I knew immediately that it hadn’t worked. Lucy’s photo was still gripped in my hand. Lucy’s hand. Lucy’s pudgy little hand. That was all I needed to see to know that my plan had failed. But I examined myself anyway, desperately hoping that somehow I had changed back to me. But no. I was still wearing Lucy’s black hightop sneakers, her tights, now dirt-stained and torn, her short skirt. I grabbed at my hair. Lucy’s hair, shorter and finer-textured than mine. Lucy. Lucy. Lucy. I needed the real Lucy here with me in order to get my body back. But how could I find her? Where had she escaped to? I yawned wearily. I suddenly realized how exhausted I felt. Every muscle in my body ached. My head throbbed. It took such an effort to hold my eyes open. Yawning again, I lowered myself to the damp ground. I settled back against the wall and shut my eyes. The cold stones pressed against my back and head. With a sigh I curled up in the dirt. And fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I lifted my head, squinting against the morning sunlight.
