Page 28 of Switching Skates

Nothing changes, and deep down, I know that I’m awake and that whatever the heck is going on is very, very real and very, very wrong.

Because there’s no way, right? It can’t be.

Am …

Am I in Mason Holt’s body?

Oh my God. I’m going to puke, pass out, spontaneously combust, or all of the three combined in some crazy phenomenon.

“What the—” I gasp at the sound leaving my chest, deep and rough, taking this to an entirely new terrifying level. A deep, gravelly scream tears through me. “Ahhhh!”

Hearing the sound of my …his… voice makes me jump back and clutch my invisible pearls as I continue to scream through my overwhelming emotions.

I rush forward toward the mirror, taking each side in my hands and looking as close to it as I possibly can. I feel like I’m going to explode, burst from the inside out.

No. No. No. This cannot be real!

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Someone pounds hard on the other side of the bedroom door, and I nearly jump out of my own skin.

“Mason! Are you good? Why the hell are you yelling?”

For some reason, hearing someone’s very real voice makes gravity push harder down on me, reality crush me into the hardwood floor.

“Mason. Open up!”

It takes me a moment, but I recognize Ross’s voice.

He doesn’t waste another second, grabbing the doorknob and twisting, and he throws the door open, ramming it straight into me.

“Jesus!” I grunt, hearing it come out all deep.

Ross looks at me with pinched brows and annoyance. “Were you just choosing to ignore me or what? I need my keys from last night.”

He’s talking to me.

To me.

Daphne.

Mason.

Daphne?

Mason?

“What is going on?” I murmur.

He leans against the doorframe, looking up slightly at me. I can’t help but giggle at the newfound height difference. He doesn’t look nearly as handsomely intimidating from this angle.

Ross shakes his head and juts his hands forward. “Dude, I need my keys. I’m going to be late. Where are they?”

“How would I know?” I ask defensively, crossing my arms over my chest.

He smacks my forehead with his hand. “You took my keys after I got hammered so I wouldn’t be tempted to drive.” He hesitates, studying me suspiciously. “Wait, did you drink last night?” His eyes light up. “No way! And I missed it? Did you black out or what?”

My mouth opens and closes for what feels like a thousand times as I wonder what to do or say. But agreeing with him seems like the easiest path.