Resisting the urge for one last look at him, I shifted into reverse and got the hell out of there. I should have driven straight to my real home and talked to Grammy. Except if I saw her and explained about Gabe, she might get angry that I didn’t report him. Even worse — I might start blushing, which would lead to lots of awkward questions. It was confusing how Gabe made me feel, and I didn’t want Grammy to get the wrong idea. Eli was the guy I cared about; Gabe was just someone who needed help. I needed to make careful plans for how to approach Grammy about Gabe.
So I headed back to Alyce’s. Her mother would be at work and I’d have the house to myself. I’d make some lunch, maybe watch some TV, then get on with my plan to save Gabe’s soul.
When I reached Alyce’s, the door was locked and I had to dig down to the bottom of Monkey Bag to find a key.
That’s when I heard Alyce’s cell phone beeping.
Picking it up, I saw a text from Dustin.
Hoping he hadn’t been arrested at the protest and needing a lawyer, I tapped a button and read the short message.
Good news!
Z will meet 2nite.
You’ve got a date!
9
Convincing Grammy to meet with a Dark Lifer would be hard, but going out on a date in the wrong body with someone I was sure was the wrong guy was seriously scary. How had Dustin arranged this so quickly? He was too damned efficient for my own good. I really, really did not want to do this …
At least Zachary was an okay guy — his rep was for being boring, not for beating up his girlfriend like Kyle. Still, I couldn’t imagine him and Alyce as a couple. Popularity-wannabe Zachary matched with anti-everything Alyce? Ridiculous! What could they possibly have in common?
But the more urgent question was — what was I going to wear?
Even though I had a key and the legal right to enter Alyce’s house, I still felt like a trespasser. There were no sounds of life, only echoes of emptiness that shivered up my skin. Smoke and a scent of candle wax lingered in the air, and the only sound came from my footsteps and a steady ticking, like a heartbeat, from the wall clock over the TV. Peering around nervously, I half-expected Mrs. Perfetti to suddenly jump out and demand to know what I was doing here.
I bypassed the kitchen (despite growls of protest from my tummy) and headed straight to Alyce’s closet. I’d already seen most of her clothes, but it still felt strange to view them through her eyes. She rebelled against popular brands and trends by wearing only natural fabrics in bruised shades of blacks, blues, and browns — except when it came to shoes. Blessed with model-perfect feet, Alyce sought out stylish vintage shoes at antique shops: gold sandals, knee-high patent-leather boots, 70s platforms, etc. At school, kids would walk by with snooty expressions denouncing her as a “Goth Loser”—until they noticed her shoes. Then they’d slow down to stare, maybe even drool a little; scorn was replaced with envy. Once even Miss Popularity-Plus, Jessica Bradley, stopped to ask where Alyce had brought her 80s leather-slouch pirate boots. But Alyce ignored the question and strode past Jessica, her own scorn intact.
I had to embrace my inner scorn to think like Alyce, I told myself. But I also needed to open up to the possibility that Zachary could be her Mr. Right. If so, I had to show him the authentic Alyce; the quirky, caring, thoughtful side of Alyce that only a trusted few ever saw. This meant putting my personal opinions about Zachary aside.
If only I was more experienced with dating! Then I could just relax and go out without getting all nervous and overthinking everything. I hadn’t officially gone out on a date since … well, ever. Not even with Eli due to the whole body-switch thing.
Staring hopelessly into Alyce’s closet, I knew I was in over my head. How could I get through a date when I couldn’t even decide what to wear? It would help to know where Zachary was taking me. Should I dress for dinner, an outdoor concert, or disco bowling? Why hadn’t Dustin included that in his message? When I tried calling him back, he didn’t pick up — not a good sign, considering his radical behavior at protests. If he’d been arrested and his phone confiscated, I might not hear back for hours.
I chose two potential outfits: casual chic with bleached jeans, or a pleated, gypsy-styled shirt under a velvet jacket. Both were on the tame side of Alyce’s personality, but it was the best I could do without actually asking her.
Unless I could ask her …
This traitorous thought snaked through my mind as I remembered my conversation with Gabe. Before he’d left, he’d given me his cell number. If I told him I’d changed my mind about wanting to learn his secrets, I could mind-connect with my Host Soul and have a real conversation with Alyce.
That would be sooo great.
But wrong.
Only how wrong could it be to want to help my best friend? If I talked to Alyce, she could tell me which guy she preferred. This was her love life, after all, so it was only fair she had a say in what happened. Then I’d solve her crisis and become the best Temp Lifer ever … or get kicked out of the program for breaking the rules.
What I couldn’t figure out was why, if contacting Alyce was so easy, Grammy hadn’t told me how to do it. She must have a good reason — although I couldn’t think of one. What it came down to was the question of who I trusted more. A fugitive Dark Lifer I’d just met or the grandmother who’d loved and supported me my whole life.
A no-brainer.
With this decision made, I left Alyce’s room and finally headed for the kitchen to get some lunch. (I’ll admit it — I’m a foodie, no matter whose body I inhabit.) And a short while later, I carried out a steaming soup dish, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a glass of milk, arranging everything on the coffee table that often doubled as a dining table.
Glancing at the clock, I calculated that I had at least three hours before Mrs. Perfetti returned from work. I knew she wouldn’t like the idea of Alyce going out on a date, so I wouldn’t tell her. I’d leave a note saying I was helping Dustin with a project. Mrs. Perfetti actually approved of Dustin while she only tolerated me (Amber). Go figure.
Before things got crazy (which I was sure they would), I figured I might as well relax. Turning on the TV, I surfed channels, eager to catch up on the latest Hollywood buzz.
I listened to the latest on Angelina, Brad, and Britney, always impressed at the job their “people” were doing to make them newsworthy. Bad behavior scored way higher in the ratings than sainthood. I could learn so much from those master agents, wishing for the umpteenth time they taught Hollywood 101 subjects in high school. Instead, the best I could hope for was an internship while I went to college. I’d already been accepted, with scholarship, to a California State University of my choice, and Alyce and I were planning to share a dorm room if we got into the same schools. Alyce’s grades weren’t always the best, since she only bothered with assignments from classes she liked, but she had a lot going for her. I was confident she’d receive acceptance letters soon.
Abruptly, my daydreams were jerked back to reality — reality TV, to be exact.
Ryan Seacrest was making a lame joke about American Idol copycats. The scene cut to a stage, and there on the TV screen was Eli. He looked so wonderfully the same, yet different, too. His hair, which was usually unruly with a strand falling across his eyes, was jelled and spiked like a hardcore rocker. He wore a black leather jacket over a ripped white shirt, along with a heavy belt of chains, gold studs in his ears, and glitter eye shadow. My boyfriend was wearing makeup! OMG!