Page 4 of Switch!

“Oh.” I pull out the twenty my mother gave me. Easy come, easy go.

The librarian’s attention is on the computer now. She glances at me and the money and shakes her head. “This edition is out of print.”

“So what do I do?”

“You need to bring in a replacement copy before you’ll be allowed to check out more books.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said,” the librarian snaps. “You can try your luck on eBay or call one of the used bookstores in town. The replacement copy needs to be in good condition. At least as good as it was before you ruined it.”

I want to argue that none of this was my fault, but it’s too late. Maybe I should have been honest instead. “Sorry,” I repeat as I pocket the money. “Can I still use the internet? I’ll start looking for a new copy right away.”

“Just keep any liquids away from the computers,” the librarian says, sounding exasperated.

I avoid making eye contact with the people in line behind me as I walk away. When I reach the computers, I choose the one farthest from the front desk, but when I sit, I can still see the librarian and she can still see me. Great. I feel better when a quick search on eBay reveals plenty of affordable copies. If only I had my own bank account. I’ll need to ask my mother’s permission, which means either telling her the truth or coming up with a better excuse, because our apartment doesn’t have a bathtub, and I don’t think she’ll believe me if I say I was reading in the shower.

I make myself browse job listings, taking note of the fast-food joints near our apartment that are hiring. It’s not much of an effort, but it’s all I can manage before giving into unbearable curiosity. Time to learn about possession! The initial results are disappointing. I find plenty of references to horror movies, and some cheesy pages that claim to offer spells that, to me, look like bad poetry. It’s only when I start reading forums that it gets interesting. I’m not the first to wonder about this, it would seem, or to ask if it’s possible. The responses are mixed. Plenty of people insist that the concept itself is ridiculous. No surprise there. I agree with them. Those who are open to the idea often mention astral projection, a term I immediately begin to research. The theory is that a soul often leaves its body at night to go wandering. Most of us are unaware of this or mistake the experiences we remember for dreams. Some people claim they can leave their body at will. That sounds implausible enough on its own. Even the believers don’t claim to have taken over someone else’s body. I find a few speculative posts about how this might be possible, but it all sounds like nonsense.

I take a break to stretch my back and notice the librarian making a beeline for me. She’s been giving me the evil eye for the past hour. I’ve been pretending not to notice. I can’t ignore her now. When she reaches me, she thrusts out a piece of paper covered in handwritten notes.

“This is the ISBN number and edition of the book you damaged,” she says. “The replacement will need to be an exact copy.”

“Okay.” I take the piece of paper from her. “It shouldn’t be a problem. I found a bunch on eBay, just like you said. The cover was exactly the same.”

“Did you buy one already?”

“No. I can’t yet. I need to ask my mom first.”

The librarian’s mouth becomes a thin line. “Then maybe it’s best if you come back once you have.”

In other words, I’m no longer welcome here. My cheeks burn as I gather up my things and leave, but not because I feel embarrassed. I’m pissed off, because Caleb McCain’s stupidity has managed to reach my most sacred of places. I only wish I had learned something useful, because I’d sure like to make him pay.

— — —

Travis Anderson. Laramie County Library.

I’m on the bus, anything but ready to face another day. I have an extra reason to feel miserable, and I’m feeding into it, holding my now-useless library card and flipping it over and over again, reading my name and that of my lost sanctuary like some sort of bereavement ritual. I’ll visit the school library today and see what they have, and if Caleb ruinsthatbook, I’m going to tell somebody. Maybe I can get a mob of angry librarians to take him down.

I perk up when we reach Melvin’s stop and he gets on the bus. I’ve already begun to dismiss yesterday’s experience as a deluded fantasy, but part of me is still clinging to hope. I watch him carefully for any sign that something amazing did indeed occur. All he does is nod and take a seat across the aisle from me. The bus continues on its way, but I can’t let it go. On the next stop, I move across the aisle to Melvin’s seat.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi,” he replies, scooting over to make room.

That’s it. Melvin never was good at making small talk.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “You seemed, I don’t know, shaken up yesterday.”

He seems puzzled. “I did?”

“Yeah. Right before you got off the bus. You were looking at me funny.”

Realization dawns. “Oh yeah!”

My hopes skyrocket. “You remember?”

Melvin nods. “I almost missed my stop because I was daydreaming.”