Twice the trouble

Elena's POV

Hey. My name is Elena Prescott and I am going to tell you how I switched bodies with my enemy.

No it wasn't some voodoo kind of shit although maybe it was. I don't really know. But anyway here is my story.

It all started in kindergarten.

That was the year Blake Thornton decided my lunch looked better than his. I remember it clearly because my mom had actually cut the crusts off my sandwich that morning, which almost never happened, and I was feeling pretty proud of it. I opened my little pink lunchbox, ready for my sandwich, my apple slices, and that one cookie she always pretended was for later but never actually took away.

Instead, there was a frog.

A real one. Green, slimy and blinking at me like I was the problem.

I screamed so loud the teacher dropped her coffee. Blake laughed so hard he fell off the tiny plastic chair and peed his pants. Worth it for him, apparently.

That should have been the end of it. Normal kids grow out of stuff like that. Blake Thornton and I did not. We escalated.

My revenge came a month later at the spring concert. The whole town packed into the school hall, parents with cameras, teachers sweating through their cardigans, kids lined up on stage singing off key. Blake was front row because of course he was. His mom always insisted he had star quality. What he actually had was a bowl cut and too much confidence.

I waited until the big finish. Until the applause started. Until everyone was looking at him.

Then I pulled the string.

The glitter bomb exploded right over his head. Pink glitter. So much pink glitter. It stuck to his hair, his face, his shirt, his eyebrows. He looked like a disco unicorn with anger issues.

The room went silent for half a second. Then the laughter hit. Parents. Kids. Teachers. Even the principal had to turn away.

Blake cried. Not pretty crying either. Loud, hiccuping, snot everywhere crying. His mom tried to hug him and came away sparkling.

From that day on, Blake Thornton was my enemy.

We grew up pulling pranks like it was our shared hobby. Frogs. Fake love notes. Fire alarms. Rubber snakes. Glue on chairs. Nothing was off limits. Somewhere along the line, hatred became tradition.

Then came this morning.

I woke up to Victoria’s voice slicing through the hallway like a siren. High pitched, furious and dramatic. The kind of scream that means something expensive or important had gone missing.

“Where is it,” she shrieked. “Where did it go”

I stared at my ceiling and counted. One. Two. Three.

My bedroom door flew open so hard it smacked the wall.

My mother stood there, arms crossed, lips tight, eyes already accusing. Mary Prescott never needed evidence. She ran on instinct and her instinct always blamed me.

“Elena,” she snapped. “Did you switch your sister’s shampoo with orange dye”

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard it hurt. Behind her, Victoria stomped into view.

Her hair was bright orange. Not a cute ginger. Not soft copper. Pumpkin orange. Loud and violent. Like traffic cones had attacked her head in her sleep.

She looked feral.

“You ruined my hair,” she screamed. “You did this on purpose”

“I was asleep,” I said, pointing at my bed. “Unlike you, I do not wake up early just to sabotage people.”

Victoria lunged for me anyway. Her hands went straight for my hair.

“I will rip it out,” she yelled. “I swear I will”

“That is enough.” Harry Prescott’s voice filled the room like a slammed door. My father stood in the hallway, already dressed for work, jaw tight, eyes tired.

“She did not do this,” he said. “And even if she did, you will not touch her.”

Mary scoffed. “You always take her side.”

“Because someone has to,” he shot back.

Victoria started crying then, big dramatic sobs, mascara already streaking. Mary pulled her into a hug, shooting me a look that promised this was not over.

“You will regret this,” Victoria hissed at me over our mother’s shoulder.

I smiled sweetly. “You look very festive.”

Mary sent me to school without breakfast.

I walked outside already tired, already annoyed, already bracing myself. My hand reached for my car door.

The door flew open and clown popped out, a full sized clown with a red nose, wig and a maniacal grin and he sprayed me with slime. Cold. Green. Sticky.

I screamed loud I swear Timbaktu could hear and somewhere a dog barked.

Then I heard Blake laughing so hard he was wheezing. He stood on his porch across the street, doubled over, holding his stomach.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Your face. Holy hell.”

“You absolute asshole,” I yelled, wiping slime out of my eyes. “I hate you so much.”

“That is not true,” he said, still laughing. “You love me.”

“I am going to kill you.” Ignoring his last remark because we both know that isn't true. Blake and the word love don't go together.

He wiped tears from his eyes. “It was worth it. Totally worth it.”

I slammed my car door and drive out of the driveway, slime still dripping down my arms, my hair curling in weird damp spirals because I had no time to fix it.

By the time I got to school, Victoria and Joey were already there. Blake and his idiot friends too.

They were waiting. Victoria pointed and laughed. Joey snorted. Blake leaned against the lockers like he owned them.

“Nice hair,” Joey said. “Going for the drowned rat look”

I walked past them, unfazed. Mostly.

Blake followed me. “You know,” he said, “for someone so smart, you really fall for my traps a lot.”

I turned on him at the lockers. “Listen, jog brain let me tell you where you and your perfect girlfriend will end up one day. You are going to cheat your way through high school, maybe college if someone feels sorry for you, and then you will peak. Hard. Meanwhile I will still be smarter than you on your best day.”

His friends oohed as I turned to Joey. “And you,” I added. “You will be a model for like five minutes. Then someone younger and prettier will show up. You will panic. You will get pregnant by some trailor trash guy because Blake here won't want you anymore then you will end up bitter in a trailer arguing with a man with a beer belly and several kids with snot on their faces.”

There were silence until Blake laughed loud. “Damn,” he said. “She got you.” Joey’s face went red.

I walked away shaking, heart pounding, not knowing yet that this was the last few normal day I would ever have.

Because enemies are one thing.

Switching bodies is something else entirely