretty girls travel in packs.
Erin, with her coppery red hair flowing from a center part, is the most beautiful, though not as beautiful as the new me. Rachel’s soft brown hair tumbles carelessly down her back, giving her a sort of casual I don’t care how I look but that’s because I know I’m really pretty aura. Vanna’s jet black hair is clustered in short, tight curls around a face with smooth carmel skin that glows with gold undertones and the confidence of being great looking. I know they all tried out for cheerleading, but only Cybil made the squad, which shows you how über special she (now me!) is.
“H h hi!” I say, trying to sound as excited to see them as they are to see me, hoping they don’t notice my nervous stutter.
“Oh, Cybil, I love those shoes with that skirt!” Erin says, only in a way that kind of makes me think she means just the opposite, if you know what I mean.
I try to wish away the unwelcome blush I feel creeping into my cheeks. I guess Mrs. Sheffield knew what she was talking about with the shoes.
“So, what about this afternoon?” Rachel says in a tone so serious I’m sure she’s going to ask about the results of a blood test or something. But she just raises an eyebrow as the front doors of the school magically open and we all saunter through without even a nod to the guys who trip over themselves to act as doormen. It’s as if their efforts are a daily occurrence. Of course, in the Queens of the Socies world, I’m sure they are.
“This afternoon?”
“Hello?” Rachel waves her hand in front of my face. “The audition or Sylvia’s Closet?”
“The audition. Definitely.”
There’s a collective gasp. Finally Rachel says, “How did you do it?”
“I just told Mother we could go to Sylvia’s Closet tomorrow.”
Raised eyebrows all around.
“Way to go, girl! Congratulations!” The way Vanna hugs me you’d think I’d just been accepted to medical school—or maybe won the Miss Universe Pageant.
“Um, thanks,” I say, though I don’t think it’s as much of an accomplishment as Erin, Rachel and Vanna apparently do. I’m just starting to get claustrophobic walking down the hall as one fourth of an eight legged cluster, when who should come to my rescue but Devon Copperfield.
“Hullo, ladies.” Devon flashes a killer smile.
Erin, Vanna and Rachel giggle their hellos, practically genuflecting to the male presence. Erin gives Devon an arm touch, and don’t think he doesn’t notice! But then she and Vanna and Rachel make their excuses to leave. Amazing how some girls just figure that a guy automatically holds rank. Of course, in this case, he does.
I’m not sure how long I stand there drinking in the handsome face with the dark eyes that hold a secret expression before it finally occurs to me to say, “H hi, Devon.”
“‘Lo, luv,” Devon says in his adorable British accent. He puts his arm on my shoulder in a possessive gesture.
Whoa! I could get used to such personal contact.
“Are we going to shag tomorrow tonight, or are you all mouth and trousers?”
I return the smile that Devon is offering, but all I can think is, Translation, please!
[Cybil]
Everyone stares as if they’ve never seen me before. Finally, The Mother says, “Your hair looks pretty that way, Darcy.” She fingers my sweater. “And it’s good to see you finally wearing some of the nice clothes Aunt Julia sent you from New York.”
“Um, thanks.”
“It’s about time you’re ready,” Joey says. He rubs his knuckle on the top of my head, but not hard, the way Tommy would do it—if he could reach that high. It was more like teasing and almost, I don’t know, affectionate. “C’mon, Darcy. Let’s go.”
“Mom” and “Dad” hug us and kiss our cheeks. There’s a flurry of good byes. You’d think we were leaving for a six-month cruise or something, instead of school. It’s kind of nice, though.
I walk along next to Joey, trying to pretend that I know where we’re going. I can only assume the dirt tracks through the woods are a driveway that leads to a road. For all I know, this nightmare experience I’m having is more ominous than it looks, though it’s bad enough as it is. But what if some Chainsaw Maniac is lurking behind a tree ready to jump out and saw us to bits???
Joey whistles some tuneless song. I try to ignore it.
Finally we reach a road where there’s a large mailbox with D O A N E stenciled on the side. Now I know “my” last name, though it means nothing to me. Under the name is an eight-digit number. I know that means we’re past the city limits.
“How come you’re so quiet, Darcy? I mean, my ears appreciate the rest, but ….” Joey has kind of an amused look on his face. “Are you daydreaming about Devon Copperfield again?”
“I don’t have to dream about Devon, I—” Wait. That’s right. He thinks I’m Darcy. “Um, that is, whatta ya mean by that?”
