Megan Hart - Switch

Miriam's gaze sharpened. "You, perhaps?"

I waved the flowered paper aside and shoved my hands in

my back pockets as I looked around the shop. "Not realy

my style."

She laughed and set the box aside. She'd painted her nails

scarlet to match her lipstick. I hoped when I was her age

I'd be half as stylish. Hel. I hoped to be half as stylish

tomorrow.

"Now, how about something for yourself? I have some

"Now, how about something for yourself? I have some

new notebooks right here. Suede finish. Gilt-edged pages.

Tied closed with a ribbon," she wheedled, pointing to the

end-cap display. "Come and see."

I groaned good-naturedly. "You're heartless, you know

that? You know al you have to do is show me…oh.

Ohhh."

"Pretty, yes?"

"Yes." I wasn't looking at notebooks, but at a red,

lacquered box with a ribbon-hinged lid. A purple-and-blue

dragonfly design etched the polished wood. "What's this?"

I stroked the smooth lid and opened it. Inside, nestled on

black satin, rested a smal clay dish, a smal container of

red ink and a set of wood-handled brushes.

"Oh, that's a caligraphy set." Miriam came around the

counter to look at it with me. "Chinese. But this one is

special. It comes with paper and a set of pens, not just

brushes and ink."

She showed me by lifting the box's bottom to reveal a

sheaf of paper crisscrossed with a crimson ribbon and a

set of brass-nibbed pens in a red satin bag with a

set of brass-nibbed pens in a red satin bag with a

drawstring.

"It's gorgeous." I took my hands away, though I wanted to

touch the pens, the ink, the paper.

"Just what you need, yes?" Miriam went around the

counter to sit on her stool. "Perfect for you."

I checked the price and closed the box's lid firmly. "Yes.

But not today."

"No?" Miriam tutted. "Why is it you know so wel what

everyone else needs, but not yourself? Such a shame,

Paige. You should buy it."

I could pay my cel phone bil for the price of that box. I

shook my head, then cocked it to look at her. "Why are

you so convinced I know what everyone else needs?

That's a pretty broad statement."

Miriam tore the wrapper off a package of mints and put

one into her mouth. She sucked gently for a moment

before answering. "You've been a good customer. I've

seen you buy gifts, and sometimes things for yourself. I like

to think I know people. What they need and like. Why do

you think I have such atrocities on my shelves? Because

people want them."

I folowed her gaze to the shelf holding more porcelain

clowns. "Just because you want something doesn't mean

you should have it."

"Just because you want something doesn't mean you

should deny yourself the pleasure," Miriam said serenely.

"Buy yourself that box. You deserve it."

"I have nothing to write with it!"

"Letters to a sweetheart," she suggested.

"I don't have a sweetheart." I shook my head again.

"Sorry, Miriam. Can't do it now. Maybe some other time."

She sighed. "Fine, fine. Deny yourself the pleasure of

something pretty. You think that's what you need?"

"I think I need to pay my bils before I can buy luxuries,

that's what I think."

"Ah. Sensible." She inclined her head. "Practical. Not very romantic. That's you."

romantic. That's you."

"You can tel al that from the kind of paper I buy?" I put

my hands on my hips to stare at her. "C'mon."

Miriam shrugged, and it was easy to see how she must

have been as a young woman. Stubborn, graceful,

beautiful. "I can tel it by the paper you don't buy. When you're an old lady, you'l be wise like me, too."

"I hope so." I laughed.

"I hope you'l come back and buy yourself that box. It's

meant for you, Paige."

"I'l definitely think about it. Okay? Is that good enough?"

"If you buy the paper," Miriam told me, "I guarantee you'l find something worth writing in it."

Chapter 02

Shal we begin?

This is your first list.

You wil folow each instruction perfectly. There is no

margin for error. The penalty for failure is dismissal.

Your reward wil be my attention and command.

You wil write a list of ten. Five flaws. Five strengths.

Deliver them promptly to the address below.

The square envelope in my hand bore the faint ridges of

realy expensive paper and no glue on the flap, like the

reply envelope included with an invitation. I turned the

heavy, cream-colored card that had been inside it over

and over in my fingers. It felt like high-grade linen. Also

expensive. I fingered the slightly rough edge along one

side. Custom cut, maybe, from a larger sheet. Not quite

heavy enough to be a note card, but too thick to use in a

computer printer.

I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,

I lifted the envelope to my face and sniffed it. A faint,

musky perfume clung to the paper, which was smooth but

also porous. I couldn't identify the scent, but it mingled

with the aroma of expensive ink and new paper until my

head wanted to spin.

I touched the black, looping letters. I didn't recognize the

handwriting, and the letter bore no signature. Each word

had been formed carefuly, each letter precisely drawn,

without the careless loops, ticks and whorls that marked

most people's writing. This looked practiced and efficient.

Faceless.

The paper listed a post-office box at one of the local

branch offices, and that was it. Since moving into

Riverview Manor five months ago, I'd received a few

advertising circulars, requests for charitable donations

addressed to two different former tenants and way too

many bils. I hadn't had any personal mail at al. I turned

the card over again, listening to the soft sigh of the paper

on my skin. It didn't have a name or address on the front.

