#codeswap2023

Yumi pauses over the send button for a moment. She had assumed that this was a lunchtime group discussion she missed because she wasn’t on campus today. Deleting the last word of her message, Yumi has a pit in her gut that she can’t seem to get rid of.

Pushing forward, she sends her text, and Aelita replies almost immediately.

“Great! : ) I’ll meet you by the bus stop at Constellation.”

Yumi smiles at her phone, and puts it back in her pocket, still feeling uneasy and not sure why. She fitfully tries to read for another half hour or so before she needs to walk to the bus stop until she gives up. Bookmarking her book, she stands from the floor, sliding her phone back in her jeans pocket. It takes her until after getting her bag, saying goodbye to her parents, putting on her shoes, walking down the street, and seeing a group of two girls laughing with each other to realize what’s bugging her.

She and Aelita haven’t hung out alone practically ever.

One of the girls is teasing the other one about her singing, which she hems and haws at a bit before breaking into a fit of giggles. Yumi passes by them, tearing her eyes off as soon as they could see her. Not that it mattered, she realizes as they pass by – they’re too busy paying attention to each other, too busy having a free and easy conversation with each other. Yumi scowls as they go by.

“Nothing worth worrying about, Yumi,” she mutters to herself, pushing the thoughts away. “Come on, you can handle this.”

Aelita’s already at the bus stop when Yumi gets there, waving. It’s late spring, the first day of the year where you can get away with not wearing a jacket. Yumi’s wearing one – a black leather jacket she picked up off a thrift store rack, falling apart but comfortable – but Aelita isn’t, dressed in a pretty pink coat over a purple dress. She’s carrying a huge, empty bag.

"Planning on buying a lot?” Yumi asks as comes within earshot, and Aelita giggles.

“Yes, actually,” she says, a wicked sparkle in her eyes, “I’m planning on buying a new wardrobe.”

“Oh, what?” Yumi widens her eyes, “Why?”

That was a stupid response, Yumi scolds herself, but Aelita just laugh. Before she can answer, the bus pulls up. They both clamber on board, awkwardly putting money into the machine by the door. The bus is absolutely packed, and there’s only one free seat. Yumi points her thumb at it. “You want it?”

Aelita nods – “Thanks!” – and sits, leaving Yumi holding onto the hanging straps as the bus starts moving.

The bus is anything but silent, between the loud rumble of the bus’s engine to the chatter of people talking to each other. Yumi silences the anxieties bubbling in her stomach by speaking, “You know, I did the same thing when I started at Kadic.”

“Oh, really?” Aelita looks up, still smiling. Yumi sees her put her phone in her pocket quickly, “You mean you weren’t born goth?”

“Haha, very funny. But yeah, my parents were cool about it. Starting a new school, they wanted me to be happy. I’m sure they were more expecting I’d try to wear things to fit in, but I was never a big fan of that.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Aelita’s staring out the window, “I was homeschooled, so I never had to worry about that kind of thing. One time, though, I – this one girl I knew, I think she…” Aelita furrows her brow, her sentence trailing off. The city reflects in her eyes, and her face drops to a dull, quiet look. After a moment, right when Yumi’s considering saying something, Aelita shakes her head and turns back to Yumi, grinning widely. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We’re almost there.”

And before Yumi can say anything, Aelita stands up and walks to the front of the bus. Yumi watches her, and mutters to herself, “What was that all about?” before following her friend’s lead.     

The mall is smaller and smellier than Yumi remembers it being, but, then again, she hasn’t been here in several years. The sparkling-white floor sticks ever so slightly to her boots as they walk through the halls alongside crowds, ignoring stands of people selling knick knacks or eyebrow waxes. Yumi struggles to keep up with Aelita, who is walking determinedly forward, seemingly having a goal in mind. They walk past some of the stores Yumi would usually peg as more of Aelita’s style – preppy, light colored clothing with smiling models in the windows – and she’s trying to figure out where she might be going when Aelita makes a sharp right and Yumi has to hoof it even more to keep up.

