Soul Swap: Straight-A Student or Bad Boy?

CHAPTER 2: A WISH

RIVER

“f**k!” I cursed under my breath, looking at the slow-moving queue. The woman in front of me kept answering questions to which she clearly didn't know the answers, and I checked the time for the fifth time in less than two minutes before shifting my weight from one foot to the other, feeling like I was about to explode.

My pulse had started to rise somewhere between the pharmacy aisle and the counter, and now it was racing.

I needed to get home, and as if they could sense my frustration, the person in front of me finally finished and walked away. I didn't even wait to be called before stepping up and handing over the slip with barely restrained impatience.

“My mother’s prescription.” My voice was cut off, and the pharmacist nodded without looking at me and began typing. She confirmed some details, including the stage two lymphoma.

"Congratulations to her on beating it," she said, handing me everything I needed, and I thanked her halfway out the door.

My mother had stage two lymphoma, which she beat with chemo, but then the damage began. The neuropathy remained... nerve pain and muscle weakness.

The medication I came to buy was the only thing that worked, but she needed it regularly. Every two weeks, like clockwork, or she couldn’t get out of bed without crying. She was in that state this morning, having not had it in four days.

My stepfather had promised to give her money last week, but he hadn't, and instead I heard him screaming at her, and when I asked her about it, she made all kinds of excuses, unaware that I had heard.

So I sold my skates, the new pair I’d saved up for all last season, working at the dock before and after practice so I could buy it for her. It hurt… selling them, but not as much as seeing her in pain.

Outside, the sky was already purple at the edges, and the day was slipping away. I sprinted, weaving through pedestrians and crossing just as the light turned red.

My lungs were burning by the time I saw the station gates, and I boarded the train just as the doors slid closed. It was packed from wall to wall, with no place to sit, but I didn't care. I was in, and that was all that mattered. I leaned against the metal near the door, finally allowing myself to breathe.

Something slid down beside my foot right then, and I looked down to see the corner of an envelope sticking out. My chest tightened as I bent to pick it up, and I opened it immediately, my heart thudding.

Thankfully, none of the photos had fallen out. They were the only pictures I had of my father; the only proof that I once belonged to a normal family. Not the kind that people whispered about, where the mother slept sitting up, waiting for a drunk man to return home so she could serve him dinner, which he would most likely throw back at her.

I quickly thumbed through the envelope, checking each one before sliding it back in. I pulled one out halfway, the edge catching on a tear in the envelope. It was my favorite and the most painful to look at, but it was the only one in which Dad held me. My stepfather destroyed the others.

He was dressed in his army uniform, and my head rested on his shoulder. I was turning one that day. He was laughing, most likely in response to something Mom said. Turning it over, I read the date aloud.

12 March 2007.

My heart skipped, like it always did when I read the date. The day changed everything. He was about to leave that morning, per his deployment orders. But before he could leave, the news broke: our local high school was the target of a terrorist attack, with students being held hostage by armed men.

My father never hesitated to help. He and another soldier, both about to leave, stormed the building, killing five of the attackers. They released every student.

But they didn’t come back. My life snapped in half that day. Slipping the photo back, I felt something sting my eyes, and when I looked up, I was frozen by the sight of Knox, whom I had not realized was on this train, staring at me.

“The f**k are you looking at?” I growled and he sank into his seat, apologizing as he quickly looked away.

The train came to a halt, jerking me out of my thoughts, and I blinked, disoriented, the overhead lights flashing as the doors slid open. s**t! I’d stared at that photo the whole ride.

I stuffed the envelope deep into my backpack and hoisted it over my shoulder as I pushed my way through the crowd to the door. I caught a glimpse of Knox out of the corner of my eye right before I stepped off. He saw me in a moment I didn't want anyone to see, and my jaw clenched. If he knew what was best for him, he would keep his mouth shut.

"Never break. Never cry. Never show weakness."

This had been my rule since I was twelve years old. Since I realized no one was coming to save us. My mom had me and I had her... that was it. Jumping down the final step, I tossed my skateboard to the pavement, hopped on, and pushed off into the night. The streetlights cast shadows on the empty sidewalks as I zipped through them, my heart still thudding in my ears.

The familiar dilapidated houses with their chain-link fences and dim porch lights greeted me as I turned onto my street. I stepped off the board, tucked it under my arm, and opened the gate and front door.

“Mom?” I called.

“In here,” she replied from the dining room and I moved toward the sound, but my voice caught in my throat when I saw her. She stood, holding a small, uneven chocolate cake with eighteen candles on it.

“Happy birthday." Her smile was hopeful and tired, and I opened my mouth, ready to remind her I didn’t do birthdays. I hadn’t in years. There was nothing to celebrate. But before I could speak, she kept going.

