It had to be miserable for my family — waiting in a hospital room for me to wake up, unaware I was miles away living someone else’s life. I wished I could get a message to them — but even if the GEM rules allowed it, why upset them with the truth? Besides, Grammy had put a lot of trust in me and I didn’t want to let her down. If I worked quickly, it would only take a few days to complete my assignment. Then I’d return to myself.
Conversation from the front seat interrupted my thoughts when I realized that Sadie was speaking to me. “ … you agree it’s nothing like expected?” she asked.
“Um … expect what?” I asked.
“Didn’t you hear anything I said?” Sadie glanced back at me with exaggerated drama. “I was telling Warren how we’ve been planning this trip for weeks and thought we’d already be on the beach by now. It’s crazy how nothing is going as planned.”
“You can say that again.” I sighed, thinking of my friends and family.
“The thing is,” Sadie added, “sometimes I get feelings about things that are going to happen, and my intuition says this week is only going to get crazier.”
I groaned, hoping her intuition was wrong.
“I’m a fan of all things wild and crazy,” Warren said. “I’ve heard it gets really insane on the beach — lots of music, contests and partying.”
“Mauve wants me to enter a wet T-shirt contest,” Sadie said. “What do you think?”
“You should.” Warren twisted toward the back seat, his gaze narrowing at me. “And so should you.”
“No way,” I said. “Too embarrassing.”
“Rayah, you’re such a kidder,” Sadie said, giggling. “You’re the one who showed Mauve the photos of last year’s wet T-shirt contest you found online. And you said you’d be first in line to enter.”
“Oh, well … I’ve changed my mind about entering.” I paused. “Standing on a stage and being drenched with water doesn’t sound very fun.”
“It’s plenty of fun for the guys watching from the audience,” Warren retorted.
“You would say that,” I replied, frowning.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he accused, his muscular shoulders straining at the seat belt as he twisted around toward me. “You know, I’m getting tired of your attitude. I’ve been really friendly to you, so why are you so cold?”
“He’s right, Rayah,” Sadie agreed. “You’ve been rude to him.”
“Did I do something to piss you off?” Warren asked.
“Of course not.” I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat belt. “I’m just not feeling social after a rough night.”
“I warned her not to stay out so late,” Sadie added with a reproachful glance back at me. “Don’t take it personal, Warren. She’s cool with your being here. Right, Rayah?”
What else could I do but nod?
Time to change tactics, I decided. If Warren wanted to get aggressive, I could, too — but in a more subtle way. Remembering advice from a book on dealing with awkward social situations called
I summoned my most disarming smile. “If I’ve been rude — sorry.”
“No problem,” Warren said.
“Sadie’s right, I’ve been a grouch. I’m a little hung-over still, but that’s no reason to take my bad mood out on you.”
“I’ve been hung-over, too, and it bites,” Warren replied. “Lucky for you, I give great neck rubs. When we stop, I’ll massage away your pain.”
Trying to be polite, just in case he wasn’t an energy vampire, I pasted on a smile. “Sure, that sounds cool.” Then, with stealth purpose, I added, “While you’re massaging, I’d like to try on your gloves. The dragon design is cool and the leather looks so soft.”
“Forget it. No one wears them but me.”
“You can’t give a massage with gloves,” I argued.
“Yeah, I can. It’s better that way.”
“I’d love a massage,” Sadie said, her hand on the steering wheel as she turned toward Warren.
“Sure, babe.”
“But Rayah’s got a point about the gloves. I’d rather feel your strong hands on my shoulders.”
“It’s either with gloves or not at all. I don’t take them off in public; they’re my personal icon.” His tone was friendly but when he waved his hands my direction, I felt a chill that made me shiver despite the stuffy warmness inside the car.
Sadie took Warren’s words as a challenge and spent the next few miles trying to bribe him to take off his gloves. No matter what Sadie offered, Warren refused. Definitely suspicious.
This would be a great time for another Temp Lifer to pop in. I sent a silent message to Grammy Greta, clasping my fingers together as if praying. And to my surprise, I felt something — a warm sense of calm and a light caress on my shoulder. Then it was gone. Had I imagined it? Or had Grammy given me a pat on the back to encourage me to keep trying?
Only I don’t know what to try, I thought, staring down at my hands.
Not my hands. Those pale bony fingers were loaners; without freckles and stubby fingernails. There was a whitish tan line around the ring finger on the left hand that I hadn’t noticed before. Sharayah must have worn a ring for months to develop a tan line. I wondered why she stopped wearing it. Did it have anything to do with the mysterious boyfriend Gabe?
As I puzzled over this, a noisy breeze blew in from Sadie’s open window, swirling my hair in my face. I inhaled a blend of smog and salty air that made me think of the ocean. We were still far from the Pacific, but I’d be able to see it soon. I loved, loved,
I am sick of pretending, I thought as I glanced up at Warren’s arm stretched across his seat, his gloved fingers a reach away.
“Hey, Rayah! How do you like this station?” Sadie had switched from the CD to the radio, jumping from song to song. She stopped on a familiar song, turning up the volume. “It’s that alt blues song you like, ‘Bleeding on the Inside.’”
“I love this song,” I said, surprised to share musical taste with Sharayah.
“Well, duh, that’s why I chose this channel. It’s got all our favorite songs. Remember when we sang on karaoke night?” Sadie giggled. “We were so smashed on Long Island Iced teas that you tripped over a cord and knocked us both off the stage. This really cute waiter caught me but you landed on a table. Wasn’t it a riot?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said vaguely.
“Sing with me, Rayah,” Sadie urged. “Let’s show Warren how we duet on karaoke nights.”
I couldn’t! I’d never sung in front of anyone. I had good rhythm, but a voice lethal enough to kill airborne germs.
But the real Sharayah wouldn’t refuse.
So I sucked up my shyness and sang along softly with Sadie. She had a nasally voice and a hilarious way of inventing her own lyrics. I didn’t know whether she couldn’t remember words or she just didn’t care. I cringed every time she got a word wrong.
At first I was just playing along, not really thinking about anything, until suddenly it hit me: I didn’t suck. Well, Sharayah didn’t. I lifted my voice, amazed by its power and absolutely perfect pitch.
“Wow,” Warren said when the song ended. “Rayah, you were great.”
“What about me?” Sadie pouted.
“Unforgettable,” he said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sadie said, giving his arm a playful swat. “But I agree that Rayah’s a natural.
