Chapter 5 - The End

I wake up in Mia's body for what I know is the last time.

The peach quilt is tangled around my soft thighs, and the fairy lights are off. The room smells like lavender and paper. My chest rises under the thin camisole—small, budding, barely there—and I can hear the house waking up around me: a creak from downstairs, a faint thump from Sophie's room. My hand finds Mia's phone. Six thirty-one.

I lie still for a second, breathing her slow, dreamy breath. I've done this four times now. Denise, Chloe, Sophie, Mia. Each time I wanted the next one sharper, lighter, louder. And now there's only one left.

Lily.

I get up quietly. Mia's feet are small and pale against the floor, and the camisole rides up over her soft belly. I don't bother fixing it. I cross the hall to Lily's room. The door is cracked, and the light is already on—she's an early riser, always has been. I can hear her talking to herself, a high, bright murmur.

I push the door open. Lily is standing by her closet, wearing her pink nightgown, her honey hair a mess. She's holding a stuffed bunny in one hand and a dress in the other. The room is a riot of pink and yellow, drawings taped to the walls, a unicorn poster peeling at one corner. The air smells like strawberry shampoo and crayons.

She turns. "Mia! Guess what? I'm gonna wear my twirly dress today!" Her voice is high and fast, and she bounces on her toes. I feel Mia's mixed affection and irritation—the love, and the wish that Lily would just go away sometimes.

"Hey, Lil." I step closer. "Let me see your hand. You have a smudge."

It's the flimsiest excuse, but she's eight. She holds out her hand, frowning at it. I take her wrist.

The contact is instant—her skin is warm, and my fingers overlap around the thin bone. I focus. I want it. I want to be the youngest, the loudest, the one who gets forgiven for everything. I will it.

The world goes white.

It's a sharp yank, sharper than the others, like being pulled through a pinhole made for a child. Mia's body—soft, familiar, already half-forgotten—drops away, and I flood into Lily in a rush of air and noise and the smell of strawberry. The first breath tastes like sleep and strawberry shampoo and the dry warmth of her lamp. My chest rises, flat and smooth. I'm shorter. The floor is right there. My shoulders are narrow, my arms small, my legs slim under the nightgown. There's nothing on my chest—no weight, no buds, just smooth skin and the faint beat of my heart underneath.

I open my eyes. Mia is standing in front of me, her hand still on my wrist. But her hand relaxes. Her eyes blink once, then she looks at me with that knowing tilt. She's me now—a clone, in Mia's body, with Mia's memories and my core.

"Morning," she says, in Mia's soft, breathy voice.

I nod. My voice comes out high and bright, like a bell. "Yeah."

She drops my wrist and goes back across the hall, closing her door. I hear the soft click.

I'm Lily. I'm eight years old. I'm the youngest.

I close the door and turn the little lock. The click is soft, and I lean against it for a second, feeling my heart flutter in my chest. It's fast, like a bird's. I take a breath. Then I go to the mirror on the closet door.

The girl looking back has honey blonde hair in two messy pigtails and a mouth with a gap where a bottom tooth should be. Her eyes are wide and hazel, and she has a few faint freckles on her nose. She's wearing a pink nightgown. I smile. The gap shows. I laugh—her laugh, high and bright—and the sound is so different from Mia's soft giggle that I do it again.

"Holy crap," I whisper, in her voice. It comes out like a chirp.

I need to get dressed. I turn to the closet. The wardrobe is a jumble of pinks and yellows and purples. I pull out the pink twirly dress and the white cardigan—Lily's favorite outfit. The dress is soft cotton with a full skirt, and when I hold it up, it's so small I could almost laugh. I undress quickly. The nightgown comes off over my head. Underneath, I'm in white cotton panties with a tiny pink bow. My chest is flat and smooth, my belly soft and slightly rounded, my legs slim and straight. I step into the dress, pull it up, and button the back—my fingers are clumsy, but Lily's hands know the buttons. I add the white cardigan, the ankle socks, and the light-up sneakers. They Velcro, not tie. I slide on the plastic bead bracelet and clip the butterfly clip into my hair.

I look in the mirror again. A little girl in a pink dress, white cardigan, and light-up shoes. The shoes flash when I stomp. I stomp again, watching the red lights blink. This is my body now. The thought is huge and quiet at the same time.