“Jeez, Aelita,” she mutters, seeing that she walked into just about the edgiest store Yumi’s ever seen, and that’s saying something. It smells musty, like the employees are wearing a pound of body spray each. They’re older teens, all wearing thick black eyeliner and aggressively trendy clothes. Aelita’s easy to spot with her bright hair among the rows and rows of dark clothing, and Yumi catches up to her.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to give me the slip,” Yumi half-jokes, but Aelita has the decency to look sheepish as she flips through shirts on hangers, pressing a button on her phone through her pocket.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” she says, pulling a semi-transparent black shirt out, “What do you think of this?”

“Not really what I’d call your style,” Yumi answers.

“Perfect,” Aelita nods, hanging it over her arm. “Help me pick out some more stuff like that.”

She’s got a wicked little smirk on her face, and Yumi’s taken aback for a second before laughing, “Alright, princess, if that’s what you want, let’s go for it.”

The nickname feels foreign on Yumi’s tongue, despite having heard it a million and a half times, and it sends another uncomfortable anxious pang through her stomach. Aelita meets her eyes for a fraction of a second, eyes widening, but after a moment, laughs with a smile that doesn't quite meet her eyes, continuing to dig through the racks.

Together, they gather armfuls of the most garish clothing in the store, joking and snarking the entire time. Every item is either pitch black, a garish neon color, or a pattern that hurts to look it. There’s a bucket full of hair accessories – feathers, pins, clips, cheap hair extensions – that Aelita just picks up and carries with her. The employees look at them with judging glances and snicker behind their hands. It makes Yumi want to call them out, but Aelita seems completely unconcerned, moving through the store with a determined look on her face.

Finally, Aelita’s apparently endless desire for clothing satisfied, she heads to the dressing room. Yumi sits on the bench outside, having not picked out anything for herself.

“Thanks for coming,” Aelita says through the door. Yumi can hear the rustle of clothing and the clatter of hangers as Aelita moves around, although she can’t see her friend.

“Of course,” Yumi says to the door. “Though, I’m not sure you’re accomplishing getting a new wardrobe out of these things.”

“Oh, come on, Yumi!” Aelita tuts, “How is… hold on…”

Yumi hears the sounds of a zipper being done and undone and hears Aelita quietly swear to herself, and it makes her snicker. After a moment, the door opens, and Aelita steps out, dressed in a ridiculously overcomplicated mess of zippers, fluff, and belts. Every movement makes the zippers jingle.

“How is this not peak fashion?” Aelita asks with a smirk, and Yumi fails to stifle a laugh.

Aelita looks at herself in the mirror, and Yumi has to admire the calculated look in her eyes. She’s not just doing this to look goofy, she realizes – she’s actively assessing what she does and doesn’t like. Yumi’s heart skips a beat as she realizes Aelita’s not joking around. Whatever she’s looking for, she’s serious. Furrowing her brow, Yumi stands and walks over to the mirror, humming quizzically.

“Well,” she says, “I think the jacket is pretty good, all things considered. The shirt,” she gestures to the shirt, which is bright green leopard print with artsy tears in it, “Definitely not with that skirt,” she points to the checkered black and purple pattern, “Clashes like crazy. I’d pick one or the other.”

Aelita nods, “I think I like the shirt. I wear too many skirts; I was hoping this one would be different enough I’d like it.”

“Really? You, too many skirts? What happened to you asking Jeremie to put that little skirt on over your new Lyoko outfit?”

Aelita laughs, but there’s something forced about it, and, after a moment, rushes back into the changing room. The sound of clothing rustling starts up again, and Yumi’s left looking at the door, mildly surprised. She and Aelita might not be as close as they look to be on paper, but even she can tell the girl is upset about something. It’s the way she keeps smiling after every sentence she says but cuts conversations off. It’s how Yumi keeps seeing her phone screen light up in her pocket. Something happened; she just can’t tell if Aelita is trying to get her to ask about it or is trying to talk about anything but.

“Hmm, Yumi?”

“What?” Yumi blinks, shocked out of her momentary daze.

