“Go ahead,” she said. “Look at it. Soak it all in.”

I lifted the stack of pages. Slowly, like a spacecraft on an alien planet, my gaze lowered onto the first page.

TLEWFT NHIGT

Atc 1, sence 1. Dkue Osrno’is Pcalea

Etenr DUEK ONISOR, CRIUO, adn oehtr Ldros; Msuicanis anettnidg

DEKU ONISRO

Fi misuc be hte food of lvoe, paly on;

Gvie em excsse oi ft, taht, srufienitg,

Duke Orsino’s line—I’m sure it was his—went much further beyond that, but I had to look away, because the letters were moving. The entire page looked like it had been printed on the surface of a small ocean that I was gazing down at from a helicopter view. It was swaying and flowing in such a way that it left me dizzy trying to decipher it.

This was worse than the class schedule. There were too many words. Too many letters and indecipherable characters. They all blurred together into perfect nonsense.

That is what I’ve had to deal with every day of my entire fucking life.

Wynezra’s words were gyrating inside my skull.

At least, until we started jumping bodies.

“Wait,” I said. “That’s it! We can both read when we’re inside my body! Wynonna, we can still do this! You can still do this. You can read right now. You can get me this part—”

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying, shitwit?” said Wynezra. “Let me spell it out for you: I. Do. Not. Read. EVER. I’m not going to pick up some fucking hobby that’s gonna disappear the moment we get this nightmare fixed. I’m not going to get this part for you. I’m going to get the most under-the-radar non-role that Ziggy can give me, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do the same because news flash: YOU CAN’T READ EITHER! Not right now. Those are the conditions of our agreement, okay?”

There was a part of me that was deeply sympathetic to her plight. Really, there was.

There was also another part of me that was sick and tired of her shit. That hated how she was basically a cooler, more badass version of me. That didn’t like her out of pure principle. Had Wynonna ever been nice to me, ever? And now—now that I had the biggest blackmail on her since the Alexander Hamilton sex scandal of the 1790s—had anything changed?

If I were going to go to prom with Imogen—and I would go to prom with Imogen—I needed to cut Wynonna down to size.

I wouldn’t blackmail her. But I had other—more appropriate—ways of making her suffer.

“If you don’t get me that role,” I said, “then I will. As you.”

Wynezra laughed. “You’ll what?”

My face was deadly serious. “I will get you—Wynonna Jones—the role of Duke Orsino.”