Switched (5 page)

9

Don’t get mad. Get Glad.

—Glad Trash Bags Slogan

What sort of psycho wears wool in this heat?

As Willa Pogue charged across her bedroom, a bright pink and yellow blur laden with shopping bags from a store Laura only dreamed of shopping at—minimum price for a T-shirt was around seventy dollars—Laura knew she should be mounting some sort of counteroffensive. But the girl’s outfit was so bizarre, Laura suffered a momentary brain freeze.

Willa Pogue was wearing a cable-knit sweater and long wool pants. In the summer. Not to mention the fact that she looked weird. Not just hot, but strange. The clothing stretched across her body but then seemed to hover, refusing to settle in. It was almost as if the wool didn’t like her. Or maybe Willa was the one who was doing the rejecting.

Either way, just looking at Willa made Laura feel uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and sweaty.

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Unfortunately, Willa was experiencing no such difficulties.

“Why are you in here?” she spat. “What
is
it with you and my room?”

For the first time, Laura wondered if the girl really was insane. It would explain a lot: the weird throw pillows, her wild outbursts and why she was dressed for the tundra in June. It would also explain why Laura hadn’t been fired.

No matter. After her explosion yesterday, Laura had sworn never to fight with an employer again. It simply wasn’t worth the stress. Tearing her eyes away from Willa’s pants
(were they lined? If so, the girl must be melting),
she forced her voice into a neutral tone.

“I’m just cleaning. It’s my job.” She’d been working nonstop for what seemed like years and the room was still a mess. “I mean, you have to admit, this place is a disaster.”

Willa looked around. Her eyes wandered over to the bed. Laura had placed the sheets and duvet on top but it wasn’t made yet.

Laura walked over to the nightstand. She knew this next subject wasn’t going to go over well but it had to be raised. She’d been cleaning homes for too many years to let it slide and besides, Psycho Willa already hated her, so what did it matter?

She cleared her throat. “You know, you really shouldn’t leave open bags of food in your room.” She lifted a bag of sour cream and onion chips as evidence.
(Grease stains on white sheets were so stubborn, but a Clorox-and-salt mixture works wonders.)
“I mean, you really shouldn’t bring food into your room at all, even if it isn’t—”

“Just shut
up
!” Willa scooped a throw pillow off the floor—a cupcake with the words
DO YOU REALLY NEED IT
? stitched across the front—and hurled it in Laura’s direction.

Both girls watched in silence as the cushion cut a light, sloppy lob through the air and sailed out of a screenless window Laura had opened to offset the cleanser scent. Laura ran toward the ledge.

The stuffed pastry had landed in a rosebush. “It’s okay,” she said. “It just fell onto the—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Willa Pogue sat down on the bed. “Throwing pillows out of windows seems to be the only thing that’s really working for me lately.”

“So, do you want me to run down and get that?” Laura asked uncertainly.

“Nah, one of the gardeners will find it and bring it in.”

The two girls sat in silence for a minute. Laura steeled herself as she waited for Willa to remember her fury.

“They’re awful, right?” Willa said. Her voice sounded distant. She grabbed the
YOU CAN NEVER BE TOO RICH OR TOO THIN
pillow from the floor and frowned. “It’s my mother. She’s always got some new idea to help me lose weight. She buys these hideous things by the boatload. I don’t even read them anymore. . . .”

Laura had no idea what to say. Was Willa actually looking for sympathy?

Willa looked up. “I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday.” Her voice was softer now. “I was having a bad day.” She smiled sadly. “Actually, it’s more like a bad couple of years.”

“No, it was my fault,” Laura said. “I shouldn’t have been snooping. It was, well . . . I saw your picture and we look so much alike. I was just curious.”

Willa tilted her head to one side. “It’s weird, isn’t it? It’s just, you’re so . . .” She shrugged as her voice trailed off.

“It’s okay,” Laura said. “And thanks for not getting me fired. After our fight—I mean, I know you could’ve told Emory . . .”

Willa made a sound—somewhere between a choke and a giggle—then cleared her throat. “Look, I was totally out of line.” She leaned back on the bare bed and gazed up at the ceiling. “I really wasn’t even all that mad you were looking through my stuff. It’s just my yearbooks are kind of embarrassing. I mean, I’m not sure if you noticed or anything, but I’m not exactly student council material.”

“Neither was I,” Laura heard herself say. The words seemed to pop out of her mouth. “I never even went to homecoming. Not once.” Until now, she’d never even known that she’d wanted to.

