Jon put his rag into the pockets of his apron and walked on out of the study, stopping just long enough to pick up 1984. He started to walk back to his room across the way, but stopped in his tracks when he saw that Zoe had enscralled her name on the door, breaking up the motif and flow of the house. That was odd.
Then it struck Jon, in an instinctive way, that his room was elsewhere. He walked down the hall and turned a few times into a dark wing of the house, near the four car garage and laundry room, and found the cubby hole that was his room. He fought the urge to clean the whole way.
He walked into the room and was shocked. He thought it would be large and perfectly clean. But instead it was tiny and messy. And he didn't even want to clean it. The bed was unmade and he had two short bookshelves with unorganized, but well worn, books. There was a small and tarnished cheerleading trophy on one, with a male cheerleader with a blowhorn.
So this was his life now? But how? When he made the wish, he . . . forgot to exclude himself, he realized glumly. Then he realized he could put everything back the way it had been. He reached for the stone, but it wasn't in his apron pocket. He had it when he walked into the study. And if he was in Sarah's place, then Sarah was in his. Which meant Sarah had the wishing stone. Wherever she was . . .
