Chapter 1

Smack!

My hand reflexively cradles my face as white-hot pain courses through my cheek where the pretty blonde girl slapped me. I barely have time to ask why she hit me before she huffs and turns on her heel, dragging her boyfriend by the wrist in the direction of the cafeteria. The couple melts into the crowd of kids pushing past each other to be first in line for what passes for food at our school. 

I stand still for a moment, a bit shocked, but not surprised at my current predicament. All I did was compliment the boy’s teeth. They were really unique! One was longer than the rest, and all of them were pointed in different directions. They must not have understood. I thought I was pretty straightforward, but as soon as the compliment left my mouth the boy’s face fell. The next thing I knew, I had gained a hand-shaped bruise on my right cheek and lost two potential friends.

This is kind of the norm for me. I’ve spent the last 17 years trying to make a friend. Just one would be okay, but making friends is almost as hard as taming my hair. I’ve watched movies about friendship, read books, and even consulted wikiHow, but it’s like I’m surrounded by an invisible force that keeps away any potential companions. 

I shake my head, run a hand through my hair in a futile attempt to make it lay flat, and join the crowd swarming the lunchroom. I take my usual seat, alone at the peanut-free table. These past three years of high school have been rough. I mean, sure I have completed a decent amount of research and engineering projects, but what good is a robotic dog if no one wants to see its tricks?

I turn my attention to the table two ahead of mine. Six tall, pretty, popular girls sit with their hair done up in high ponytails, braids, and all kinds of elaborate hairdos. Their makeup is flawless. They all look like one of the YouTube beauty influencers I watch in my spare time. I pull out my phone and look at my image on the small screen. My hair is dark and frizzy. My eyebrows are in desperate need of a trim. My face is rather bony, like the rest of my gangly body. I’m the only girl in the junior class who still has braces, and my makeup looks like it was drawn on by a little kid with a crayon. 

I lock my phone with an exasperated sigh, angry at my own appearance, and storm off to the school bathroom. I pause outside the girl’s room, leaning against the wall and taking out my phone in an attempt to appear casual while I eavesdrop on the conversation I hear inside.

“- just so weird! I mean, she had the audacity to make fun of James like that. Everyone knows he’s insecure about his teeth.”

“She’s not worth your time, Jane. Next time she comes up to you just leave.”

“Mrs. Carlson asked me to invite her to our lunch table; she said she had no friends. I was trying to be nice, but I’m done with that freak.”

I don’t wait to hear anymore. I storm out the front door of the school, ignoring the protests of the teacher on lunch duty. I hop in my beat-up car and speed out of the school parking lot onto the main road. I just drive, not really paying attention to where I am going. Eventually, I arrive at a familiar intersection. The street to my left goes to the library. Books always help me calm down. 

I click my turn signal to the left and steer the car into the road. Blinded by anger, I don’t see the car speeding down the road to my right. It’s a four-way stop, so I usually don’t have to worry about the car to my right. That is the last thing I think about before the speeding driver blows the stop sign and slams into the passenger side of my car. All at once, my vision goes black.

Chapter 2

I come to with a strong breeze blowing against my face. I blink my eyes a few times to try and get my bearings. Everything feels weird. I look around. Directly to my right is a giant roller coaster that looks moments away from collapsing. That is when I realize I am not anywhere near my school. Hell, I may not be anywhere near my country. I go to run a shaking hand through my hair to soothe my nerves, but my hand is stopped half-way by a soft, small bun placed neatly atop my head. I freeze, my hand resting against the bun that I most certainly did NOT put in my hair.

I turn to my left and see my reflection in an ancient looking ice cream cart, my face warped by the old metal. I crouch down to take a look at my reflection. I am a young woman, maybe 24. My bright blue eyes are done up with makeup, not quite as good as the girls always sitting ahead of me at lunch, but way better than what I (the normal version of me) wear every day. I am wearing a stylish, but comfortable light pink sweater with a skirt and long socks tucked into my slightly oversized boots. All of a sudden, my legs start moving. It feels wrong to call this person me at this point, considering I have apparently lost all control of the body I am inhabiting,

The woman walks through an abandoned amusement park, her long, silky bangs whipping across her face as she pushes through the vines hanging down from the dilapidated entrance building. A creaking sound echoes through the air as the frames of old rides jostle in the violent wind. I see through her eyes as she gazes at a swing hanging off of a ride by a single chain. Where am I?

The woman sits down, leaning against a broken park bench and pulling out a worn, leather-bound book. I feel the smooth cover as she dusts off the dirt and debris from the ancient structures of the amusement park before paging through the journal, looking for a fresh page. I catch a few glimpses of her work. It’s beautiful. Not in a traditional way, though. Her art consists of abstract shapes and lines that come together to create a full image.

The woman pulls a pencil out of her neat brunette bun and puts it to her lip as she ponders where to start her drawing. I feel her content when she comes to a conclusion, and she gets to work. The pencil glides across the paper effortlessly. It feels familiar like the woman has been doing this for years. Maybe she has. 

She sits there for hours, occasionally pausing to shift her position. As I watch the woman’s hand (my hand?) glide across the page and dust away eraser shavings, I focus on the emotions and thoughts flowing through the woman’s body and mind. She is completely at home here. This feels like the one place in the universe where she is meant to be. This place though, the amusement park, is not familiar to her. 