I go downstairs. The kitchen smells like coffee and eggs. Denise is at the stove, her back to me, wearing a navy dress and cardigan. Chloe is at the table with tea, dark hair loose. Sophie comes down in her gray hoodie, cracking her knuckles. Mia is already there, sitting quietly, her sketchbook open. They're all me—clones, each in their own body, living their own hours. But I'm the one in Lily now.

"Morning, Mommy!" I chirp, and it feels natural. Denise turns and smiles.

"Morning, sweet pea. You're up bright and early."

"I'm practicing my lines!" I say. I climb onto my chair—it's higher than I expect, and I have to hop a little. The skirt of my dress poofs around me. I feel the flat of my chest against the cotton bodice. Nothing. It's so strange, after four bodies with weight there. Denise sets a plate of eggs in front of me.

"Can you say them for me?" she asks.

I nod, and I start reciting the spring poem. I forget the third line, the same line she always forgets, and Denise prompts me. I beam. "I'm gonna nail it, Mommy."

She touches my hair. "I know you will, baby."

I feel Lily's huge, uncomplicated love for her—the way Denise is her favorite person, and the little fear underneath that she might be left out. The fear is small, tucked under all the brightness. I don't name it. I just eat my eggs.

Chloe smiles at me across the table. "You look adorable, Lil."

"Thanks!" I bounce a little. Then Sophie reaches for the juice, and I say, "Sophie, can I have some too? Watch me pour it!" I grab the carton before she can answer, because Lily does that—she wants to do it herself, and she wants everyone to watch. Sophie sighs.

"Lily, let me help."

"I can do it." I pour. A little splashes on the table. I don't care. "See?"

Sophie rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything. Mia glances at me, and I feel the old competition—Lily wanting Mia's attention, Mia wanting space. I give Mia a big smile. "Mia, do you like my dress?"

"It's pretty," Mia says, her voice soft. She goes back to her sketchbook.

The bus comes at 7:20. I grab my small pink backpack with the unicorn patch, check that I have my play script, and head for the door. Denise kneels to fix my cardigan.

"Have a good day, sweetheart. I'll be there for the play."

"I know, Mommy." I hug her, and she smells like rosewater. Then I'm out the door, light-up sneakers flashing on the porch.

The walk to the bus stop is short. The morning is gray and cool, and I can see my breath. My legs are short, and I have to take two steps for every one I used to take as Sophie. The world feels bigger. The bus stop has a few other kids from Maplewood Elementary, and I stand with them, swinging my backpack. I'm the youngest now. The one who gets to be noisy.

On the bus, I find Olivia.

She's already in a seat near the front, her black hair in two neat pigtails, her backpack on her lap. When she sees me, she grins and pats the seat next to her. I slide in.

"Hey, Lily! Are you nervous about the play?" she asks.

"Yes!" I say, and I mean it. My stomach flutters. "What if I forget my lines? My mom is coming."

Olivia's face gets serious. "You won't forget. We practiced, remember? I'll be in the front row."

Olivia is in the play too—she's a tree in the spring pageant. She has her own worry: she keeps messing up the tree sway. She doesn't say it, but I can see her picking at the hem of her sleeve. Lily's memory supplies it: Olivia is scared of being laughed at.

"You'll be the best tree," I tell her. "You just sway, right? Easy."

She laughs. "It's not that easy. What if I sway too much?"

"You can't sway too much. You're a tree in the wind." I say it like it's obvious, and she grins again.

The school day is a blur of reading time and math and a spelling test. I'm in third grade. The chairs are tiny, and my feet dangle. I color a picture of a flower during free time, and I name the colors as I go. Lily's whole body hums with energy, and I let it. I'm the loud one. I interrupt. I ask "why" a hundred times. The teacher, Mrs. Patel, calls on me to read a passage, and I read it in Lily's bright, fast voice. The words trip a little, but I get through.

By the afternoon, my stomach is a knot. The play is at 1:30. We line up to go to the auditorium. The costume is a green tunic and tights, and it goes over my dress. It's scratchy. Olivia stands beside me in her tree costume, and she looks pale.

"You okay?" I whisper.

She nods, but her eyes are wide. "I'm gonna mess up."

"No, you're not." I take her hand. Hers is small and sweaty. "We practiced."

The auditorium is full. The lights are hot, and I can smell the dust on the stage curtains. I peek out from the wings and see Denise in the third row, holding her purse, smiling at something Chloe says. Sophie and Mia are beside her. They all came. My heart hammers. I want to make them proud.

The play starts. Olivia goes on first with the other trees, swaying. She sways too much, then too little, but no one laughs. When she comes off, she's grinning. "I did it!"

