Lily was awoken by a peculiar alarm ringing, her head pounding as if she had had one too many festival lemonades. She groaned, trying to reach for her phone but only wrapping her hand around a huge sports watch. Her eyes snapped open, and she was tense. She wasn't in her dorm room. The room was messy—hockey sticks propped against a wall, protein shake cans on a desk, some NHL player's poster glaring down. On the bed, a mirror had been propped up with its surface facing away from Ethan. She blinked, beating behind. Ethan's face greeted hers back—a square jaw, green eyes, dark unruly hair. She raised her hand to her cheek, and the face mimicked hers. She screamed out, throat forming the sound into a low, unearthly growl. This was his voice. His shape. She sprang out of bed, running into a couple of ginormous sneakers. His hands—her hands—huge, callused, wrong.
"What the devil?" she snarled, Ethan's voice rough in her ear. Her gaze flew toward a ringing phone on the desk. A text from "Jake": Yo, cap, rink in 30. Don't be late.".
Captain? Rink? Lily's stomach dropped. She was Ethan, star of the team, and she couldn't ice skate. Her head swirled—last night, the festival, Ethan turning her down, the comet. Was she dreaming? Had she been struck on the head?
The door swung open and Lily's own face stared back, eyes flaming. Her tiny body, her dark curls, her blue sweater—it was hers, or was it hers. The girl's face was a mask of immobilized fury, no trace of Lily's mousy sheepish face.
"You," the girl sneered, in Lily's voice but using Ethan's deadly tone. "What did you do to me?"
Lily's eyes were wide, brain spinning. "Ethan?"
"No, I'm the freaking Tooth Fairy," he growled, slamming the door in her—his—face. He wiggled a trembling finger at her—his—figure. "You're in my body, and I'm in yours. Switch back, now."
"I didn't do anything!" Lily shrieked, her voice smacking against Ethan's chest. It was too small, like a too-tight garment. "I woke up like this! You think I'd want to be you?"
Ethan's scowl faltered, his hands—Lily's hands—crunching. "This is your doing. You and your bizarre confession last night. What, you waved a wand or something?"
"A spell?" Lily laughed, shattered. "You spurned me, remember? I cried myself to bed, not waved a wand!"
He walked, her tiny form ridiculous behind his stride, dictated by his fury. "We have to finish this before anyone knows what we've done. I have practice, I have a game coming up next week. If you get me dismissed from my team—"
"I can't play hockey!" Lily's voice broke. "I get along only in your wonderful feet!"
They were interrupted by a knock. "Yo, Ethan, you up?" Jake's voice at the door, drunk but insistent. "Coach'll kill you if you're late." Lily's heart sank. Ethan growled, "Be cool. Don't blow it." He pushed her aside, took a backpack—her backpack—and was gone, mumbling something about "getting through art class."
Lily stared at the door, fright welling up inside of her. She wasn't Ethan. She had no clue how to be him. Another knock. "Dude, c'mon!"
"Uh, yeah, coming!" she bellowed, wincing at Ethan's voice. She picked up his hoodie, knocking over a trophy. The mirror mocked her—Ethan's face, her wild eyes. She picked up his phone and keys, storming out the door.
Jake strutted down the hall, smug smile and shoulders. "You don't look so good, man. Bad night?"
"Something like that," Lily snarled, not looking at him. She followed him out onto campus, Ethan's tall legs catching her off balance. Early spring was cold, quad still littered with festival garbage. Students passed through the quad, none of them knowing that she was an imposter in their hockey captain's skin.
"Dude, you're quiet," Jake said, tossing a protein bar at her. She caught it clumsily. "What's with you? Hungover or what?"
"Just… tired," she said, mimicking Ethan's shrug from memory. Her mind spun. How was she supposed to survive practice? And where was Ethan, in her body, doing God-knows-what?
Out on the ice, the team was already warming up, the air heavy with ice and sweat. Seasoned Coach Dan, clipboard in hand, yelled, "Parker, move!"
Lily stood firm, then caught on to the joke he was playing on her—Ethan. She shook her head, retrieving skates from Ethan's locker, muttering curses at the laces with her hands. The other players chatted, speaking things like "power play" and "slapshot" that were just as unintelligible.
On the ice, she stumbles, reaches out for her stick to balance herself. Whistle blows and drills begin. Lily can't remain still, but her movements staccato, Ethan's stance odd. A puck is hurtling towards her and she thrashes around, misses. Jake snorts. "What's wrong with you, cap?"
"Bad day," she muttered, sweat beading under Ethan's helmet. She glanced at the stands, half-hoping to see herself—Ethan—but the bleachers were empty.
Back in the locker room, she checked Ethan's phone, finding a text from "Lily" (Ethan): Art class is hell. Don't ruin my life. She typed back, I'm trying. This is insane.
When she pushed the phone aside, something knocked against Ethan's pocket. She pulled out a small, silver pendant, with a metal surface marked by a small star. It gave off a soft heat, glowing for one moment. Lily took in a sharp breath. She remembered Nora dropping it into her bag yesterday, her aunt's teasing words: "It finds your truth.".
Before she could get her head around it, Jake slapped her on the back. "Get it together, man. Coach is watching."
She nodded, shoving the pendant aside. Truth? What truth? All she knew was that she was stuck and Ethan was useless to her.
Nearby on campus, Ethan sat in Lily's art class, her tiny fingers smeared with charcoal. The teacher droned on about shading, but he wasn't listening, his mind on the rink. Mia, sitting next to him, scrunched up her face. "Lily, are you okay? You're being weird."
"I'm fine," he snapped, her soft voice startling him. Mia's eyes blazed, and he cursed himself. He had to play this just so, or Lily's nosy friend would ruin everything.
Back at the rink, Coach Dan called an end to practice, but not before pulling Lily aside. "Parker, you're off today. Get your head in the game. Championship's in a week."
"Yes, sir," she said, Ethan's voice steady despite her churning gut.
As the team filed out, Ethan appeared at the rink's entrance, in her body, arms crossed. "You're a disaster," he said, her face twisted in his scowl.
"And you're loving my life, huh?" she shot back, towering over her own body.
He dragged her into the empty bleachers, his voice rumbling low. "We're in a bind, so you'd better get with it PDQ. If we lose that game on your account, you're out."
Lily fumed, Ethan's eyes sparkling with her rage. "Then assist me, rather than shouting."
He stopped, then breathed deeply. "Alright. Meet me at the stadium tonight. I'll show you the ropes."
He began to head away, and Lily clutched the pendant, still warm. Something bigger than herself was in motion, but she was trapped being Ethan for the time being. She attended his next class, horror and determination fighting it out within her.