Switched Read Online Free PDF

a picture of her.
    Well, it wasn’t exactly her—but it was close. The complexion was the same: blond hair, green eyes and skin unusually dark for someone with such fair hair—people were always asking Laura if she used a spray-on tanner. The soft, round nose was identical too—even down to the light splash of freckles across the bridge. She wore her bright blond hair down, while Laura’s was pulled into a ponytail. The similarity was amazing.
    Laura thought back to her run-in with the pink lady—Mrs. Havendale. She’d just assumed that the woman was a little strange—her outfit certainly was—but now her reaction made sense. She’d mistaken Laura for the Pogues’ daughter. She’d called her . . . what was it?
    “Willa,” Laura said to the picture, her memory suddenly returning full force.
    She scanned the room, then frowned, disappointed. There weren’t any other pictures hanging up. How tall was Willa Pogue? What shoe size did she wear?
    Laura walked over to the bookshelf. It was stuffed with yearbooks, pennants and pins from Shipley Academy. She pulled a book off the shelf and started to flip through. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited.
    “Willa Pogue . . . Willa . . . where are you?” she muttered. She noticed that the girl’s yearbook pages were just as empty and unsigned as her own.
    So that’s another thing we have in common,
Laura thought.
Neither of us are exactly A-listers.
    “What are you doing?”
    The voice that pierced Laura’s thoughts matched her own down to the very last cadence, tone and intonation. It was as if there were a recording of her playing somewhere in the room. She was so startled that she dropped the yearbook and spun around.
    Willa Pogue looked exactly like her, Laura noted with some satisfaction. It really was amazing. They were like socks from a matched pair. Looks were looks. She and Willa shared the exact same height and features. They had the same coloring, too.
    Except for now, of course.
    Willa was purple with fury.
    And Laura was red with embarrassment.
    “I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered. She stared hard at Willa, waiting for her to realize that they were basically identical in every way. She figured that would help smooth things over.
    “Emory sent me up here to unpack your trunk,” she explained, but as she said the words she realized the excuse sounded painfully lame.
    “Oh, and you thought the key would be in one of my yearbooks?” Willa said, her voice thick with sarcasm.
    Laura shook her head and tried again. “Look, I’m sorry. I was just interested. I didn’t mean to—”
    “Oh, forget it, just shut up,” Willa snapped, her eyes flashing. “Go ahead—you already started. Look at everything, okay? I don’t even care anymore.”
    Then she stomped off.
    Laura sighed as she bent over to collect the fallen yearbook.
    “Well,” she said, softly, “at least I learned more about Willa Pogue.”

6
    In speaking to a servant, either a lady or a gentleman will ever be patient, courteous, kind, not presuming on his or her power.
—
Manners and Social Usages
    Mrs. John M.E.W. Sherwood
    As Willa stormed out of her bedroom and down the hall, several thoughts ran through her head:
    (1) Now the maid knew she was a total loser.
    (2) The new maid was a thinner, prettier version of herself.
    (3) Her ice cream was all melted.
    Although number three was upsetting, one and two were far more disturbing.
    She dropped down on the top of the steps and gave the ice cream a small shove, not bothering to hide it. She was way too miserable to care if Emory caught her.
    How much did that maid see?
Willa thought, burying her head in her hands. Why hadn’t she put those stupid yearbooks away? Or better yet, just tossed them out? They made her feel like such a loser—and she felt like one on a pretty regular basis anyway. Besides, she was barely in them. She wouldn’t have even ordered them, but they were included in the price of school