She glanced at Willa, wondering if she’d shared too much. The girl’s emerald gaze was interested, so Laura relaxed.

“Why not?”

“McKinley job,” she replied mechanically, then laughed. “Sorry, like you know what that means, right? I had to work, that’s all. I was cleaning a house.”

Willa’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s awful.”

“I guess,” Laura said lightly. The last thing she needed was pity from a Pogue. “But my high school was so huge, I always felt kind of invisible there.” This was, after all, true. “And I was never really into sports or dances. Even if I’d been there, I really wouldn’t have been there.”

Willa propped herself up on one elbow. “I can relate,” she said. And from the look on her face, Laura knew that she could.

Willa opened her mouth, then closed it. She sat up and stared at the fluorescent pink shopping bags scattered around the bed.

“My parents are leaving for Newport tomorrow morning without me,” she blurted out, still gazing at the bags.

Laura looked at her. “I know,” she said. “Emory told me when he assigned me to your room. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Newport sucks, anyway.” Willa ran a hand through her long, tousled hair. “Hey, what’s your name anyway?”

“Laura Melon.”

Willa swept her arm around the room. “Well, Laura, you were right. This place is kind of a pit. I’m sorry you got the shaft.”

Laura shrugged. She’d actually been thinking the exact same thing just a few hours ago. Her eyes rested on the last boarding school trunk. She hadn’t been able to muster the energy to open it yet. Willa followed her gaze.

“That one’s the neatest, I swear.”

“Listen,” Laura said, suddenly all business. “I’ll make you a deal—you like to sleep late, right?”

Willa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah,” she said slowly.

“Good. Okay, I promise not to run the vacuum until eleven AM if you promise to do the bare minimum in here . . . like no open food containers and cap all your bottles if you’re packing them?”

Willa smiled. It was a familiar smile—wide and bright—and Laura suddenly realized that it was the perfect match to her own.

“Deal,” Willa said.

“Great. I should get started.” Laura pointed to the cleaning caddy.

Willa stretched her hands high over her head. “I gotta change before I sweat to death.”

“I was wondering about that. Why did—”

Willa groaned. “Trust me, you really don’t want to know.” She paused. “You know what? I just realized that I met your mom yesterday. She works here too, right?”

Laura nodded.

“She’s great. You’re really lucky.” Willa’s voice was touched with sadness.

Suddenly, Laura felt as if she were viewing the girl from a completely different angle. The spoiled, shrill heiress from yesterday floated up and out of the room. In her place sat a lonely, friendless girl in an ugly sweater and wool pants, hiding from the world—and herself—while her cold, hypercritical parents vacationed in an entirely different house, in an entirely different state.

Laura remembered her mother’s words:

I got the feeling she isn’t very happy.

Okay. So maybe a little sympathy was in order.

She turned to Willa. “I have an idea,” she said.

That afternoon, Laura and Willa boxed up every last throw pillow to prepare them for their new home: the Salvation Army.

10

The world of the debutante is highly exclusive and select. Not just anyone can gain access.

—Bibb Porter’s Guide to Debutante Deportment

“Hi, Willa, this is Caleb Blake. . . . Maybe you didn’t get my, uh, other messages since it’s summer and all, but, um, our parents are friends and since I guess we’ll both be at Fenwick together, our moms—”

Willa leapt toward the answering machine and stabbed the Delete button.

“Talk about not getting the message,” she muttered as her finger pounded away.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
The movement felt oddly soothing and she couldn’t seem to stop. “How about this:
quit calling me
.”

She frowned, her hand finally dropping to her side as worry rippled through her. The Blake kid was definitely going to rat her out, and then her mother would be furious.

Whatever.
She couldn’t deal. Besides, it was her birthday. She shouldn’t have to be hassled on her birthday, should she?

Willa’s eyes landed on the engraved invitation that leaned against her bureau. Who was she kidding? Her day was going to suck. Caleb Blake was the least of her problems.

Calm down,
she ordered.
One step at a time.

First of all, she had to find a dress. Something normal. A tall order since everything she owned made her look like a giant piece of saltwater taffy.

Okay. Maybe a little music would help. Willa carried her Mac into the dressing room and fiddled with the volume. The tiny room vibrated to the bass line of Lubé Special’s “Happy Birthday, Willa.” She’d woken to find the song waiting for her and had already listened to it twelve times.

Happy birthday, Willa. Happy birthday to you!

The music was just too good for reality. As the song progressed, the engraved invitation was forgotten. Willa was no longer in her dressing room; she wasn’t even in Connecticut. Digging her bare toes into the carpet, she moved her body to the beat, stabbing her head up and down and side to side.

