“I’m sure you remember me talking about that job offer,” he continued, filling the silence. “Well, it’s a standing offer. And I want to take it. I want us to take it. I’ve already talked to Carol, and she said that she consents… as long as that’s what you want. The plan would be to leave as soon as your junior year ends. That’s about how long it’ll take to get your passport anyway. My friend Leif is already making accommodations for our arrival. Just temporary stuff until we get on our feet. But… this is it. This is my life plan. Because let’s be honest: I don’t have a future here. But there… there, I have one! But I need you there with me. I can’t do it without you. I can’t leave here without you.”

My gaze just sort of drifted through Roscoe. I had lost the ability to focus.

“So?” he said, nervously. “What do you think?”

Remember what I said about wading neck-deep into Wynonna’s personal life? Well, I had suddenly—inexplicably—found myself at the bottom of the lake, and I was wearing cement shoes, and I had put those fuckers on myself. This was my fault.

What happened next was pure, primal panic.

“I can’t go to Switzerland with you,” I blurted out, “but not for the reason you think, just hear me out.”

Roscoe looked like I had just punched him in the gut but then told him I had a good reason for it. He didn’t respond. He just looked hurt.

“I’m not Wynonna,” I said.

If that was supposed to give Roscoe something to work with, it was a breathtaking failure. He kept not responding. His silence stole the air out of the room.

I took a deep breath. It was probably best to rip this Band-Aid off. Peeling slowly would only make it hurt more.

“My name is Ezra,” I said. “Wynonna and I have been swapping bodies ever since the total solar eclipse last month. It’s the Freaky Friday Theory—the one I keep talking about. Only it’s happening for real. In fact, we haven’t swapped back for the past month. We’ve just been stranded in each other’s body. Every time you think you’ve been meeting with Wynonna, you’ve actually been meeting with me—Ezra.”

“Why are you doing this?” said Roscoe. His voice was frail. Breaking. Maybe already broken.