Page 93 of Switch!

I shake my head, not knowing what that will do to me. What if I can’t maintain control?

“Are you sure?”

I nod adamantly.

“Fine,” Jesse says. “Let me know if you change your mind. For now, I’m going to ask you a few questions. I need you to answer them honestly so I can help you, okay? You aren’t in any trouble.”

I nod again. This might be our only chance to have a normal conversation. Or at least more normal than me thinking loudly while stuck in his head.

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, I—” The oxygen mask is bothering me, so I move it aside, even though I can tell this displeases him. “I don’t think he has been. I don’t feel drunk.”

“What about drugs?” Jesse asks, his brow furrowing up.

When I try to ask myself about that internally, just as I would have when needing to learn from Jesse or Caleb, I receive tormented wails in response. The only coherent thought I hear is,I don’t want to be alive anymore. This was supposed to be the end!

I wince against the emotional backlash.

“Maybe we should leave this on,” Jesse says, reaching for the oxygen mask.

“I’m fine,” I say, pulling back. “I don’t think he’s on drugs. I don’t have much experience with that sort of thing. He’s hungry though. I don’t think he’s been taking care of himself.”

Jesse writes this down, expression uncomfortable. “Are you on any kind of medication? Both—”

“—prescription or over the counter,” I finish for him. “I know the routine. I’ve heard you ask other patients these questions, Jesse. It sounds crazy, but it’s really me. Travis. I’m controlling Patrick’s body.”

Jesse looks toward the front of the vehicle, maybe to make sure that Stan isn’t listening. Then he says, “Do you know Trixie? Is that what’s going on? Is this all part of some tasteless joke?”

“I met her the same time you did. When I made you go to the psychic fair.” I shake my head in frustration. “I guess she would know that too. You need to hear something that you’ve never told her. My backpack! You put it in your closet just before you left for work. The same place where you hide Colin’s presents.”

The color drains from Jesse’s face.

“How’s he doing back there?” Stan calls.

The timing is terrible. It gives Jesse enough opportunity to come up with another tedious explanation. “The backpack,” he says quickly. “There must have been some kind of tracking device—no, a camera! That’s how you figured out where I hid it. One of you must have spoken to Colin. He knows where I hide things. He’s just too honest to snoop. I probably mentioned all of this to Trixie and forgot.”

“I can switch back and prove it,” I say. “If you’ll think of your deepest darkest secret, I’ll hear it, come back to this body, and tell you.”

Jesse recoils at the idea. I can’t say I blame him.

“Is he okay?” Stan asks again.

“I’m fine!” I shout back.

Jesse is staring at me. He must see it. I’m a different person than the one they confronted in the bathroom. My host was—

Another wave of despair hits me. It’s hard to think of him at all without being overwhelmed by his depression. I grimace and clutch my head.

“What’s going on?” Jesse asks.

“He’s really upset,” I say. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

I should be dead. This was supposed to be over. Next time I won’t call anyone.

“He wants to die. I can’t get him to tell me why. It’s pretty messy in here.”

“Funny,” Jesse murmurs under his breath. “My head feels clearer than it has in weeks.”