Another Day (7 page)

I don’t owe Nathan anything. He lied to me. Because of this, I should let it go.

But even if I don’t owe him anything, I feel I owe myself the explanation. I want to know.

I stay awake half the night, trying to figure it out. Then I get up and write him back.

Nathan,

This better be a good explanation. I’ll meet you in the coffee shop at the Clover Bookstore at 5.

Rhiannon

The bookstore seems like a good, safe place to meet. It’s in public, but it’s also a place Justin would never, ever go.

I already know I’m not going to tell him about this.

If I spent most of the night awake with my thoughts, Justin seems to have gotten plenty of sleep. It’s almost a good morning with him. When I see him, he doesn’t look like he wants to run away. He asks me how hanging out with Rebecca and the others went; I’m impressed because I didn’t expect him to remember what I was doing. He even listens to my response for about a minute. Then he grows bored—but I don’t blame him, because it’s pretty boring. It’s not what’s really playing in my mind. It’s not what I’m really thinking about.

Waiting. I can’t stand the feeling of waiting. Knowing I’m stranded for a few hours in the boring parts.

I check my email at lunch and find something new from Nathan.

Rhiannon,

I’ll be there. Although not in a way you might expect. Bear with me and hear me out.

A

My immediate reaction is that he’s not gay at all. And that his name must start with an
A.
He was hitting on me, and when I caught him hitting on me, he made up that he was gay. It explains the connection I felt a little more. Both magnets were working. I know I should be offended, but part of me doesn’t mind if he was hitting on me, especially because he was too sweet to do it all the way. It’s still a lie, and I’m still angry about that. But at least it’s a flattering lie.

I know Rebecca would love it if I talked to her about this. I know she is perpetually ready for that kind of conversation—she thinks friendships are built out of that kind of conversation. I sit across from her at lunch and I can see the question marks darting out of her eyes—does she know something is going on, or is she just hoping? Justin is right next to me, so it’s not like I can say anything. But even if it was just me and Rebecca, safely alone in her car, I’m not sure I would tell her. I like that it’s mine, and mine alone.

I get to the bookstore early and take a table by the window in the café. I’m nervous, like this is a first date. I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way—I’m only here for answers, not to get a boyfriend. I already have a boyfriend.

It’s amazing how many people will walk into a café area when you’re waiting for someone else. At least I already know what he looks like. I wonder if he’ll still be wearing a tie. Maybe that’s his thing. Maybe he’s really that much of a dork. I could be friends with that kind of behavior.

I try to distract myself with an
Us Weekly,
but my mind doesn’t even want to look at the pictures. A girl comes in and I don’t really notice her until she’s right in front of me, at my table, sitting down.

Rude. “I’m sorry,” I say. “That seat’s taken.”

I’m expecting her to tell me she’s sorry and move on. But instead she says, “It’s okay. Nathan sent me.”

Weird. I take a good look at the girl—her Anthropologie top, her Banana Republic pants—and figure she’s not evil. But her presence is still confusing.

“He sent you?” I say. “Where is he?” Was he so scared that I’d be pissed that he brought reinforcements?
Total
dork move. I look to see if he’s watching us, if he’s waiting to see if it’s safe to show his face. But he’s nowhere in sight.

“Rhiannon,” the girl says. I turn back to her and she’s looking right at me. Unsettling. There’s something big she’s not telling me. She’s both excited and terrified to tell me. It’s all there in her eyes.

I don’t look away.

I am not ready for this, whatever it is.

“Yes?” I whisper.

Her voice is calm. “I need to tell you something. It’s going to sound very, very strange. What I need is for you to listen to the whole story. You will probably want to leave. You might want to laugh. But I need you to take this seriously. I know it will sound unbelievable, but it’s the truth. Do you understand?”

What have I gotten myself into? What’s going on here? It doesn’t even occur to me to leave. No. This is now my life. Whatever she’s about to say is going to be my life.

It’s all there in her eyes.

We hold there for one very careful moment. Then she breaks it with her words.

