Page 50 of Switch!

“Ten minutes won’t make a difference,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I don’t like you wasting my time,” he says, moving closer.

“Then I’ll hurry.” Before he can stop me, I shove my hands into the mixture. Then I start clenching my fists, dough squirting out between the gaps. It really is fun!

“I sure as hell won’t be eating any of those,” my father grumbles.

“More for me,” I retort.

I hear a huff and footsteps stomping away. I look over at Mrs. McCain and roll my eyes. She doesn’t commiserate. Instead she appears concerned. For me or herself? Caleb doesn’t have any memories of his mother being physically abused, but she’s always been bossed around by her domineering husband.

“We shouldn’t let him decide what we get to do,” I say.

“He’s your father,” she replies.

And I’m supposed to respect that. Rather than worry about it, I clown around with the dough, shaping it into objects that I smoosh again, but I don’t manage to lighten her mood. I help with the rest of the recipe, and when I’m finished, I wash my hands in the restroom so I can fume in privacy.

I’m angry, and I don’t want my mother—Caleb’smother—to see it. I know it’ll only upset her more. She’s hurt, or at least unhappy, thanks to Major McAsshole. Ugh. I probably shouldn’t judge, considering how unhappy I made Sarah today.

“Fucking touch it!”

Anger and entitlement had conspired to make me speak those dreadful words, but I can’t turn a blind eye to the memory like I do with so much of Caleb’s past. Only I am responsible for what happened. Right? I don’t want to avoid accountability. That would be despicable, but I sure as hell didn’t feel like myself in that moment. Caleb’s attitude toward women was shaped by his upbringing. Have I been influenced by the same conditioning? If my environment isn’t to blame, what about the memories knocking around in my head or the physical brain I’m thinking with?

I didn’t consider the consequences when coveting Caleb’s life. All I saw was the strong attractive body, not the cost that it came at. I never would have traded my freedom to read or my relationship with my mother just to be handsomer and stronger. Caleb enjoyed most of the sports he was pushed to play. He lived for athletic competition, but he could have been so much more, if his mind was allowed to develop along with his body. Instead he was shoved into a box and hammered into a very specific shape.

I won’t be. It’s high time that someone stood up to Major McCain and his fascism. That’s what I tell myself. As I leave the bathroom, I remember the pain of him boxing my ears, and how many silent dinners I was forced to sit through because he wasn’t pleased. And so, like a good little boy, I go to the backyard to help him build the deck. I don’t feel a sense of pride as my strong hands complete the work with so little effort. For the first time since becoming Caleb, I wish I could turn back into a meek young man with long hair and glasses. More than that, I wish I could go home.

Sixteen ↔ Chapter

Being around Sarah again is all it takes to banish any homesickness I still feel. When her roommate leaves and we have the apartment to ourselves, I tell her everything. Not about my previous life as Travis. I share Caleb’s story instead. The oppressive childhood, the constant exposure to misogyny, the bully I was back in Cheyenne, and how I hoped moving here would free me from my past.

Sarah is wonderful about it all. She’s a sympathetic listener as I rant, and when I’m finally exhausted, she helps me come up with a plan. After doing research together, we learn that I’d be able to quit ROTC without penalty, as long as I do so before my first day as a college sophomore. If I’ve decided by then that the Air Force isn’t for me, I’ll find another scholarship not tied to the military. Past their anger and disappointment, surely the McCains will see this as a reasonable compromise. If not…

“It’s not their choice to make.”

Sarah tells me this, and I decide to make it my mantra. My parents don’t own me. As soon as I’m eighteen, I’ll be a legal adult, and they won’t have any authority over me… aside from living under their roof. Sarah says that she can help me with that as well. If everything blows up in my face, she’s willing to let me live with her.

That’s when I realize that she must love me too. I stop talking about my parents then and focus solely on her because it’s finally the right time. I can feel it. Whenever I stop, wanting to be sure, she meets each questioning gaze with a nod. There is no room for doubt inside of me now. I love her. And I need her, because when we’re together, my problems seem small and insignificant. I hope she feels the same way. Regardless of whatever difficulties lie ahead for us, we’ll no longer have to face them on our own.

— — —

The sun is beating down on my back, and I’m drenched in sweat, although I’m not sure how much of that is from the heat. The new deck is complete. I already decided that this would be the big moment. Major McCain is standing next to me in an old T-shirt and jeans. He looks as far divorced from his life as an officer as I’ve ever seen him, and the work we did is solid. I’d feel proud if I wasn’t so damn scared. I watch as he measures the deck to make sure all the dimensions are correct. Then he turns to me and nods.

“Nice work, son.”

“Thanks.” I swallow. “Building this has shown me that I can do anything I set my mind to.”

My father grunts. “That’s a good lesson to learn.”

“I’m joining ROTC, Dad.”

“No you aren’t.” He doesn’t miss a beat, like he’s been waiting for me to broach the subject again.

“I am. Being a man means forging your own path. I’ll still follow your example and try to achieve as much as you have, but I’ll do so in my own way.”

“You’re not a man,” Major McCain scoffs. “You’re just a boy.”

“For one more week.”