“So, what? You just lie awake every night until three fourteen a.m., and then bam! You’re nice and cozy and asleep in my body?”

I hadn’t really thought about it until now. But yeah, that’s exactly what was happening. No wonder I felt so good.

“You do know what three fourteen is, right?” she said, after I failed to respond.

“Uh…” I said. “Pi?”

“What?” Wynezra looked at me like I was the actual disease dumb people were afflicted with that made them stupid. “No! It’s the witching hour, dumbass.”

“The… witching hour?”

“Between three and four a.m.,” said Wynezra. “It’s believed to be the hour when supernatural phenomena are most likely to happen. The hour when black magic is most powerful. I read all about it on Wikipedia.”

“Huh.”

“When did you say your sleeping disorder started again?”

I was pretty sure I didn’t say—quite frankly, I didn’t like to talk about it—but since she was suffering with me, I figured she was entitled to the information.

“It started in fourth grade,” I said. “I was nine years old.”

I thought about mentioning the car accident. But then I thought: Why do I need to tell her about every freaking facet of my life? So I withheld that tidbit. It’s not like there was anything to tell. I didn’t remember anything!

Regardless, Wynezra seemed to process what I had given her with great interest.

“In other words,” she said, “after Romeo and Juliet.”

I sighed.

“After the eclipse,” she pressed. “After we swapped for the first time!”

“Can we not psychoanalyze me today, Dr. Jones? I’m really not in the mood.”

“But I’m right, though, aren’t I?”

I shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t know. It was a long time ago. My doctor says my insomnia is trauma-related.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s supernatural-phenomena-related.”

I rolled my eyed. “I don’t have chronic insomnia because I body-swapped once when I was nine.”

“No, of course not. You have chronic insomnia because you body-swapped once when you were nine, and it fucked up the one fictional scenario where you and Imogen end up together, not to mention your adorable little acting career.”

My entire body was sent into premature rigor mortis.

Oh my god. Did she find out about my YouTube channel?

Did I leave a costume piece out?

No. I was too thorough. Every time I finished a video, I boxed the costume. Stowed it away in the darkest reaches of my closet. I would never be so negligent.

Deep breaths, Ezra. She doesn’t know. She’s just referring to Shakespeare. That’s all. Play it cool. Play it cool like Donnie Brasco.

“Your YouTube channel is cute,” said Wynezra, cracking a smile that sealed my fate. “Reeeeal cute.”

Jesus Christ Superstar. Take me now.