Chapter 15: Ghosts from the Past (Leo in Ava’s Body)

I’m sprawled on Ava’s dorm bed, her phone buzzing like an angry wasp on the nightstand. My shoulder, her shoulder, throbs from this morning’s volleyball practice, where I barely dodged another lecture from Coach Barrett. Jade’s still watching me like I’m a puzzle she’s one piece away from solving, and I’m running out of ways to play Ava without screwing up her life. The phone buzzes again, and I grab it, expecting another text from Ava about band rehearsal or her latest freakout over my heart condition. Instead, the screen flashes Mom with an incoming call. My stomach drops. I’m not ready to play Ava with her mother.

I swipe to answer, holding the phone to my ear, her ear. “Uh, hey… Mom?” My voice, Ava’s voice, sounds too high, too nervous.

“Ava, sweetheart!” Her mom’s voice is warm but clipped, like she’s rushing. “I’m on campus. I had a meeting in town and thought I’d surprise you. I’m outside your dorm. Can you come down?”

My heart, her heart, skips, and not in the good way. “Now? Like, right now?” I sit up, wincing as her shoulder protests. I’m still in her sweaty practice clothes, my hair, her hair, a messy ponytail. No time to clean up or prep for this.

“Yes, now,” she says, a laugh in her voice, but there’s an edge. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, Ava. Come on, let’s grab coffee at Flat Fifth.”

I mutter a quick “Okay” and hang up, my hands shaking. I text Ava fast: Your mom’s here. Outside the dorm. Wants coffee. What do I do? Her reply comes in seconds: Be me. Quiet, polite. Don’t oversell it. She’ll know something’s off if you’re too chatty. Call me after. No pressure, right?

I pull on Ava’s sneakers, check my reflection in her tiny mirror, and try to smooth her ponytail. I look like Ava, but every move feels like I’m wearing a costume that’s too tight. Downstairs, I spot her mom by the quad, a petite woman with Ava’s sharp cheekbones and a tired smile. She’s holding a reusable coffee cup, her coat buttoned against the chilly New England air.

“Ava!” She waves, pulling me into a hug before I can dodge it. Her arms are tight, and I feel Ava’s body relax into it, like it’s muscle memory. “You look exhausted, sweetheart. Are you sleeping?”

“Yeah, just… practice,” I say, channeling Ava’s quiet tone. “It’s been intense.”

She frowns, studying me as we start walking toward Flat Fifth. “You’re paler than usual. And you’re favoring that shoulder again. Have you seen Dr. Kim?”

I tense, remembering Ava’s warning to keep her injury under wraps. “It’s fine, Mom. Just sore from drills.” I force a smile, but her eyes narrow, like she’s seeing right through me.

At Flat Fifth, we slide into a booth, the café’s jazz playlist humming in the background. She orders a latte; I stick with water, not trusting myself to pick Ava’s usual. The barista gives me a weird look, probably expecting Leo’s charm, but I keep my head down.

“Ava, I’m worried about you,” her mom says, stirring her coffee. “You haven’t called in weeks. Your dad’s been asking about the scholarship trial. It’s all he talks about, how proud he is, how you’re carrying the family’s hopes.”

My throat tightens, Ava’s throat. “I’m… trying,” I say, gripping the water glass. “The trial’s soon. I’m working hard.”

“Trying isn’t enough,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “You know how tight things are at home. Your brother’s tuition, the mortgage… we’re counting on you, Ava. You’ve always been the strong one. The one who doesn’t break.”

Her words hit like a punch. I see Ava in my head, diving for balls despite the pain in her shoulder, scribbling lyrics in secret, hiding everything to keep her family afloat. I thought she was just tough, but this? This is bravery I didn’t understand until now. “I know,” I say, barely a whisper. “I won’t let you down.”

She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand, her hand. “You never do. But don’t carry it all alone, okay? You’re allowed to ask for help.”

I nod, my eyes stinging, and I’m not sure if it’s Ava’s body or me feeling this weight. “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll try.”

We talk a bit longer, about her job, my classes, the weather, but I’m barely listening. All I can think about is Ava, how she’s been carrying this pressure her whole life, and I’ve been too busy hiding my own crap to see it. When her mom finally leaves, promising to call soon, I slump in the booth, texting Ava: Your mom’s intense. She loves you, but damn, that’s a lot of pressure. You okay with all this?

Her reply is quick: Used to it. How’d it go? I type back: Think I pulled it off. You’re braver than I thought, Lin. I hesitate, then add, Checking your voicemails now. Meet at music building, midnight?

