Impostor by Jill Hathaway Page B

planned, her car idling.
    “Shall we?” she asks, putting the car into drive.
    “Let’s go,” I reply.
     
    We reach our destination a few minutes before ten. Samantha parks her car next to the crumbling pavilion, and I get out and hike the rest of the way to Lookout Point. I find a small grove of trees not far from the spot where kids park. I sit down beneath a tree to wait, feeling the small piece of cloth I tore from last year’s Homecoming dress tucked away in my pocket. I’ve used it before to slide into his head.
    Five minutes pass, and I wonder if Scotch and Regina are going to come after all. I panic as I consider the possibility that Scotch could have taken her somewhere else, and she’d be alone with him.
    They’re ten minutes late.
    Fifteen.
    I’m just about ready to go find Samantha and suggest that we call Regina when some headlights flash through the trees above my head. The familiar sight of Scotch’s Mustang crunches by on the gravel, and the car stops about twenty yards from my hiding spot, facing the city lights.
    I squint, trying to see what’s going on, but all I can really make out is the back of Scotch’s head and Regina’s profile. They seem to be lost in conversation. After a few minutes, Scotch leans toward Regina.
    What are you doing, Regina? You’re supposed to get out of the car.
    I decide I can’t wait any longer.
    Lying down, I rub my fingers against the fabric, concentrating on the sensation of silk against skin. The whole world starts to fade away, and then I am gone.
     
    The car smells of liquor and leather.
    Scotch hoists a bottle and takes a huge drink. The liquid burns all the way down. He looks over at Regina, who’s gazing at him with bedroom eyes. Perhaps she has been drinking, too. This plan isn’t going to work if Regina wants to make out with Scotch. She doesn’t know him, doesn’t know what he’s capable of.
    “I’m just . . . so fragile right now,” Scotch says.
    The line makes me want to gag.
    Regina reaches over and grabs his hand. “It’s going to be okay. You know, after my brother died—”
    How am I going to pull this off if she doesn’t leave?
    Scotch leans toward Regina, cutting her off midsentence. I decide I’ve had enough. I take control of his limbs, his mouth. I yank him back into an upright position.
    “Are you okay?” Regina asks, her eyes wide.
    “Get out of here,” I tell her.
    “Excuse me?”
    “I said to get out of here,” I repeat, more loudly this time. She scrambles backward, fumbling with the door handle. It takes her several tries, but she finally pushes open the door and bursts into the cool night. She doesn’t even bother to close the door, just starts running.
    Shit.
    I didn’t mean to scare her.
    Then I notice that Scotch’s keys are dangling from the ignition. I’ll throw them off the cliff, along with his clothes. Then he’ll have to walk home butt-naked.
    A movement catches my eye. Something in the headlights. Someone.
    At first glance, I think it’s my sister, and I’m ready to get out of the car and yell at her for not staying at home like I told her to, but then I remember I’m in Scotch’s body.
    The girl turns, light bouncing off her blond hair, and I realize it isn’t my sister. The black Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. The torn jeans. It’s what I’m wearing, or what I was wearing before I slid into Scotch.
    The girl.
    Is.
    Me.
    Unable to breathe, I push the car door open. The girl is twirling around, inches from the cliff. Doesn’t she know she’s close to falling?
    As I watch her, something occurs to me. If I am here, inside Scotch . . . that means someone else is inside me. Making me dance so near the edge.
    “Stop it!” I scream. My voice is deep. Scotch’s voice.
    The girl pauses. I take a step closer. Her gaze falls on me, and her eyes widen.
    “Get away from the edge!” I yell, taking a few steps toward her.
    She takes a step backward, closer to her death.
    My death.
    A fury takes hold