a) Refuse, and risk shock therapy at DeHaven
b) Agree, and live a privileged life as Leah
This should be an easy decision, yet it wasn’t. Giving up my real identity and hiding the truth was like selling my soul to the devil.
But the devil in front of me held all the power.
One day I will have power, I thought.
But not today.
* * *
“Leah!” Jessica squealed as she entered the room and dumped a backpack on the floor. Her shiny black hair shone with silver-blonde weaves, and she wore a mid-length silky skirt and a sheer, plunging V-necked blouse.
She hugged me. Prompted by thoughts of DeHaven, I hugged her back.
“You’re so pale!” Jessica stood back to survey me. “Oh my poor Leah, have you been miserable?”
“It hasn’t exactly been a night at a prom,” I said wryly.
“Of course not — the prom isn’t for another month.” Her tone was all serious. Didn’t she have a sense of humor? “But by then you’ll be back to your usual self.”
“I’m not my usual self.”
“I know what you mean — just look at your hair.” She grimaced. “But I’m here now, and you know how fabulous I am at giving makeovers. I’m considering a major in cosmetology and opening my own day spa. Sit back and relax while I work my magic. I remember where you keep your makeup case.”
Before I could reply, she rushed into the bathroom and came out carrying a blow dryer, brushes, and a black leather case.
“I really don’t need any—” I started to say.
“Leah, let me do my thing, okay? You can thank me afterwards when you see how gorgeous you look. Now sit up straight and lift up your face.”
Who had the energy to argue? Not me.
I used to think getting a makeover would be an insightful “new experience” for an aspiring entertainment agent … not that those ambitions mattered anymore.
Did Leah have any ambitions? I wondered about this as Jessica smeared goop on my face. Leah could go to any college she wanted or even start her own business. But what sort of business would interest her? There weren’t any clues in her room. No knickknacks, bookshelves, or a hobby like Eli’s puzzles. There weren’t personal photos displayed, either. It was as if her room came ready-made from a home magazine.
Jessica rubbed lotions into my skin with circular movements, plucked hairs, swept on blush and eye shadow, and painted my lips with cherry-flavored gloss.
“Now, for your hair,” Jessica said with a mad-scientist’s delight as she tugged and yanked and raked a brush through Leah’s long hair. I’d always longed for straight hair, but when Jessica twirled a curling brush and blasted my hair with the blow dryer, I missed my untamable brown curls.
I swallowed my complaints. This was supposed to be fun, after all.
“Now, don’t you look beautiful?” Jessica shoved a mirror into my hands.
Holding the mirror, I looked into Leah’s face: soft blush highlights, curved cheekbones, creamy unblemished skin, bow-shaped lips, and wide blue eyes with only a shadow of the hidden person inside. Blonde hair spiked up in a crown, then cascaded down in flowing waves — a wicked blend of beauty and attitude.
“Uh … thanks,” I said, since it was expected.
“You’re welcome.” She grabbed some makeup-smeared tissues and bent over to toss them in the garbage, then gave a little gasp. “Hey, I recognize Chad’s writing — what’s his letter doing in the garbage?”
“Um … I guess I dropped it there by accident.”
“Lucky I noticed!” She scooped out the letter.
I grimaced at the red envelope. “It’s nothing.”
“‘Nothing’ looks an awful lot like a love letter — and you didn’t even open it,” she said with reproach. “If it were mine, I would have read it a zillion times. Then I’d frame it and put it on my wall. You’re so lucky to have such a cool boyfriend.”
I didn’t feel lucky. I didn’t feel much of anything.
“Mind if I read it?” Jessica asked.
“Whatever.”
She took this as a “yes” and slit the letter open with her long purple fingernail. Her lips pursed as she read a single sheet of white paper. She murmured, “Oooh.” Then she folded the letter back up and plopped down beside me on the bed.
“I repeat,” she said with a dreamy sigh, “you are so lucky to have Chad. I wish I had such a hot romantic guy. Are you sure you don’t want to read his letter?”
“Maybe later.”
Jessica reached out to touch my hand sympathetically. “What’s wrong, Leah? You sound kind of down. How are you feeling?”
“I’m better … I guess … just tired.”
“So lean back and rest. Can I get you anything?”
I shook my head, wishing she’d leave so I could go back to sleep.
“I’ve been freaking since I heard you were in the hospital. I begged to visit you, but they said you might be contagious. Your father said it was some kind of brain flu. I never even heard of anything like that. Did your doctor explain about how you got it?”
My head hurt trying to keep up with her conversation. “The doctor didn’t tell me anything.” Except that I was delusional. “I’m definitely
“Your father said you’re going to school on Monday.”
“Yeah.” Against my will.
“Cool! School has been dull without you — except for the tragedy about poor Amber.”
“Amber Borden?”
“You know her?” Jessica wrinkled her forehead.
“Um … I heard about her accident.”
“Who hasn’t? It’s been all over the news—‘Mail Truck Goes Postal, Runs Down Local Girl.’ Did you know Amber came to my party? Oh … I guess you wouldn’t, since that’s when you got sick. Anyway, I was sure you’d think I was a dope for inviting her, but she begged to help with the food-drive fundraiser and I couldn’t refuse. Big mistake! She didn’t fit in and it was all kinds of awful. If I’d just asked her to stay longer, not let her go off so angry, she wouldn’t have gotten into that accident. I feel so guilty.”
You should! I thought. For all the vicious things you and your friends said about me at the party.
“Oh, well.” Jessica let out a deep breath, then brightened. “Here’s your homework. I went around to all your classes and got everything.” Opening the backpack she’d brought, she handed me a folder with “Leah Montgomery” printed on a small label.
I groaned, dreading the prospect of returning to school. I wouldn’t even be able to attend my own classes, and had no clue about Leah’s schedule.
“Here. It’s all taken care of.” Jessica winked as she handed me the papers.
“What is?” I flipped open the folder and saw typed pages with Leah’s name printed across the top. Essays written and math problems calculated. “You did all my work?”
“Not me.” She giggled. “You know the arrangement.”
“I do?”
“Rebecka did a great job. Check out the history essay — she got your handwriting down so well it would fool me.”
“Rebecka Zefron? That short girl with the—” I stopped myself. Rebecka had a slight problem with facial hair. “The girl who sits at your table?”
“Sits at
