Sophomore Switch by Abby McDonald Page A

it’s getting late. Take care now.”
    “I will. Good night, Dad.”
    “And remember what I said about your résumé —”
    I carefully hang up the phone. Late? On campus, everything is just getting started. I’m the only one left sitting quietly in her room. Alone.
    As I look at my neat belongings and the pajamas already laid out on my pillow, I feel it again: the itch under my skin. The novelty of being away wore off once my first month was over; now every night feels the same. I look over my notes for next week’s classes, make myself a nutritionally balanced meal, watch a classic film on DVD, and make sure I’m tucked up in bed by ten thirty. A few chapters of my novel and then it’s lights-out, and hopefully I’ll be so deep into REM cycle by the time Morgan stumbles back at 2:00 AM that she won’t even wake me.
    I’m so bored I could scream.
    With a burst of energy, I leap up and go to my dresser. Dad’s talk of plans and preparation is suddenly too much. All I seem to do is prepare for a future that is just ahead of me, always out of reach. In school I was getting ready for Oxford: the committees, the student governmentcampaigns, the sport, and the extra projects that would tip me over into the privileged few applicants. Then, as soon as I got to Oxford, it became about life after university. Internships, networking, career strategies.
    Isn’t anything I do for me, right now?
    Quickly, I pull my hair up, exchange my T-shirt for a black vest top, and even swipe on a dab of tinted lip gloss. The desire to be normal is overwhelming, just for one night at least. A party, music, some friends. Not the overachiever — alone again — but a teenage girl out having fun.
    Do I even know how?
    Morgan forwarded me the invite, so I have all the details. I’m out of the building before I have a chance to take it back.
    There are half a dozen noisy parties spilling out along Del Ray Drive by the time I arrive, so I double-check the address Morgan left just to be certain I’m in the right place. It’s a warm night, and students are clustered on the front lawn of a three-story red-brick house, all conversation drowned out by the insistent thump of the “Come git it, git it” track playing over the stereo system. Not that they’re looking for conversation. In tiny skirts, polo shirts, and lashings of eyeliner, the girls are dressed for battle, and the boys — shoving each other around in a raucous mating ritual — seem to know it.
    I slip past a couple exploring each other’s esophagi and into the din, already feeling out of place. I’m not good in crowds, preferring small groups to the mass of bodieshere tonight, but I remind myself why I came in the first place. Normal. Teenage. Fun.
    All right.
    “Morgan?” After a loop through the house, I spot a familiar mane of blond hair in the lounge. I greet her with relief. “Hi, how are you?”
    “Em?” Morgan squints at me from the couch. She’s wearing a draped, glittery top and sitting on a muscular blond boy who is most definitely not Ryan. “You came?”
    “Yup.” I remind myself to smile. “What have I missed?”
    “Nothing much.” She giggles. “Right, Ben?” He nods, jiggling her on his lap so she squeals and pretends to bat his hands away.
    “Stop it!”
    “You stop it.”
    “I’m serious!”
    I wait awkwardly while they flirt until I spy Brooke by the loudspeakers, swaying rhythmically in the middle of a group of guys.
    “I’ll see you later.” Leaving Morgan to her hunk, I watch the makeshift dance floor for a moment before approaching. A couple of girls are grinding away like they’re in MTV videos, but the rest look casual enough, nothing but bobbing in time with the loud beat. I can do this.
    “Emmy!” Brooke squeals immediately, hugging me tight and pulling me into the group. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
    Dancing is a good move. Nobody tries to talk overthe shaking bass, and soon I’m breathless and having something close to