Ava in Leo’s Body (POV)

I’m in Leo’s apartment, sprawled on his couch, his phone heavy in my hand, his hand. The place is a mess: empty energy drink cans, a half-eaten pizza, unopened care packages stacked in a corner. It’s lonely, like he’s been running from something even here. My performance at open mic last night is still buzzing in my head, Noah’s text about reworking the set for Battle of the Bands making my stomach churn. But Leo’s heart skipped again during rehearsal today, and I can’t ignore it anymore. I need to know what he’s been hiding.

I open his voicemails, the ones he’s been ignoring for weeks. There’s a string from Dr. Mercer, each one more urgent: “Leo, your test results are concerning. We need to adjust your medication.” “Leo, you can’t keep skipping appointments. This is serious.” I wince, his heart thudding unevenly as if on cue. Then I see the voicemails from Mom and Dad. My thumb hovers, then presses play.

“Leo, it’s Mom,” a woman’s voice says, strained. “I saw your performance online. You looked… tired. Are you taking your meds? Call me, please.” The next one’s worse: “Leo, your father and I are worried. You can’t keep shutting us out. We want to help.” Then his dad, gruff: “Son, you’re throwing away everything we gave you. Call us back, or don’t expect us at your next show.”

I set the phone down, my hands, his hands, shaking. Leo’s been dodging his parents, just like he’s been dodging his heart condition. I thought he had it all, charm, talent, a crowd that loves him, but he’s as scared as I am, hiding behind that golden mask. I text him: Listened to your voicemails. Your parents are worried sick. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?

His reply comes as I’m grabbing his guitar case for our midnight meeting: Didn’t want to burden you. Your mom’s visit sounds heavy. You okay? Music building, midnight. I type back: I’m fine. But we’re talking about this, Leo. No more hiding.

Leo in Ava’s Body (POV)

The music building’s basement is our sanctuary, the only place where I don’t have to pretend I’m Ava 24/7. I slip in just after midnight, still in her gym clothes, her shoulder aching like it’s personal. Ava’s already there, in my body, tuning my guitar with a focus that makes my chest, her chest, tighten. She looks up, my face pale under the dim light, and sets the guitar down.

“Your parents,” she says, no preamble, my voice low and serious. “They’re freaking out, Leo. Why didn’t you tell me you’re shutting them out?”

I drop onto the floor, rubbing her shoulder. “Didn’t seem important. They only care when I’m winning. What about your mom? She’s got you carrying the whole family on your back.”

She flinches, my face twisting. “Yeah, well, I’m used to it. But you… your heart, Leo. Those voicemails from Dr. Mercer? You could die if you keep ignoring this.”

I laugh, but it’s weak, her voice cracking. “And you could lose your scholarship if you keep playing through that shoulder. We’re both a mess, Ava.”

She steps closer, my body towering over hers, mine. “Then we fix it. Together. You call your parents, tell them you’re trying. I’ll get my shoulder checked. Deal?”

I nod, her ponytail bobbing. “Deal. But you gotta stop pushing my heart so hard on stage. I felt it skip during your open mic video. Scared the crap out of me.”

She smirks, my smirk, and picks up the volleyball. “Fair. Now, let’s work. Show me a dig. You were getting good last night.”

I stand, crouching into position, and she tosses the ball. I move, her body smoother now, and nail the dig, sending the ball back in a clean arc. She catches it, grinning. “That’s my libero!”

“Your turn,” I say, grabbing the guitar and handing it to her. “Play that riff from ‘Starless.’ You’re close.”

She strums, my fingers hitting the chords cleaner than ever, and I clap, her hands stinging. “You’re gonna kill it at Battle, Ava. I’m almost jealous.”

We keep going, trading digs and chords, laughing when I trip over her feet or she flubs a note. But every time our hands brush, her hand, my hand, there’s a spark, like last night’s almost-kiss. I catch her staring, my eyes soft on her face, my face, and I know she feels it too.

“Leo,” she says, setting the guitar down, my voice quiet. “What you said about my mom… you’re right. It’s a lot. But you seeing it… it makes it feel less heavy.”

I step closer, her body small but strong. “And you listening to my parents’ voicemails… it’s like you’re seeing me. The real me. Not the rockstar crap.”

She laughs, my laugh, and we’re close again, too close. “You’re more than that,” she says, and her hand, my hand, rests on my arm, her arm. For a second, I think we might lean in again, but we don’t. Not yet.

“Let’s keep practicing,” I say, voice shaky. “We’ve got people counting on us.”

She nods, picking up the volleyball. “Together?”

“Together,” I say, and we dive back in, but the ghosts of our pasts, her mom, my parents, are still there, pushing us to be better. For each other.