“You all right, sweetie?” Grammy patted my arm.
“Define ‘all right.’” I stared at her. “I still can’t get used to you … I mean, me.”
“Isn’t it a kick?” She chuckled. “It’s déjà vu, since I used to look a lot like you when I was a teen. Although it’s hard adjusting to the restrictions of a physical body — not being able to levitate or pass through solid objects. I got scratched trying to get inside this car without opening the door.” She pointed to a reddish scrape on her arm.
“Grammy, be careful with my body. It may not be perfect, but it’s all I’ve got.”
“No worries. I’ll get accustomed to gravity and solid matter soon. Look how fast I’ve adapted to driving.”
“Speaking of which,” I said, frowning, “why are you driving?”
“It’s faster than walking.”
“I’m serious, Grammy. You don’t have a license and never learned to drive.”
“What’s to learn?” She hit the gas pedal too sharply, jerking me forward. “I put the key in and twist. I figured out that the little D means drive. And the R means right.”
“No! R is reverse!”
“That explains a lot.” The car jerked back, then forward. “What’s this red button?”
“Don’t touch! That’s for hazard lights!” I pulled at her arm. “Grammy, be careful. Mom will go ballistic if you dent her car.”
“Your mother always did overreact. Luckily I’ll be around for a while to help her get organized and give her advice on raising the triplets.”
“Heaven help her,” I murmured, remembering how I used to cover my ears with my hands whenever Mom and Grammy had one of their “rows,” as Grammy called it.
“What did you say?” Grammy Greta asked.
“That I think it would help if I drove.”
“No time for that. I have to get back before Theresa — I mean, Mom—misses the car.”
“Please tell me you didn’t take Mom’s car without asking permission.”
“How else was I going to find you quickly?”
I groaned, visualizing being grounded for the rest of the school year and probably all summer, too.
A traffic light blinked from green to yellow and Grammy punched the brakes. This time I was prepared, grabbing tightly to the hand rest. I glanced with relief at the empty crosswalk, glad there weren’t any pedestrians for Grammy to run over.
“I’m getting the hang of this driving gig,” she said with a smile that radiated her own quirky personality. “I always meant to learn to drive. I may still.”
“Why bother? You’re already dead.”
“Dead is such a misunderstood word.”
“I was at your funeral.”
“Do I look dead to you?”
“No, you look like me and I look like Alyce, but we both know that’s not real.”
“Being a Temp Lifer is a real and a solemn responsibility,” my grandmother said. “It’s not a game.”
“I know, I know.” I rubbed my forehead. “I’m hearing my voice and watching my lips speak to me. It’s all so freaky.”
Grammy laughed. “Like that movie Freaky Friday.”
“Worse. That was a comedy and what we’re going through is serious drama.”
“You’re right — our assignments are serious. We must use paramount caution.”
“Paramount caution?” I repeated, rolling my eyes. “Grammy, you cannot talk like that when you’re me.”
“Talk like what? I’m not clear on your meaning; could you elaborate?”
“No one elaborates at my age. Grammy, do you even hear yourself? You lecture me on how to behave, yet you’re not making any changes yourself. I mean, look at how you dressed. I didn’t even know I had a pair of nylons.”
“I found these in your mother’s room.”
“You snooped in Mom’s room?” I asked, horrified.
“How else could I find something decent to wear? This dress was in the back of your closet. It’s a little tight but I think it looks nice.”
“Nice as in boring and hideous,” I groaned. “There was a reason it was hidden in the back of my closet — it was a birthday gift from Aunt Suzanne.”
“My Suzy always did have excellent fashion sense. But I thought you two didn’t get along.”
“We don’t. I should have burned that dress.” I stuck out my tongue. “While you’re in my body, no more dresses and never, ever nylons. Wear jeans and T-shirts.”
She blinked like this was a startling idea. “Well … I suppose you’re right.”
“Yes, Gram, I am. Trust me on that.”
“But outward appearance is a trivial preoccupation with no redeeming value.”
“Grammy, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
I sighed. What was I thinking when I agreed to let Grammy take over my life? She hadn’t been young since the last millennium. This assignment was going to be a disaster. I never should have accepted it — yet I couldn’t abandon Alyce to an unknown Temp Lifer any more than I could leave ratty Monkey Bag in a mortuary.
We had reached a familiar neighborhood with an eclectic blend of old homes. My high school was just two blocks to the left and if we kept going straight we’d run into Molly Brown Lane, where a right turn would take us to my house and a left to Alyce’s house.
“Almost there.” I pressed my lips tight so I wouldn’t beg Grammy to turn around. But Grammy had always been strict when it came to rules — at least for other people. Her double standard made Mom crazy.
She slowed to a jerky yield, then hit the gas (too hard) and turned on Alyce’s street. Just a few more blocks and we’d reach the Perfetti house.
“Trust your instincts and you’ll sail through this assignment,” Grammy said, squeezing my hand. “You might even have fun.”
I thought of my “fun” at the mortuary and shook my head firmly. “Doubtful.”
“When did you become so negative?”
“It’s called being realistic. So far this assignment has gone all wrong.”
“Can’t you find anything positive to say?”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t lose Monkey Bag,” I said, gesturing to the backpack now resting on the seat beside me.
“Ah yes, that old ratty backpack.” Grammy smiled fondly. “Little Alyce used to carry it everywhere.”
“She still does. If she has any important papers or lists, I’ll find them in this bag, which will really help me solve her problems.”
“Solving problems isn’t your assignment.” Grammy wagged a finger at me warningly. “We had this discussion last time. Temp Lifers are merely stand-ins until their Host Body can return, strong enough to face their own problems.”
“I did more than stand-in for Leah and Sharayah. I improved their lives.”
“Not without complications. You were lucky.”
Lucky? Is that what Grammy really thought? Sure, I’d made mistakes (knowingly and unknowingly) during my assignments, but they’d been successful nevertheless. I’d thought Grammy was proud of me … but maybe I was wrong. Was this assignment Grammy’s way of giving me another chance to prove myself?
“Tell me more about my assignment,” I asked in my most businesslike tone.
“You’ll find everything you need in there.” She pointed to the glove box.
“Huh?” I raised my brows.
“Look inside.”
I popped the glove box open, expecting to find stuff like a car manual, maps, and Mom’s cell phone. Those things were there, but so was something small and wonderful that made me give a shout-out for joy.
“The GEM! Thank you, Grammy!”
“Not just any GEM.” She smiled. “The same one from your last assignment.”
Almost reverently, I picked up the palm-sized book otherwise known as a Guidance Evaluation Manual. The plain gold book appeared boring, but it was a communicator to the other side with audio, video, and text connections. All I had to do was ask a question and the book would create its own answer.