Only a number, scrawled in the same languid hand as the

note. I looked closer, seeing what in my haste I hadn't

noticed before.

114

114

That explained it, then. This note wasn't for me at al. The

ink had smeared a little, turning the one into a passable

version of a four, if you weren't paying close attention.

Someone had stuffed this into my mailbox, 414, by

mistake.

At least it wasn't another baby shower or wedding

invitation from "friends" I hadn't seen in the past few years.

I wasn't a fan of being put on a loot-gathering mailing list

just because once upon a time we'd been in a math class

together.

"What's that?" Kira had come up behind me in a cloud of

cigarette odor and now dug her chin into my shoulder.

I don't know why I didn't want to show her, but I closed

the card and slipped it back into the envelope, then found

the right mailbox and shoved it through the slot. I peeked

into the glass window and saw it resting inside the metal

cave, slim and single and alone.

"Nothing. It wasn't for me."

"C'mon then, whore. Let's get upstairs. We have a

"C'mon then, whore. Let's get upstairs. We have a

threesome with Jose, Jack and Jim." She held up the

clanking paper grocery sack containing the bottles.

Every woman should have a slutty friend. The one who

makes her feel better about herself. Because no matter

how drunk she got the night before, or how many guys she

made out with at that party, or how short her skirt is, that

slutty friend wil always have been…wel…sluttier.

Kira and I had traded that role back and forth over the

years, a fact I would never be proud of but couldn't hide.

"It's not even eight o'clock. Things don't start jumping until

at least eleven."

"Which is why I stopped at the liquor store." She looked

around the lobby and raised both eyebrows. "Wow.

Nice."

I looked, too. I always did, even though I'd memorized

nearly every tile in the floor. "Thanks. C'mon, let's grab the

elevator."

She had to have been as equaly impressed with my

apartment, but she didn't say so. She swept through it,

opening cupboard doors and looking in my medicine

cabinet, and when it came time to eat the subs we'd

bought for dinner she made a show of setting my scarred

kitchen table with real plates instead of paper. But she

didn't tel me it was nice.

It was almost like old times as we giggled over our food

and watched reality TV at the same time. I hadn't forgotten

what a bizarre and hilarious sense of humor Kira had, but

it had been a long time since I laughed so hard my stomach

clenched into knots. I was suddenly glad I'd invited her

over. There's something nice about being with someone

who already knows al your faults and likes you anyway…

or at least doesn't like you any less because of them.

She had a new boyfriend. Tony something-or-other, I

didn't recognize the name. Kira had never mentioned him

in her text messages or occasional e-mails to me, but the

way she dropped it casualy into our conversation now

meant she wanted me to ask about him.

"How long have you been going out?" I leveled a shot of

Cuervo and studied it, not sure I wanted to take it. Once

upon a time I'd been able to toss them back without fear

of the consequences, but I hadn't done much drinking

lately. I pushed it toward her, instead.

Kira drank back the shot with a practiced gulp. "Since just

after you moved. A long time."

I didn't feel as if it had been that long, but anything longer

than three months was a record of sorts with her. "Good

for you."

She wrinkled her nose. "Whatever. He's good in bed and

buys me shit. And he has a fucking awesome car. He's got

a job. He's not a loser."

"Al good things." I had slightly higher standards, or at least now I did, but I smiled at her description of him and

wrapped up the papers from our food.

Kira got up to help me. "Yeah. I guess so. He's a good

guy."

Which said more than anything else she had. I shot her a

look. Times did change, I reminded myself. So did people.

When it came time to get ready to go out, though, the Kira

I knew faked a gag. "Gawd, don't wear that."

I looked down at my low-rise jeans. They were boot cut. I

I looked down at my low-rise jeans. They were boot cut. I

had boots. I even had a cute cap-sleeved T-shirt. The

hours of working out I'd been putting in lately were paying

off. "What's wrong with what I have on?"

Kira swung open my closet door and rummaged around

inside. "Don't you have anything…better?"

High school was a long time ago, I wanted to say, but

looking at her short denim skirt and tight, bely-baring

blouse, I figured my comment would be lost. I shrugged,

instead.

"I know you have hotter clothes than that." Kira

reappeared from my closet with a handful of shirts and

skirts I remembered buying but hadn't worn in a long time.

She tossed the clothes onto my bed, where they spread

out in a month's worth of outfits.

I picked up a silky tank top in a pretty shade of lavender

and a stretchy black skirt. I held them up to myself in front

of my ful-length mirror. Then I put them back on the bed.

"No, thanks," I said. "I'l wear what I've got on. It's comfortable."

Kira shook her head. "Oh, ew. Paige, c'mon."

Kira shook her head. "Oh, ew. Paige, c'mon."

"Ew?" I looked at myself again. The jeans clung to my hips and ass just right, and my T-shirt emphasized how flat my

stomach was becoming. I thought I looked pretty damn

good. "What's ew?"

"It's just, you know…" Kira trailed off and pushed her

way next to me to hog the reflection. "You gotta show off

a little bit."

I looked her over. Even in my stack-heeled boots, I stood

a few inches shorter. She'd grown her natural red hair into