“C’mon. I’ve seen the look on your face whenever you’re within two blocks of the guy. You may yak about everything except how you really feel about anything, but I’m your brother. I can read your mind.” Joey grins, makes a fist and lightly taps my jaw.
So … this Darcy person is crushing on my Devon! Or Joey thinks that she is. Yikes! If she’s me—I can’t think about that right now! I’ll deal with that later. Meanwhile, I wrinkle my nose. “You think you know everything. But you so are wrong!”
Joey doesn’t look at all like he believes me. He just shrugs and says, “Whatever.”
There’s a squeal of tires as the school bus screeches to a stop. The door opens, and Joey gestures for me to go ahead of him. I don’t know if that’s a sarcastic move, or if he’s actually being polite, never having dealt with an older brother before (not one of my own, that is), but I climb the steps.
“Mornin’ Darcy!” the bus driver says.
“Hello, uh ….” I spot the name tag on his shirt. “Benny.” The inside of the bus looks like a rodeo without the horses. Guys bounce and flop all over the seats and up and down the aisle. To think for even one moment I thought this might be fun. I take a deep breath and barge ahead in search of a place to sit. “Excuse me. Excuse me!”
A hand waves in front of my face. “Hey! Earth to Darcy!” The hand is attached to a thin girl in a baggy gray sweatshirt. White socks peek out through the much too big space between the bottom of her jeans and the top of her black sneakers. Her long dark hair covers one eye. Nerd city. She pats the empty seat as if I should sit there.
I do. Though I have no clue who she is, she obviously knows Darcy, and she looks like a safer bet for a seatmate than the rodeo crew. I decide I ought to say, “Hi.”
“Behave.” Joey taps me lightly on the head as he walks to the back of the bus.
“Hi,” the thin girl says. “I like those boots.”
“Oh. Um. Thanks.”
“And your hair. Love the bangs.”
“Er, thanks again,” I say.
“So, what’s the big decision?”
“The big decision?”
“The audition! Are you going to audition for a part in My Fair Lady?”
“A part? You mean, Eliza. Well, I—”
“Eliza?” Ms. Thin gasps. “That’s a humongous jump from one of the housemaids!”
Ack! That’s right! I look like this Darcy person! But. At least now I don’t have to talk Mother into postponing a trip to Sylvia’s Closet. One molecule of a silver lining in the cloud that has taken over my life. “I’m going to audition for the part of Eliza,” I say, trying to sound a lot more confident than I feel, under the current circumstances.
“Wow!” Ms. Thin looks totally thrilled for me. “That’s great!”
“Like bloody ‘ell it is!”
I look across the aisle. Grinning at me are two guys spread over the seat like melted chocolate. Refugees from dorkdom. The silent one next to the window peers at me through black framed glasses and dark hair that spills over them. The thick lenses make his eyes bulge out like beach balls.
The “bloody ‘ell” guy right across from me runs his fingers through his spiky blonde hair, lifts his blue tinted glasses for a moment to reveal eyes the color of new pennies, then lowers the glasses.
I give him a frozen smile to show my annoyance.
“Darce,” Mr. Mouthy says, “if you’re Eliza, then I’d be your dad.”
Concerned that this guy could be nuts and/or dangerous, I adjust my look to a cold stare.
“Yo, Pammie, you explain it,” Mr. Mouthy says to the girl sitting next to me. “Darce is in a trance.”
“She gets it, Winston,” Pammie says. “If you get the role of Mr. Doolittle, you’ll be playing her father if she gets the part of Eliza. Duh.”
“And if I get the role of Freddie,” the window seat guy says, “I’ll be her boyfriend.”
“Not quite, Malcolm,” Pammie says with great patience, as if she is used to dealing with those guys on a regular basis.
“Seriously, Darce,” Winston says, dropping the cockney accent, “you’re going to audition for Eliza? Yesterday you weren’t even sure if you’d try out for the part of one of the maids. I mean, I know you’ve got a good voice, but ….” He shrugs.
Yikes. My voice! I know I have a great voice, but does Darcy? Just because this Winston organism thinks so doesn’t make it true. Where’s the Starship Enterprise when I need it? Just beam me up, Scotty, so I can sing something and find out what kind of vocal chords are in this throat. I mean, who knows how long I’ll be stuck in this body? As long as I have to live in it, I don’t want to, like, totally embarrass myself.
But! What if I get the role of Eliza in this Darcy’s face and body, and then I turn back into myself? I totally have to find Me and figure out how to get back where I belong!