“Can you get me these pants the next size up?”

A pair of black jeans flies over the top of the dressing room, and, instinctively, Yumi leaps forward to catch it. She goes wide, and her boots screech against the floor as she balances herself.

“You alright?” Aelita asks, “Sorry, should have made sure you were ready!”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Yumi says, “I’ll get it for you.”

As Yumi goes back to the store, she frowns. After a moment’s hesitation, she pulls out her phone and texts Ulrich.

“Hey, did something happen with Aelita?”

While Yumi searches for the right pair of jeans, her phone buzzes.

“Not that I know of?”

“Huh. She’s acting kind of weird.”

“Weird bad?”

“Weird upset,” Yumi texts with one hand and flips through pants with the other, “Do Odd or Jer know anything?”

“Haven’t seen them today. Been at soccer. Do you need me to find them? I can make an excuse.”

“No, I don’t want to make a big deal if it’s nothing. Or if it’s one of them.” Yumi pauses a moment, before texting, “Thanks, though. You’re sweet.”

She knows Ulrich well enough to know his face doesn’t match his text, which just says, “np”. Allowing herself one moment to smile at her phone, she finally finds the pair of jeans she needs.

They spend the rest of the afternoon like this, going from store to store, trying a huge variety of fashion styles. Aelita makes a wide breadth from any store of her typical style, and Yumi’s happy to indulge her, even if she knows next to nothing about fashion. The bag on Aelita’s arm increasingly fills with shirts, pants, accessories, and shoes. The one thing Yumi pulls her away from is a hairdresser advertising quick dyes – “No permanent changes on a whim, that’s a rule,” – and, despite her momentary protest, Aelita goes with her.

Yumi becomes increasingly aware that something happened, though. Every time the conversation drifts to the guys, Aelita snaps it back to anything else – her new clothes, school, gossip, dinner plans – with a huge, fake smile. It reaches a point that it’s grating on Yumi’s nerves, but she keeps going along with it.

It’s late in the afternoon and they find themselves in a department store. Yumi’s exhausted, but Aelita’s still looking for something formal, so they decide on the one last store. They walk into the section with dresses, and Aelita walks around the models, arms clutching on the huge bag. Both of them are chattering with each other about nothing in particular but Yumi’s watching Aelita carefully. She walks by a pink dress and grabs at it instinctively, rubbing the fabric between her fingertips. Her eyes sharpen, and she lets go, stepping away purposefully, walking across the room towards a black one. Yumi hesitates, frowning, then follows Aelita. They find a dressing room in the back of the store that a sleepy attendant lets them into; no other customers are anywhere nearby.

“One last one, thanks again,” Aelita apologizes, before closing the door.

“No, it’s no problem, really,” Yumi says, taking a seat. The familiar sounds of clothing rustling begin, and Yumi drums her fingers against her leg.

“Do you remember Ms. Hertz’s unit on titrations?” Aelita asks, “I think she teaches it pretty poorly. I was just saying to J – well – I –,”

Yumi hears her fumble over Jeremie’s name, and, finally, gives in, “Aelita, are you okay?”

There’s a moment where only the muffled music from the main area of the store plays, alongside the clicking and scraping of clothes and hangers in the changing room.

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” Aelita finally says.

“No,” Yumi cuts into the silence that follows, “No, I get enough of this ‘yeah, it’s nothing’ nonsense from Ulrich.”  

“Well, he's emotionally stupid. I’m fine.”

“Aelita,” Yumi insists, standing up and approaching the changing room door, “I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

She gives Aelita a moment to reply, but, not doing so, Yumi continues, voice growing in volume, “You’re completely changing your look, ignoring anything that you see that looks anything like what you normally wear. You keep talking about nothing, directing all conversation away from the guys. You asked me to go the mall out of nowhere, when we basically never hang out. Something is wrong, and you’re refusing to tell me.”

Yumi breathes out, frustratedly. Aelita continues to not reply, but she’s stopped moving around, too. Yumi stands on the other side of the changing room door, wishing she knew how she could reach her.

