Switched Read Online Free PDF Page B

tuition. Every year they’d simply been shipped home automatically, so she’d stuck them on her shelf.
    Why did I leave that stupid twig alone in my room?
Willa thought, her eyes fierce.
It’s my room! And why do I even care what she thinks?
    Willa raced back to her bedroom. The girl was standing over the open footlocker folding a shirt. When she saw Willa her mouth fell open but no sound came out.
    “Get out!” Willa snapped.
“Now!”
    Had she ever yelled like this? It felt strange to hear her voice this fierce, this angry. Even she knew she sounded insane, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Just looking at the girl, so neat and trim, made her feel like punching the wall.
    The maid dropped the shirt and rubbed her hands together, as if they’d been burnt.
    “I can’t,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “I have work to do in here and if I leave I’ll—”
    “I don’t care!” Willa shouted. “This isn’t your room, you know. I live here!”
    The girl’s face suddenly lit with anger. “Look, do you think I
want
to be here?”
    Willa instinctively took a step backward. “What?” She couldn’t tell what had surprised her more—the girl’s rage or the fact that her wide-set eyes matched her own so perfectly.
    “You heard me. It’s not like I
chose
to be here, you know,” the girl said. She raised her arms in a grand, sweeping gesture. “Do you think this is
fun
for me? Well, here’s some news: unpacking your disgusting trunk isn’t a thrill. But I need to work so that I can pay for college. Not like you’d ever understand that.”
    Willa watched, stunned, as the girl picked up the dropped shirt, refolded it and placed it neatly on the bed. The movements were practiced and fluid.
    Standing in the doorway, Willa was suddenly unsure of what to do or say. She was—for the second time—a guest in her own bedroom. After a few minutes, she silently turned and walked down the hall. When she reached the stairs, she sat back down on the top step, next to her now-liquefied bowl of Ben & Jerry’s.
    And then Willa curled her body into a tiny ball and burst into tears.

7
    “You’re soaking in it.”
    —Madge the Manicurist,
Palmolive Commercial, 1966–92
    We’re definitely getting fired.
    Ever since Laura’s showdown with Willa Pogue, the thought had become her mantra.
    She’d totally blown it yesterday. What was she thinking, telling off a member of the family? Laura had never done anything like that on a job. Of course she was going to be dismissed. She was surprised it hadn’t happened last night.
    Laura looked at her mother, and a bubble instantly formed in her throat. She’d wanted to prepare her, but her mother had been in such a great mood when they’d gotten off work. She’d run off to bingo at the community center and then cooked a late dinner in celebration of their new job—and what she was certain were her winning Lotto tickets. She’d lost, of course, but even that hadn’t dampened her spirits. And Laura had wanted her to go to bed happy.
    But now, standing beside her mother in the Pogues’ massive kitchen, Laura knew she’d made a mistake.
    I should have apologized,
she thought.
This is my fault. All my fault.
    Emory cleared his throat.
    Laura held her breath.
    “We’re leaving for Newport tomorrow—Mr. and Mrs. Pogue and the regular staff. We’re packing up the Pogues’ travel car now. It’ll take the rest of the afternoon.” The butler looked around the spotless kitchen. “There’s so much to be done. I’ll give you your assignments for the summer and then I’m off. . . .”
    Why wasn’t he yelling at her? He was acting as if he had no idea that she’d had a huge, screaming fight with Willa Pogue. But that was impossible—wasn’t it?
    “. . . her room needs to be cleaned, her closets combed through because they’re in a state and her dressers relined.”
    Laura tuned back in to the conversation to find that Emory was now staring directly at her,