Sophomore Switch(46)
Author: Abby McDonald

And then Louise comes back out, Professor Elliot fast on her heels. Their faces are full of disbelief.

“Natasha?” Louise looks at me in confusion. She holds out a newspaper, the Oxford Student logo clear on the front. I take it, because there’s nothing I can do to make this go away.

“Tasha?” she repeats, and I wince at the name, sick. I haven’t been Tasha for months.

“What is it?” Carrie takes the newspaper from me and unfolds it, and everything stops.

WOMEN’S CAMPAIGN UNDERMINED BY CELEBRITY SCANDAL, the headline reads. And underneath, the photograph I know by heart: my bare top to the (hidden) camera as I straddle Tyler in the hot tub, so clear you can see that harmony tattoo on my hip.

It’s over.

24

I lie awake most of the night, analyzing our kisses from every possible angle. I can still feel Ryan’s hands on my body and his mouth on mine, my veins sparkling with a fierce heat I’ve never known before.

And I know for certain that Sebastian was wrong.

I don’t have a problem with intimacy or issues with physical commitment. I’d thought that everything he said was true, but in the end, it was only true with him. Hours ago, I’d been tangled up in Ryan’s body wanting more, not caring about rules or limits or lines that could be crossed. I’d been free, my internal monologue finally quiet. For the first time in my life, there had been nothing but me in my body, feeling every touch without that constant filter of disconnection.

I lie still between my sheets and feel a slow smile spread across my face. The dull fear I’ve been carrying in the back of my mind for months slips away with every exhaled breath. Sebastian was wrong — I keep repeating it to myself. I’m not doomed to a life trapped inside my own mind. I can feel and act without thinking. I can just be.

I drift back and forth between sleep for a few more hours until my mobile begins to vibrate violently on my nightstand. I pick up, wondering for a moment whether it could be him, but I can’t decipher a single word on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” I kick off my covers and stretch. “Who is this?” There’s nothing but a muffled snuffling sound, and then I hear a voice.

“Em?”

I pause. “Natasha? Is that you?”

There’s a sob, and then, “They hate me. They all hate me!”

“Shhh, it’s all right. Just calm down and tell me what’s wrong.” I sit cross-legged on the bed in my plaid pajamas and try to make sense of her tear-soaked voice. “Natasha? It’ll be OK. What happened?”

“It’s over,” she says, with such resignation in her voice I know that something is terribly wrong. “They know.”

“About . . . ? Oh god!” I gasp.

“The Oxford Student ran an exposé,” Natasha continues, “right before the board meeting. Everyone says I’ve ruined the campaign!”

“That’s not true!” I protest hopefully. “I’m sure it won’t make any difference.”

“But it has! They all totally despise me now. God, Em, you should have seen them. Carrie wouldn’t even look me in the eye, and Professor Elliot . . .” Natasha begins to cry again.

I wait, picking at the bedspread until her tears seem to have subsided. I know how much her escape meant to her, how important it was to start fresh where nobody knew about the scandal. And now . . .

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m completely screwed too,” I offer in a whisper. “I kissed Ryan last night.”

“You and Ryan?” Natasha’s voice lifts a little. “You mean . . . ? No way!”

“I know.” I sigh. In the early dawn light of the morning after, my moment of reckless abandon is edged with fresh guilt. “I’m a terrible person.”

“That makes two of us.”

“No!” I insist firmly. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Not according to Uma. She says now the board can just write off the center as something just for irresponsible sluts.”

“She said that to you?” I blink. “Natasha, that’s awful.”

“That was only the start of it, Em. They were all going on about, like, reinforcing gender stereotypes and setting back the women’s movement. You’d think I repealed Roe versus Wade!” She tries to laugh, but her voice is still hollow.

“Well, they’re just narrow-minded, self-righteous bitches!” I say fiercely. I never had a problem with Carrie and her crusades before, but listening to Natasha sound so alone is heartbreaking. “Don’t pay attention to a word they say.”

“I wish I could, but . . .” Natasha wavers. “What if they’re right? What if I have wrecked the campaign? All that work and — people need that center.”

“The board won’t pay attention to stupid gossip, trust me.”

“But what am I supposed to do? The group, they were my friends, but now . . .” Another sniffle. “They never want to speak to me again.”

“Then that’s their loss.” I hug my toes to keep them warm and try to think of something, anything, to make her feel better. “You’re worth ten Carries, hot tub or no hot tub.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I know, but it’s true. Look at what you’ve managed to achieve — you went to Oxford! You’ve been getting firsts in your essays; you contributed to a great campaign.” I try to make my enthusiasm cross the continent between us. “You’re the bravest person I know, Natasha. All I’ve had to do is dye my hair and turn up late a few times, and even then I managed to mess up.”

“Don’t you start.” She sniffles, a slight smile to her voice. “Or we’ll both be a wreck.”

“Score one more for team Global Exchange.”

“So come on, tell me what happened with Ryan.” I hear the sound of movement, as if Natasha is shifting around in her room. “Morgan sure won’t be happy.”

“Which is why I’m not going to tell her,” I say in a hushed voice, ever mindful of the short hallway separating our rooms. “Can you imagine? I think she’d cut off my hair in my sleep or something.”

“Good move,” Natasha agrees. “She swears she switched some girl’s conditioner for hair removal cream when she hooked up with her boyfriend.”

“I better buy new products,” I mutter darkly.

Natasha laughs. “So you’ll keep it on the down-low for the rest of the time? There’s only another two weeks left, thank god.”