Free Switched by Jessica Wollman Page B

or something?”
    It was the first question Angie had asked about Laura’s life—her own interests—the whole evening. Unless you counted the dozens of times she’d said, “Hey, how come your cheeks turn all red like that every time you talk?”
    After that, Angie started calling Laura the professor. Laura repeatedly asked Angie to stop—about thirty times in all. But, not surprisingly, Angie wasn’t the best listener. Laura had a feeling “the professor” would be engraved on her tombstone.
    Finally, after Angie had dealt her last organ-smashing hug and lurched off into the night, Laura said good night to her mom and Benji and escaped to her room.
    She lay down on the bed. Every inch of her was sore and bruised. What a day. She’d gone from heiress to Angie. It was quite a tumble.
    She sighed. She loved her mother and she was happy for her. But Angie was a nightmare.
    Laura’s thoughts turned to Willa, sleeping soundly in her million-dollar mansion.
    Envy reigned over her.
    Willa had money. Willa had Fenwick. Willa had everything.
    From the kitchen, Laura could hear her mother and Benji, laughing together as they filled out a Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes application.
    Even if her last name wasn’t Pogue, her mother had found a way to make her own life glitter.
    Now Laura just had to do the same for herself.

14
    The etiquette of telephoning is quite important and many otherwise perfectly well-bred people often make themselves conspicuous because they do not know the correct procedure in using this modern but almost indispensable invention.
—Perfect Behavior
    Donald Ogden Stewart
    Willa’s foot skimmed the lukewarm water as her silver raft drifted across the pool. Yesterday had been incredible.
    She’d reprioritized her MySpace friends, streamed three new Lubé Special songs, logged some quality TV time, then topped it all off with a sound, dreamless sleep.
    The vacation from herself had, in fact, been so fantastic that she had decided to extend it into this morning. She would reclaim her dreary life when she laid eyes on Laura Melon. Not a second sooner.
    And that meant the person floating in the Pogues’ heated pool did not answer to the name Willa Tierney Pogue. Her name was Laura Melon.
    It would have to be. Willa Pogue avoided bare bathing suit situations at all costs. She never hung out at the pool without the safety of some sort of towel or cover-up.
This
girl—the person she was now—felt fantastic in her black tank.
    There was only one problem with this picture: the phone was ringing.
    BBBBeeep. BBBBeeep.
    Willa popped one eye open and turned toward the sound. “God, that’s loud,” she muttered. She hadn’t even known there was a phone out here. She made a mental note to turn the volume down—or better yet,
off
—when she got out of the pool.
    Hello, you’ve reached the . . .
    There was a machine out here, too? That figured. God forbid her mother miss an important call from the Junior League while she was underwater.
    On the plus side, at least the ringing had stopped. Hopefully, the idiot would just hang up, rather than leave a message. It was probably that loser Blake kid. Why wouldn’t he just give up?
    “Willa! Willa Pogue! Pick up the phone immediately! I will
not
have this particular conversation with an answering machine! Do you unde—”
    Her mother’s voice vibrated like a cherry bomb. Willa flipped off the raft and plunged into the water.
    Her minivacation had come to a catastrophic halt.
    Maybe Laura got caught,
Willa considered as she swam to the side.
She never called. Maybe she’s in real trou—
    “If you don’t pick up this phone in the next thirty seconds, I’m sending Emory to find out exactly what it is that you’ve been up to down there, because—”
    Willa sprinted out of the pool, upsetting a row of patio furniture. Green and white cushions rained down around her as she grabbed the phone.
    “Hi, Mom,” she sputtered. “What’s up?
    “Don’t you