Jake

The first thing that struck me was the smell. Not the usual sweet aroma, but a sharp, tart trail of cologne. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push away this intrusive little world, but it was everywhere—on the pillow, on the blanket, in the air I breathed. I reached up to rub my sleepy eyes and felt an unfamiliar heaviness in my muscles. My hands were too big, my palms rough and strong. Anxiety, sharp and chilling, gripped my chest. I slowly opened my eyes. *The ceiling above wasn't my white one with its butterfly chandelier, but gray plaster. I glanced around. The room was alien, austere, and boring. Bare walls, save for a faded poster of some loud rock band I'd always hated. On the desk lay a pile of textbooks, scattered parts of some mechanism, and an empty soda can. This was his room. Jake's room. The same guy who had shoved me so contemptuously in the school hallway yesterday, throwing over his shoulder, "Watch your step." Panic, hot and uncontrollable, hit my temples. No. It can't be. This is my worst nightmare. My hand—no, his hand—reached out to the nightstand where the stranger's smartphone lay. I grabbed it frantically. The screen was locked. A blind guess made me place my thumb on the scanner. Unlocked. A call appeared on the screen, I picked it up: It's Jake. Don't laugh, don't panic, and don't hang up. You won't believe it. I woke up today and everything was pink. That stupid flower wallpaper, everything was so sickeningly cute... And when I went to wash my face, I saw myself in your mirror. At first I thought it was nonsense, a nightmare. But no. This is your body. Which means, somewhere out there, in MINE, you're sitting. Listen up and remember. You're in my apartment now. Don't touch my things. Don't go into the bottom drawer. And don't talk to ANYONE—especially my friends. One wrong move and we're both screwed. Meet me today at 5:00 PM by the old garages behind the school. You know where it is. Come alone. And look... like I usually do. Damn.