“I know you don’t want to,” she said, almost apologetically. “But… River, baby, it’s not right that you don’t. It’s your eighteenth birth-”

“Then why are you making me?” I snapped before I could stop myself, and her gaze softened.

“Because I want to. Because your father wouldn’t want you not to-”

She did not finish as a harsh voice interrupted us from behind.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

We both turned, the stench of whiskey or brandy, whatever he had drowned himself in, hitting us right away. He stood in the hallway, swaying like a damn tree in the wind, and my mother tensed next to me.

"I asked you fuckers a question," he muttered, stumbling forward. My mom tried to answer, but he wasn’t listening. His glazed eyes locked on mine. "Why are you looking at me like that, boy?" he growled. "Do you want to try something?"

"River, go to your room," my mother instructed quickly. But I didn’t move, and that was all the excuse my stepfather needed, and he charged at me.

“You want to fight me?”

Mom stepped between us, hands raised. “Stop! Please just stop-” But he shoved her so hard she stumbled, and the cake fell to the floor with a sick splat, frosting smeared across the broken plate. I reached for her, catching her arm before she fell to the ground, and something in me snapped as I pivoted.

I shoved him back so hard that he stumbled backward, yelling at him to get his hands off my mother, but I did not finish.

The punch came from behind, knocking me to my knees. Pain exploded in my skull, and before I could recover, his boot landed on my ribs, followed by another.

"Stop it!" my mother yelled, grabbing his arm and attempting to shield me. “Please! River, run… go to your room!”

But I didn’t want to run. I wanted to get up and swing, to put him on the ground for once. I wanted to fight back. But I couldn’t, not without making things worse for her. He’d take it out on her when I was gone.

So I did the only thing I could. I stumbled to my feet and ran. I had no idea how far or how long I had run; all I knew was that my legs gave out and I collapsed on the grass, at which point I realized I was in the park. My hands were scraped, my back screamed, and I could hardly breathe.

“Don’t cry,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t you dare cry.” But it came anyway. The sobs tore out of me, loud at first, then quieter, until I was just sitting there under the trees, tears silently rolling down my cheeks, before lying back on the damp grass, staring up at the sky, which had no answers for me.

"Dad, can you see me?" I wondered. “Would you be proud of me if you did?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

I shifted to my side, groaning as my ribs protested, and realized I had fallen asleep. My eyes opened, and I wondered if it was midnight, given how quiet the city had become. My thoughts were hazy, and the pain in my side was still throbbing, but when I looked up and saw the sky, the pain faded away.

Tonight marked the peak of the Perseid meteor shower. I’d been tracking it all week on my NASA SkyView app. I couldn’t miss it. Pushing myself to my feet, I limped home, each step sending a jolt through my ribs, but I kept going, half-stumbling down the dark streets until I arrived at our house.

My bedroom window was cracked open, as usual. Mom did this whenever my stepfather and I had a fight. She would leave it open so I could get back into the house.

I climbed in quietly and went straight to my closet. Buried beneath old blankets and a frayed hoodie was my stargazing scope, an old Celestron Travel Scope. It wasn’t fancy, but it was solid. It used to be my dad's.

Mom said he loved stargazing and even took her out stargazing after their first date. The tripod was slightly dented, and the focus knob stuck occasionally, but it still worked.

I slung it over my shoulder, climbed back out the window, and ascended to the roof. Climbing up hurt like hell since my body was sore, but I reached the top, spread out the tripod, adjusted the lens, and let the stars fill the scope.

I sat back, letting myself breathe before I closed my eyes and that was when I felt it… a shift in the air, and I gasped as my eyes flew open.

A meteor! Finally! I made a wish, no, a prayer. I wished… prayed that my stepfather would change. That he’d become the man my mom needed; that he’d stop hurting her, stop hurting me.

My inner voice spoke up, saying I knew this stuff did not work, and that making a wish on a meteor was not real. It was just something people made up. It reminded me that I had made the wish many times before, but it had never worked.

But it wasn’t the same wish. I always wished for Mom to leave my stepfather.

But tonight I was not wishing for that; instead, I wished for Dad, whoever was listening to change this. Make it better. Make anything better than this.

I opened my eyes again, just as the bright blue light faded. Leaning back, I tried to get comfortable again after leaning forward while making the wish.

But at that moment, the roof shifted beneath me, and the stars spun. I scrambled to hold on, but my fingers only brushed against the roof tiles as I fell to my back so hard that air left my lungs.

"Dad..." was the last thing I said, and the last thing I saw was fingers reaching for the sky before darkness descended.