“Every morning, I wake up in a different body. It’s been happening since I was born. This morning, I woke up as Megan Powell, who you see right in front of you. Three days ago, last Saturday, it was Nathan Daldry. Two days before that, it was Amy Tran, who visited your school and spent the day with you. And last Monday, it was Justin, your boyfriend. You thought you went to the ocean with him, but it was really me. That was the first time we ever met, and I haven’t been able to forget you since.”

No.
That’s all my mind can come up with. No. This is not happening. This is not what I want. I came here to find something real. And now I’m being served bullshit.

It’s the punch of the punch line. I am the butt of the joke.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I’m so angry, so mad. “You have to be kidding.”

This girl is good. She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t let down her guard at all. No. She keeps going, more urgent now, like I need to believe her, like I need to fall for it even worse.

“When we were on the beach, you told me about the mother-daughter fashion show that you and your mother were in, and how it was probably the last time you ever saw her in makeup. When Amy asked you to tell her about something you’d never told anyone else, you told her about trying to pierce your own ear when you were ten, and she told you about reading Judy Blume’s
Forever.
Nathan came over to you as you were sorting through CDs, and he sang a song that you and Justin sang during the car ride to the ocean. He told you he was Steve’s cousin, but he was really there to see you. He talked to you about being in a relationship for over a year, and you told him that deep down Justin cares a lot about you, and he said that deep down isn’t good enough. What I’m saying is that…all of these people were me. For a day. And now I’m Megan Powell, and I want to tell you the truth before I switch again. Because I think you’re remarkable. Because I don’t want to keep meeting you as different people. I want to meet you as myself.”

I feel stalked. I feel tricked. I feel like everything good that’s happened in the past eight days has just been pissed on. The beach. The dancing. Even taking that girl around the school. It’s all just someone else’s joke. And there’s only one person who could have done this. Only one person who could’ve known.

“Did Justin put you up to this?” I can’t believe this. I truly can’t believe this. “Do you really think this is funny?”

“No, it’s not funny,” she says—and the way she says it, there isn’t anything funny in there at all. “It’s true. I don’t expect you to understand right away. I know how crazy it sounds. But it’s true. I swear, it’s true.”

She really wants me to believe it. I guess that would make it even funnier.

What’s strange is that she doesn’t seem like a bitch. She doesn’t seem like someone who’d get off on torturing me. But isn’t that what she’s doing?

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” I tell her, my voice shaking. “I don’t even know you!”

She can see she’s lost me, and it’s making her more desperate. “Listen to me,” she begs, her voice shedding some calm. “Please
.
You know it wasn’t Justin with you that day. In your heart, you know. He didn’t act like Justin. He didn’t do things Justin does. That’s because it was me. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. But it happened. And I can’t erase it. I can’t ignore it. I have lived my whole life like this, and you’re the thing that has made me wish it could stop.”

I want to stop listening. I want to stop myself from driving over here. From wanting to know what was going on. I should have left it unknown. Because now it’s still unknown, but it’s a much worse unknown.

And the awful part is: She’s right. Justin didn’t act like Justin. I know that. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t Justin. It just means it was a better day than usual. I have to believe that. Because this story can’t be true. I mean, why not just say he was taken over by aliens? Bitten by a vampire? And—wait—then there’s the most unbelievable part of all. According to this story, I am The Girl. I am worth all that.

“But why me?” I ask, as if I’ve finally found the flaw, finally proven her wrong. “That makes no sense.”

But she doesn’t give in. She launches back with, “Because you’re amazing. Because you’re kind to a random girl who just shows up at your school. Because you also want to be on the other side of the window, living life instead of just thinking about it. Because you’re beautiful. Because when I was dancing with you in Steve’s basement on Saturday night, it felt like fireworks. And when I was lying on the beach next to you, it felt like perfect calm. I know you think that Justin loves you deep down, but I love you through and through.”

