With my heart pounding too fast — and a beeping somewhere nearby that seemed to keep time with it — I forced my eyes to open a slit and to stay open, despite the light, which made them water fiercely. I couldn’t move my head at all, but even that tiny slice of vision, blurry and painful as it was, was enough.
I stared at the girlie pink bedsheet, with castles and fairies hanging on the wall opposite of where I lay. I’d seen it before, but never from this perspective, from the point of view ofthe one for whom it had been hung. Arms that weren’t mine — too pale for one and too freckled for another — rested at my sides. The rise in the blankets farther down that hadto be feet and toes was far too close, and yet, when I concentrated with the intensity I’d once reserved for landing abackflip, those toes moved. Just a little, probably not even noticeable to anyone else. But it was enough, more than enough.
I had not escaped Lily Turner’s body after all. No, instead, I’d somehow just managed to lock myself into the driver’s seat.
Okay, so the important thing was not to panic. Right. I was only stuck inside of someone else’s freaking body! And not even one I would have picked for myself, BTW.
It had been one thing to sort of borrow her hand. I’d been aware of my hand inside of hers, like a hand in glove, if you’ll excuse the grossness of the metaphor (don’t think about it too hard). But this was different. I no longer had any sense of me
That couldn’t be good. The monitor next to me beeped a little louder and faster, sounding my panic for me.
And apparently, I wasn’t the only one having trouble with not freaking out. As soon as someone pushed the rattling cart of equipment away and the doctor left with murmured words that I could not quite hear, the chair next to my bedside squeaked loudly as someone collapsed into it and began to sob.
Lily’s mom. It had to be.
Her warm fingers wrapped around mine, startling me, and she squeezed almost too hard. “Come on, baby, you can’t give up on me now.”
The anguish in her voice ate at me. I’d caused this. Even if I wasn’t sure how, my attempt to use her daughter had brought this about. God, I was a sucky person. Not that it was entirely my fault. Will had some responsibility in all of this. If he’d just done what he was supposed to — i.e., what I said — none of this would have happened!
I wanted to pull my hand away from Mrs. Turner, but succeeded in only wiggling my fingers.
She drew in a breath sharply, and I could feel her staring down at me. “You want your board back, baby?”
Crap. This monster was all mine…and Will’s.
Yeah. He could probably just reach in and pull me out. Or, better yet, just “call” me from someplace farther away and I’d have to come out to answer. That’s the way it worked. I couldn’t ignore his call. Period. Ever. And trust me, I’d tried.
So…all I had to do was get Will here. I could do that. It was possible that maybe I’d be pulled out of here tomorrow morning anyway and show up at his side, just like usual. Possible. But I wasn’t willing to take the chance. Plus, I was not cool with spending one second longer in this body than I had to, let alone the hours that still had to pass before 7:03 a.m. would roll around again.
“Can you call Will Killian, please?” is what I imagined myself saying in a voice creaky with disuse.
Instead what came out was…nothing. My throat worked, and my tongue clicked and clacked against the roof of my mouth, but not so much as a grunt emerged.
What the hell? I was stuck in here without any control or a voice? A shiver of fear ran over me and I
“Let me get your board.” She gave my fingers one last squeeze and let go.
I squinted again, and this time, the light wasn’t as unbearable. Don’t get me wrong, it was still like staring directly at the sun in terms of pain, but I was beginning to adjust. If I avoided looking directly up — at what I was beginning to suspect were ordinary room fluorescents, too bright for my newly sensitized eyes — I could see a bit more.
Straining my eyes to the right, I watched Lily’s mom turn away from me and fumble through the stack of Ouija boards on my bedside table.
But before she could put one in place and I could test my likely nonexistent fine motor skills, running footsteps sounded in the hall, out of place now without alarms sounding or the announcement of code blue on the overhead.
They came to a stop right outside my door. Lily’s mom froze, her arms wrapped around a pink plastic version of the Ouija board. She jerked around in her chair, and I struggled to follow with my limited range of vision.
“What happened?” A ragged male voice asked from the door. “Is everything okay? Is she—”
“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Turner stood and turned to face him, blocking my view. “I didn’t call you.”
A too-long pause followed. “I asked the nurses to leave a note in her chart to call my cell phone if she —”
“What, died?” Mrs. Turner spat. “Disappointed, Jason?”
“That’s not fair! She’s my daughter, too.”
“Really?” She moved toward the door, out of my range of vision. “Then where were you this morning? When she was present and trying to communicate?”
He sighed. “Corrine, she’s not…” He took a deep breath. “Never mind. What happened?”
Mrs. Turner sniffed. “Her heart stopped. All of a sudden. No warning.”
“She looks different,” someone else said, also near the door. God, could everybody please move into the room so I could have a shot at telling what was going on?
This new voice had that squeaky sort of braying quality that I’d noticed in the freshman boys who’d attempted totalk to me. Lily’s younger brother?
“He should not be here,” Mrs. Turner hissed. “He doesn’t have to see this.”
“It’s his sister,” Mr. Turner, presumably, hissed back in that way parents have of arguing in front of their children. Seriously. Do they think we’re that stupid? Of course, my parents had graduated from loud, angry whispers to shouting, and then, even worse, stony silence, a long time ago, so this was nothing new to me.
It didn’t seem to faze Lily’s brother either. He left them hissing and snarling at each other near the doorway and came closer to me, his shoes squeaking on the floor as he approached.
He stepped into my field of vision, keeping a cautious distance from the side of my bed, but still close enough for me to get a good look.
God, geekiness must run in their family. He was twelve, or maybe thirteen, and tall and skinny with fine light brown hair that was sticking up in the world’s worst cowlick at the back of his head. He was wearing a polo shirt (points), but it was about three sizes too big and in a spectacularly bright shade of clearance bin yellow. Seriously. Did they not have a mirror in their house? From this and what I recalled from the pictures I’d seen of Lily, you wouldn’t think so.
He stepped a little closer, frowning. Behind him, his parents continued arguing in fierce but hushed tones.
“Corrine, you heard them. Even if she woke up, which is never going to happen, she won’t be the same person.”
“Not in here, not in front of her,” she snapped.
The brother waved his hand millimeters above my face, releasing the smell of antibacterial soap and sweaty boy, and I blinked in irritation.
He cocked his head to one side. “You should see this. She’s opening and closing her eyes.”
“It’s just a reflex, Tyler.” Lily’s mother sounded exhausted. “Remember, they explained that.”