“Um, why are you head-banging in your closet?”

She spun around. Laura was in the doorway, smiling. After six weeks, Willa felt pretty comfortable in front of her new friend. But turning her dressing room into an audition for
American Idol
was definitely pushing it.

Bending at the hip, Laura began to collect the discarded clothing and a few candy wrappers.

Willa frowned as she turned off the music. She really had been nervous, she realized. She couldn’t even remember
eating
Tootsie Rolls.

“Sorry it’s such a mess. . . . I was just . . . I was blowing off some steam.” As she spoke she could feel her anxiety returning, full force. “I have to go to Café Pertutti for this lame Fenwick meet-and-greet lunch for new students. I didn’t even know it was today, but my mom FedEx’d the invite and then just called to let me know that she and my dad bagged, so now I have to go alone.” The words poured out of Willa’s mouth. “It’s even worse that it’s today ’cause it’s my birthday—which my mom barely acknow—”

“Wait, sorry, did you say today was your birthday?” Laura stood up.

“Yeah. Didn’t you hear the song?”

“I couldn’t understand what he was saying.” Despite Willa’s many attempts, Laura hadn’t become much of a Lubé Special fan. Laura looked at her, her face pale. “It’s my birthday today, too,” she said.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen. I graduated a year early.”

Willa stared at her. “Me too. Well, about the seventeen part. Obviously the graduating early thing didn’t happen,” she said. A laugh rose in her throat. “I guess you could say I’m taking the scenic tour.”

Laura plucked a few candy wrappers off the ottoman and sat down. “Isn’t that a little weird?” she said. “I mean, we look pretty much identical
and
we were born on the exact same day? What are the odds?”

The wheels in Willa’s head began to churn. “Hey, maybe we
were
switched at birth! That would explain why I suck so bad at being in my family.”

Laura laughed. “I wish—but I doubt you were born at the Mediplex down on Union. My mom always jokes that she’d have received better care at the Cineplex.”

Okay. So a mix-up wasn’t likely
, Willa thought.

Willa knew that her mother had occupied her own suite at the Darien Center for Women’s Health. She’d also had a fleet of private attendants at her beck and call.

Her blood was one hundred percent Welles-Pogue.

Laura stood. “Listen, I know we’re totally freaking out and everything, but I don’t want to make you late.”

Willa didn’t speak. A plan was unfolding in her head as smoothly as a Fruit Roll-Up.

“How bad can it be?” Laura’s voice was bright and coaxing. “Sure, it might not be your dream birthday or anything, but at least it’s at Café Pertutti so you know the food’ll be good.” She laughed. “Hey, I’m jealous.”

Willa never meant to be manipulative. Laura was the one who’d misinterpreted her silence as dread. Willa herself hadn’t even made so much as a weepy face. Still, it was the perfect in. She couldn’t resist.

“I think you should go for me,” she said. It was the most Pogue-like thing Willa had ever done in her entire life.

“What?”

Now it was Willa’s turn to be cheerful and convincing.

“It’s just, well, I had the best idea! It’s so simple—you can go in my place. For me. Get it?”

“But I wasn’t invited. I won’t get in.”

“
Laura Melon
can’t get in. But nobody there knows you’re Laura Melon. You could be Willa Pogue—you know, just for today—this afternoon.”

Laura blinked back at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, not at all. I think you’d have a great time, and I think I would too. With MySpace. I haven’t even had a chance to thank Lubé for my song. Plus, I want to work on my site. You know, rearrange some things.”

“Okay, first of all, the whole thing is just wrong—dishonest and wrong. Second of all, even if I did do this—which I never would—but if I did, and I got caught, I could get into some serious trouble.
And
I’d take my mom down with me.”

Laura turned to leave, but Willa closed the short distance between them.

“Look, don’t worry about getting caught, ’cause it won’t happen,” she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strangely confident. “Nobody at Fenwick has ever met me and even if they had, it wouldn’t matter. We look exactly alike, right?”

Willa broke off as she considered Laura’s trim figure.

“Except for the weight thing, but I don’t think that’s a big deal, do you? It’s just a few pounds.”

Laura sent her a stern look. “Okay, stop. You look fine.”

Willa shrugged. “I’m not saying I don’t. I’m just saying that I might need a way to explain the difference between these”—she grabbed her hips—“and that.” She swept her hand over what was meant to be Laura’s overall thinness.

“You won’t need to explain anything because this isn’t happening.”

Willa pouted. “You know, I’m trying to do you a favor here.”

