The Swap by Megan Shull Page A

before.
    â€œMr. Malloy,” she finally starts. “I understand you had an altercation?”
    I don’t say anything.
    â€œWell?” she asks. “Is this an accurate statement?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I answer softly.
    â€œWhat was that?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I repeat, lifting my eyes to look back at her.
    â€œJack, I can’t tell you how disappointed I am.”
    More silence.
    She lets out a long sigh. “Honestly, Mr. Malloy, what happened is simply unacceptable.”
    I stare at the floor.
    â€œYes, ma’am, but he started it when he—” I start to explain, but then I stop. One, because the more I talk the more my nose begins to kill, and two, I just hear my dad’s voice booming in my head: “ Actions speak louder than words, Jack .”
    Ms. Dean shakes her head. “I expect more out of you, Jack. You showed extremely poor judgment.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I answer.
    â€œEveryone at Thatcher looks up to you.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I say. I have the worst lump in my throat.
    â€œYou’re an eighth grader, Jack.” (Long pause.) “You’re an honor student.” (Longer pause.) “And quite frankly . . .” She stops and glances up at the clock on the wall. “I’m not looking forward to calling your father.”
    You know that feeling you have when you’re about to cry? I bite down on my bottom lip, to hold it in, to keep it inside.
    No hockey.
    No sleepovers.
    No friends.
    No life.
    He’ll probably yank me out of Thatcher and make me go to Saint Joe’s.
    â€œJack?”
    I look up.
    â€œDo you have anything more you’d like to add?”
    â€œNo, ma’am,” I lie. I know better than to say what I’m thinking, to say how I feel.
    â€œMr. Malloy, for the time being . . .” Ms. Dean looks at her wristwatch, then back at me. “I’m going to hold off calling your dad. But you and I are going to have a serious discussion on Monday.”
    For a second, I’m completely relieved. But then it hits me: Monday will be here soon enough. How much will change, right?
    I watch Ms. Dean turn and leave.
    â€œWhoa, easy does it,” I hear the nurse, then I feel her hand on my shoulder. “Just relax,” she says. “Lie back.”
    I do. I fall back.
    I give in.
    Everything is sort of foggy.
    I turn on my side and look over at Freckles.
    She does not look happy.
    She’s got big fat tears trickling down her cheeks.
    â€œMiddle school sucks, huh?” I whisper. I smile really gently. She looks so sad.
    â€œMy entire life sucks,” she answers.
    â€œYeah?” I say. “I can relate.”
    â€œProbably not,” she mumbles. “Boys have it so easy.”
    â€œUm.” I turn my head again toward her. “Have you looked at me?”
    Freckles lets out the tiniest smile, but then, just as quickly, the smile fades, almost like she remembered something.
    â€œSo what happened to you?” I ask.
    She looks so . . . I don’t know. Defeated. She doesn’t say a word. I move the ice pack away so she can see my messed-up face.
    â€œWant to trade places?” I say.
    She almost laughs.
    â€œYeah,” she answers. She says it so softly I can hardly hear her. I watch her close her eyes.
    â€œWe could, like, magically trade lives, right?” she says.
    I just nod and close my eyes too. “You be me,” I whisper. “And I’ll be you.”
    â€œHoly bananas! Wouldn’t that be fun?” I hear the nurse say. “You two could do a swap, a little switcheroo!” She giggles. “Help each other out.”
    This nurse is kind of crazy cakes, but in a good way.
    The room gets really quiet.
    The lights go off.
    And the last thing I remember is the nurse whispering into the darkness, like she’s casting a spell. “See the world through eyes anew, until you