This wasn’t a random backpack — it was Monkey Bag!
Alyce had nicknamed her beloved backpack “Monkey Bag” and carried it with her everywhere. She must have dropped it when she climbed into the coffin. The backpack was Alyce’s most prized possession (a gift from the father who took off when she was four) and contained her digital camera, art supplies, cell phone, wallet, and notebooks. Since I was supposed to be Alyce (at least temporarily) I needed to retrieve Monkey Bag. Yet if I stayed here, I would for sure get caught.
I considered my odds of crawling around the caskets and sneaking out the door. With the saleswoman distracted, I might make it — except I couldn’t abandon Monkey Bag. How could I escape and get the backpack?
Think of something, Amber! I told myself. Coming up with creative solutions was one of my strongest skills, and would someday help me achieve my dream job as an entertainment agent. A self-help book I’d read called There’s Always a Plan B advised thinking out of the box to create inventive ideas. But crouched in the shadow of a casket, I had zero ideas.
Plan C: Wing it.
When the saleswoman (tightly grasping Monkey Bag) led the man out of the room, I jumped up and took off after them.
Luckily, Alyce wore soft-soled sneakers. My quick footsteps were so silent even I couldn’t hear them. Staying far behind, I pressed against walls and peered around corners before moving forward. I tiptoed down a long corridor lined with pictures of boring-looking people in suits, then past a door marked Restrooms, which gave me an uncomfortable urge to use that room.
But there was no time for comfort. Monkey Bag was on the move.
The man said something softly to the saleswoman, his voice choking with a sob. The saleswoman murmured sympathetically, guiding him left at a hall intersection. As they turned, I glimpsed the man’s wrinkled, tear-stained face and my heart ached for him. The poor guy must have lost his wife. I wished I could tell him she would be all right. If she’d gone to the other side where Grammy Greta hung out, his wife was safe and happy.
They stopped at a door marked Office: Green Briar Mortuary Director. The saleswoman led the man inside, swinging Monkey Bag by its leather straps. The door shut with a sharp bang.
Now what could I do? I couldn’t exactly knock on the door and ask for my backpack. The fact that Alyce had been hiding inside a coffin was a big clue she wasn’t supposed to be here.
I need help, I thought, mentally broadcasting an SOS into the universe. When I’d accepted this Temp Lifer mission, I thought it would be easy. Not crazy confusing like the first two times I’d swapped bodies. I hadn’t known zip about those new identities, but I knew practically everything about Alyce. I expected to breeze through this assignment in a few days. After Alyce’s soul had a chance to rest (I visualized an out-of-body beach resort), she’d return to being my wonderful best friend again. We’d have a sleepover and once I explained everything, we’d laugh about my adventures in body-swapping.
But so far, all I’d had was trouble. And when the saleswoman opened Monkey Bag, she’d find Alyce’s wallet with her driver’s license and Halsey High School ID card. Then the monkey crap would really hit the fan.
I needed a diversion that would (a) lure the saleswoman and her customer out of the office, and (b) give me enough time to sneak inside to rescue Monkey Bag.
While I was thinking hard, my gaze drifted up to a plastic sphere fixed to the ceiling. The smoke detector’s tiny light shone green, as if encouraging me to go wild with my ideas. But while I was creating a rather brilliant plan that involved a ladder and a lit match, the office door swung open.
“Someone’s been in my office!” the saleswoman exclaimed, looking up and down the halls suspiciously. “I have to report this to security. It won’t take long; please come with me.”
The grieving man nodded, following obediently.
A breakin? Hmmm … what was that about? Well, not my problem. In fact, this could work out well for me. When the saleswoman left the office, her hands were empty, which meant she’d left Monkey Bag inside. This was my chance! So I went for it — running like I was on fire, ducking behind a wall, my heart pounding and my palms sweating.
The door was unlocked, and there were papers strewn on the floor and two large drawers of a file cabinet hanging open. And there on the floor was Alyce’s bedraggled, ratty Monkey Bag. I slipped it over my shoulders, a position so familiar that the straps fit as naturally as skin. Then I hurried out of the room, the door banging behind me.
“Hey, you!” a voice bellowed. “What were you doing in my office?”
I froze in the hallway, caught in the saleswoman’s suspicious gaze. For a moment, I couldn’t remember how to make this body work. My legs, arms, and racing heart felt foreign. Not my own. But the fear was one hundred percent mine. With a spur of energized panic, I took off running.
“Drop that backpack!” the saleswoman commanded. “What else did you take from my office?”
Ignoring her, I ran faster.
“Stop, thief! Someone catch her!”
Skidding around a corner, Alyce’s sneakers squeaked like they were screaming in protest. Up ahead was an exit. I sprinted for the double glass doors, slamming them open, blinking at natural brightness. I was outside!
The sun was disappearing behind the western hills — which surprised me, since I’d assumed it was morning. How long had I been in that coffin anyway? Fortunately, Green Briar Mortuary had more artificial lighting than a shopping mall at Christmas, so I could see just fine. With a quick glance, I took in the lush mowed lawn stretching out to a gated cemetery, the near-empty parking lot, and the startled look of a tattooed gardener as I jumped over the corner of the rose bed he was pruning. He swore, yelling for me to stop.
But I kept running.
Behind me, voices rose in anger. I caught the word “police,” which spurred me to run like escaping arrest was an Olympic event and I was sprinting for a medal. I hadn’t done anything wrong … but what about Alyce? If she’d broken laws, she must have had a good reason. Without knowing that reason, all I could do was make sure my best friend didn’t get caught.
Racing around a corner of the building, I headed for the parking lot. I hoped to find Alyce’s car — but I didn’t see it. How had she gotten here? No time to wonder, I realized, glancing over my shoulder. The saleswoman had given up the pursuit, but the tattooed gardener — who was younger and faster — was gaining on me.
Up ahead, a fence spread around the cemetery. I’d once tried to climb a cemetery fence with disastrous results. Not going through that again. I veered away, down the sidewalk of a street so desolate I didn’t see a single car driving by. My breath rasped and my legs ached like they were about to fall off, but I kept running, too scared to give up.
Hearing a shout behind me, I realized the gardener was getting even closer. I pushed myself faster but knew I couldn’t keep it up much longer, especially with the pounding in my chest and the heavy backpack slamming against my shoulders.
Attacking footsteps thudded louder, terrifyingly close now. I looked around frantically, searching for a building or yard to hide in. But the paved road, bordered by chain-link fencing and rural fields, stretched on endlessly.
Then I heard a honk and roaring engine.
Startled, I glanced back at a familiar blue Toyota zooming toward me. The passenger window was down. A girl with curly brown hair waved at me from behind the wheel.
“Amber!” she called in a voice I knew as well as my own.
When the car slowed beside me, I stared in shock.