Laura laughed. “No you’re not! You just don’t want to go to this lunch!”

“That’s true.” Willa paused. “But, Laura, don’t you think you deserve a break—especially on your birthday?” Willa realized she meant it. “
I
think you do. It’ll be fun to pretend you’re someone else—just for a few hours. You said yourself that the restaurant is supposed to be great. What possible downside is there?”

Laura hesitated. “But what about my cleaning schedule?”

“You’re going to Greenwich, not Tibet. How badly can you fall behind in one day? Come on.” Willa frowned suddenly as she pushed her face into Laura’s. Their noses were practically touching. “Hey, are you wearing
makeup
?”

Laura took a step back and gave her head a quick, firm shake. “Wait. What?”

Willa sighed. Wasn’t Laura supposed to be smart? Why was she acting so dense all of a sudden? “Makeup,” she said slowly. “You’re wearing makeup, right?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

“No, nothing. I just never noticed that you wore it before.” She nodded firmly. “It’s gotta come off.”

“Why?”

“Willa Pogue lesson number one: I almost never wear makeup. Don’t even know how to put the junk on. I just think we might as well do this right. Just to be safe.” She pointed at Laura’s ponytail. “And you have to wear your hair down. I never pull mine back.” She studied Laura’s face again. “Do you wear eyeshadow, too?”

“Ew! No! Are you kidding?” Laura wrinkled her nose. “But wait. Stop!” She raised her hand in the air. “I can’t do this, Willa. Sorry. It’s just—I have to pack you up for school and there’s all this other . . .”

“Fine. How about I clean for you while you’re gone?”

Laura laughed. “Oh, that’s funny.”

Willa folded her arms across her chest. She was actually a little hurt. “What’s the big deal? I’ll slip into a uniform and vacuum for a few hours. It won’t kill me.”

“Wait. You’re serious?” Laura raised her eyebrows. “Forget it. Someone would definitely recognize you. Besides, you’re a slob. Absolutely not. No way.”

But Willa was already mopping up spills with the Brawny Man. She was taking the Lemon Pledge. She was feeling the magic of Clorox 2. . . .

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t even hear the knock.

And then it got louder.

Laura shot her a look. “Do you think they heard?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.” Willa stared at the door as it swung open. Laura’s mother stepped into the room.

“Hi, girls,” she said, smiling.

She looked way too happy to have heard their conversation. In fact, she looked completely elated. Willa noticed it immediately. Andy was always in a good mood, but today she was practically floating.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted to let Laura know that we’re having a guest for dinner.” Her smile widened.

“You weren’t disturbing me. Come in anytime,” Willa said. She glanced over at Laura and frowned.

Something was wrong.

Bit by bit, the color was draining from Laura’s face.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Laura shook her head. She turned to her mother. “Um, who’s coming over?” There was an edge to her voice.

“I thought it might be nice for you to meet Dr. Pool—Benji. He’s so eager to meet you and he doesn’t have much free time, since summer’s his busy season.” She looked at Laura’s face and her cheer seemed to falter a bit. “It’s just that it would be nice for the two of you—”

“Sure. That sounds great.” Laura’s voice sounded tight and forced.

Her mother’s face lit up. “Oh, I’m so glad. He’ll be over right after work and we’ll celebrate then. This is going to be so much fun.” She closed the door behind her as she left.

Laura’s face now matched the bottle of bleach that dangled from her cleaning caddy.

“Are you okay?” Willa asked.

Laura shook her head, as if waking herself from a trance. “I’m sorry. Dr. Pool is my mom’s new boyfriend. I just didn’t know how serious they were. Until now.”

Willa studied her face. “Your mom looks happy,” she pointed out.

Laura turned to stare at her. “Yeah, I guess,” she said.

“Listen, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am. Definitely.” Laura studied her hands for a second. When she looked up, her face seemed harder. Not angry, but determined. “Listen, I think maybe I will take you up on that lunch offer. If it’s okay with you.”

Willa blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. That was just a serious dose of reality.” Laura laughed. “And I still have to meet the guy. Maybe if I relax this afternoon I’ll be in better shape tonight. But right now, I really don’t want to think about it. You know what? I feel better already,” Laura said. “I really need a break.” She spoke this last part so softly that Willa had to crane her neck to hear.

“I’ll call you a car,” Willa said. “The reception starts in forty minutes.”

She moved toward the door, carpet crunching under her feet. As her hand reached out for the knob she paused. “Hey, Laura?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Then Willa pointed toward her gigantic closet. “Time to go shopping.”