“Enough!” Oh God, now I’m the girl yelling in the café. Now I’m losing it. “It’s just—enough, okay? I think I understand what you’re saying to me, even though it makes
no sense whatsoever.
”

“You know it wasn’t him that day, don’t you?”

I want her to stop. I don’t want to know any of this. I don’t want to be thinking about this. I don’t want to be thinking about all the ways Justin has avoided talking about that day. About how my love for him made so much sense then, but hasn’t since. About how I haven’t found any of the him from that day in the him afterward. I don’t want to think about how I felt when I was dancing with Nathan. About how it felt when he sang that song. About the real reason I came here today. About what I really wanted.

“I don’t know anything!”
I insist. Again, I’m too loud. People are watching. Whatever story they’re playing out in their minds, it’s not going to be this one. I lower my voice—I don’t want them to hear more. I don’t want to do this. “I don’t know,” I say. “I really don’t know.”

Why? Why is this happening to me? Why can’t I stand up and leave? Why am I thinking for even a second that it might not be a lie?

Her. This girl. I look at her. Her heart is breaking. She is looking at me and her heart is breaking. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why. Her hand is moving onto mine. She is holding my hand. She is trying to get me through this. She is trying to take me through.

“I know it’s a lot.” Her voice is hurt. Her voice is comfort. “Believe me, I know.”

I can barely get the words out. “It’s not possible.”

“It is,” she says. “I’m the proof.”

Proof. Proof is a fact. None of this is a fact. This is a feeling. All of this is a feeling.

No. It’s thousands of feelings. So many of them yes. So many of them no.

She wants me to believe—what? That she was Justin. That she was Nathan. That girl in school. Other people.

How can I believe that? Who would ever believe that?

It cannot be a fact.

But it’s still a feeling. The yes. It’s there.

How can I let myself feel that? How?

“Look,” she says, “what if we met here again tomorrow at the same time? I won’t be in the same body, but I’ll be the same person. Would that make it easier to understand?”

Like it’s that simple. Like that couldn’t be a trick.

“But couldn’t you just tell someone else to come here?” I point out. If I can be suckered by one person, why not another?

“Yes, but why would I? This isn’t a prank. This isn’t a joke. It’s my life.”

The way she says it—
It’s my life.

Not a feeling. Fact.

“You’re insane,” I tell her. If she actually believes what she’s saying, how could she not be?

But she doesn’t seem at all insane when she tells me, “You’re just saying that. You know I’m not. You can sense that much.”

I look at her again. I search for the lie in her eyes. The flaw. And when I don’t see it, I decide,
Fine, it’s time for me to ask some questions.

I start by asking her what her name is.

“Today I’m Megan Powell.”

“No,” I say. “I mean your real name.” Because if she’s really jumping from body to body, there has to be a name for the person inside.

I’ve thrown her. She wasn’t expecting this question. I wait for her to back away from what she’s said. I wait for her to laugh and say I’ve got her.

But she doesn’t laugh. She hesitates, but she doesn’t laugh.

“A,” she finally says.

At first I don’t get it. Then I realize—she’s telling me that this is her name.

“Just A?” I ask.

“Just A. I came up with it when I was a little kid. It was a way of keeping myself whole, even as I went from body to body, life to life. I needed something pure. So I went with the letter
A.
”

I don’t want to believe this.

“What do you think about my name?” I challenge.

“I told you the other night. I think it’s beautiful, even if you once found it hard to spell.”

True. That is true.

But I can’t.

I can’t.

I’m sure there are other questions, but I’m out of them. I’m sure there could be plenty more time, but I’m out of time. I can’t do this. I can’t allow this to be real. I can’t start believing her. Because that will make me an even bigger fool.

I stand up. She stands up, too.

There are still people looking at us. Imagining we’re having a fight. Or imagining we’re a couple. Or imagining this is a first date that’s been a total bust.

Fact: It is none of these things.

Feeling: It is all of these things.

“Rhiannon,” she says. And it’s in there. It’s in the way she says my name. Every now and then, Justin says my name like that. Like it’s the most precious thing in the world.