Linda Singleton: Dead Girl in Love

Her change of tone surprised me. “You have?”

“I’ve been looking forward so much to our evening together. It’s the only time of the day I truly enjoy, and I’m sure you have lots to tell me. I want to hear everything.”

“There really isn’t much.”

“Whatever you say is more interesting than my boring job. Stuck in a cubical inputting computer data eight hours a day, five days a boring week. I left early, then waited to see my special girl. Come here, baby.”

I didn’t want to, but she’d stepped toward me with such a tender look on her face that it would be cruel to ignore her. So I stood still, reminding myself that I was Alyce, not Amber, as Mrs. Perfetti opened her arms wide and swallowed me whole in a tight hug that smelled of peach shampoo and coffee.

“Um … Mom. You’re holding too tight.” I pushed away, trying to come up with an excuse to ditch her. “I should go to my room. I have plans—”

“You certainly do — with me.” She flashed a big grin, her shift of attitude even more confusing than a hundred burning candles.

“I do?”

“All the ingredients are ready in the kitchen.”

“Um … can’t it wait? I have things to do.” I almost used the “homework” excuse until I remembered that it was spring break and school was still out till Monday.

“What’s more important than dinner with your mother?”

My honest reply would be rude. Besides, I was getting hungry and wouldn’t mind being served a home-cooked dinner. I’d had a stressful day and could use some pampering. So I said that eating sounded good.

“Wonderful.” Mrs. Perfetti slipped her arm around my shoulder. “The chicken is thawed, the vegetables washed, and I set out your favorite spices.”

Then Alyce’s mother sent me into the kitchen.

To cook dinner.

* * *

Now, the first thing everyone knows about me (Amber) is that while I love eating, I’m hopeless in the kitchen. The extent of my culinary talent is using a can opener or following microwave instructions. Alyce, on the other hand, has a creative touch that includes gorgeous gift baskets for our school club, photography, and cooking. Alyce often teases me that I’d starve if I had to feed myself.

So when Mrs. Perfetti left me alone in the smallish kitchen with its yellow-tiled counters and dark-wood cabinets, I stared around in horror.

Me, cook? This was like a waking nightmare.

I couldn’t do this on my own and knew only one person who might help. Retrieving Alyce’s cell phone from Monkey Bag, I deleted the nine missed texts (from her mother), then made my call.

Dustin Cole, my second-best friend, was part hacker/geek/activist and liked to plot covert online strikes against “corrupiticians” (as Alyce nicknamed dirty politicians). His bedroom, or “Headquarters” as he called it, was crammed with electronic equipment that hummed and flashed with artificial life. There was no bed, only a couch and a sleeping bag that was usually covered with crumpled papers and snack wrappers.

Dustin’s tone was wary when he heard my voice. “Alyce?”

“Not exactly. Guess again.”

“Don’t tell me you … you’re … ”

“You’re getting warm.”

He groaned. “Amber?”

“And the smart guy wins a prize.”

“It had better be a really good prize, like my own personal communication satellite,” he grumbled. “I need a scorecard to keep up with your body-switches.”

“I’ve only had three — and the first one was an accident.”

“Just stay away from my body — that would not be cool.”

“But I’ve always been curious what it’s like to pee standing up.”

“Convenient but overrated.”

“And it would be interesting to see inside a guys’ locker room.”

“As if I spend any time there,” Dustin said scornfully. “I choose not to break bones over contact sports. I have a file of legal keep-out-of-gym excuses, all signed by a doctor. Not necessarily my doctor, but whatever works.”

“Everything works for you,” I said, chuckling. It felt sooo good to joke around with Dustin like nothing had changed.

“So what’s the deal with Alyce?” His serious tone reminded me exactly how much had changed. I imagined him leaning back in his chair, tapping his fingers on his desktop. His eyes would be closed to shut out distractions, so he could listen with total concentration.

“She’s taking a time-out.” I glanced down at my temporary hands with their frosted black fingernails. Alyce was into black, draped outfits and gruesome jewelry but insisted she wasn’t Goth.

“I thought you were done with body-hopping.”

“I thought so too.” I sighed. Then I explained how Grammy convinced me to take just one more assignment. “I had to do it — for Alyce.”

“And what about you?” Dustin asked in his quiet, perceptive way that never failed to disarm me. “Are you okay?”

I glanced at the counter where Mrs. Perfetti had set out onions, tomatoes, cheese, spices, chicken parts, and pasta noodles. “I’m burning in culinary hell. Alyce’s mother expects me to cook dinner.”

When Dustin stopped laughing, he offered to help. “Cooking is easy.”

“Do you realize who you’re talking to? When it comes to directions, I always end up choosing the wrong way.”

“You’re good at math, aren’t you?”

“Math doesn’t have anything to do with cooking.”

“Wrong. Cooking is one big math equation,” he said.

Then he explained about washing, slicing, measuring, and baking. It took a while to figure out the chemistry of blending ingredients, but Dustin was a great teacher. If he ever gave up his ambition to overthrow the government, he could be a famous chef.

He was saying how to set the timer on the oven when my phone beeped. I was ready to ignore the incoming text — until I saw the name that flashed on my screen.

Eli Rockingham.

Eli, Eli … My ELI! Calling!

Immediately I developed symptoms of a serious illness: dizziness, chills, sweats, racing pulse, an overall state of confusion. I hadn’t known Eli long, but what I did know made me ache, yearn, palpitate to be with him again. Was this love? If I could spend some quality time with him while in my real body, maybe I’d find out. Still, it was great to hear from him and I couldn’t say good-bye to Dustin fast enough.

Clicking a button, I read the message.

A,

GG told me who & where u r.

Xciting stuff down n la.

Gtg. More L8r.

Eli

Huh? That’s all he wrote? His “exciting stuff” probably had to do with being in Los Angeles as a finalist in the Voice Choice competition (think rip-off American Idol without the voting). He hadn’t planned to enter, but due to some confusion during my last assignment, he’d replaced his sister at the audition and made it to the Top Ten. He was even gaining fans in his new role as “Rocky” Rockingham, math-geek-turned-singer.

I missed Eli but didn’t blame him for having fun after a lifetime of being the ignored-little-brother of totally hot Chad. Girls, guys, even teachers were won over by Chad’s megawatt smile, athletic body, and charisma. Eli didn’t know it, but for a few minutes of bad judgment, I’d even fallen for Chad’s charms. But I hadn’t been in my own body, so it didn’t count. Besides, the kiss wasn’t even my idea … not that I’d objected. And I saw no reason to tell Eli, especially since I’d quickly discovered that Chad was an egotistic jerk. Where Chad was fake, Eli was completely real and wonderful, and he deserved his fifteen minutes of fame.

Still, I felt uneasy when Eli didn’t answer his cell. I sent a text, asking him to call soon. Then I gritted my teeth and set to work tackling the equation of a recipe. It was obvious from Eli’s message that he’d talked to Grammy (a.k.a. GG), so it was natural that he wasn’t worried about me. That’s what I told myself, anyway.