Megan Hart - Switch

messed around with Jack, but because you tried to get

together with Austin and he turned you down."

"He turned me down because he stil wanted you," Kira

said.

I didn't have an answer to that.

"And then you went and screwed around with him again

anyway."

"Kira. I didn't know you wanted Austin."

"Kira. I didn't know you wanted Austin."

But she couldn't have him, I thought, suddenly and

surprisingly. Because he was mine.

"Whatever. Does it matter?" She slung her purse over her

shoulder. "We shouldn't let boys come between us

anyway, right?"

I didn't tel her the reason I'd apologized had nothing to do

with our bond of friendship, which had been strained in

times past. Sometimes you stay friends with someone

more out of habit than anything you have in common. If not

for the note, I might not have caled her again at al.

"Right," I agreed.

"So, what's going on with you? You getting back together,

or what?"

"Oh, God, no."

We walked to our cars, parked next to one another in the

lot. I looked past her to the sidewalks overrun with

shoppers attacking the outlets in search of bargains. When

I was younger my mom had taken me to the real outlet

stores, places that sold seconds and out-of-stock items.

stores, places that sold seconds and out-of-stock items.

These stores weren't anything like that.

"Anyway. I think Tony's gonna give me a ring." She said

this with less coyness than I was used to from her. "For my

birthday. I thought maybe he'd get me one for Christmas,

but…"

It seemed suddenly outrageous and unlikely to me that

Kira could get married. "You want to marry him?" I hadn't

even met him.

She gave me a level look. "Yeah. I think I do. I'm not

getting any younger, you know."

It was such a cliché and yet fit her so wel.

"Marriage isn't everything, Kira." I was trying to make her feel better, but she fixed me with another steady look.

"Easy for you to say, sure. Because you gave it up."

"That's not why. That's not what I meant," I added. "I just meant you shouldn't feel like something is missing. That's

al."

"But something is. Hey, maybe you'l be my bridesmaid,"

"But something is. Hey, maybe you'l be my bridesmaid,"

Kira offered.

"Sure. Okay."

We parted with half a hug and brush of cheeks. I

wondered if she'd realy ask me. I wondered if I'd care if

she didn't. I drove home, glad I wasn't her. Glad I wasn't

missing something.

But I was missing something in my life, and those notes,

those lists, gave me something I needed. One waited for

me when I got back. My fingers shook a little as I opened

it. What next? I wondered. What fantasy would I be

asked to live out this time? I already imagined the paper

and pen I'd use to write it, this time. This time I would

write it.

Tomorrow you wil wear a blue shirt.

That was it.

I think I bared my teeth before composing myself quickly.

If someone was watching, I wasn't going to give him the

pleasure of seeing my disappointment.

Tomorrow you wil wear a blue shirt.

"Tomorrow," I muttered as I shoved the card through the

slot of 114, "I'l wear whatever color shirt I damn wel

please."

I refused to think of it al the way up the four flights of

stairs to my apartment, then al the way down again as I hit

the basement for an hour's workout. I refused to think

about the note and its simple, one-sentence instruction as I

sweated and cursed at the television and its bounty of

buxom, slim-hipped beauties on their mission to make al

other women feel inferior. I refused to think of it in the

shower as I lathered my body and deep-conditioned my

hair and shaved my legs.

"Damn it!" I cried to my empty room as I stood in front of my closet.

I had no clean blue shirts.

I put on a soft pair of sleep pants patterned with grinning

monkeys wearing Santa hats and twisted my hair up high,

clipping it out of the way so it would be wavy when it

dried. I turned the TV on, then off. I picked up a book

and put it down.

and put it down.

"Shit."

I lay on my bed, arms crossed behind my head, and stared

at the ceiling. The plaster had been laid in smal, even

swirls. There was a medalion with a metal cap in the

middle in the ceiling's center. The former tenant had taken

the ceiling light and fan when he left, and though

maintenance was supposed to replace the original fixture,

they never had. The metal reflected light from my bedside

lamp and the window outside when the room was dark.

Sometimes when I woke in the night I imagined it was the

moon's bright eye somehow transported into my room.

Watching me.

Was someone else watching me? Playing some sort of

game? I got up on one elbow to look around my room and

at my closet, where rows of shirts hung in every color but

blue.

I got out of bed and riffled through my laundry basket to

see what I could find. Blue wasn't my favorite color. I

preferred white shirts for work, since any stains could be

bleached. I did have a blue shirt, though it wasn't one I

would've worn to work. The neckline dipped a little too

would've worn to work. The neckline dipped a little too

low and the cut was a little too close. I held it up in front of

my reflection and turned this way and that. Paired with a

pair of black dress slacks, it would probably be okay.

With a blazer over it. Sure.

And I needed to do laundry anyway, I told myself as I

tossed socks and panties and towels into the basket to

make a ful load. If I did it now, I wouldn't have to do it

later in the week. And there was nothing on the tube.

Yeah.

There was no getting around it. I was hooked on those

lists. For whatever reason. Even if nobody was watching

me. But if someone was, he'd know I hadn't obeyed.

Tomorrow, I would wear a blue shirt.

But first, I had to wash it.

Chapter 17

Riverview Manor had the highest line of efficiency washers

and dryers, but never enough of them. Just another of the

quirks of this supposedly high-end building, and one about

which the T.A. had sent around many memos. Some of the

units were supposed to have their own washers and

dryers, which explained why the laundry room had been

under-stocked. Whatever. Al I knew was when I walked

in with my laundry basket and found the room empty but

for the scent of fabric softener and the hum of rotating

dryer drums, it was a bonus.

I filed a washer with my clothes and the detergent, then

took my empty basket and my book, one I'd found in an

aisle I rarely browsed, to one of the hard wooden chairs

along the wal. I promptly let out a smal shriek as I

realized I was not alone, after al. The man sitting there had

his head bent, headphones on, so he hadn't heard my

scream but the way I jumped must have caught his

attention, because he looked up.

Eric looked up at me with a smile and slipped his

headphones from his ears. I heard the tinny, faraway chant

of a song I'd have known if I'd been able to pay attention

of a song I'd have known if I'd been able to pay attention

to it, rather than him. His eyes, specificaly, which were a

deep, dark liquid brown.

"Hi," he said. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

"I didn't see you behind the washers." I set down my

basket and put a hand over my rapidly beating heart.