"See?" I whisper.

Then it's my turn. The solo. I walk out to center stage. The lights are so bright I can't see faces, but I know Denise is out there. I open my mouth.

The first line comes out clear. Then the second. The third—the one I always forget—hangs in my throat. For a second, I'm frozen. Then I hear it, from somewhere in the dark: Denise's voice, soft but sure, mouthing the word. I catch it and go on. The rest spills out, high and bright, and when I finish, the auditorium claps. I curtsy, and the gap in my teeth shows.

Offstage, I'm shaking. Olivia grabs me in a hug. "You were amazing!"

I laugh, and it's Lily's laugh, bright and shaky. "I didn't forget!"

After school, there's a small reception in the gym. Denise hugs me tight. "I'm so proud of you, sweet pea."

I bury my face in her stomach. "I love you, Mommy."

She kisses the top of my head. "I love you too, baby."

The evening is ordinary. We walk home together—Denise, Chloe, Sophie, Mia, and me. I skip ahead, then run back, then skip again. My legs are small and quick, and the dress swirls. Sophie calls out, "Lily, slow down."

I don't. But I do wait for them at the corner.

At home, dinner is chicken and rice. I talk all through it—about the play, about Olivia, about the spelling test. I interrupt Sophie, and Denise gently says, "Lily, let Sophie finish." I huff but stop. Mia asks me to draw with her after dinner, and I say yes, but then I don't because I want to watch cartoons. Lily's bossiness surfaces, and I'm right in the middle of it.

After dinner, I sit with Mia on the couch. She's drawing a fox, and I'm coloring a butterfly. I lean over. "Mia, can you draw me a unicorn?"

"Maybe later," she says, not looking up.

"Please?" I poke her arm. "Pleeeease?"

"Lily, stop." Her voice is soft, but there's an edge.

I feel the old rivalry—Lily wanting Mia's attention, Mia wanting her own space. I poke her one more time, then stop. "Fine." I go back to my butterfly.

Denise calls us for bedtime at 8. I take a bath first—the water is warm and smells like strawberry from the shampoo. I wash my hair, and the soap slides over my smooth chest and soft belly. The body is so small. I pour water over my head and watch it run down my flat front.

Then I put on my soft pink nightgown with the unicorn print. It falls to my knees. I brush my hair out, and Denise braids it for bed. Her hands are gentle.

"Goodnight, sweet pea."

"Goodnight, Mommy." I hug her.

In my room, the lamp is on. The walls are covered with my drawings, and the unicorn poster glows. My stuffed animals are on the shelves—Bunny, Bear, Sprinkles the unicorn, and three others, each with a name and a birthday. I know them all now. I touch Bunny's ear.

"Night, Bunny," I whisper.

I stand in front of the mirror. The girl in the reflection is small and flat-chested, with a straight frame and a soft little belly. No hips. No curves. Just a kid. I lift my nightgown and look. The body is smooth and unmarked. I touch my chest—flat, the nipples tiny and pale. I press my palm there and feel my heart beat. This is mine now. No more switching.

I let the nightgown fall. I sit on the bed, the pink and yellow quilt soft under my legs. I think about the other bodies. Denise, soft and full and warm. Chloe, slim and light. Sophie, lean and sharp. Mia, small and soft with her budding chest. They were all me. They're still me, out there in the house, living their hours. But I don't want them anymore. I want this one.

The decision doesn't feel like a decision. It feels like finally setting down a bag I've been carrying. I'm staying as Lily. I'm going to grow up in this body, go to fourth grade, lose more teeth, learn to ride a bike without training wheels—she already did that, I remember the scrape on her knee—and I'm going to be the baby of this family for the rest of my life.

I look at the growth chart on the wall. My height is marked in pencil, year by year. I'm at the bottom of the chart now. I'll grow. I'll get older. But this is the body I'm keeping.

I turn off the lamp. The room goes soft and dark, with the streetlamp outside making the butterfly curtains glow. I lie down. The pillow smells like strawberry. I pull the quilt to my chin.

The house settles. I can hear Sophie's music faintly through the wall, Mia's footsteps, Denise and Chloe talking downstairs. They're all me, but they're also themselves now, separate and independent. I'm not going to bother them. They can keep their lives. I have mine.

I close my eyes. My chest rises and falls, flat and light. My legs are smooth against the sheets. I can feel the gap in my teeth when I smile into the dark.

I'm Lily. I'm eight. I'm staying.