Page 72 of Switch!

“Maybe we can help you find a way to communicate with them,” Charlie says unabashedly, “and make them understand how violated you feel.”

“I just wanna shoot the bastards,” the old man grumbles.

“Yes, well…” Charlie squirms before moving on. “What about you, young lady?”

The teenage girl is sitting closest to the abductee, an empty chair separating them. Her legs are crossed, a bobbing foot encased in a boot that’s so large I’m surprised her ankle doesn’t snap from the weight. The girl is small, both in height and stature. My eyes move up striped leggings that disappear beneath torn jean shorts, red suspenders clipped to them that are tight against the loose concert T-shirt. Her black hair has been separated into unbraided pigtails that are dyed purple.

This should be good. Her story must be especially crazy. I lean forward to hear what she has to say.

“Hey!” she says. “My name is Trixie. I’m here because I can tell when people are lying or telling the truth. That’s my thing.”

“Oh yeah?” the old man says. “Tell me if this is the truth: I’m a millionaire!”

“That’s a lie,” Trixie says.

The old man snorts. “No kidding. I also have a beautiful wife who keeps the house sparkling clean.”

“That’s also a lie,” Trixie says without missing a beat. “On both counts.”

The old man isn’t done yet. “I once met Abraham Lincoln on a flying saucer.”

Trixie scrunches up her nose. “You mightthinkthat’s true, but that doesn’t mean it is.”

“Judgement-free zone!” Charlie reminds her pointedly.

Trixie rolls her eyes and slumps into her chair.

Charlie gestures to the heavy-set woman sitting next to me. “How about you, ma’am?”

“Well,” she says in a thick Southern accent, “my name is Betty Louise, and I suppose you could say my troubles began when the gnomes in my backyard started harassing the dogs.”

Oh boy. I sigh and tune out the rest of her story. What am I doing here? I should have stuck with Gismonda. She might be the only legitimate psychic at the entire fair. Unless I also count as one. I’m not sure if what I have is a psychic ability exactly, but I wish I’d thought to ask. I shouldn’t have let her run off. We could be eating hotdogs together instead of me suffering through this train wreck of a support group.

“Young man?” Charlie says. “Would you like to go next?”

“Sorry!” I say, snapping back to the present. “My name is Jesse, and I can switch bodies with people. Kind of. Actually, it’s more like I can possess people who still have bodies. I lost mine at the beginning of summer. All I am now is a wandering soul. Has anyone heard of that before?”

“Yes,” Charlie says. “We are all souls inhabiting a temporary physical form. What you feel is completely normal and signifies growing awareness of your spiritual existence.”

“Sure,” I say, “but I mean it literally. I was a nerdy bookworm for most of my life. Then I became the guy who was picking on me, and when that ended in disaster, I hitched a ride with a paramedic instead.”

The group is silent and staring at me. All but Trixie, who is grinning from ear to ear. The rest are looking at me like I’m crazy, including Gnome Woman and Space Case. That stings.

“I know how it sounds,” I add lamely.

“Very interesting!” Charlie says. “I look forward to hearing more of your story. Let’s continue with the introductions.”

The next two people both talk to ghosts. They hit it off immediately, and I’m jealous because that’s what I was hoping for.

For the rest of the hour, Charlie makes a noble effort to connect our stories. He suggests that angels might have been mistaken for aliens in the past, since they appear from above and are surrounded by light. Like a flying saucer. Gnomes might be some other sort of spiritual entity. Cherubs, for instance. As for me and Trixie, we were probably given our unusual gifts by—wait for it—angels. Charlie clearly has an obsession. I soon develop one of my own. I want to leave. We’re all given a chance to talk about ourselves in more depth, but the old man keeps cutting everyone off and stirring up arguments.

The only person who seems to be having fun is Trixie. She’s sprawled out in her chair, shoving donut after donut into her mouth. I don’t know where she makes room for them all, unless she has an interdimensional portal in her mouth. Hey, maybe it leads to where the angels live!

“My goodness, what an enthusiastic bunch,” Charlie says. “I’m afraid we need to clear this room for the next group, but we do meet here daily during each psychic fair. You are all welcome back then. We also have an online forum and chatroom.”

“Are they judgment-free though?” I ask. “Because I’ve never seen a corner of the internet that is.”

Trixie snorts.