Dead Girl Walking

Maybe never again.

Ohmygod! Leah freaking Montgomery! That was her, now me, in the reflection: breathing, feeling, living in this body.

And all because I had a crummy sense of direction.

Don’t panic, I told myself just as I was doing that very thing. Hyperventilating would solve nothing. I had to solve this problem — my entire future depended on it. In math, every problem has an answer; X always equals something. And my self-help books stated that there was a solution to every problem. But I didn’t know of any books that offered advice for this situation.

Thinking logically … I’d gotten into this body, so there had to be a way out. But even if I found it, how could I make sure Leah and I returned to our own bodies? What if I ended up in a worse body — like someone in prison or really old with wrinkles? Leah and I needed to swap back with each other. Only I didn’t know where she was, or even if she was alive. What if she was gone forever?

The pale ghost in the mirror reflected terror.

I sucked in deep breaths and released them slowly, struggling not to lose whatever remained of me. I wasn’t sure I could hold it together any longer, and was raveling at the edges of despair — when I noticed something in the mirror that gave me new hope.

On the dresser behind me.

A phone.

* * *

No uppity switchboard witch stopped me from making this call.

As I waited for a ring, excited/scared/hopeful thoughts scattered through my head. How would my parents react when they heard my voice? What did they think happened to me? Did the triplets miss me? Who was feeding our cat while I was gone?

It was almost noon. Dad would be at his job, but Mom should be home preparing triple lunches (unless she was running errands or meeting with her Moms & Multiples playgroup.)

If Mom answered, she’d be so relieved to know I was okay that she’d start crying, and she wasn’t the crying type at all. My father was the emotional one, although he always hid it by saying he had allergies. If he answered, he’d want to rush right over and take me home. Mom knew how reckless Dad got behind the wheel when he was in a hurry, so she wouldn’t let him drive alone. But then who would watch the triplets? Probably Dilly McCurry, who lived next door and often babysat when I wasn’t around.

All these things whirled through my head while I waited for the first ring.

Pick up! I thought, amazed that calling home could be so terrifying. I mean, I was just calling Mom and Dad. So why was my heart racing? My family loved me unconditionally, and they’d support me no matter what.

Another ring. My palms started to sweat.

Had one of the triplets tossed the phone in the toilet again?

Another ring. Maybe this phone wasn’t working right. Or I’d dialed wrong. Lately I had the worst luck with phones. I should hang up and try again—

“Hello?” a woman answered abruptly, in a voice I didn’t recognize.

“Um … I must have dialed wrong,” I said, ready to hang up and try again.

“Whom were you trying to reach?”

“My par … uh … the Bordens. Sorry to bother—”

“This is the Borden residence.”

“Is it?” I sagged against the dresser with relief. “Can you put Mom on?”

“Who? I don’t think I heard you right.” She sounded tired, as if I’d woken her from a nap.

“My mother,” I said impatiently.

“You have the incorrect number.”

Ah ha! Now I knew that voice. The formal way she said “incorrect” rather than “wrong” triggered a pleasant memory of being little and playing wild animals with my cousin Zeke at a family wedding. Less pleasant was the memory of the six-hundred-dollar wedding cake we’d knocked off a table. My aunt never did forgive me, and neither did her oldest daughter — the bride.

“Aunt Suzanne!” I cried, wondering what she was doing at my house, but not really caring because that wasn’t important. Connecting with someone from my family made me giddy with relief. “Could you get Mom or Dad for me? I really, really need them.”

“Who is this?” she demanded sharply.

“You know … Amber.”

“Amber who?”

“Borden, of course. Your niece. Come on, Aunt Suz, stop kidding around.”

“I never kid around.” There was a pause, then my aunt spoke with brittle coolness. “I don’t know what sick game you’re indulging in, but if you ever have the audacity to call again, I’ll contact the police.”

“But Aunt Suz … I mean … I’m sorry.” Instantly I realized my mistake. No wonder she didn’t recognize my voice. Not only did I look like someone else, but I sounded different, too. “Wait! Don’t hang up! You don’t understand. Let me explain!”

“I have no intention of holding a conversation with someone with no consideration for a grieving family.”

“I didn’t … I mean … grieving?”

“Do you have any idea what the family is going through?”

“No … I don’t. What’s … What’s going on?” I asked, gripping the phone tight and starting to tremble.

“I’m not going to discuss personal issues with a stranger.”

“But I’m not a stranger! I’m your … I mean, I’m a friend … yeah, I’m Amber’s friend Leah.” I thought fast. “We’re so close, we call each other’s parents Mom and Dad.”

“Then you should know this is not a good time to call.”

“Where’s Mo … Mrs. Borden? I really need to talk with her … uh … about Amber.”

“My brother and his wife aren’t available. They’re at … at the hosp—” Her voice cracked and broke into sobs, which really shocked me because I hadn’t seen Aunt Suzanne cry since the cake incident, and that was from anger. This felt sad.

“What hospital?” I asked in a small, scared voice.

“Community Central. They’re with Amber … saying good-bye.”

“Good-bye? You mean … Ohmygod!” I fell to my knees, squeezing the phone.

“Didn’t you know? About the accident?” she asked in the kindest tone I’d ever heard from my stern aunt.

“The mail truck?”

“So you do know. It was so utterly senseless and tragic.”

“But I’m … Amber’s going to be all right? Isn’t she?”

There was no answer.

I swallowed hard. “Is she … still …”

“She’s alive … but in a coma,” my aunt finally said, her voice heavy with sorrow. “There’s no brain activity and she’s not expected to recover. Her body is being kept alive for the organ donation. But once that’s resolved, she’ll be … I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about this—”

The phone went dead.

9

I listened to the dial tone for long minutes, my head spinning.