“I broke up with Jeremie.”

Yumi’s eyes widen at the door. “You – what?” she says dumbly, her mind drawing a blank.

After a long moment, she hears the quiet pat of Aelita’s feet against the floor, the rustle of clothing on a rack. “Yeah,” Aelita says.

The door opens, and Aelita’s wearing the black dress. It’s long and ruffled, brushing against the ground, a few inches too long. She’s staring determinedly at the floor, not making eye contact as she pushes past Yumi to the mirror. Yumi turns, looking at her own reflection in the mirror.

“But… why?” Her heart sinks, and she’s suddenly angry as possibilities flash through her head, “Did he do –,”

“No,” Aelita interjects, quickly, snapping her head up. “No, he’s fine. It’s not that. It’s…”

She turns back to the mirror, staring. Her arms are draped in fabric that looks so unlike her; a choker from several stores ago is awkwardly around her throat, and she keeps picking at it. After a minute, she speaks up, “I… don’t know what it’s like to not be with him.”

Yumi doesn’t understand what she means, and it must be obvious on her face, because Aelita continues, “Like… I woke up on Lyoko, and he was the first person I had ever seen. He was so nice and cared so much about me immediately,” her face is bitter and downcast, “And he liked me, and I liked him back. It was all so easy and perfect. He brought me here. He gave me money and an identity and everything. He even found my father and my past.

“But… just because… I…” she swallows, and Yumi can see tears beginning to form in her eyes, which she angrily rubs away, “I… don’t know who I am. I’ve only defined myself with what you’ve all given me. You’re Aelita, you’re our princess, you’re our angel. You’re my daughter. And don’t get me wrong! I’m super grateful to all of you. You’ve given me a second life and I – I –,”

Aelita trails off, then laughs, shakily. “This dress looks terrible,” she says, with a shaky laugh, “I’m trying too hard.”

She brushes past Yumi to go back into the changing room, but Yumi grabs her arm.

“You want your life to be your own,” Yumi says, her face hard, “You don’t want anyone else to decide who Aelita Hopper – or – Schaeffer –,”

“Stones,” Aelita interjects, pulling her arm free, “Aelita Schaeffer is dead.”

Yumi’s stomach clenches, and she watches helplessly as Aelita reenters the changing room. After a moment, though, where she can hear Aelita changing again, she purses her lips.

“Good.”

The sounds stop. “What?” Aelita squeaks, bewildered.

“Good!” Yumi reaffirms. She isn’t sure if this is the right thing to do or say, but it’s what her gut is telling her to do, so she presses forward, “You’re not her, then. That’s fine. You don’t have to be Franz Hopper’s daughter or Jeremie’s girlfriend or any of our friends just because we landed in front of you.”

Aelita doesn’t answer, and Yumi barrels forward, “We can go dye your hair, if you want. We can burn your wardrobe. We –,” her voice catches, and she hesitates, “You. You can do these things. I – you don’t need me, if you don’t… Are you going to leave?”

The question is absurd; Aelita’s an eight grader with no family and no money. She couldn’t leave Kadic if she wanted to. But the thought of Aelita just being gone makes Yumi’s stomach drop out from beneath her.

The door scrapes open, and Aelita stands there, back in her own clothes, arms full of the clothes she tried. Her eyes are bright red, but glaring, and her lip wobbles, clutching her vain attempts at being someone else tightly in her arms.

“Yumi,” she whispers, angrily, “I invited you here today, didn’t I?”

Yumi looks back at her, and nods, slowly.

“I’m not… I thought about this,” Aelita sniffs, loudly, “Augh, why – am I –,”

“Here,” Yumi starts going, “I can find a tissue from the bathroom –,”

“No,” Aelita suddenly barrels into Yumi, and Yumi staggers. The bag of clothing hits the ground, and Aelita wraps her arms around Yumi, shaking and crying. After a moment, Yumi, hesitantly, wraps her arms around her too.

