I realize: I am not going to convince her. Not like this. Not here.

“Look,” I say, “what if we met here again tomorrow at the same time? I won’t be in the same body, but I’ll be the same person. Would that make it easier to understand?”

She’s skeptical. “But couldn’t you just tell someone else to come here?”

“Yes, but why would I? This isn’t a prank. This isn’t a joke. It’s my life.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re just saying that. You know I’m not. You can sense that much.”

Now it’s her turn to look me in the eye. Judge me. See what connection she can find.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Today I’m Megan Powell.”

“No. I mean your real name.”

My breath catches. Nobody has ever asked me this before. And I’ve certainly never offered it.

“A,” I say.

“Just A?”

“Just A. I came up with it when I was a little kid. It was a way of keeping myself whole, even as I went from body to body, life to life. I needed something pure. So I went with the letter A.”

“What do you think about my name?”

“I told you the other night. I think it’s beautiful, even if you once found it hard to spell.”

She stands up from her chair. I stand up, too.

She holds there. I can tell there are lots of thoughts she’s considering, but I have no idea what they are. Falling in love with someone doesn’t mean you know any better how they feel. It only means you know how you feel.

“Rhiannon,” I say.

She holds up her hand for me to stop.

“No more,” she tells me. “Not now. Tomorrow. I’ll give you tomorrow. Because that’s one way to know, isn’t it? If what you say is happening is really happening—I mean, I need more than a day.”

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“Don’t thank me until I show up,” she says. “This is all really confusing.”

“I know.”

She puts on her jacket and starts heading for the door. Then she turns around to me one last time.

“The thing is,” she says, “I didn’t really feel it was him that day. Not completely. And ever since then, it’s like he wasn’t there. He has no memory of it. There are a million possible explanations for that, but there it is.”

“There it is,” I agree.

She shakes her head.

“Tomorrow,” I say.

“Tomorrow,” she says, a little less than a promise, and a little more than a chance.

Day 6003

I am not alone when I wake up the next morning.

I am sharing the room with two other boys—my brothers, Paul and Tom. Paul is a year older than me. Tom is my twin. My name is James.

James is big—a football player. Tom is about the same size. Paul is even bigger.

The room is clean, but even before I know what town I’m in, I know we’re not in the nice part of it. This is a big family in a small house. There is not going to be a computer here. James is not going to have a car.

It’s Paul’s job—self-appointed or otherwise—to get us up and out. Our father’s not home from the night shift yet, and our mother’s already on the way to her job. Our two sisters are about done with the bathroom. We’re next.

I access and find that I’m in the town next to Nathan’s, over an hour from Rhiannon’s.

This is going to be a hard day.

The bus ride to school takes forty-five minutes. When we get there, we head to the cafeteria for free breakfast. I am amazed at James’s appetite—I pile on pancake after pancake, and he’s still hungry. Tom matches him bite for bite.

Luckily, I have study hall first period. Unluckily, there’s still homework that James needs to do. I push through that as quick as I can, and have about ten minutes of computer time left at the end.

There’s a message from Rhiannon, written at one in the morning.

A,

I want to believe you, but I don’t know how.

Rhiannon

I write back:

Rhiannon,

You don’t need to know how. You just make up your mind and it happens.

I am in Laurel right now, over an hour away. I am in the body of a football player named James. I know how strange that sounds. But, like everything I’ve told you, it’s the truth.

Love,

A

There’s just enough time for me to check my other email address. There’s another email from Nathan.

You can’t avoid my questions forever. I want to know who you are. I want to know why you do what you do.

Tell me.

Again, I leave him unanswered. I have no idea whether I owe him an explanation or not. I probably owe him something. But I’m not sure it’s an explanation.

I make it through to lunch. I want to go immediately to the library to check the computers again. But James is hungry, and Tom is with him, and I am afraid that if he doesn’t get his lunch now, there won’t be anything for him to eat until dinnertime. I checked, and there’s only about three dollars in his wallet, including change.

I get the free lunch and eat it quickly. Then I excuse myself to the library, which inspires no shortage of taunts from Tom, who claims that “libraries are for girls.” A true brother, I shoot back with, “Well, that explains why you never find any.” A wrestling match ensues. All of this takes away time from what I need to do.