Chapter 5: Wrong Notes, Wrong Spikes Ava (in Leo’s Body)

The phone feels too big in my, Leo’s, hands, slick with sweat as his voice, my voice now, trembles through the speaker. “I don’t know,” Leo says, his words coming out in my softer tone, laced with panic. “But I think we’ve traded lives… and I have no idea how to switch back.”

I grip the edge of Leo’s nightstand, his callused fingers digging into the wood. My chest, his chest, thuds with an erratic rhythm, like a drum solo gone wrong. “This is insane,” I whisper, his gravelly voice sounding foreign. “People don’t just… swap bodies.”

“Tell that to my mirror,” Leo snaps, my voice sharp with his attitude. “I’m staring at your face, Lin, and it’s freaking me out.”

I glance at the mirror across his apartment. Leo’s dark curls, sharp jaw, and wide, panicked eyes stare back. My stomach lurches. “Yeah, well, your face isn’t exactly a picnic either.”

“Focus,” he says, my voice taking on his commanding tone. “We’ve got problems. I’m supposed to be at your volleyball practice in, like, fifteen minutes. Jade’s blowing up your phone.”

“And I’ve got your band meeting at ten,” I shoot back, scrolling through his notifications. Noah, Riley, someone named Dr. Mercer, urgent, call now. “What’s with this doctor? Are you sick or something?”

A pause. Too long. “Just… stress,” he says, evasive. “Look, we can’t let anyone know. If people figure out we’re not us, we’re screwed.”

“No kidding.” I rub my, his, temples, wincing as another irregular heartbeat pulses through me. “What do we do? I can’t play guitar, and you can’t spike a volleyball.”

“We fake it,” he says, my voice firm despite the tremor. “We cover until this… whatever it is reverses. Meet me tonight, somewhere quiet. Flat Fifth, nine PM. We’ll figure it out.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “But if you tank my scholarship, Martinez, I’ll, ”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll kill me. Noted.” He hangs up before I can respond.

I toss the phone onto his bed, heart racing, literally. Something’s wrong with his body, beyond the shock of being in it. I stumble to his bathroom, needing a moment to breathe. The mirror looms, and I avoid it, focusing on splashing water on his face. His stubble scratches my fingers, alien and rough.

I grab a towel, drying off, and hesitate. Curiosity tugs, embarrassing but undeniable. I’m in a guy’s body. A guy who’s… well, Leo Martinez. I glance down, just a quick peek, and my, his, cheeks burn. “Okay, wow,” I mutter, snapping my eyes away. “That’s… a lot to deal with.” I fumble with the towel, knocking over a shampoo bottle that clatters loudly. “Get it together, Ava.”

I pull on his jeans and a t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his broader frame. His boots are heavy, making me stumble as I head out. The campus quad is already buzzing, students casting curious glances at “Leo.” I try mimicking his confident stride, but it feels like I’m wearing someone else’s skin, because I am.

The music building looms ahead, its glass-walled rehearsal studios glinting in the morning sun. I push through the basement door to the band’s practice space, heart pounding. Noah’s setting up his bass, Riley’s twirling a drumstick, and Zack’s fiddling with a keyboard. They look up, expectant.

“Yo, Leo, you’re almost late,” Riley says, grinning. “Rough night?”

“Uh, yeah,” I mumble, unzipping Leo’s guitar case. The instrument feels like a foreign object, its weight awkward in my hands. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Noah narrows his eyes. “You good? You’re paler than usual.”

“Fine,” I say too quickly, slinging the guitar strap over my shoulder. My fingers brush the strings, and a discordant twang echoes. I wince.

“Let’s run ‘Carnival Lights,’” Zack says, adjusting his beanie. “Blackwave’s gonna be at Battle of the Bands. We need that intro perfect.”

I nod, pretending I know what he means. They count in, and I strum, hoping muscle memory kicks in. It doesn’t. The sound is a screeching mess, like a cat falling down a staircase. Riley stops drumming, and Noah’s hands freeze on his bass.

“Dude,” Riley says, laughing. “What was that? You drunk?”

“Hungover,” I blurt, heat flooding Leo’s face. “Just… off my game.”

Noah’s not buying it. “Since when do you butcher your own song? Try again.”

I grip the guitar, panic rising. My fingers, Leo’s fingers, are callused, but I don’t know where to put them. I strum again, producing another awful noise. Zack groans, and Noah steps closer, frowning.

“Leo, seriously, what’s up? You’re acting like you’ve never held a guitar before.”

“I’m fine,” I snap, Leo’s voice sharper than I intend. “Just… give me a sec.” I turn away, pretending to tune the guitar, but my hands shake. I can’t do this. Not without help.

My phone buzzes, Leo, texting from my number: 'Practice is a nightmare. You better not be screwing up my band.' I reply: 'Too late. Meet at Flat Fifth, 9. Don’t ruin my life.'

I shove the phone in my pocket, turning back to the band. “Let’s try vocals first,” I say, hoping Leo’s voice can carry me.

Noah raises an eyebrow but nods. “Alright, from the top.”

I open my mouth, praying I can fake it.

Leo (in Ava’s Body)

Jade’s pounding on the dorm door like she’s trying to break it down. “Ava, move it! Coach is gonna skin us if we’re late!”

I freeze, clutching Ava’s phone, my thumb hovering over her reply to my text. Her hands, my hands now, are smaller, nimbler, but they tremble as I type: 'Too late. Meet at Flat Fifth, 9. Don’t ruin my life.'

“Ava!” Jade’s voice cuts through the door. “I’m coming in!”

The door swings open, and Jade storms in, her ponytail swinging. “What’s with you? You’re never this slow.” Her eyes narrow, taking in my disheveled state, Ava’s volleyball t-shirt, her hair a tangled mess.

“Uh, didn’t sleep,” I say, Ava’s voice soft and unfamiliar. Her shoulder throbs, a dull ache that flares when I move. How does she play through this?

Jade grabs Ava’s duffel bag, tossing it at me. “No excuses. Practice starts in ten. Let’s go.”