The Agreement - Part 1

 

“Oh, we should totally keep this a secret!” my sister, Emma, giggled, “Let’s not tell any of our parents.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to distract myself from my cousin, Mila’s reflection, “Why?”

I coughed, not used to Mila’s voice coming out of my throat.

“Yeah, Emma,” Mila, who was now in my body, spoke in my old gravely post-pubescent male voice, “No one knows, right? We should try, at least!”

“For how long though?” I said, exasperated.

Mila and Emma, giggled at each other like two peas in a pod.

“Well…” Mila started, “You two were driving back home on Monday, right? What do you say we stay this way until then, John?”

“That’s four whole days!” I protested.

I ran my fingers through the long brown hair that now fell past my shoulders, still not used to the sensation, “You want me to pretend to be you for four days?”

Emma interjected, “What’s the big deal? You get to be a girl.”

I caught my reflection in the mirror again. Mila’s hazel eyes stared back at me, wide with concern. My stomach twisted.

Mila, in my body, stretched her—my—arms above her head with an exaggerated yawn, “Relax, cuz. It’s not like we’re swapping forever. Just a little vacation from ourselves.”

“Our parents will find out. They know about the device. It’s Thanksgiving weekend. Everybody’s here.”

Emma’s eyes lit up with mischief, “That’s what makes it fun! Besides, nobody would expect it. They’d never believe we’d actually use Uncle Frank’s weird invention.”

I crossed my arms in a huff, only to feel a sudden, foreign softness press against my forearms. It was as if I’d accidentally smuggled a pair of warm water balloons under my shirt.

And now that I was Mila, I was no longer a “guest” in this house. This was Mila’s own bedroom.

I looked at a collage of polaroids. One in particular featured her with her mouth open in a shriek of laughter. My new laughter, I supposed.

Mila’s face in the mirror, with its delicate cheekbones and faint constellation of freckles, stared back at me expectantly, as if demanding I play along with this charade. I lifted a hand, almost involuntarily, and touched the cheek, the jawline, the lips.

How was Mila okay with this?

A shudder ran through me. The thought of navigating Mila’s body through everyday tasks felt like trespassing. Her skin, her curves, her... everything.

“You’re overthinking it,” Mila said, noticing my discomfort, “I know you’d never do anything weird with my body. I trust you!”

I wasn’t so sure…

The bedroom door creaked open. We froze as my mother poked her head in, “Kids? Dinner’s almost ready. Mila, your mom wants you downstairs to help set the table.

I stood paralyzed, my heart pounding against unfamiliar ribs, “Um, sure, Aunt Karen. I’ll be right down.”