Chapter 4: The Switch 'Leo'

Something's wrong before I even open my eyes. The mattress feels different—too soft, too spacious. The air smells wrong—not the familiar mix of laundry detergent and Madison's vanilla candles, but something muskier, with hints of leather and coffee.

I roll over, reaching for my alarm. My hand hits a nightstand that shouldn't be there.

My eyes snap open.

This isn't my room.

I bolt upright, panic flooding my system. The space around me is unfamiliar—larger than my dorm, with exposed brick walls and music posters. A guitar case leans against the wall. Clothes litter the floor.

"What the..."

The voice that emerges from my throat isn't mine. It's deeper, rougher.

Horror slows time to a crawl as I lift my hands to my face. They're not my hands—they're larger, with calluses on the fingertips. A thin leather bracelet circles one wrist.

I scramble out of bed, nearly falling as my body responds differently than expected. Taller. Heavier. Wrong.

The mirror across the room confirms my impossible fear.

Leo Martinez stares back at me, eyes wide with panic.

I touch my—his—face. The reflection mimics the movement perfectly. I run my fingers through short, dark curls that aren't mine. Down a jawline that's too sharp. Over stubble I've never had.

"This isn't happening," I whisper in Leo's voice.

My heartbeat quickens unnaturally, skipping rhythms it shouldn't. A sharp pain radiates from my chest, stealing my breath.

I stumble to the bathroom, gripping the sink for support. Leo's face looks pale in the mirror, sweat beading on his forehead. The irregular heartbeat thunders in my ears.

A phone chimes from the bedroom. I stagger back, finding Leo's iPhone on the nightstand. The screen displays multiple notifications:

Noah: Band meeting at 10. Don't be late again.

Riley: Dude did you see the new chords I sent? Thoughts?

Dr. Mercer: Please call my office TODAY. This is urgent.

Unknown: Sleep well, asshole.

I unlock the phone—no password, of course—and pull up the camera. With shaking hands, I switch to the front-facing lens.

Leo's face stares back at me, pale and panicked. I stick out my tongue. The reflection does the same.

"Oh my god," I breathe, Leo's voice vibrating in my throat. "Oh my god, oh my god."

A horrible thought hits me. If I'm in Leo's body...

Leo → Ava

The alarm shrieks like a banshee. I groan, reaching blindly to silence it, but my hand finds empty air.

Wrong side. I roll over, eyes still closed, and reach again. My fingers brush something hard and plastic. The sound stops.

"Thank god," I mumble, burying my face in the pillow.

My voice sounds wrong—higher, softer. Must be coming down with something.

I drift back toward sleep, but the persistent buzz of a phone drags me to consciousness. I fumble around, finding a phone that's not mine—smaller, with a cracked case and volleyball stickers.

The name on the screen makes my blood freeze: Jade Moreno.

I sit up so fast the room spins. Except it's not my room. It's smaller, with two beds. Posters of professional volleyball players line the walls. Textbooks stack neatly on a desk.

"What the hell?"

I look down at my body. Slim arms. Smaller hands. A faded Crescendo University Volleyball t-shirt.

"No. No way."

My heart races as I throw off the covers. Toned legs that aren't mine. Feet that are too small.

I stumble to the nearest mirror, dread pooling in my stomach. Ava Lin's shocked face stares back at me, mouth open in horror.

"This can't be happening," I whisper, Ava's voice strange in my ears.

I touch her face—my face?—tracing features that aren't mine. Long dark hair falls around my shoulders. I tug at it, the pain confirming this isn't a dream.

The phone buzzes again. Jade's name flashes on the screen.

Are you alive? Practice starts in 20. Coach is already on the warpath.

I ignore it, frantically searching the room for clues. Volleyball gear neatly packed in a duffel bag. Physical therapy bands hanging from a hook. Notes organized by subject.

I find a bathroom at the end of the hall—communal, because of course it is—and lock myself in. The mirror confirms the impossible: I'm in Ava Lin's body.

Her shoulder aches dully, a constant throb that I hadn't noticed at first. I roll it experimentally, wincing at the flare of pain. That's going to be a problem.

Back in the room, I grab Ava's phone again, scrolling through her contacts. I find my name—Leo M. with no picture, no emoji. Just my number.

My fingers hover over the screen. If I'm in her body, then she must be...

The realization hits me like a freight train. She's in my apartment. In my body. With my heart condition. With access to everything—my music, my meds, my life.

I press call before I can think twice, holding my breath as it rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?" My own voice answers, sounding strangled with panic.

"Ava?" I ask carefully.

A sharp intake of breath. "Leo?"

For a moment, neither of us speaks, the impossibility of our situation hanging in the air between us.

"What's happening to us?" she finally whispers, using my voice.

The phone nearly slips from my grasp, my hands—her hands—suddenly slick with sweat.

"I don't know," I admit, fear threading through Ava's voice. "But I think we've traded lives... and I have no idea how to switch back."