Read Online Switched by Jessica Wollman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Wollman
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historian.
“Um, well, I never was before, but I watched a documentary this summer about the New Deal and it kind of got me interested,” she lied, knowing that Willa would never, ever watch a documentary unless it was about Lubé Special. She held her breath and watched those eyebrows for a reaction.
Mr. Stade’s features evened out as his mouth curved into a smile. Laura joined him. The relief that splashed over her was so intense she stifled a giggle.
“Well, if you’re interested in the New Deal you’ll be happy to know that we spend almost three weeks this fall focused specifically . . .”
Mr. Stade was off and running. And Laura was jogging right beside him. She exhaled deeply, feeling her body uncurl a bit more as her breath pushed out into the room—and with it, the rest of her anxiety.
Willa was right,
she thought.
I do need a vacation from myself.
And, just like that, Laura Melon let go of Laura Melon.
Moving toward the buffet, Laura approached a group of new students and introduced herself. The real Laura would never have had the guts, but Laura-as-Willa felt confident and charming.
“Where did you transfer from?” asked a short redhead named Anders. He claimed to be a sophomore but Laura found it hard to believe that he was even in high school.
Laura straightened slightly as the word rolled off her tongue. “Shipley.”
“I applied there too,” he said.
“Fenwick’s better,” interjected a skinny blond girl whose nametag read, HI, MY NAME IS HEIDI! “My sister’s a senior and she loves it. She said people aren’t nearly as happy at Shipley.”
Laura believed it. From what she’d heard so far, Fenwick sounded amazing. How could anyone not be happy there?
The group was staring at her expectantly and Laura suddenly realized that they were waiting for her to respond. It was yet another situation in which Laura Melon would have been shaken but Laura-as-Willa wasn’t fazed a bit.
“Well,” she said slowly. “Shipley wasn’t a good fit for me. But I don’t think you can condemn a school based on one student’s experience.”
“Oh, definitely,” Heidi agreed. “You’re so right. I was just saying that there are just overall, you know, criteria . . .”
The luncheon zipped by much too quickly. One minute, Laura was Willa Pogue, eating petits fours and sipping Perrier, flanked by members of the Fenwick staff and chatty new students. The future stretched before her, manicured and lush. The next minute, she was in the car, speeding back to her old life. And back to her real future.
Laura leaned her head against the window and stared up at the bright, cloudless sky. One thing was certain. Fenwick Academy was paradise. It was Eden before that unfortunate fruit incident. The teachers were friendly and interesting, the students intelligent and enthusiastic.
And Laura desperately—with a pain she could almost reach out and touch—wanted to be a part of it.
12
The parties, the dresses, the escorts . . . I just loved being a debutante, didn’t you? I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.
—Quimby Hubbard, Debutante
boardgirl: ever want 2 b someone else?
lubespecial: no boardgirl: y not?
lubespecial: if i wuz someone else i cldnt talk 2 u
13
The man that’s always there for you is always here.
—Brawny Paper Towels Brawny Man Ad
For a second, right before Laura turned on the light inside her front door, a glimmer of hope shot through her. It was silly, she knew. But for just a minute, in the darkness, it seemed possible that maybe, just maybe, she might be standing in the opulent marble entryway of Pogue Hall.
And everything—from now on—would be different.
Suddenly, the lights flickered. Harsh white light swept across the hallway and into Laura’s eyes.
“Honey! I thought that was you!” Laura’s mother appeared. Beside her stood a short, deeply tanned man.
Laura looked around the time-worn living room. Her spirit felt cleaved; stripped down to its
“Um, well, I never was before, but I watched a documentary this summer about the New Deal and it kind of got me interested,” she lied, knowing that Willa would never, ever watch a documentary unless it was about Lubé Special. She held her breath and watched those eyebrows for a reaction.
Mr. Stade’s features evened out as his mouth curved into a smile. Laura joined him. The relief that splashed over her was so intense she stifled a giggle.
“Well, if you’re interested in the New Deal you’ll be happy to know that we spend almost three weeks this fall focused specifically . . .”
Mr. Stade was off and running. And Laura was jogging right beside him. She exhaled deeply, feeling her body uncurl a bit more as her breath pushed out into the room—and with it, the rest of her anxiety.
Willa was right,
she thought.
I do need a vacation from myself.
And, just like that, Laura Melon let go of Laura Melon.
Moving toward the buffet, Laura approached a group of new students and introduced herself. The real Laura would never have had the guts, but Laura-as-Willa felt confident and charming.
“Where did you transfer from?” asked a short redhead named Anders. He claimed to be a sophomore but Laura found it hard to believe that he was even in high school.
Laura straightened slightly as the word rolled off her tongue. “Shipley.”
“I applied there too,” he said.
“Fenwick’s better,” interjected a skinny blond girl whose nametag read, HI, MY NAME IS HEIDI! “My sister’s a senior and she loves it. She said people aren’t nearly as happy at Shipley.”
Laura believed it. From what she’d heard so far, Fenwick sounded amazing. How could anyone not be happy there?
The group was staring at her expectantly and Laura suddenly realized that they were waiting for her to respond. It was yet another situation in which Laura Melon would have been shaken but Laura-as-Willa wasn’t fazed a bit.
“Well,” she said slowly. “Shipley wasn’t a good fit for me. But I don’t think you can condemn a school based on one student’s experience.”
“Oh, definitely,” Heidi agreed. “You’re so right. I was just saying that there are just overall, you know, criteria . . .”
The luncheon zipped by much too quickly. One minute, Laura was Willa Pogue, eating petits fours and sipping Perrier, flanked by members of the Fenwick staff and chatty new students. The future stretched before her, manicured and lush. The next minute, she was in the car, speeding back to her old life. And back to her real future.
Laura leaned her head against the window and stared up at the bright, cloudless sky. One thing was certain. Fenwick Academy was paradise. It was Eden before that unfortunate fruit incident. The teachers were friendly and interesting, the students intelligent and enthusiastic.
And Laura desperately—with a pain she could almost reach out and touch—wanted to be a part of it.
12
The parties, the dresses, the escorts . . . I just loved being a debutante, didn’t you? I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.
—Quimby Hubbard, Debutante
boardgirl: ever want 2 b someone else?
lubespecial: no boardgirl: y not?
lubespecial: if i wuz someone else i cldnt talk 2 u
13
The man that’s always there for you is always here.
—Brawny Paper Towels Brawny Man Ad
For a second, right before Laura turned on the light inside her front door, a glimmer of hope shot through her. It was silly, she knew. But for just a minute, in the darkness, it seemed possible that maybe, just maybe, she might be standing in the opulent marble entryway of Pogue Hall.
And everything—from now on—would be different.
Suddenly, the lights flickered. Harsh white light swept across the hallway and into Laura’s eyes.
“Honey! I thought that was you!” Laura’s mother appeared. Beside her stood a short, deeply tanned man.
Laura looked around the time-worn living room. Her spirit felt cleaved; stripped down to its
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