“No,” Aelita whispers, “No, I’m not – I’m shouldn't cut you all out. I’m not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway. I’m going to find my own life, but I know for sure I want you all to be part of it. Especially you,” she hugs her, tighter, “We’re supposed to be best friends, the two girls in our friend group, but we really aren’t. I’m changing that first.”

Oh.

You’re not sure you're seeing things correctly. You only see the tail end of it—a strange series of jagged lines covering her form and the book in her hand for just a split second before disappearing just as quickly as you saw them. With a turn of the teachers page, they're gone.

Did you imagine that?

You look around to see if anyone else noticed, but no one looks up from their notes or whatever else they’re looking at. 

The teacher keeps talking as if nothing is wrong too. You duck your head back down and stare holes into your notebook as she keeps reading. The pencil has gone slack in your hand. No one seems to notice that either.

Maybe you’re just seeing things.

The lights buzz noisily above you.

Your drawing goes unfinished. And you don’t catch much of the rest of the lecture this time.

-

Something is wrong.

Jeremy is off on his own away from the rest of you. According to Ulrich and Odd he’s been sulking since they got back to class—something about being mad about Odd’s quippy comments about his sense of heroism from before. You want to talk to him about what you saw, but the others tell you to let him simmer for a little while longer.

You see him give you all a side eye from his spot near a tree before he returns his attention to his laptop. 

You think it’s a little weird. Jeremy’s not one to mope—at least, not over something like this. But then again maybe everyone’s entitled to an off day every now and again. 

Maybe.

Ulrich and Odd aren’t unconcerned with the news when you tell them, but they’re not entirely convinced it’s immediately dangerous either.

You’re not sure if you agree or not.

Your mouth feels exceptionally dry. You go to the vending machine to get a drink before your next class. The machine lets out its usual buzzing hum as you approach it; it’s strangely loud today. When you try pressing one of the buttons though, you feel a jolt of static course through your fingers. The buttons are crackling with fizzling edges when you pull your hand back.

You decide you’re not that thirsty after all.

-

Something is wrong.

There’s something off you feel when you enter the cafeteria. Something about the air around you, some kind of bizarre, almost electric-like energy to it as you pick up your tray from an uncharacteristically quiet and subdued Rosa. But there’s something missing from it too that you can’t pinpoint.

The lights in here are buzzing too. Someone should really look into that.

Ulrich and Odd arrive at your table before you can think too much about it. Their presence is a distracting blessing. Odd starts regaling you both to a story about his last skateboard competition and the ordeal that was replacing his broken wheels in the middle of it. He’s about halfway through shoving more food into his mouth and his tale when Sissi walks by.

Odd pivots to making a jab at her shirt color instead (it really is an obnoxious shade of yellow). She counters as huffy and haughty as expected before storming off to another table behind you. You all laugh. 

And then it happens again.

The world fizzles.

The chatter from everyone around you stops with a harsh crackle. Then rewinds, and plays out over again as if nothing happened. Sissi returns to her spot by your table without any of you noticing.

She insults you all again, this time without Odd saying a word about her or her stupid shirt. Ulrich and Odd seem absolutely baffled and look at you with wide eyes.

All you can focus on are the thin lines flickering off her curled fingers as she leaves.

-

Something is wrong.

You see Nicholas and Herve get into a fight out on the field during your break and their gym class. That’s not out of the ordinary for them—their relationship is strange and seems bounce wildly between the two ends of the sliding scale that is ‘friends versus enemies’ frequently on even their best days.

But then they start fizzling too.

The motions of Herve kicking and Nicholas backing away from him both pause in a freeze frame. A warping energy encases the two of them, they stay stationary yet move backwards—like a rewinding video. And then the whole event plays out again as soon as the lines fade away as if nothing happened. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight.

No one else acknowledges it.

But you can’t not.

You find Jeremy sitting conspicuously on the edge of the bleachers nearby. Which is weird; why isn’t he in class too? You try asking him, but he dismisses it as just a matter of handling Jim the right way.

That seems even weirder.