It’s a weird feeling, experiencing another person’s emotions. Doubly so because the sense of tranquility she is feeling despite being completely alone in an unfamiliar location is something foreign to me. When I am left alone, my thoughts turn dark and self-deprecating. The noise of life (or music, when life is too quiet) helps me drown those thoughts out, so sitting without noise for hours is pretty much unthinkable for me. However, as I live vicariously through this woman, I don’t feel the same anxiety and dread that usually builds up when I’m left at the mercy of my brain for this length of time. 

The woman remains at the amusement park for the rest of the day. She walks around, drawing the different rides, singing to herself, braiding her hair, and just generally enjoying the day and her own company. By the time she sits under a tree to take a nap, I feel like I have gained a new perspective on life. I’ve never felt as in tune with myself and the world as this woman is feeling, and she experienced it all alone. I want to ponder what this means in relation to my own life, but I feel the eyelids of this body getting heavy. I carry that feeling of tranquility with me as the woman drifts gently into sleep.

Chapter 3

I blink slowly, my eyes adjusting to the light. My surroundings have changed again. Instead of waking up in my own body or under the tree the woman fell asleep at, I am staring up into the sky. I sit up, taking in the landscape. I’m sitting on a hill. In front of me is a vast expanse of grassy hills, peppered with small buildings, fires, and crop fields. The trees are changing color, enhancing the natural beauty of the land beneath the hill where I sit. Upon closer inspection, I see that many of the buildings are actually trailers. The few that are permanent structures are small; some of them look like they are in need of repair. 

I turn my head to the right as a Native American man with long, braided hair and a boy who I assume to be his son walk by. Now that I am facing it, the sun feels warm against my skin, which I notice is a few shades darker than usual. A light breeze blows through my hair, which is done up in a similar braid to the one in the man’s hair. I feel around for a phone or mirror, curious about my new appearance. 

I feel a soft cloth purse on my side. I open the zipper and eventually find a cell phone. I power on the phone. The screen lights up with a unique logo in the middle of the screen. It reads “Wôpanâak-Tec”. The first thing I do is take a look at my image in the camera app. The face looking back at me is one of a young, Native American woman, probably around my age. Her dark eyes look beautiful with the bit of mascara she tastefully applied. Now that I can see the entire braid, I see it is a bit different, and slightly more intricate than the braid in the man’s hair. 

 I begin scrolling through the phone. Despite the external appearance of the phone (it is one of the older iPhones), the actual software looks nothing like my iPhone back at home. It is completely customized, and the apps are in a language I have never seen before, but somehow I understand it. The phone is full of notes with code, blueprints for various mechanical devices, and pictures with the family of the girl whose body I am in. 

It seems like I have entered the body of a young engineer belonging to the Wampanoag tribe. I vaguely remember learning about the Wampanoag in school, but my memory is pretty fuzzy. I continue poking the blueprints on her phone, feeling a little like I am intruding, but her inventions are extremely creative. I can’t help myself. 

After taking a mental note of some of the diagrams and equations I saw, I put the phone away and take another look at the land splayed out in front of me. A happy feeling bubbles up in my chest. The girl I am sharing a body with is proud of the land in front of her. She grew up here. She helped this community build and grow. There is a similar feeling to the one the woman at the amusement park had with her art. The girl here feels completely fulfilled and content with her life. Her land and her family give her a purpose.

I lay back in the grass, pondering the meaning of these experiences. As I doze off staring at the clouds, I think about how these two women I have visited and how they are able to live so fully and effortlessly while remaining completely alone.

Chapter 4

I wake up in a hospital bed, surrounded by sterile white walls and the scent that always accompanies overly clean places such as this. A single piece of artwork adorns the wall to my right in a feeble attempt to make the room more welcoming. It doesn’t work. 

Gazing down at my body, I see that my leg is in a cast, my arm is in a sling, and my neck and back are in braces. I feel no pain, despite my slightly horrific-looking injuries. I must be on the good drugs, though no one is in the room to confirm that theory. I immediately look around for a mirror, phone, or anything else I can use to see what sort of body I have switched into this time. My hand finds a phone on the table next to the rather uncomfortable cot. The bulky case feels familiar in my hand. I slide up to access the camera and am extremely shocked by what I see. It’s me!

Just as I had gotten used to waking up in someone else's body, I am back to my own. It looks a bit different. I have a large scar across my face and, if even possible, it’s even bonier. All at once, the car crash comes flooding back to me. The heart monitor picks up the sudden increase in my heart rate, and a nurse comes rushing in. We talk for a while, going over my injuries, pain levels, and recovery times. Boring hospital stuff. The nurse tells me my parents will not be able to get to the hospital for two hours, and takes her leave.

Judging by the state of my leg. I am going to be in this hospital for a while. I begin to feel anxious about all of this extra time, but then I stop and think about what I have seen and felt through the artist and the engineer. I take a deep breath and begin to occupy myself by sketching (with one arm) what I remember from the Wampanoag girl’s diagrams. For the first time in a while, I feel okay. Maybe being alone is not so bad after all.