M.I.N.D. by Elissa Harris Page B

again?”
    â€œChannel me,” she corrects. “Not jump into me. Except we need to get someone else, otherwise it’ll be biased. We wouldn’t know if my thoughts floated into your mind or if they were there already.”
    â€œSeeing how we have no secrets from each other.”
    â€œCora Wood,” she says, ignoring my remark.
    â€œWhat about her?”
    â€œHaven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to be a rock star?”
    â€œHa. I’m too busy trying to figure out my own life.”
    â€œAren’t you at least curious about how she lives? What does she have for breakfast? Does she wear sweatpants around the house? Are all her parts really hers?”
    It does have possibilities.
    We are talking about Cora Wood.
    Then again, that headache I got yesterday was my worst yet. I don’t relish the thought of another one so soon.
    Of course, there’s always Tylenol…
    â€œOkay,” I say, “but don’t panic when I pass out. I’m going to look like I’m dead to the world.” It’s purely a reminder, since she’s already seen me in my quasi-corpse state. For that matter, so have I.
    â€œIt’s just a trance,” she says, handing me the locket. “An alternate state of awareness.”
    I tuck the locket into my pocket and plant myself on my bed. “I’m only doing this to prove you’re wrong. I jump into people, not channel them. And it’s totally physical.” Which could get interesting, as in Stephanie all over again but with a pulse. With any luck, Cora Wood is currently engaged in some serious lip-smacking with that new hunk boyfriend of hers, the one she was seen dancing with at Club Soda. Ha! Dancing? From what I could see on YouTube, full-frontal grinding.
    I close my eyes and fold my hands across my chest. I inhale deeply, exhale fully. I picture her face in my mind. “Cora Wood,” I say, over and over like a mantra. “I want to be Cora Wood…”
    â€œDon’t forget to focus on what she’s thinking,” Leanne says, her voice floating up from the floor.
    Cora Wood, Cora Wood, Cora Wood…
    I open my eyes.
    â€œThat was fast,” Leanne says. “How was it?”
    â€œIt didn’t work.”
    â€œMaybe you didn’t wish hard enough. Try again.”
    â€œFine.” I scrunch up my face and concentrate.
    This time I picture a screaming audience. I imagine myself in a silver minidress, singing my heart out, and for a moment I believe, I actually believe, it’s really me onstage.
    Not a trace of lilac anywhere.
    â€œNada,” I say, sitting up.
    â€œMaybe you have to be in the same room,” Leanne says.
    â€œOkay, call her. Tell her we’ll be over in ten minutes for milk and cookies.”
    â€œDead end,” she says dismally. Then her face brightens. “Maybe you have to know the person. How can you wish you’re someone you don’t know? Let’s go to the mall. Someone’s always at the mall.”
    â€œLeeny, I’m not going to the mall. I have tons of homework.”
    We hear my mother’s car pulling into the garage. Leanne breaks into a grin.
    â€œEw,” I say. “Forget it.”
    â€œWhy not? You came from her. Didn’t you ever wonder what it’s like to be her?”
    â€œUh, no. I was premature. I couldn’t wait to get out. Now you want me to go back?”
    â€œDo it in the name of science,” she says, all excited. “Besides, what safer place is there than your own mother?”
    So true. For example, my mother never leaves home without her pepper spray. She even takes it to the corner when she gets the mail. “Okay, but you owe me,” I tell Leanne. “I’m doing this for you, not the Nobel Prize.”
    I lie back down and concentrate. I think about not having to go to school, about being an adult and doing whatever I want, when I want. But when I