The weirdest part though, is his demeanor. He looks completely uninterested in the world around him or even what’s on his laptop’s screen as he types away on it. When he speaks to you, the usual bounce to his voice—his excitement about anything with his programming escapades or especially to do with Aelita—has gone completely flat, almost monotone even. He mentions not being able to get into contact with Aelita the same way you’d talk to a stranger about the weather. It's... bizarrely calm for him.

He’s not at all concerned about the… fizzling either. He barely even seems to register you saying anything to him, just tells you not to worry too much about it.

And that just makes you all the more worried instead.

His laptop is humming in his lap as you start to walk away from him. 

You swear you can still hear it buzzing even long after he’s out of earshot.

-

Something is wrong.

You feel it as soon as you walk through the front door. It’s eerily quiet, and not in a way your house should be at this time of day. No busied chatter about work, no soft music playing on the radio, no sounds of your mom cooking or your brother playing his obnoxiously loud video games. Instead all you hear is that buzzing sound that keeps ringing faintly in your ears.

It keeps hanging over you, like a faulty fluorescent or an old vending machine or an overworked laptop. But louder.

You don’t like it.

You ignore it and call out to your parents, letting them know you’re home.

Nothing.

The door closes behind you. The air feels strange. Heavy, yet charged with something frantic—like static. Whatever it is makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up all the same. It almost reminds you of how the air feels right before it’s supposed to storm. 

You’re not supposed to feel that inside.

There’s a distinct lack of any of the usual smells in your house too; you can’t catch a whiff of your moms favorite vanilla scented candle or smell any trace of the too strong floral freshener you know is plugged in nearby like it always is.

Have you smelled anything all day? That’s a strange thought to have…

A clinking sound nearby catches your attention. The lights are on in the kitchen. Is someone home after all? Maybe they just didn’t hear you. You move toward that room. You get to the entrance of the kitchen and find your parents both sitting around the table, your dad with a newspaper in hand and a bowl of god nearby, and your mom hovering around him. Your shoulders sag in relief.

Then your parents both fizzle.

And you almost scream. 

You stumble back toward the hallway wall and ungracefully crash your back against it with an audible this. Your backpack goes flying past the threshold into the kitchen. But you can’t take your eyes off your parents. They seem to almost warp in front of you, frames stuttering and shifting as a static like fog overtakes them both. They both shift into new poses as it clears away: now your dad is eating mindlessly from his bowl and your mother is cleaning around him. 

They don’t acknowledge your presence at all.

You just stare. You can’t move. Can you even feel your legs?

Then they fizzle again. 

And you run for the stairs.

They don’t make any move to try and follow you; you hear them buzz and shift again in the distance. But there’s not any following footsteps.

You feel like you can’t breathe. What’s going on? What’s wrong with your parents?

…

Where’s your brother?

You abruptly turn from your door towards his, only to find your blood running cold again.

His door’s not there.

It’s not there it’s not there it’s not there.

You run back downstairs.

They’re still fizzling. Flickering. Just… shifting into various natural looking poses in such horribly unnatural ways.

Something is wrong.

Your hand stretches tentatively forward towards your parents. You want this to be a horrible prank; a part of you knows it’s not. You want proof anyway.

Your fingers meet the space where your mom’s shoulder should be.

They phase through. You feel nothing but cold static in the place of a warm body.

Something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is-

You hear Ulrich’s voice. You called him on autopilot without realizing. You cradle the phone in your hands like a lifeline, cling on to the sound of his voice as you watch your dad cycle through various different poses without a single real glance towards you.

These aren’t your parents. They look like them, but they’re nothing more than facsimiles of them, cheap copies placed there to imitate the most basic idea of them. There’s no warmth in their eyes or care in their movements.

They’re flat, missing those small parts of them that make them… them.

Just like Jeremy’s voice.

Ulrich tells you to get out of there, that you’ll meet at the factory. You make him promise not to tell Jeremy to meet them there too.

Something is wrong with him too.

Ulrich hangs up. Your parents fizzle into a new set of poses that look right through you. 

Your ears are buzzing.