Chapter 4

• I'm laying on my bed staring up at the ceiling and I am convinced I need to be admitted into a mental institution. This is all too crazy. My door flies open and Heather saunters in, flinging her bag in the corner and propping herself onto my bed. Her head is supported by her left hand; she lays on her side staring at me. "What's eating you kid?" she asks me. I shrug. I can't possibly tell her how crazy I am. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right?" She says as if reading my mind. "It's nothing. Bad dream. Just can't seem to shake it" She's lost her mind if she thinks for a second that I trust her.
• "Well then tell me about the dream. Start at the beginning. I'm sure whatever it is, it isn't as bad as you think" She says, sitting up straight now and waiting for me to start. Who does this girl think she is? A shrink? I must be pulling some sort of face because she says "Oh, come on. What's with you today? We tell each other everything." I burst out laughing. Oh please, as if any version of me would trust someone with all my secrets. Heather looks very confused at my sudden outburst of laughter. "Well? "She prompts. She lifts an eyebrow for good measure. "Are you going to tell me or not?" I can tell she's getting annoyed. There it is. I think. The real you.
• "I don't think so," I say. She doesn't hide her surprise. She pushes herself off my bed, grabs her bag and leaves. The door slams shut behind her. The pictures on the walls sway. I'm glad to be rid of her. She's too nosy. I get up off the bed and take the pictures off the wall. If I'm going to be staying here, I don't want to be staring at this crap on a daily basis. I take the pictures off the mirror too. I throw them all into the wastebasket beside the dresser.
• Time to make this room a little more me. I go searching in the garage and find a few items that are more along my taste. Every flowery piece of artwork is replaced by pictures of musicians. The linen closet had plain white bedsheets and covers, I'd have preferred a darker colour, blue or red but this would just have to do.
• I wanted to burn the purple floral but knew that it would be a bit extreme. I take out all the plush carpet and wish I could repaint the door and dresser a more neutral colour. It's the only pop of colour left in the room. I don't have much choice since I don't have paint. Who was this poser anyway? Alarm bells go off in my head. I haven't been paying much attention to where I am or who this mystery other me was. And why she loved so much purple. And where she even is right now. Is she in my world pretending to be me? Did we accidentally swap places? What if Blaze has her? I want to feel like some sort of hero wanting to protect this other version of me but if I'm honest, rather her than me.
• Maybe her world is not as bad as mine was. Maybe I can adjust to being her. I don't know her though. How am I going to be convincing? If she likes purple and flowers, she must have a diary laying around here somewhere. Her whole girly persona is just so cliché. I scratch in every drawer till eventually, behind the mirror, snuggly hidden away, I find a book. Purple and fuzzy with its' very own lock. I roll my eyes "you've got to be kidding" I say to my reflection. I'm almost too scared to read about this girl.
• Dear Diary, Ben is so cute. He is always pretending to miss the ball when they play touch rugby near us. He would run up to me when the ball would land at my feet. He'd wink and smile, his gorgeous dimpled cheeks a shade of bright pink. Then he'd run back and apologize to the guys claiming he was just clumsy or had butterfingers. What he doesn't realize is that I know just how good he is at rugby. On game days Heather and I would always go and watch him play. I was incredibly impressed at just how skilled he was at catching the ball and kicking it to the other side of the field. I knew I wanted to be with him since the day I met him. I only wonder why he's taking his own sweet time asking me out.
• How pathetic. I think. Just as I put the book away, I hear the front door slam shut. I check the clock beside the bed and see that it’s already past 3 a.m. I wonder who went out till this time. When I peer outside my bedroom door, I see my Dad on his way to his room.