“Are you saying we—”

“Swapped! Yes! That is exactly what I am saying!”

I stared at Wynezra, mouth ajar. She was glowing. Or possibly losing her mind. If there was a blurry gray area between happiness and insanity, that’s where Wynonna was.

“I was at that show,” said Wynezra. “I came to see Imogen, obviously. But next thing I knew, I was on the stage, and I was you, and Ms. Lopez was trying to shove a script in my face. Like, fuck that shit. I was outta there.”

“Curled up in the parking lot,” I said, mostly as a revelation to myself. “Crying.”

Wynezra shot a dangerous glance at me.

“No, no, no, I’m not making fun of you,” I said, raising my hands backtrackishly. “That’s just what I remember. I didn’t remember running out of school. What I remembered was waking up in the parking lot, curled up in a ball—”

Wynezra’s eyes narrowed to life-threatening slits, daring me to say “crying” one more time.

“Anyway… yeah,” I said.

“You do know what else happened that day,” she said, “don’t you?”

She looked at me, and I looked at her. Even though we were looking at our own eyes, they met with an unspoken understanding.

Like celestial spheres overlapping.

Eclipsing.

“The eclipse,” I said, breathless.

Wynezra nodded. “The first one, from seven years ago.”

What we were experiencing wasn’t random. It was a continuation of something that happened seven years ago.

But why? What did that mean?

“So…” said Wynonna. “What do we do?”

“What do we do?”

“How do we fix this?”

Even though I was in a different body, the physical sensation of how I handled stress translated perfectly. My stomach was set to spin-dry. My chest was being vacuum-sealed against the scaffolding of my rib cage. My brain was an alarm, blaring: Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic, which was undoubtedly the worst form of panicking.

So naturally, I played it cool and shrugged.

“Wait it out?” I said.

Wynezra cinched her eyebrows (my eyebrows) together and glared at me incredulously. I was discovering a palette of facial expressions I didn’t know I had.

“Wait it out?” she said. “That’s your plan?”

“I mean, think about it,” I said. “We only swapped once before. And it only lasted for… what? Ten, fifteen minutes?”

Wynezra bit her lip.

“We did only swap once,” I said. “Didn’t we?”

Wynezra jutted her newfound masculine jaw out. She appeared to be thinking, and not in the most reassuring way.

“Didn’t we?” I said, more frantically.

“I don’t know!” said Wynezra. “I’ve spent the past seven years convincing myself that it never really happened. I only remember the play so well because there were, like, two hundred witnesses. I think… I think we swapped maybe one more time?”

“One more time?”