Soul Swap: Straight-A Student or Bad Boy?

LEXI "Just hold the ladder," I whispered, looking back down as I carefully placed my sneakers on the third rung, while Paige huffed, already bored. "Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it.” She said the ladder wasn’t even wobbling, which was true. It wasn't, but the feeling of someone holding it from below gave me the courage to keep going. I hated heights, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. My knees felt like rubber, and even the slightest gust of wind caused my stomach to twist and squeeze like vegetables in a food processor. By the time I reached the top, I was gripping the window ledge with both hands, trying to ignore the way my heart thumped against my ribs as if it wanted to escape. But I frowned as I looked down and saw Paige still at the bottom, smiling at her phone and leaning lazily against the ladder. "What are you still doing there?" I hissed. “You know the drill.” Why did I need to remind her? She rolled her eyes dramatically, as if I were being difficult. “You said, "Hold." You didn’t say when to stop holding and climb.” I didn’t respond. Instead, I turned back toward the window and pushed it open just enough without making a sound. Mom's room was just next to mine. Paige groaned behind me as she began to climb. “This is so stupid. Why don’t you use the front door like a normal person?” “Because normal people don’t have moms who think 9:30 is midnight,” I muttered, still clinging to the window frame. She knew this, and she climbed until her head was level with my leg. “Okay, hold my-” I began, but she interrupted, her nose scrunched in horror. “Ew. Is that a pimple on your leg?” I didn’t need to look; I knew what she meant. “It’s where the spider bit me. Last week.” She let out a dry laugh. “That’s disgusting.” I didn’t reply. I would not apologize for my skin or for being attacked by an insect while sleeping. I loved my best friend, but she could sometimes be insensitive. "Here," I said instead, handing her the books so she could give them to me once I got inside. There were only three, but they were thick: my English lit folder, sketchbook, and the history binder, which weighed more than my dog. I had brought them with me so that if Mom caught me, I could say I was coming from the library, which, while not much help, was something. It was certainly better than her discovering that I had spent two hours sitting on the hard bleachers watching Paige shake pom-poms at the Regional Spirit Slam. "Here," I said, carefully slipping inside and pointing to Paige to hand over the books. I didn’t have a table near my window and couldn’t risk throwing the books on the bed in case I missed, and they scattered and Mom heard them. Paige made a big show of balancing them in her arms. "You better catch them," she joked. "I can't. Just hand them-” I didn’t finish as the books slipped, and I scrambled to catch them. I caught two, but one caught the edge of the sill and tumbled down in a deafening thud onto the hardwood floor of my room. “Oops! I’m sorry.” I didn’t reply to her; instead, my blood went ice-cold. “Lexi?” My mother's voice rang out from the other side of the wall, and I gasped and yanked the blinds down, nearly strangling myself with the cord while hearing Paige's muffled laugh through the window. I didn’t even blame her. It was ridiculous. I was turning eighteen in two weeks, and here I was, crawling into my own bedroom like a raccoon on parole. “I’m alright!” I called out, panting, as I kicked my sneakers under the desk and yanked off my hoodie. I quickly slid under the covers, pulling the blanket up to my chin, when I felt pain in my knee and realized I had hit the bedframe. Just as I reached to touch it, the unmistakable twist of my doorknob came, followed by Mom’s voice, and I froze. “Why is your door locked?” Crap. I completely forgot I had not unlocked it. I jumped off the bed, as if it were on fire. "Oh! I-I didn't realize I locked it," I said, trying to sound as if I was not lying through my teeth while tugging out the messy bun that held my hair up, and letting the strands fall loosely down my back as I hurried to the door. Her warm brown eyes swept over me before settling on the small item in her hands, which immediately drew my attention. It was a gift bag. "I knocked a few times," she explained, holding it out to me, and I accepted it. "I figured you were wearing headphones," I confirmed that I was, and she smiled. She knew I wore my noise-cancelling headphones when studying. I despised lying to my mother, but sneaking out was the only way I could attend Paige's cheerleading event. She would never have agreed if I had asked. “Anyway. This came today.” “What is this?” I asked, my brow furrowing as I gently took the package from her. “Open it.” I did, and gasped as the wrapping peeled away. Inside was the rose gold glasses case I had shown her online two weeks before, shaped like a vintage book with tiny hand-painted constellations and faux gemstones on the spine. I never said I wanted it. I knew she would think spending $80 on a case was ridiculous when I already had one for $7 that "worked just fine." "Mom!" I flung myself into her arms. “Thank you!” She hugged me back and kissed the top of my head. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Are you ready for your math test tomorrow?" she asked as I drew back from the hug. I said yes, and she replied, "That's my girl," with the proudest smile. Now, get some beauty sleep so you’re fresh for the exam.” We hugged again and said our goodnights before she turned and padded down the hallway. I waited until I heard her door close again, then closed mine and leaned against it, clutching the case to my chest for a moment. We were not doing bad. Mom had a good job, we lived in a beautiful, quiet neighborhood, and I’d never gone without the essentials. But she wasn’t a spender. She budgeted down to the cent, planned out every grocery run like a military operation, and refused to pay for anything that wasn’t a “need.” That was why I did not dare to ask for the case. At my age, I received a weekly allowance of $28, which was supposed to cover everything... snacks, makeup, outings, and other little extras. If something broke, and it wasn’t a necessity, well, I had to figure it out. So for her to buy me something simply because I liked it meant everything. I gently placed the case on my nightstand and sat on the edge of my bed. "Ouch," I murmured, brushing my knee and wincing again as the pain persisted. Pulling up the leg of my jeans, I noticed a bruise forming, the skin slightly raw. Great! War wounds of the rebel life. Looking at the clock, my heart skipped a beat. It was time. I stood up, grabbed my hoodie from the back of my chair, and put it on. Then I grabbed the hair tie around my wrist and pulled my hair back into a low, quick ponytail. Rebel life was far from over, and it was time for my favorite activity of all: stargazing. Tonight was one of those rare, perfect nights with clear skies that don't come along very often, and I would not miss it. Pulling out my little monoculars that I bought after saving up for four weeks and skipping iced coffee runs, I turned off my lights so Mom would think I was asleep. Then I quietly opened my door and crept toward the staircase leading to the roof. We had an elevator, but it made noise when used, so I chose the stairs. Getting to the roof, I settled comfortably, my heart racing excitedly, but the pain flared when I sat down. I winced, gingerly brushing at the scrape while tilting my head to look at the stars. My favorite constellation, Lyra, was just starting to peek over the treetops, and my thoughts trailed to what Paige had said on the walk home. She asked if I believed turning eighteen would make a difference to my mother. “Like… is it even going to matter to her?” I’d laughed it off. Said, Of course it’ll matter. I’ll be an adult. But now, sitting here under the stars, I wasn’t so sure. Paige called my mother controlling. And I always defended her, said she was strict because she cared… because she wanted the best for me. But deep down, I knew Paige wasn’t entirely wrong. I never had time for fun activities like other girls my age; no spontaneous beach days, late-night parties, or skipping class. Every minute of my life was planned, organized, and expected to be productive. I was a straight-A student, student union president, science class representative, and volunteer committee chair. I worked harder than anyone I knew. I was focused and driven, just the way Mom wanted me. However, it still was not enough. She made it clear to me from a young age that there was no room for failure, no space to be mediocre, and no time to waste. I had to be the best. But to what end? I’d spent so long trying to be perfect. For her. For everyone. And sometimes I just wanted to scream. I wanted to live a little, do something stupid, reckless, and meaningless; feel free. I stared harder at the stars, the frustration bubbling quietly beneath my ribs. Why couldn’t she just ease up? Why couldn’t she see how tired I was? She sometimes made me wish I were born into a different family. Just as that thought solidified, a brilliant blue light flashed across the sky, causing my breath to catch. A meteor, trailing a shimmering tail that bent and twisted like it was alive, and I blinked, heart stalling. “Wow-” I began, but didn’t finish as the sky tilted. The stars spun simultaneously, and my stomach flipped as I struggled to hold on. I scrambled for the rooftiles, but my body went limp and I fell to my back, my last conscious thought being a flash of panic. Then everything went dark.