Chapter 2 – This Is Not Funny, Universe
Lucas's POV
The first thing I felt when I woke up was pain.
Not the kind I was used to—shoulder ache, bruises, the usual post-game soreness—but something sharper. Annoyingly sharp. Like my body was trying to scream through my skin. My hips hurt. My lower back. My ankles.
And I was freezing. Why was I freezing?
I blinked, frowning up at a ceiling I didn’t recognize. There were glow-in-the-dark stars stuck in the corners. One of them had peeled halfway and was hanging like it was giving up on life.
Then I turned my head—and saw a sketchbook lying open on a desk across the room. A pencil balanced on the edge. The page was half-covered in a sketch of someone sitting cross-legged with their face turned away.
I sat up slowly.
That was not my desk.
This was not my room.
Also… this wasn’t my body.
My hair fell over my eyes.
Long. Dark. Soft.
I reached up slowly, touched my face, then my chest. My breath caught.
“What the hell?”
The voice that came out wasn’t mine. It was softer. Higher. Still groggy, but unmistakably not Lucas Park.
I jumped out of bed and stumbled straight into the mirror on the closet door.
And stared.
Big, panicked eyes.
Round cheeks.
Small, freckled nose.
A girl.
I was looking at a girl.
A girl I recognized, even though I couldn’t remember ever talking to her.
Rae Min.
Art kid. Quiet girl. Sits two seats over in homeroom. I remembered she gave me a weird look in the hallway last week—like she knew something about me I didn’t. I’d shrugged it off. People look at me like that all the time.
But now… I was her.
“What the actual hell is happening?”
I staggered back, catching the edge of the bed and nearly falling.
Okay. Okay, don’t panic.
Think.
Last night was the game. We won. I remember the crowd, the celebration, Coach patting my back even though I messed up two passes. Then that girl—Rae, apparently—had come up to me near the tunnel and handed me a letter. I told her I didn’t need to read it.
And then… I went home. Slept.
Woke up here.
In her.
None of this made sense.
I yanked open her closet and stared at the rows of carefully hung cardigans and oversized hoodies. Everything was color-coded. Who the hell organizes their wardrobe by soft tones?
I checked the drawers next. Art supplies. Socks with cats on them. A phone charging under a pile of notebooks.
Please let this be a prank. Please.
I unlocked the phone.
It needed a face ID. Which—unfortunately—worked.
The background was a photo of a sunset over a rooftop. Peaceful. A bit lonely.
Her text notifications were normal. One from someone named Minjee: "You alive after the Tragedy of Yesterday, my sweet potato?"
Okay. So whatever happened last night, she remembered it. I didn’t know what she’d said in that letter, but judging from that text, it hadn’t gone great.
I checked the calendar. It was Thursday. No school today because of a teacher conference.
Which gave me time. Thank god.
I stared back at my—her—reflection. Rae’s face was expressive, even when I wasn’t trying to make it be. Her eyebrows moved too much. Her lips tilted upward like she was always about to smile, even now, when I was freaking out.
I pulled her hoodie off the chair and threw it on.
Then I froze again.
What if this wasn’t just me? What if…
What if she was me now?
I scrambled for the phone again and typed in my own name.
Lucas Park.
Social media, news articles, hockey stats, fan pages, the usual. I hesitated before typing in something more specific.
Lucas Park Crescent High Instagram.
Bingo. Someone had posted a photo from last night. One of those victory edits with my face in the middle, jersey number blurred behind motion.
But then I noticed the comments.
Why does Lucas look so confused lol
Did anyone else catch him stumbling out of the locker room like a zombie?
Hot as always but was he… crying??
Crying?
I never cry.
I clicked on the tagged user: @lucas_park_17.
And that’s when I saw it.
A new story posted an hour ago.
Black screen. Text in white:
“Where am I?? What’s going on??? Someone tell me this isn’t real.”
Posted from my account.
I grabbed the phone. Opened Rae’s messages again. Scrolled to Minjee.
If anyone knew how to find her, it would be her best friend.
I hesitated, then typed:
“Where does Lucas live? I think he’s… in trouble.”
The dots popped up instantly.
“Okay, first of all, who is this??”
“Second, is this Rae?”
“Third—are you saying Rae’s crush is in trouble and she didn’t even tell me first??”
I sighed. This was getting out of control.
I messaged again.
“I can’t explain, but I’m Rae. Just… not Rae. I’m Lucas. Rae is Lucas. We’ve switched. Like… woke up this way. Not joking.”
There was a long pause.
Then:
“Rae. If this is your way of processing heartbreak, we need to talk about healthier coping mechanisms.”
I groaned.
Fine. I’d have to go find myself—herself—whatever—in person.
I pulled on sneakers that were half a size too small and awkwardly shuffled out the door. Luckily, her parents weren’t home. The house was quiet except for a fish tank bubbling softly in the corner.
Outside, the sun was already high, but the chill hadn’t left the air yet. I checked the map. It would take me twenty minutes to walk to my house.
As I walked, I kept thinking about the things I’d seen in her room. The carefully stacked sketchbooks. The unfinished drawing of someone—probably me, though I wasn’t sure. Her world was small and quiet, but somehow more real than anything I was used to.
By the time I reached my neighborhood, my feet were killing me and I was sweating under her hoodie. I turned onto my street and looked toward my house—clean white siding, black front door, one hockey stick leaning against the porch like a forgotten promise.
I stepped up to the door, heart pounding.
What was I even going to say? “Hi, I’m you. And you’re me. Wanna switch back now?”
I didn’t get the chance to figure it out.
Because before I could knock, the door swung open—and there I was.
Or rather, Rae.
Wearing my hoodie. My sweatpants. Hair a mess. Face pale.
She stared at me like I was a ghost.
I stared back, feeling like my whole body was made of TV static.
“Lucas?” she asked, voice small.
I swallowed. “Rae.”
She blinked rapidly. “You’re me. And I’m you. What is happening?”
“I was hoping you’d have an answer.”
We stood there for a moment, neither of us sure who was supposed to be the one freaking out louder.
Then she stepped aside, motioning for me to come in.
“We need to talk,” she said.
I walked in, barely noticing the familiar smell of my house because it all felt so wrong now.
She shut the door behind us and turned around, hugging her arms across her chest—my chest.
“This is crazy,” she whispered. “I made a wish last night. I didn’t mean for it to actually…”
She trailed off.
“What wish?” I asked.
She looked up slowly.
“I said… I wished you could see what it’s like to be me for once.”
I froze.
“Wait. That’s what you said?”
She nodded.
And then, without warning, the lights in the hallway flickered.
Just once.
Barely noticeable.
But enough to make us both stop breathing.
Because in that second—only a second—I saw something.
A flash.
In the hallway mirror.
It wasn’t me.
And it wasn’t Rae.
It was something else entirely.
And it was smiling.